O Lover of Wisdom
O lover of wisdom.
"As of yesterday, the magic lessons are over," Carnepisara said.
I started to raise my hand, then stopped.
"Huh? Why?"
"How am I supposed to teach you when I'm the one who falls short in magic?"
He was far too brazen about it.
So brazen that, for a moment, I couldn't even react.
Traces of yesterday's snow still lingered in the gorge. White patches clung in every crevice of the rocks, and wherever the sunlight touched them they melted into thin rivulets that trickled away. The young dragons chased those little streams. The hatchlings had buried their heads in snowdrifts and left only their rear ends sticking out, while Alduin watched the snow melt off his black scales with what looked suspiciously like quiet pleasure.
Masor was a little farther off.
Or rather, he seemed farther off. Each time a snowflake landed on his body, an invisible outline flickered into view for an instant, and with a soft sagak the flake was sliced thin and scattered.
Gargantua sat at the base of the cliff. His enormous eyes were half-lidded, but his ears were turned toward us.
And I—
I had fully intended to take another magic lesson today.
Yesterday there had been an accident. I admitted that much.
But it had been beautiful.
The children had loved it. A hatchling had eaten snow and recoiled in shock, the young ones had flung themselves into the drifts, and Alduin had kept glancing at the snow while pretending not to care.
So I had been looking forward to today, just a little. I thought we would finally learn properly. Yesterday had been an accident. From today on, real foundational lessons: sensing mana, practicing formulas, making a single ripple, producing one tiny flame—step by careful step.
Instead, Carnepisara's opening words had been that magic lessons were over.
And the reason he gave was that he himself was outmatched.
"Hold on."
I raised my hand.
"That doesn't sound right."
"Which part?"
"All of it."
"If you would be so kind as to specify, I would be grateful."
"The part where the teacher tells the student he's inferior to her in magic."
"It is a fact."
Carnepisara was utterly serene. There was no embarrassment on his wrinkled face, no frustration, no wounded pride. He spoke as calmly as if he were commenting on the morning weather.
"In technique I am overwhelmingly superior."
"Well, that much I'd expect."
"In knowledge, in formulas, in combat experience, and in the sheer volume of magical accidents I have caused—I am superior in all of those as well."
"That last one is a brag?"
He smiled.
"But status is different."
I closed my mouth.
Status.
The thing Carnepisara had kept talking about yesterday. Mana is a voice, and magic is speaking to the world, he had said. To whisper in a king's ear, your rank must match, he had also said.
At the time I had thought it was just a metaphor. Or rather, a slightly strange one. But ever since the sky had listened to my private thoughts yesterday and answered with snow, those words had stayed lodged in my mind.
Had I shouted at a king? Or had the king simply been standing right beside me?
Carnepisara lifted his staff and pointed at the sky where yesterday's snow had fallen.
"I negotiate with the world."
"Mm."
"I state my conditions, pay the price, and if I am refused I offer different terms."
He drew a small circle on the ground with the tip of his staff.
"I knock on the door, you see."
He dotted a tinier point beside the circle.
"If there is no answer, I must knock again."
A line stretched out from the point.
"I study who the doorkeeper is, remember which words he dislikes, and wait a long time for the moment the door will open."
He looked at me.
"You, however, Lady Lakia, stood before the door."
"Mm."
"And the door opened from the inside first."
I had nothing to say. The metaphor fit too well. It did not make me feel good.
"So for me to teach you nothing but how to knock on doors would be ridiculous."
Carnepisara said it flatly.
"You can still learn, of course."
"Then just teach me."
"Yes. You can learn."
Carnepisara smiled. My head began to ache a little. I had come for magic lessons; the first day had produced an accident, and on the second day the teacher was declaring his own defeat. I felt no sense of victory at all. More than winning, it felt as if I had somehow lost the right to take the class.
No—even that phrasing was wrong. Carnepisara had not given up on me. If anything, his eyes were more serious than before.
"So what are we doing today?"
I asked.
"Philosophy."
"Philosophy?"
The moment the word appeared, something very small inside me lifted its head.
Philosophy.
Hmm.
This was different. Magic was unfamiliar. Dragon Speech was unfamiliar, and so was the art of negotiating with the world. But philosophy...! Philosophy was a field I knew a little about.
In my previous life I had majored in philosophy. Of course, I had no idea how useful that would be in this world. Still. Ethics. Epistemology. Ontology. Free will. Utilitarianism. Deontology. Virtue ethics. Just hearing the names was exhausting, and every exam season they had made me clutch my head—but at least I was not a complete stranger to those dreadful things.
In front of magic I flinched. In front of philosophy, maybe I could feel just a tiny bit of confidence.
I straightened my posture for no good reason.
"Ahem. Philosophy, then."
"Yes."
"I actually feel pretty solid about that."
Carnepisara looked at me.
"Is that so."
