Chapter 37:

“C-Rank water mage”

Blood Pawn : 400 New Years (Book 1)


“I guess we came to the right address,” Darius mutters beside me, his voice edged with doubt as he eyes the quiet, two-story house.

It's wedged between a stonemason’s workshop—where the steady thud of hammer against rock echoes—and a cramped herb shop that smells of dry nettle and vinegar. The air here carries the cool scent of riverstone and damp moss, unnatural for this part of town. Still. Almost... expectant.

He knocks twice.

Nothing.

He knocks again, louder this time, fingers rapping against the worn wood with a short rhythm. Still no answer.

“I guess no one’s—” he starts, turning toward Anara—

Click.

The door creaks open mid-sentence.

A woman stands in the frame—young, but not fragile. She wears a loosely belted azure robe stitched with faint silver embroidery that traces gentle, curling waves. The ends of her dark braid drip steadily onto the floor, leaving a quiet trail of water along the wood grain. She smells like fresh river water and something subtler—mana, maybe. Her presence is oddly still, like the surface of a deep lake.

Her eyes—clear sea-glass green—settle on us with measured curiosity. Not surprised. Not guarded. Just... observing.

Darius clears his throat. “Miss Ravia Sel?”

“That’s me,” she answers. Her voice is calm, crisp—each word exact. There's no fluff to her tone, no theatricality. Just precision. “Let me guess. Guild sent you about the apprentice posting.”

“Yes.” Darius nods, stepping forward slightly. “I’m Darius. This is Anara. And—” he gestures behind him—“that one’s Elara. She’s the candidate.”

Ravia shifts her gaze to Elara, taking her in without a blink. There’s no softness in her expression—just a quiet appraisal. Like she’s cataloguing every detail.

“She’s young,” she says.

“She’s talented,” Anara replies, the edge in her voice sharper than usual. She steps forward as well, standing between Elara and the cool air drifting from inside.

Ravia hums faintly, tilting her head to one side. She’s not challenging. Just honest. “Show me.”

No preamble. No test. Just show me.

Elara looks at me briefly, her eyes flickering with that split-second nervousness. Then she steps forward on her own. No questions. No hesitation.

She raises her hands.

A hiss—quiet, precise—builds in the air as moisture begins to pull from the atmosphere. It swirls, condenses, forms.

A shimmering orb of water grows above her palms—clear, smooth, mirror-like. The sunlight catches its surface just right, casting spinning ribbons of light across our boots and the frame of the open door. It's perfect. Too perfect.

Ravia’s eyes narrow slightly. Not in suspicion. In attention.

“That’s enough,” she says, her voice soft but resolute.

Elara nods and releases the spell.

The water drops.

Splash.

The orb breaks into a single splash against the stone entryway—drenching boots, hems, and the lower folds of Ravia’s robe.

For a heartbeat, no one moves.

“…You didn’t teach her how to dispel?” Ravia blinks slowly, sea-glass eyes shifting to the puddle growing across her polished stone floor.

Darius rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “We, uh... we were getting to that part.”

Elara looks down at her soaked boots, mumbling, “I thought it would just vanish…”

Ravia exhales through her nose—calmly. She doesn’t scold. Doesn’t sigh loudly. Just lifts her hand with the same grace she moves through every moment, and gestures—two fingers, casual.

The puddle quivers. Then it pulls together in smooth ribbons, racing toward her palm like metal to a magnet. The water coils around her fingers before vanishing—absorbed cleanly into her skin. Not a drop remains. No chant. No incantation. Just will.

She doesn’t even blink.

All three of them stare.

“Whoa,” Elara breathes, her eyes wide.

“That—” Darius stammers, “that was... advanced.”

Anara raises a brow. “Where are you from?” she asks. “I haven’t seen you around this part of the district.”

Ravia shrugs one shoulder, pivoting back toward the house. “Far enough,” she says plainly. “I moved here for peace. Which I’m beginning to regret.”

Her words are flat, but the ghost of a smirk teases her lips. She waves us inside without another word, robe hem whispering over the floor as she glides deeper into the house.

The sitting room is low-lit, but not dim. Blue flame lanterns hum faintly, casting shifting shadows across the bookshelves—each shelf crowded with scrolls, glass vials, and sealed jars filled with softly pulsing goo. The faint scent of brine and incense lingers in the air, mingling with candle smoke and wet stone.

“I came here to do research on slimes,” Ravia says over her shoulder, like she’s narrating from memory. She sets a satchel of reagents on a low table. “On the direct order of Sir Duke Elowen Delmare himself.”

