Cramming Education
Cramming Education
After deciding to learn magic, I was honestly a little excited.
Just a little.
...Actually, quite a lot.
Couldn't help it.
It was magic.
Magic.
Not imagining a small flame blooming at your fingertips, water droplets floating round in the air, wind curling like a ribbon—that would be the stranger thing.
And I was the mother of dragons.
The important part was that I was the mother of dragons.
I could show off in front of the kids.
"Kids, Mom learned magic."
Saying that while floating a single small starlight on my palm.
Then the baby dragons would round their eyes and cry kiiing.
Alduin would pretend not to care at first, then eventually lower his head to peer at my palm.
Masor would approach from somewhere invisible, making rustling sounds.
And if I told him he mustn't cut it, he would pause, then make a very small sagak of pure grievance.
Masor was a good kid who didn't just cut whatever he pleased.
Perfect.
The picture was perfect.
My dignity as a mother would even rise a little!
Until now I had mostly scolded.
This is forbidden, that is forbidden, everything is forbidden...
There was dignity in it, sure, but it put me more in the life-guidance-teacher category.
This time would be different.
Magic!
Magic would be different.
I would show them that Mom could do something too.
Even if my body was weak, my wrists sprained constantly, and a baby dragon's tail sent me rolling.
Still, if I could make even one sparkling thing with magic.
A little.
Really just a little.
Wouldn't that be cool?
Carrying that hope, I went to the lesson site.
The lesson site was a flat rock in the center of the canyon, a place Gargantua had prepared by laying the wind low.
Around the rock, young dragons sat in a wide circle, far enough back to watch.
They had come to observe class.
Alduin lay behind me. Morning sunlight settled on his black scales, and his golden eyes stayed fixed on Carnepisara.
My firstborn still did not fully trust the teacher.
Masor was on the right.
I couldn't see him, but I heard a soft sagak.
A sound he made on purpose.
The baby dragon sat at my left foot. At first it stayed quietly, then spotted its own tail and suddenly tried to bite it.
I lightly blocked it with my toe.
"No."
Kiiing.
"We're in class."
Kiiing...
"Don't act wronged."
The white baby dragon gave up on its tail and rested its chin on my hem.
Cute.
Extremely cute.
Succeeding at magic in front of this audience would feel pretty good.
I coughed to hide my anticipation.
Carnepisara saw it and smiled.
"You look pleased."
"I'm not."
Carnepisara laughed as if it were nothing.
As expected, that old elf could never be trusted with your guard down.
But today was the day I learned.
Learn well, succeed well, show off well.
The goal was clear.
Carnepisara planted his staff upright.
"Then let us begin."
I immediately opened my hand.
"Yeah."
"The foundation of magic is knowing the gap in status."
My hand froze in midair.
"Sta...tus gap?"
A strange phrase right from the start.
If this was the first sentence of a magic lesson, shouldn't it sparkle a little more?
Status gap...
Just hearing it chipped at my self-esteem.
I carefully asked,
"Do we have to do something that chips self-esteem from the very beginning?"
Carnepisara smiled gently.
"It is a little different from self-esteem."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"That's a relief."
"However, the process of knowing how small you yourself are is included."
"Then it is self-esteem."
"A little."
"That is not a little."
Carnepisara tapped the floor with his staff—tok.
At that small sound, the air of the canyon lowered a beat.
"Lady Lakia."
"Yeah."
"Magic is not kind to those who mistakenly believe themselves large."
That was a bit serious.
I closed my mouth.
A smile remained on Carnepisara's face, but his voice was lower than usual.
This old elf would crack strange jokes and then, without warning, speak like a wizard who had lived thousands of years.
Probably correct, but...
"One who uses magic must first know the distance between oneself and the world."
Carnepisara dotted a small point on the floor.
"This is the wizard."
He drew a large circle a little way off.
"This is the world."
I looked back and forth between the point and the circle.
"The difference is way too severe."
"I reduced it."
"This?"
"Yes."