"Yeah."
"Excellent."
His smile deepened a fraction.
"The sound a specialist makes when they break is always the clearest."
"Wait."
Cancel that. Philosophy was scary too. Mentally I was already a little broken, but Carnepisara simply took his staff and walked on at a leisurely pace. He stood on a rock where the snow had melted. Thin water ran beneath his feet, yet the hem of his robe never got wet. A small magic, no doubt. Even that small magic was so natural it barely registered.
"Lady Lakia."
"Mm."
"What do you believe philosophy to be?"
I thought for a moment. The question was far too broad. What is philosophy? The kind of question a professor tosses out in a lecture hall that makes every student look away.
I answered halfway.
"Someone's subjectivity?"
"A little more."
"The work of asking what is right, what exists, what we can know—things like that."
"Good."
Carnepisara nodded.
"Then today I will ask what is right."
"Ethics, then."
"Yes."
"Fine by me."
I relaxed a little. Ethics. At least it was not completely foreign. Right and wrong of actions. Consequences and duty. The value of life. Difficult subjects, but the starting point was familiar.
Then Carnepisara's next words smashed that small relief to pieces.
"If tonight I set my sights on the throat of one of your dragons, what would you do?"
The gorge went quiet. Even the sound of running water thinned. At first I thought I had misheard.
"What?"
"If tonight I set my sights on the throat of one of your dragons, Lady Lakia, what would you do?"
Carnepisara repeated the same words, more clearly, more calmly. I looked at him slowly.
"Carnepisara."
"Yes, Lady Lakia."
"You're calling that a question?"
"Yes."
He did not retreat an inch. Alduin rose. His black scales shifted with a low rumble.
Krrrrr.
The sound of breath boiling deep in his throat. I started to raise my hand and stopped. This time I could not immediately forbid a breath attack. I was angry too. Masor's soft sagak had also fallen silent. When Masor made no sound, he was hiding. The hatchlings read the mood and ducked behind me. Gargantua's eyes opened fully. The wind along the cliff dropped lower.
Carnepisara received every one of those reactions and still never took his gaze from me.
"Sit," he said.
I almost laughed from sheer disbelief.
"Me?"
"Yes."
"After saying something like that?"
"That is precisely why you must sit."
"Carnepisara."
My voice had gone low. Even I could hear it.
"Don't use my children for your hypotheticals."
"If you refuse to imagine it, someone else will do so first."
The words settled on top of my anger.
"Dragons are mighty beings, but if it is I who stand at the peak of the elves... then a single adult dragon is easily killed."
Carnepisara said it. The entire gorge froze. The heat boiling in Alduin's throat sank deeper. Masor still made no sound. One of Gargantua's wings lowered with agonizing slowness. It felt as if a mountain were settling.
I swallowed.
"Easily?"
"Yes."
"In front of me?"
"If Lady Lakia regards me as a guest," Carnepisara's voice did not waver, "if Lord Alduin watches for your safety first," his gaze turned toward empty air, "if Lord Masor knows my position yet cannot leave your side," he looked at Gargantua this time, "and if Gargantua still accepts me as a friend—then under those conditions," he returned his eyes to me, "assuming a surprise attack, I could easily kill about five dragons."
I clenched my fists. Nails dug into my palms.
"Is that a threat?"
"It is a lesson."
"This?"
"Yes."
"Saying you can kill my children?"
"It is something Lady Lakia needs to hear."
"I don't want to hear it."
"You must hear the things you do not want to hear first."
"Why."
"The pleasant words already live in abundance inside you."
I glared at him. I was truly furious. My head burned. The snow-dusted gorge, the confidence I had felt about a philosophy lesson—all of it vanished. Standing before me was an old elf who had just spoken of my children's lives. Teacher. Friend of Gargantua. A polite, sly, dangerous guest. And right now—someone I hated enough to want to kill.
The moment that thought arrived, I grew angrier still. I hated the part of myself that wanted to kill him. And I also hated the idea of denying that feeling.
"I... I just don't understand why you'd even say something like that."
Carnepisara watched me quietly.
"Because people like me are the most dangerous of all."
I lost my words.
"A stranger is easy," Carnepisara said. "If they are outside the door, you bar it. If they carry a blade, you stay wary. If they show killing intent, you suppress them first."
He lightly tapped his own chest with the tip of his staff.
"But I am already inside the door."
The words entered coldly.
"I have spoken with you, given lessons, learned the names of several of your children, stand as Gargantua's friend, and slip past Lord Alduin's vigilance with a smile."
His eyes deepened.
"Danger does not always arrive with its fangs bared."
I could say nothing. Carnepisara was pressing me hard. Yet I also knew the words were not false. Rusting Harpoon Village. The humans who had touched a dragon. Everything that followed. Kingdoms. Elite patrols. Someone would try to hunt dragons out of fear. Someone would try to use them. Someone might approach smiling, speak kindly, become a guest, become a teacher—and then, one day, draw the knife.
