An Ordinary Day
What a relief.
Yerna had barely slept these past few days, fretting herself sick. Only after seeing the review results could she finally set her mind at ease. With the various support funds coming through, looking after Luke would become that much easier.
"Luke, living out in the forest — it isn't too inconvenient for you, is it?"
"I'm fine. The forest suits me better."
"Hmm…"
Still, Luke had decided to remain in the forest. Receiving mana-fee assistance did not mean he would get the full three million gil. The support available to patients with Mana Heart Accumulation Syndrome — Circle patients, for short — capped out at one and a half million gil a year.
Of course, that amount would have been more than enough for most patients in most households…
Luke burned through twice that in a single month.
How stunned she had been at the time. Clearly that had not been a normal rate of consumption.
The kid made a mistake. I can't exactly scold him for it.
At any rate, something was far better than nothing. She could hardly complain that the annual support was too little. Yerna understood perfectly well that an entire system could not be rewritten for a single exceptional case. The government's welfare framework was already doing plenty of good.
And the city itself had been uncomfortable for Luke, too.
First Circle. A stage that still demanded a constant supply of mana. A First Circle was the most basic of mana circles, and the loss rate was impossible to ignore. Compare it to a water bottle without a lid. Even left alone, the water slowly evaporates — and the moment you look away, it spills. When mana drains like that, the circle howls for the depleted vessel to be refilled. Linked as it is to the heart, that howling brings pain; in severe cases, shock can cripple a person or kill them outright. So a mage ends up needing mana without end.
The principle was similar to the "compressed mana" used at mana power plants. Mana condensed until it turned violent was held in a controllable state — bound to one's own heart, spun in rotation, its ferocity preserved even as it was stabilized. That "violent" mana stored in a circle could then be readily reshaped and manifested as magic. That was the principle of Circle Magic.
The higher one's rank, the more dangerous a failed spell became for exactly that reason. Uncontrolled, violent mana thrashing inside the heart was a catastrophe waiting to happen.
Though these days, they can compress mana without binding it to the heart at all.
In the past, needing mana had not been a penalty. Mana simply existed everywhere. No one put a price on it. A mage could consume staggering amounts and it would not have mattered — so long as one was not relying on potions and mana stones.
Even so, Luke did not regret wrapping a circle around his heart.
I'll need a Second Circle sooner rather than later.
The rate of mana loss from a circle decreased with every layer stacked upon it. Luke was still spinning only a single circle, which was why the loss rate stood out so starkly. Circles were like gears. A lone circle grinding away on its own was bound to rattle and catch. No matter how gifted the mage, a single circle struggled to find its balance.
But a Second Circle? The second circle turned counter to the first, and stabilization set in. The more circles one added, the more stable and powerful the whole became. With every increase, mana loss dwindled. And when at last one reached the complete form — the Tenth — even an individual could generate mana on the scale of a World Tree.
Well, in this era, a Tenth Circle might not even be necessary…
There was the new Class Magic system, and the privileges that came with reaching the Tenth Circle did not look particularly useful. The world was thoroughly at peace; a Seventh Circle alone would more than suffice for personal advancement.
But a Seventh Circle… in Class terms, what sort of authority would that be?
Luke turned a page, recalling what had happened at the mana power plant. The "Strength Enhancement" Gerard had demonstrated before — he had been told it was a Class Three support spell. What reason had there been for classifying it as Class Three?
One thought led to another, and he found himself back at the incident in the high-pressure mana zone.
What was it that spirit said when it passed me mana? I regret never studying the spirit tongue.
This body, for whatever reason, seemed to possess a high affinity for spirits as well. He could see them, hear them, feel them. In truth, spirits — for whom mana was part of their very being — and mages — who interpreted, broke down, and stacked mana within themselves — were never going to get along. The gulf between mage and spirit ran deep, and Luke had never bothered learning a language he expected never to use.
Now he regretted it.
As if the thought had only just struck him, Luke spoke up.
"Yerna. There is something I would like to ask."
"Hm? Go ahead."
Yerna, pinning her hair in place, turned to him with a bright, beaming smile. The radiance of it directed at him made Luke suddenly self-conscious; he averted his eyes as he asked.
"Can you speak the spirit tongue?"
"The spirit tongue…?"
Yerna was thrown. The spirit tongue? Spirits did not exist in this age. Even if they did, they no longer spoke. So there could be no such thing as a spirit tongue.
She fretted over how to answer without shattering Luke's childlike innocence — then abandoned the effort entirely and chose flight.
"…Oh no, look at me. I just remembered something I completely forgot! I'll be right back!"
Thud!