That hits harder than expected.

Darius stops cold.

Anara blinks twice. “Wait—Duke Elowen?”

Ravia turns her head slightly, studying Darius with half-lidded curiosity. “Yes,” she says simply. “Is there a reason you’re reacting like you know him personally?”

Darius fumbles, scratching his cheek. “N-no. Just... surprised, that’s all.”

She arches an eyebrow—barely noticeable, but enough to say I don’t believe you, but I won’t press.

“I suppose villages no longer teach proper etiquette,” she remarks, cool and dry.

Anara lets out a muffled laugh behind her hand, trying to pretend it’s a cough. Darius clears his throat and looks away like it never happened.

She continues, unbothered.

“If she’s fine with it,” she says, setting down a small stack of labeled flasks, “I’ll take the girl as my apprentice. Elara, was it?”

She turns fully now, hands clasped in front of her like a professor awaiting consent. Her tone doesn’t soften—but there’s no hostility in it either. Just directness.

“But let it be clear,” she continues, calm but firm. “I’m not staying. Once my research concludes, I’ll be leaving. That means her apprenticeship ends with it. Understood?”

She raises a hand, palm open—not as a threat, just a mark of finality. Her stance is steady. Her gaze unwavering.

Darius glances at Anara. She nods once.

He lets out a short laugh. “Seems fair enough.”

Anara grins, her voice light but firm. “That’s fine by us!”

Ravia’s expression doesn’t shift much—but there’s a flicker of approval in her eyes. A subtle uptick at the corner of her mouth. She nods toward Elara, gaze sharp, voice precise. “Then it’s settled. Elara, starting tomorrow, you’re mine. Be here early.”

She leans in ever so slightly, lowering her tone like she’s delivering something sacred. “We begin with control… before power.”

Elara claps her hands, nearly bouncing in place. “Yes! Okay!”

The air feels lighter. The tension that had been shadowing the room lifts as the trio turns to go.

But Ravia’s voice slices back through the stillness.

“Wait.”

They freeze.

She steps forward, robes rustling faintly as her fingers curl near the edge of the wooden shelf. Her eyes rest on Elara—cool, calculating, and oddly gentle.

“Who taught you magic, by the way?” she asks. Her tone is smooth, but there’s an edge beneath it. Not threat—curiosity sharpened to a blade. “That control isn’t something most children even mimic at her age.”

Elara’s face lights up instantly, proud as the sun. “My brother! Orion taught me everything!”

A pause.

That name hits like a dropped stone in still water.

Ravia’s gaze flicks to Darius. The air shifts. Still calm—but not quiet. A new current has entered the room.

“Is he a D-Rank mage?” she asks, her voice still calm, but with a new weight behind each syllable. She’s working something out. A puzzle she didn’t expect to find in this backwater corner of the map.

Darius chuckles, waving a hand like he’s swatting away the idea. “Oh, no, nothing like that. See, Elara’s got a twin. Same age. He just… figured out some stuff on his own. Picked it up naturally.”

Ravia doesn’t blink. But her stance shifts slightly—straighter spine, hands clasped behind her back. A water mage doesn’t show emotion easily. But I’d bet she’s interested now. Locked in.

“Where did he enroll?” she asks. Even and clean. The tone of someone used to hunting facts.

Anara steps forward, gentle but firm, voice dipped in warmth. “He hasn’t. He’s still a kid, really.”

Darius snorts. “Yeah. He’s not trained. He’s just… well—”

He shrugs, helpless pride leaking from every line. “Just a kid who wants to learn everything.”

Ravia remains silent for a breath longer than usual.

Listening.

Weighing.

Darius continues, almost laughing as he speaks. “He picked up swordplay from me. Just one day, outta nowhere, said he wanted to learn holy magic. I thought he was joking.”

He wasn’t.

The laughter still lingers in the air when Darius grins and says, “And mind you—he doesn’t even have a blessing!”

Ravia’s sea-glass eyes narrow with curiosity, the flicker of something analytical behind them. “And what did he say when you asked him why?” she asks, voice smooth—too smooth. That kind of softness always means a calculation is being made.

Darius lets out a low chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “He looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘I want to learn holy magic. Whether I can use it or not is a different matter.’”

That does it. Ravia blinks, just once, a tiny crack in her composed expression.

Anara jumps in, arms folded, eyes bright with the familiar amusement of memory. “And when we tried to steer him toward something more... practical? Guess what he picked?”

Ravia raises a brow, curious but skeptical. “What?”

Darius’s grin stretches wider. “Said he’d be an herbalist.”