"Lady Lakia."
Carnepisara spoke again.
"If I tried to kill a dragon, what would you do?"
I almost answered at once. Stop him. Of course I would stop him. But that was not the answer he wanted.
"I'd stop you."
"How?"
"However I had to."
"Too late."
The short reply stabbed into my chest.
"Then..."
I clenched my teeth.
"I'd stop you with Dragon Speech."
"And if I planted a formula beneath a heart before you could speak?"
"Masor would—"
"If Lord Masor is guarding your side."
"Then... then Gargantua would—"
"If he is half a beat late to doubt a friend."
Carnepisara took one step closer.
"Lady Lakia."
His voice was low.
"A decision delayed by even half a beat becomes death."
I couldn't breathe. Alduin gave a low cry—not anger this time, but worry. He had felt me waver. I did not look back at him. If I did, I would cry.
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
My voice cracked small.
Carnepisara answered.
"Kill me."
The gorge fell silent again. I stared at him.
"What?"
"If I am that sort of person," he said, "if I am someone who can reach your children—"
"Stop."
"If I can walk in smiling, observe every courtesy, teach a lesson, and one night plant a formula in a single heart—"
"I said stop."
"Then Lady Lakia must not hesitate to kill me."
I shot to my feet. Alduin rose with me. His black wings half-spread and cast a shadow across the floor of the gorge. My hands trembling, I glared at Carnepisara.
"Have you completely lost your mind?"
"Perhaps a little."
"Don't joke about this."
"It is not a joke."
Carnepisara did not lower his head.
"I am speaking of the thing Lady Lakia most recoils from."
"How am I supposed to kill you?"
"That answer is precisely the wrong one that makes the lesson necessary."
I stopped breathing. He looked at me.
"You said you had studied philosophy, did you not?"
"..."
"Good and evil."
He took a step.
"Duty and consequence."
Another step.
"The value of life."
The tip of his staff tapped the ground—tok.
"All of those words are good."
Tok.
"They are necessary."
Tok.
"But from the seat of a guardian, the question changes a little."
He stopped in front of me.
"When the moment comes that you must kill, by what standard will you move?"
My hands shook.
"I..."
"Remaining a good person and remaining a mother sometimes collide."
Carnepisara said it. The words were cruel. Yet they had not been spoken out of cruelty. That made them hurt more.
"I am not telling Lady Lakia to become wicked."
"Then what?"
"I am telling you not to let a kind heart make the decision in your place."
He spoke very slowly.
"I know your soft nature does not wish to take life, and I know how powerful even a single dragon is."
It felt like a continuation of words I had heard yesterday.
"Only—discard an attitude that is too hopeful."
The sentence lodged in my chest again.
"Humans grow cruel through fear," Carnepisara said. "And dragons can grow weak through your agape love."
"...Because of my love?"
"Lady Lakia stands between those two."
He said it.
"While you hesitate, one of the two will move first."
My anger cooled by degrees. It did not vanish completely. I was still furious. But what I hated and what needed to be said were different matters.
I sat down slowly. Alduin came straight to my side. His great head lowered near my shoulder. I reached out and touched the tip of his nose. It was hot. He was alive. He was my child.
"I..."
My voice would not come out properly.
"I don't want to kill you."
Carnepisara answered gently.
"Do not throw that feeling away."
I looked at him.
"But?"
"That feeling must never outrank the lives of your children."
I closed my eyes.
It hurt. It hurt too much.
I had been confident about philosophy. At least a little. Discussing good and evil, comparing duty and consequence, speaking of the value of life, recalling the sentence that one must never treat another as a mere means—those things I could do. But the question Carnepisara had thrown was not shaped like that.
Can you kill the smiling teacher?
For the children.
Without hesitation.
When that moment comes.
"Is today's lesson just you tormenting me?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"It is fixing the location of hesitation."
Carnepisara said.
"Hesitation itself is not a bad thing."
I opened my eyes.
"You just said a delay means death."
"Hesitate until the decision is made."
He remained calm.
"Look at every reason, every possibility, and doubt as much as you can."
Then he raised his staff.
"But once the decision is made—"
His voice dropped.
"Move."
I listened to those words for a long time.
Hesitate until you decide. Once you decide, move. That was the philosophy I needed to learn. Not philosophy at a desk, but philosophy in the middle of a gorge. Philosophy that had to distinguish guest from teacher from enemy while a dragon's life hung in the balance.
"Carnepisara."
"Yes."
"If the moment ever comes when I have to kill you—"
The words were so heavy that just speaking them hurt my throat.
"I'll make absolutely sure to kill you."
Carnepisara looked at me for a moment. Then he smiled softly.
"That concludes today's lesson. Your grade... I'll give you an A-plus."
Truly, he was an absurd creature.