Chapter 22: Failings

The library was quiet, save for the occasional turn of a page or the scratch of a quill on parchment. Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, painting the floor in shimmering colors that danced with every shifting breeze. I sat tucked away in a corner alcove, bent over a worn parchment with painstaking focus, the tip of my quill dragging slowly across the page.

Dire wolves, classified as Class Divine Beast, they are renowned for their remarkable ability to grow to enormous sizes. Consuming mana crystals significantly accelerates their growth. Notably, dire wolves primarily hunt monsters, although they can consume human food, but their preference lies in monster meat.

I turned the page, wanting to learn more. What exactly is a Divine Beast? And why were dire wolves—like Sköll—classified as such?

According to the passage, Divine Beasts weren’t simply rare or powerful creatures. They were beings born from the will of the gods themselves—creations forged with divine purpose, not born of nature or magic, but something beyond. That explained their unnatural intelligence… the way Sköll seemed to understand things I hadn’t even said aloud. They weren’t just animals. They were guardians.

Dire wolves, it read, were one of the oldest known Divine Beasts. Created by the Wolf God to protect mankind from the creatures that roamed the wilds in the ancient days. Though fearsome, they were never meant to be hunters of men. Only if provoked would they attack—and even then, they never killed humans. Not unless corrupted.

I paused, glancing at the sketch of a dire wolf mid-snarl, runes lining its fur like tattoos. A note below it said some could wield magic as they aged.

Sköll can learn magic?

That thought alone made my stomach twist with a strange mixture of awe and dread.

Another line caught my attention.

“Dire wolves may only bond with those who are not only human in blood, but pure in heart. They will not follow those who carry cruelty, deceit, or selfishness in their spirit.”

I leaned back slightly.

Sasha had tried to bond with one—and failed.

Because she wasn’t fully human. But more than that, because she wasn’t… me.

Then why me? I glanced toward the door, imagining Sköll waiting just outside. Why did he choose me?

The page offered a simple answer.

“A dire wolf chooses its master not by strength… but by worth.”

A soft thud broke my focus.

I looked up—and there he was.

Sköll.

He padded into the library like he owned the place, fur rippling in the morning light, eyes locked onto mine. No growl, no bark. Just that steady, intelligent gaze that always made me wonder just how much he truly understood.

I didn’t say anything at first. Just watched him. He came to rest beside me with a quiet huff, curling his massive body around the leg of the table.

“Did you know?” I asked softly, fingers brushing the bestiary’s edge. “Back then, when you attacked me and passed out… when you ate the food I made for us… Did you figure out what kind of person I was?”

His ear twitched.

“Or did you just… take a chance?”

Of course, he didn’t answer.

But maybe he didn’t need to.

Because somewhere deep inside, I knew the truth. Sköll had seen something in me—something even I couldn’t see back then. And now, as I sat here trying to scribble legible words and figure out the difference between an echo beetle and a soul mite, I realized I didn’t want to prove myself to him.

I wanted to live up to the version of me he already believed in.

I paused, glancing at the bestiary beside me. The ink on the page hadn’t smudged—thankfully. My handwriting wasn’t perfect, but at least it didn’t look like a toddler had dipped a spider in ink and let it loose on the paper anymore.

I leaned back, stretching my sore fingers, and glanced out the window. A full week had passed since that duel… since Elaris had been carried off the battlefield. The memory of her arm, twisted and limp, still haunted me when I closed my eyes.

I hated feeling useless.

So I had buried myself in study—monsters, magic, theory, handwriting drills—anything to keep me distracted until she got better.

I flipped another page.

“Sköll,” I muttered under my breath, tracing the entry with a finger. “Dire Wolves,…”

A warm pressure suddenly wrapped around my shoulders.

My breath hitched.

“Your handwriting’s gotten better.”

I turned my head, heart leaping.

Elaris.

She was leaning down, arms loosely draped around me from behind, her chin resting lightly on my shoulder. Her long, blondish-yellow hair brushed my cheek, and I could feel the warmth of her breath when she spoke again.

“Almost legible, even,” she teased, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

I blinked, then grinned. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Good,” she said. “Serves you right for not visiting me yesterday.”

“The nurse said you needed rest.”

“Still.” She slid into the chair beside me, cradling her arm—which was still in a sling, but looked much less stiff. The cast had been removed, and the faint shimmer of healing magic still lingered across her skin like a veil of stardust.

I looked at her closely. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore. But better.” Her eyes softened. “I missed this.”

I glanced down at the open book and my scattered notes. “You missed monster classification?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, I missed you being a complete nerd in your natural habitat.”

I let out a laugh, the tension I didn’t even know I’d been holding finally easing.

