The alleys of the Aethelgard Academy of Magic echoed that afternoon like a symphony of orchestrated chaos. The rumble of dozens of leather boots striking the ancient stone floor created a rhythmic backdrop to the lives of aspiring sorcerers. Joyful laughter from the recreation room mingled with the whispers of incantations from fellow students practicing in the corridors. Occasionally, the pop of failed spells reached the ears, followed by muted exclamations, emanating from behind tightly shut classroom doors. In this world brimming with wonder, failure was the most familiar companion.

  Far from the bustle, in a forgotten corner of the rarely visited backyard garden, Fitran, Rinoa, and Liora discovered their little haven. They sat together beneath the sheltering boughs of an ancient silver willow, its branches cascading gracefully like a protective curtain from the outer world. Before them, on a simple cloth, lay a lunchbox containing soft cheese sandwiches and several fresh apples. Yet, what captured their attention most were the three crystal glasses filled with Liora's latest experimental brew. The liquid within swirled slowly, each emanating a soft glow from within: sky blue, lavender purple, and emerald green.

  Liora gazed at her two friends, her eyes shining with hope, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of anxiety and pride. She gently twisted the edge of her slightly worn robe, as if seeking the strength hidden within the fabric.

  Liora: “Come on, let’s give it a try! I promise this time it will surely work. I took the formula directly from the Grimoire of Advanced Alchemy stored in the central library. The manuscript states that this drink can sharpen concentration and calm the nerves, especially during final exams.”

  Fitran cautiously accepted the blue glass offered to him. He didn’t touch it to drink; instead, he brought it closer to his nose, inhaling the faint effervescence as if testing the potion’s potency. An odd aroma reminiscent of ozone after a storm wafted up, intertwined with a hint of slightly burnt caramel, tickling his senses. He held back a laugh that threatened to erupt at any moment.

  Fitran: “Concentration, or will I end up forgetting my own name, Liora? I’m being serious here. There’s nothing more pitiful than suddenly forgetting my name in front of Lord Ghalib tomorrow. You know his sharp gaze when someone missteps with a single phrase. I could very well be facing a week of cleaning the griffon’s cage as punishment.”

  Rinoa chuckled softly, her light laughter reminiscent of wind chimes on a spring day. Without hesitation, she grasped her purple glass, swirling it for a moment, causing the liquid within to shimmer under the golden sunlight of the late afternoon.

  Rinoa: “Trust Liora, you must! What do you have to lose, really? After all, the worst that can happen is you faint for a moment, and I can heal you in the blink of an eye. But who knows, maybe after sipping this potion, Fitran the non-magic can chant fire spells just like those arrogant students at the Ivory Tower!”

  Liora smiled wryly at Rinoa’s defense, and the tension in her shoulders seemed to ease just a bit. She raised her green glass, looking ready to make a toast.

  Liora: “Well, listen to Rinoa! You all always doubt the experiments I concoct. Remember the luck potion I acquired last month? After you drank it, you scored a perfect mark in Herbology class, Rinoa. That wasn’t just a coincidence!”

  Fitran snorted, though a smile lingered at the corners of his lips. “That’s because she studied all night until she was barely awake, Lio. It wasn’t just because of your drink that tasted like a soggy sock soaked in sugar water.”

  Rinoa: “Hey! It doesn’t taste nearly as bad as you claim,” Rinoa protested, pretending to sulk. She then took a sip of her own drink, her eyes going wide in surprise. “Oh… this one… is far better. It tastes like wild plums and… there’s a tingle on my tongue. Not bad at all.”

  Watching Rinoa's reaction, Fitran felt utterly helpless. He shrugged his shoulders while sipping from his blue glass of ale. The taste that flowed over his tongue was peculiar, a strange blend of cold and warmth melding into one experience, leaving behind a trace of mint and a spark of electricity that danced in his mouth. He did not feel any significant change, at least not for the moment.

  Liora observed intently, her eyes shining with hope. After a brief silence, her expression shifted to one of seriousness, more fragile. “Fitran, Rinoa... if one day you both become famous witches... please don’t forget about me, alright? Especially you, Fitran. If you suddenly find yourself able to cast magic, there’s no doubt the Royal Elite Knights will be eager to recruit you. They are always searching for someone like you. Don’t let the two of us be left behind here.”

  The tone of her voice betrayed a genuine fear, revealing a vulnerability she rarely displayed. In this academy, hierarchy was determined by the strength of magic. Fitran, though devoid of even the slightest magical talent, possessed remarkable tactical intelligence and extraordinary composure, earning him respect among peers. Rinoa was a natural healer, her potential often compared to that of masters in the craft. On the other hand, Liora, whose alchemical experiments often met with failure, felt herself to be the weakest link, vulnerable to being left behind.

  Fitran paused for a moment, his mischievous smile slowly fading. Carefully, he set down his glass as the sun dipped on the horizon, drawing his gaze towards the twilight sky, which radiated hues of orange, purple, and indigo, as though painting the heavens. A comforting silence enveloped them, occasionally stirred by the gentle breeze flowing through the silver willow leaves.

  Fitran: “I won’t go anywhere,” he said, his voice deep and calm, as if affirming a promise sturdier than the stone walls of this academy. “I will always be here, by your side. Whoever I might become in the future, with or without magic, it won’t change anything. I swear.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  He spoke those words with unwavering conviction. Rinoa gazed at Fitran, her usual warmth replaced by a subtle sadness that was difficult to decipher.

  Rinoa: “That promise... is a heavy burden, Fitran. Don’t speak it lightly. The world beyond the walls of this academy is not as perfect as we imagine. The war in the north is spreading. My father used to say that the world often has a cruel way of making people forget their vows. Fate is oftentimes stronger than our desires.”