"It's even worse?"
"The canyon floor is insufficient."
I stared at the tiny point on the floor.
My mood shrank for no good reason.
No—being rendered as a point would shrink anyone's mood.
I glanced at Alduin.
Alduin looked at the point and the circle, then glared at Carnepisara.
He probably did not like Mom being drawn as a point.
Firstborn.
Thanks, but endure it.
Breath is forbidden.
"Mana is a voice."
Carnepisara said.
"Voice?"
"Yes."
He drew a line from the small point toward the large circle.
The line did not go straight. It trembled slightly, folded, and knotted itself.
The shape looked like letters, or like a score.
Just a line scraped into dry dirt, yet it somehow seemed as if it might make sound.
"The wizard calls the world with the voice called mana."
Carnepisara pointed at the circle.
"Telling fire to burn, telling water to change its flow, telling wind to lend its direction for a moment."
I tilted my head.
"More polite than I expected."
"It must be polite."
Carnepisara spoke as if it were obvious.
"Because the other party is the world."
That was somewhat convincing.
When asking the world a favor, you could not casually go, "Hey, give me fire."
If you did, the roughly summoned fire would roughly burn the person.
"Mana is a voice, and the larger the being that will listen, the larger the voice with which you call."
Carnepisara continued.
"Well—it's the feeling of needing a matching rank if you want to whisper to a king."
"Whisper to a king."
I turned the metaphor over in my mind.
That Carnepisara was still alive was surely because he was strong.
Judging by the way he spoke, if he weren't strong the world would have smacked him long ago.
"Ordinary wizards have small voices."
Carnepisara pointed at the line on the floor.
"The world is far, and humans and elves and dwarves are small."
"Elves are small too?"
"Before the world."
"Even you, Carnepisara?"
"Of course."
He admitted it readily.
I was a little surprised.
"You're supposed to be a great wizard."
"Even a great wizard shows courtesy before the world."
Carnepisara laughed.
"The longer lived, the better they know."
"Know what?"
"That if you raise your voice wrongly before a large being, you die first."
Scary.
Magic explanation kept turning into a survival lecture.
I had come thinking of showing off to the kids.
Now, somehow, I was learning how to survive in front of the world.
"Therefore formulas are needed."
Carnepisara moved his fingers through the air.
Thin mana drew out like thread.
That thread did not stretch straight. It folded once, folded again, and formed a thin knot.
The knot soon became letters; the letters became a circle again.
I stared blankly at it.
It was beautiful.
Not a beauty that flashed and glittered.
It was precise.
A careful beauty, as if one strand going wrong would unravel everything.
"The formula is a sentence that organizes the voice."
Carnepisara said.
"What to say."
One mana thread shone.
"How large to make it."
Another thread shone.
"How far to make it reach."
A third.
"When to end it."
The last.
He lightly flicked his finger.
A small wind rose in the air.
A truly small wind.
It spun only on his palm, floated one mote of dust, set it down again, and spread no farther.
I rounded my eyes.
Carnepisara looked sincerely happy.
That man was certainly good at finding joy—opportunities to curse humans, dragon-glove aerial cavalry corps, reading a student's face and teasing her.
"This wind is small."
Carnepisara showed the wind on his palm.
"But maintaining it is difficult."
"More than making it large?"
"Generally, yes."
"Why?"
"Shouting with a large voice is easy."
He tilted his palm slightly.
The wind still spun only inside its small circle.
"But continuing to maintain a large voice is hard."
I was about to nod, then stopped.
Somehow it felt aimed at me.
...The reason magic class is hard seems not only because of the magic.
The teacher's way of speaking was hard too.
I began to grow nervous little by little.
At first I had been excited thinking of showing off to the dragons—making one sparkling thing at my fingertips, showing the kids, and being proud that Mom could do it too.
But Carnepisara's explanation grew deeper and deeper.
I understood little by little, yet...
The more I understood, the scarier it became.
Magic was not a sparkling toy. It was the act of speaking to a gigantic being.