The pause that follows is rich. Ravia tilts her head slightly, a ripple of amusement running just beneath her cool demeanor. “From holy magic… to plants?”

Darius shrugs, laughing again. “I asked him why. He said, ‘I want to learn how things grow… and how they die.’”

Silence.

Ravia straightens slowly, her arms sliding back behind her, fingers clasping together. The shift is subtle—but it’s there. The casual C-rank confidence fades into something keener. That soft amusement gives way to a flicker of real intrigue.

Her eyes, sharp and reflective like still water just before a ripple, scan each of them anew—not with politeness, but assessment.

Anara leans back slightly, her smile fond. “He’s always been like that. Obsessed with understanding things. Like he’s chasing some truth the rest of us can’t see.”

Elara, practically glowing now, puffs up her chest proudly. “I’m also like that!”

Anara snorts and nudges her playfully. “Yeah, you got that from him, alright.”

There’s a beat. A soft hum of something deeper beneath the moment.

And then Ravia exhales, her tone quiet—but not casual. Not anymore.

“I want to meet your brother,” she says, almost to herself.

Elara claps her hands together instantly. “Then come to our home!”

Darius laughs, shaking his head. “That’s one way to invite a C-Rank mage to dinner.”

Anara’s eyes sparkle. “You should come! Really. We’d love to have you. He might actually behave.”

Ravia’s lips curve—not a smirk, not a polite smile. Something smaller. Warmer. A note of hesitation wrapped in a question she hasn’t yet formed.

“...I will,” she says finally, her voice lower, more thoughtful than before.

They step out, boots crunching against the moss-dusted stone path, the late sun slanting low through the trees. Their laughter fades as they walk, the sounds of the town returning in gentle waves—distant chatter, a creaking cart, birds calling in the high branches.

But Ravia doesn’t move.

She stands at the threshold of her cottage, robes brushing softly around her ankles, the wind teasing loose strands of her still-damp braid. Her fingers tap once, absently, against the wood of the doorway.

Her gaze drifts across the rooftops of the village—humble, plain. The garden patches. The cluttered lanes. The lives.

She closes her eyes.

There’s something here.

And she means to see it.

[Darius perspective]

The wooden gate groans softly as Darius pushes it open, the old hinges squeaking like they always do. The moment we step into the courtyard, the scent hits—fresh bread, crackling firewood, and faint notes of thyme drifting from Morgana’s herb window.

The sun's dipped low now, stretching gold across the stone tiles. The shadows are long, warm, soft. Elara practically skips beside me, the energy buzzing off her like she's floating. Her fingers twitch like they want to perform magic again, just for the joy of it.

“We’re home,” Darius calls, voice booming with his usual mix of exhaustion and satisfaction.

From the kitchen, Morgana steps out, wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron. Her grayish-green eyes narrow slightly as she studies us—then soften when they land on Elara. Her whole posture shifts: less guarded, more open. The kind of welcome you can’t fake.

“What happened today?” she asks, tilting her head. Her voice is low, warm. Familiar.

I shrug off my jacket and hang it on the peg by the door. “Well…” I glance at Elara. “It was definitely something.”

Elara beams up at Morgana, then spins, arms stretched like wings, her little boots scuffing against the tile. She doesn’t even try to use words—just that spinning motion, giddy and light.

“She got the apprenticeship,” I say, pride slipping into my tone before I can stop it. “Ravia Sel accepted her. C-rank support mage.”

Morgana freezes mid-wipe, her eyes blinking once. “The C-Rank water mage?” Her brows lift. “That’s not just ‘something,’ Darius. That’s huge.”

Anara steps through the gate behind us, brushing dust from her sleeves. “Did Orion come home yet?”

Morgana nods, tossing the floury cloth onto a nearby stool. “Yes. About half an hour ago. Went straight to his room. Said he needed rest.”

Her gaze flicks back to Elara, and the teasing warmth returns. “And you, Miss Apprentice—congratulations!”

Elara, still flushed from excitement, gives a shy little bow. “Thank you, Aunt Morgana!”

Morgana lifts her hands dramatically, spreading her arms like she’s conjuring lightning. “Today,” she declares, “we celebrate!”

The late sunlight pours through the open door behind her, catching the dust motes mid-air like gold glitter. The kitchen smells of cinnamon now, and somewhere in the oven, something sweet is baking.

Elara lets out a squeal and darts inside. Anara smiles at the doorway, while I just shake my head and follow the scent.

Home feels louder tonight.

And warmer.

S S DUDALA
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