  Liora lowered her head, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her faded cloak. Her voice emerged softly, clear like the whisper of the wind traversing the silent space.

  Liora: “I care not for fate or war. All I desire is for us to remain as we are. Together. Forever. It matters not whether we become the Grand Sorceress, Royal Knight, or mere potion shopkeepers in a remote village at the edge of the world.”

  The gentle breeze swept through once more, carrying the scent of damp earth after rainfall and the distant chime of dinner bells resonating deep within the main hall. Laughter, once muffled, now flowed freely, mingling with light-hearted chatter about their peculiar teachers, silly adolescent jokes, and the earnest feelings that were difficult to express with words. They formed an anomaly: a budding healer with a serene spirit, an awkward alchemist, and a non-magical soul. Yet, beneath that willow tree, they were an inseparable unity, whole and complete.

  In the midst of their conversation, a sudden explosion reverberated through the tranquil evening, shattering the silence and causing the ground beneath them to tremble. Dhuuuum! The sound originated from the direction of the front yard, powerful enough to make the glasses resting on the cloth quiver anxiously. The blast was immediately followed by the panicked screams of several students, sharp and filled with a palpable fear.

  Rinoa sprang to her feet, nearly losing her grip on her glass. Her watchful eyes darted to Fitran and Liora, as if seeking guidance from them.

  Rinoa: “That’s not the sound of a magic practice session. It’s... it’s uncontrollable. I can feel it. Wild energy surging through the air.”

  Fitran was already standing, his body taut like a bowstring drawn tight. His face, once calm, now transformed into a mask of tension. His instincts took over, urging him to act.

  Fitran: “We need to get to the front. Now. Run, don’t walk casually. We can’t let anyone get seriously hurt.”

  Liora, her face as pale as linen, grasped Rinoa's arm tightly, her body trembling with fear. “I’m coming with you. Please… don’t leave me here alone…”

  Without wasting a moment, they quickly fled. Fitran took the lead, charging through the underbrush that separated the back garden from the main corridor with impressive speed. They darted down hallways now filled with chaos, passing students who were running in a panic, faces etched with confusion and fear. At the front of the school's main gate, a shocking sight became clear: a small crater belching thick black smoke at the center of the practice field, and at its edge, someone lay helpless on the ground. Dozens of other students gathered around, yet none dared to approach; they could only shout or stare with helpless eyes.

  Without hesitation, Fitran stepped forward, pushing through the crowd with his impressive natural authority.

  “Step back! Give him space to breathe!” he said in a firm voice. “Do not crowd in; you will only make things worse! Anyone who cannot help, please step aside!”

  His voice was clear and calming, cutting through the wave of hysteria around him like a hot knife through butter. The crowd hesitated for a moment before slowly backing away, finally creating a path. Rinoa immediately knelt beside the injured student—a first-year boy, his robe scorched in several places, his face pale. She extended her hands, radiating a gentle green light as she began to channel healing energy into the boy’s body.

  Rinoa said, “He’s suffered from a powerful shock spell, but his heart is still beating. His wounds aren’t severe, but he needs to be taken to the clinic for further treatment right away. Fitran, please help me lift him. Liora, could you grab his bag and check if there’s anything sharp inside that could harm him?”

  Fitran nodded, carefully lifting the student's body alongside another senior who finally found the courage to step forward and offer help. As they hurried across the courtyard toward the clinic wing, Liora followed behind, carrying the boy's bag. She stared at the backs of her two friends, a swirl of emotions overwhelming her—pride in their bravery and resilience, yet sadness at her own inability to contribute more than this small gesture. Fear gnawed at her heart as she envisioned a day when the world would demand so much more from them, leaving her feeling powerless to protect them in return.

  When they turned the boy over to the nurses at the clinic, Liora gently pulled on the sleeve of Fitran's shirt. Her voice trembled, yet beneath it lay a deep-seated admiration.

  Liora: “You know, Fitran, it’s as if you never doubt what needs to be done. Even without a drop of magic, you are the most reliable person here. Far more than the Elite Knights who can only showcase their strength.”

  Fitran turned to her, his face betraying exhaustion, yet a small smile crept upon his lips, bringing a sense of calm—one that always made Liora feel protected.

  Fitran: “I’m only doing what I can, Liora. Whether through magic or otherwise, in the end, we are all merely human. We each have different ways of fighting and protecting what is dear to us.”

  That moment, filled with the warmth of friendship and unspoken trust, seemed to freeze in Fitran's mind—a perfect, shimmering crystal of memory. Yet, slowly but surely, the world around him began to waver. Liora's laughter and Rinoa's healing light started to fade, replaced by a sharp static hum that stung the air. The sturdy walls of the academy and the orange sky began to fracture, like brittle old glass. All sounds, colors, and the precious scents of memories were violently torn apart, swept away and vanished like fog dispersed by a cold morning wind.

  A sharp pain pierced Fitran's chest, jolting him awake. His breath was ragged, trapped in his throat as if he had just been pulled from deep waters. The sweet memories of the magic school seemed to evaporate in an instant—replaced by the sharp stench of rusty metal, rancid oil, and dust that pricked at his nose. The once melodious chime of the academy bells had transformed into the monotonous hum of relentless heavy machinery. The flickering neon lights of the sickly city blinked above him, casting a pale, blinding glow. Suddenly, everything plunged into darkness. Fitran felt as though he was staring at a sky that spun rapidly. And ....

  Fitran regained consciousness. Rinoa still slumbered before him. He gently stroked Rinoa's cheek as she lay in front of him.

  Fitran thought to himself, his voice like an empty whisper, filled with bitterness. “What dream was that just now? Have Rinoa and I known each other since long ago? That world ...... My mind cannot grasp it all?”