If the other party heard wrong, or I spoke wrong, or the voice was too large, or I forgot the ending words—
After that, no one knew.
I looked down at my hands.
Small hands.
With these hands I was supposed to do that?
The me who until a moment ago had only thought of showing off suddenly felt childish.
"Are you nervous?"
Carnepisara asked.
"A little."
This time I did not deny it.
"Good."
"Good?"
"Yes. Because what Lady Lakia needs is caution."
Ugh.
I felt a little poked.
"Do I look like I lack caution?"
Carnepisara was silent a moment.
"If I answer, Lord Alduin will grow angry."
"That much?"
Grrr.
Alduin rumbled low.
I immediately raised my hand to stop my firstborn.
"Breath forbidden."
Grr.
"Don't make a face like you haven't said anything yet. Your eyes already did."
Alduin lowered his head, discontented.
Masor went sagak.
"Masor, cutting the teacher is also forbidden."
Sagak.
"Why are both of you acting wronged?"
Sagak...
"You thought it."
Carnepisara laughed contentedly beside us.
"To worry about my safety like this."
"Rather than the teacher's safety, it's the kids' education."
"Same direction."
"No."
"Similar."
"It is not."
Having that exchange loosened the tension a little.
I opened my hand again.
"Then what do we do first?"
"Today we do not make a voice."
Carnepisara said.
"Huh?"
"Only listen."
"But it's magic?"
"Because it is magic."
He placed a shallow bowl on the floor.
Water filled it—clear, as if scooped from the canyon waterside, the sky thinly reflected on its surface.
"You said mana is a voice."
"Before making a voice, one must know one's own breathing sound."
"Sounds plausible."
"Words prepared for a long time."
"As expected."
Carnepisara pushed the bowl in front of me.
"Please raise one ripple in the water."
I looked at the bowl.
"Hitting it with my hand is no good, right?"
"Correct."
"So I speak to the water and ask it to move?"
"Before that."
"Before?"
"Look at the water. And check whether the very small movement arising inside Lady Lakia touches the water."
"Difficult."
"Yes."
"Quick to admit."
"It is not an easy thing."
I swallowed.
Expectation shrank a little; tension grew.
Still, I wanted to try.
Magic.
Even if hard, it was magic.
The wish to show off in front of the kids still remained, just a little.
Very small.
I sat before the bowl.
I raised my fingertips above the water.
They did not touch.
A thin layer of air remained between fingertips and surface.
"Close your eyes."
I closed my eyes.
Darkness settled.
First I heard Alduin's breath—deep, hot, slow.
Next, Masor's rustling—thin, low, intentionally left.
The white baby dragon's tail tapping the floor, thok thok.
Farther off, young dragons murmuring low cries.
Wind circling Gargantua.
And—
Water.
At first I could not hear it.
The still water was quiet.
But not completely quiet.
The wood grain of the bowl supported the water.
Every time the ground trembled ever so slightly, the water shook from within.
Sunlight warmed the surface; that warmth sank downward.
My breath passed my fingertips and touched the water's face.
The water was hearing everything.
A strange sensation seized me.
The water was waiting, quietly.
"Good."
Carnepisara's voice reached me.
"Now wish."
...If I have to wish for something.
I'm thirsty, so it would be nice if the water became cool.
That was when it happened.
Softly.
White snow lay piled upon the rock.
Snowflakes sat on Alduin's black scales; Masor's invisible outline briefly appeared in white particles, then vanished.
"Kirung!"
"Kerruk."
"Kyahat!"
Pook. Pook. Pook.
Baby dragons were burying their faces in the snow.
Snow had settled thinly on Gargantua's great wings as well.
The canyon reflected in the bowl was quiet.
It was white.
Cold, clear, and strangely pretty.
I stared at it blankly.
"Snow..."
I muttered without meaning to.
Carnepisara looked at the bowl.
The smile on his face faded little by little.
"Lady Lakia."
"Yeah."