Elaris tilted her head toward the pages. “You really wrote all that?”

I nodded sheepishly. “Yeah. Trying to learn more about monsters and beasts. Figured it couldn’t hurt to know what might try to eat us.”

She smiled, and it was like the sun had shifted just a little to shine brighter in our corner of the world.

“You’re doing better than most of the second-years already.”

I scratched the back of my neck. “Just trying to catch up. I’ve got a rival now, remember?”

Her eyebrows rose. “Anastella?”

“She’s more like a fire-breathing obstacle.”

Elaris laughed, the sound light and unforced. “Careful, you might make her blush.”

I snorted. “She’d probably set me on fire instead.”

A pause settled between us, not awkward—just comfortable. Familiar.

Then she leaned in slightly, her voice low.

“Thanks for coming by that morning. It meant more than I said.”

I nodded. “Next time, just don’t scare me like that again.”

“I’ll try,” she said softly. “But no promises. You’re stuck with me now, Arthur.”

I looked at her, my chest tightening—not with fear this time, but something warmer. Something that made the world feel just a bit more bearable.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m okay with that.”

The sky was painted in gold and soft violet, the sun beginning its slow descent beyond the edge of the floating horizon. A breeze stirred the hanging lanterns above the path, and the scent of distant pine wafted through the air.

Elaris and I walked side by side in silence for a while, our steps soft on the cobbled path that ran along the overlook. The clouds below drifted like lazy rivers, slow and aimless.

Her arm was still braced in a support wrap, though the swelling had gone down. She kept her hands clasped in front of her, eyes on the horizon, distant and unreadable.

“You sure you’re up for walking this far?” I asked.

Elaris gave me a sideways glance, a small smirk forming. “If I survived a duel and a week of the nurse’s lavender tea, I can survive a stroll.”

“Fair enough,” I said, chuckling.

A few more steps passed between us before her voice softened.

“My father’s magic is Memory magic,” she said suddenly, without preamble. “Mastered it before he was twenty. He can pull details from someone’s mind with barely a touch. Rewind his own memories to relive any moment he’s ever seen. Imprint memories on others like it was the easiest thing in the world.”

I blinked, unsure what had prompted her to share that—but I listened.

“I inherited the same affinity,” she continued. “At least, on paper. But no matter how hard I try… I can’t use it.”

Her pace slowed as she stared down at her feet. “Not properly. I can memorize the names of a few spells like everyone else. But I can’t dive into someone’s thoughts. I can’t imprint memories or lock away emotions like my father does. And believe me, I’ve tried.”

She looked up again, her expression distant. “He keeps telling me it’ll click. That it just takes time. But time keeps passing, and I’m still… stuck.”

I stopped walking.

“You’re not stuck,” I said. “You’re just not him.”

Elaris turned to face me fully.

“I’m not trying to be,” she said, though her tone made it sound like maybe—just maybe—she was.

“I don’t care how long it takes,” I added. “You don’t have to be your father. You just have to be you. And if that means your strength lies somewhere else, so be it.”

She let out a dry laugh. “Easy to say. Not so easy to believe when your whole family looks at you like a broken branch on the family tree.”

I stepped closer. “Then maybe it’s time someone planted a new tree.”

She blinked at me. “That… was cheesy.”

“Yeah, well,” I rubbed the back of my neck, “I didn’t say it was a good metaphor.”

But she laughed—genuinely this time—and the weight in her shoulders seemed to ease a little.

A breeze tugged at her hair, and she looked out again over the edge of the island. The clouds below shifted in brilliant hues of gold and orange.

“I love it here,” she whispered. “Not just the island. The whole academy. It’s the only place I’ve ever felt like I wasn’t… just someone’s daughter. Here, I can be whoever I want. I don’t have to succeed at memory magic. I can just… exist.”

I stood beside her, quietly.

And for the first time, I saw her—not just as the clever girl who challenged me with smirks and wit, but as someone just as unsure, just as tired of expectations, as I was.

“I think you’re already stronger than you know,” I said.

She looked at me. “And I think you’re getting better at this whole talking thing.”

“That’s debatable.”

Elaris smiled faintly, then leaned her head lightly against my shoulder. “Thanks, Arthur.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to.

We stood like that for a while—two people escaping their own shadows, just long enough to see the sky.

Later that evening, after the quiet had settled and the stars had begun to blink into the darkening sky, we made our way down to the lower wing of the Academy. Neither of us said much, but something unspoken passed between us—an understanding. She needed help. I wanted to give it. Not because I owed her, but because I finally understood what it meant to carry weight you couldn’t set down alone.

