SELENE'S LOG

I don’t know why I’m doing this.
I’ve always told the kid writing down your feelings was stupid — and now here I am, pen in hand, doing the same damn thing.

I guess we’re both stupid.

Maybe that’s the first thing we have in common.

I was halfway through my third drink in a tavern that smelled like cheap ale and burnt meat when the letter slid across the table. The handwriting was neat. The seal was from my old headmaster.

I didn’t need to read more than two lines to know I wasn’t going to like it.

“One of the royal families seeks a private magic tutor for their younger son. I recommended you.”

That guy seriously doesn’t know how to read the room.
I hadn’t been in the mood for work in… years. Not since—

(Master….Help-)

Still, my purse was getting lighter by the day. I figured I’d show up, teach the brat the bare minimum, drink on the job, and coast until the contract ended.

I came in style — which is to say, slightly tipsy, robe askew, and my staff propped lazily on my shoulder.

The kid was standing by the door with his family. I sized him up the way I do every new student — not looking at his clothes, his face, or even his stance. I looked at his aura.

My Gift’s never wrong.
Bloodlust is red.
Greed is gold.
Spoiled brats glow green.

But this boy… his aura sparkled. Literally. Like light catching on water. I’d never seen that before.

“From now on, you’re Sparkle Boy,” I told him.
He hated it instantly. Good.

I’d meant to start with a formal mana assessment on day one. Instead, I lay in the grass with a flask, enjoying the sun. I wanted to see if he’d whine or walk away.

He didn’t. He stood there, stubborn as a rock, and asked me to teach him. Persistent little thing.

Fine. I flicked a [[Water Ball!]] his way, expecting him to botch it.
He didn’t.
He tried a non-chant version, even — something rookies usually screw up so badly they blow a hole in the ground.

When he fainted right after, I caught him without thinking. And for a second, the world blurred, and I was somewhere else — cradling another kid, years ago.

My first student, Sora

The next months passed faster than I expected. I still drank — let’s not pretend I didn’t — but I taught. Actually taught.

He soaked up magic theory like rain into dry earth. If I tossed a question from the textbook at him, he’d either get it right or listen closely until he did. Never once rolled his eyes. Never once called the work boring.

And every now and then, he’d move just like Sora did. Head tilted when curious. Little half-grin when he got something right.

I never told him about Sora. I just said my first student was “a brat” like him. He didn’t press.

Then came the royal birthday party. I hate those things. Nobles wearing masks you can’t see through, conversations layered with hidden blades.

Caelum’s sharp, but he’s too young to spot all the traps yet. His brother Leonhart seems to get it. That’s good. Someone needs to watch his back.

After the party, I tested him on Fusion Magic — combining spells to mimic natural effects. He got it on the first try. Fog rolled out across the training yard, just like I asked.

That’s when I told him about Camelot Institute. About the life of a Guardian.
He hesitated, eyes darting down. That longing for a normal life was plain on his face. But normal isn’t in the cards for him.

When he finally said, “I want to be a Guardian,” I smiled.
For a second, I wasn’t looking at Caelum anymore.

I was looking at Sora.

Taking him outside the gates for the first time was… surprisingly satisfying. He was terrified. Tried to hide it, but his hands were clenched white on the reins. So I carried him. Literally. Onto the horse. Sometimes you’ve got to push.

The city’s a mess of contradictions — beauty and prejudice side by side. He looked at it with wonder, not cynicism. That… got to me.

The grasslands were quiet. “This place is perfect for your final test,” I told him. “What kind of test?” he asked. “We fight.”

His face was priceless.

Once the first spell flew, though, he moved like he’d been training for this day. Mana shield on point. Element swaps mid-attack. Creativity most rookies twice his age couldn’t manage.

I still beat him — obviously — but then he did something reckless.
He saw my fusion spell heading for the horse, and instead of dodging, he threw himself in the way.

For a heartbeat, I thought I’d killed him.

That fear… it was the same as the day Sora died. A moment of arrogance. One wrong calculation. And he was gone.

I swore I’d never let a student get that close again. But here I was, watching history almost repeat itself.

When we packed up to leave, I knew I had to go. Not because I didn’t care — but because I cared too much.

At the gates, I teased him about my drinking. He teased back. We laughed. But when I handed him my necklace — Sora’s necklace — the laughter faded.

“Give it back when you surpass me,” I said.
He nodded like it was a promise he’d die before breaking.

As I walked away, I could almost see Sora behind him, waving.

As I walked away, I could almost see Sora behind him, waving. For the first time in years, my heart felt lighter. Not fixed. Not healed. But lighter.

Maybe writing this down isn’t so stupid after all.