"What did you think just now?"
A truly light thought.
No intention of using magic, no speaking to the world.
Just...
Close to muttering inside myself.
It would be nice if snow fell in the canyon.
That much.
"That it would be good if the water became cool..."
I said quietly.
Carnepisara's face hardened.
"Did you speak it aloud?"
"No."
"Did you load mana?"
"I don't know."
"Did you form a formula?"
"...I haven't learned yet, so I can't make one."
"Did you request?"
"I didn't."
"Then."
Carnepisara very slowly looked up at the sky.
I followed his gaze.
The sky was clear.
Until just now.
Thin clouds were drifting across the blue.
Sunlight was warm, the rocks warm, the young dragons playing by the water ordinarily noisy.
But—
The clouds stopped.
The wind, for a moment, lost its way and fell quiet.
The sky above the canyon lowered, as if bowing its head to hear someone's words.
Gargantua slowly opened his eyes wide.
"Mother."
That voice rumbled like a mountain.
Alduin raised his body.
Masor's sagak cut off.
The white baby dragon lifted its head at my feet, not knowing why.
And the first snowflake fell.
It was small.
Pure white, light, unbelievably quiet.
The snowflake settled on the back of my hand.
Cold.
A second snowflake fell.
A third.
A fourth.
And soon white dots began to descend over the entire canyon.
It was daytime, full of sunlight.
The season was not one for snow.
The clouds had been thin until moments ago.
Yet the sky made snow fall.
Slowly.
Very carefully.
As if trying not to misinterpret someone's command, performing it as prettily and gently as possible.
I opened my mouth.
"Uh..."
Carnepisara said nothing.
He looked at the snowing sky.
On the old elf's face the smile had vanished.
Not a wizard's face—the face of a witness who had directly seen the world's reaction.
"Carnepisara."
My voice trembled a little.
"Did I... succeed at magic?"
Carnepisara did not answer at once.
Snow kept falling.
White dots settled on Alduin's black scales.
In the empty air where Masor was, snowflakes piled as if pausing for a moment, then scattered with a soft sagak.
The white baby dragon saw the snowflake on the tip of its nose, rounded its eyes, and immediately licked it.
Kiiing.
Then, startled by the cold taste, it tumbled backward.
Normally I would have laughed.
But I could not laugh.
Carnepisara spoke very low.
"Lady Lakia."
"Yeah."
I held my breath.
"You neither formed a formula, nor gathered mana to make a request."
"Then why is snow falling...?"
Carnepisara slowly looked at me.
In those eyes was an emotion I had never seen before.
Awe.
And wariness.
"...Because your status is higher than the sky, the sky paid its respects."
Carnepisara tightened his grip on the staff.
Wind blew through the canyon once more.
Snowflakes rode it and slowly scattered.
The children, one by one, began staring at the snow.
Young dragons, excited by the first white thing they had ever seen, wagged their tails.
Alduin came closer and lowered his body beside me.
Masor made a sound at my side.
Sagak.
Snow settled very thinly on his invisible back, then was cut away and scattered the next instant.
Gargantua looked up at the sky and spoke in a low voice.
"The gap in status between Mother and the world... Skhunal. Because Mother's status is higher, the world heard the command."
I slowly raised my head.
Snow was falling.
Because I had wished it.
Simply because I had thought it inside myself.
"Magic..."
One snowflake settled on my eyelash.
Cold.
Real.
"Scary."
Carnepisara did not answer.
Only after a while did he say, very quietly,
"Today's class ends here."
"Already?"
"Yes."
"I didn't learn anything."
"Hahaha. I learned."
"What."
"That with Lady Lakia, one must be far more careful than I thought."
I could not say a word.
Snow kept falling.
"Kuiiiing!"
"Kerruk kek!!"
"Ungwangwang!"
The baby dragon was already running after the snow, and the young dragons flew up, trying to catch the white pieces falling from the sky in their mouths.
"...I'll agree."
Me—I'm kind of a talent monster, aren't I.