The training rooms in the lower wing of the Academy were quieter this time of day—just past sunset. The pale blue glow of the mana crystals embedded in the walls gave everything a soft, dreamlike hue. Elaris sat cross-legged on a circular training mat, her arm finally healed, though a faint scar peeked out beneath her sleeve. Her brows were drawn together in concentration.

“You sure you want to do this now?” I asked, standing a few paces away, my arms folded.

She nodded. “I have to get better at this… and I trust you.”

That last part surprised me more than it should have. She wasn’t usually so open—not when it came to things that made her feel weak.

She closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. “We’ll use Memories’ Mirror first. That’s the one that lets me… well, see your memories.”

I moved closer and knelt across from her. “Just… don’t go too far.”

“I’ll try not to.” She gave a small, shaky smile. “But I’ll need your help focusing on the right memory. Think of the time—when it happened. Make it clear in your mind.”

I hesitated, but then nodded slowly. “A couple months ago. The day everything changed.”

Her hand rose gently and came to rest against the side of my head, her palm warm against my temple. Her other hand clutched the edge of her skirt, knuckles white with nervous tension.

She began to speak, softly.

“Memories’ Mirror.”

Her mana flared—not violently, but uncertain, flickering like a candle in the wind.

The world around us dimmed.

And then it shifted.

Then came the cellar.

Torchlight flickered across stone walls, and the creak of old wood echoed in the silence. I recognized it instantly. The stale air. The heavy silence before everything broke apart.

“No,” I whispered, too late.

The memory played anyway.

Father’s voice boomed in the tight space, firm and final as he handed me the sword. “Protect your sister. I must help the village.”

The sound of the cellar doors slamming shut rang in my ears like a final goodbye. Screams tore through the memory—so vivid, so alive.

I felt her breath catch beside me. Elaris.

Her mana wavered, but she didn’t pull away.

The moment warped forward. The crash. The Cryall. Its hulking frame blocked the cellar light. My younger self froze as it tore through the doors, then lunged.

Rias screamed.

Elaris flinched violently beside me. Her breath hitched—shallow, horrified.

The Cryall’s claws raked across Rias’s face. Blood sprayed. My younger self didn’t move. Not yet. Not until it was almost too late.

“Stop,” I muttered. “You went too far…”

But the spell held. She clung to it.

I felt her tears hit my shoulder.

You saw it now, didn’t you?

The coward I was.

The monster I let touch my sister.

And then, the moment broke—my younger self finally moved, leaping onto the Cryall’s back, only to be thrown. The splintering of wood. The desperate scramble for the table leg. The thrust into its throat.

The beast died.

But the scene didn’t fade.

Rias was bleeding. Barely conscious. And I…

I grabbed the torch.

The flames hissed against her skin.

Elaris let out a choked sob. Her grip faltered, but didn’t break.

I turned to look at her—really look.

Her face had gone pale. Eyes wide and glassy. The kind of look someone wears when their heart’s been shattered in real time.

And still, she watched.

She watched me press the fire to my sister’s face.

Watched me scream into the dark.

Watched me fail.

The memory shattered like glass.

The warmth of Elaris’s hand slipped away from my forehead, and I blinked, dragging myself back into the present. The soft glow of the training room returned—mana crystals humming faintly in the walls, dust motes floating through still air.

Elaris was pale.

Her hands trembled in her lap, and her eyes shimmered with something more than just magic—horror, sympathy… sorrow.

“I-I didn’t mean to go that far,” she whispered. “I was only trying to—just the last year or so—”

“It’s okay,” I said, voice low. “You didn’t know.”

She looked at me then—not the way most people do. Not with pity. Not with fear. But like she’d glimpsed something raw and broken, and chose not to turn away.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed.

I gave a soft shake of my head. “You don’t need to be.”

Silence lingered, filled only by the quiet thrum of mana in the walls.

I stared down at my hands, the same ones that once held a torch to my sister’s wounds. They didn’t shake anymore. Not the way they did back then. But the weight of them… it never really left.

“I guess,” I said, “now you know my baggage. My failure. Why I train so hard. Why I push myself to learn more, to become stronger—smarter.”

I met her gaze.

“Because if I don’t… things like that happen. People get hurt. People I care about.”

My voice cracked on the last part. I swallowed it down.

“When you got hurt, Elaris… I felt it again. That helplessness. That same pit in my chest.” I looked away. “Like I’d failed all over again.”

She didn’t say anything.

But then she moved—just a small shift forward. Her fingers brushed against mine. A silent reassurance.

“You didn’t fail,” she said quietly. “Not then. Not now.”

Her words settled into me, deeper than I expected.

And for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel like I was drowning in the past.