"…"
Luke had no chance to stop her. Had it really been that urgent? Something about the whole exchange felt staged, but he did not press the point. Even among the renowned spirit-speakers of five thousand years ago, those who could truly command the spirit tongue had been vanishingly few. It was that difficult, that unstructured a language. So Yerna not knowing it was hardly strange. Come to think of it, people these days said they no longer even made contact with spirits. Communication must have broken down. Affinity and the ability to converse were not the same thing.
"Ere… Ere…"
The one word from the spirit's speech that he could still recall. It was not a failure of Luke's memory. Most of the spirit tongue consisted of sounds no human mouth could produce. Lacking tongues and vocal cords, their conversation was less language than waves of tone. Perfect comprehension of those subtle melodies was nearly impossible for anyone who was not a spirit themselves. The human brain registered such signals as noise, not speech.
In his former life, Luke had never even considered learning a language so hard to hear. More often than not, spirits learned human speech; humans almost never learned theirs.
Spirits did, however, always use sounds pronounceable by a human voice when it came to proper nouns. Just as mana existed nearly everywhere in the world, so did spirits. And they always longed for someone to call their names — so they fashioned those names in languages humans could speak. It was part of a spirit's nature to love attention.
"So 'Ere' must be a name…"
Ere. What did it mean? He had the sense he had heard it somewhere before, but where eluded him. He wrung his memory dry, turning the word over and over, yet the frustration showed no sign of lifting.
"Hmm…"
Perhaps he should seek out Gerard later. Of everyone he had met so far, Gerard was the closest thing to a true mage. He might know what "Ere" meant.
A little later, when lunchtime brought Yerna back, she found Luke scowling over a book inside his box. Why such a troubled expression?
"Lu, is something hard?"
At her question, Luke looked straight up at her.
"Ah, Yerna. Forgive me — I did not notice you had returned. Would you wait a moment? I shall get up shortly…"
"No, don't. Just stay comfortable, comfortable. Anyway, why were you making that face?"
"Ah, it is nothing to worry about. I was merely thinking."
"That so?"
As Luke smoothed his expression and returned to his book, Yerna suddenly remembered her promise to Daphne.
She did ask me to take some cute pictures of Lu, didn't she?
Daphne had been the one to tell her about the temporary guardianship extension. Sending a few photos of Luke was the least she could do. She had already received that earlier picture, and Luke did not seem to mind being photographed.
Holding up her phone, Yerna said,
"Luke, look over here."
"Hm? Ah — a photograph. Very well."
Luke naturally formed a V-sign with his fingers and held it beside his face.
"Pff—"
Oddly enough, whenever a photo was being taken, Luke always made that V. Did he actually enjoy being photographed? When she had first shown him a picture of himself, he had been delighted — she almost wished she had captured that reaction, too.
Does this kid actually know how cute he is?
Her shoulders shook as she fought back laughter. The delay made Luke wonder what had gotten into her.
"Why are you laughing? Stop that and take it already."
"Ah, sorry, sorry. Taking it now."
To Luke, Yerna's sudden fit of giggles simply looked strange.
Click!
And so the photo captured Luke inside a box, reading a book, holding up a V-sign.
This ought to make Daphne happy.
Yerna smiled with satisfaction at the result.
"Want to see how it came out?"
Luke answered at once.
"Of course."
He was not one to pass up a chance to examine a phone.
"Here — what do you think?"
Yerna handed him the device. Luke accepted it carefully, checked the screen, and marveled once more.
No matter how many times I see it, this magic never ceases to amaze.
As always, he was immediately absorbed by the magical processing of that planar-manifestation formula called a "photograph." That a human hand could construct an array of such precision — every time he witnessed the way this power was used, wonder seized him anew.
"Did it come out well?"
"Ah, yes. It turned out fine."
In truth, Luke had little interest in what the photo actually showed, but he saw no reason to claim it had come out poorly, so he offered a vague affirmation.
Permission granted, Yerna took the phone back.
"Oh, right, Lu. Want to go for a walk after we eat?"
"A walk?"
"Yeah. Let's get some air after lunch. Being cooped up inside all the time isn't great, right?"
Yerna had been so frantic this past week that she had not managed a single walk with Luke. He was a child, and he loved walks — failing to take him out because of her own circumstances left her deeply apologetic.
"Very well. Let us do that."
Luke did not refuse. Wandering outdoors was far better for replenishing mana than sitting indoors filling it.
"Great. Then let's eat."
Luke nodded and accepted the lunchbox Yerna had packed. The menu, as always: salad and canned food. The same meal every time. He had not particularly minded until now, but honestly, he was growing tired of it. He cracked open the can, dumped its contents onto the portion of salad Yerna had brought for him, mixed it thoroughly with a fork, and began to eat — and found himself, today of all days, craving Daiton's cooking again. The taste of those skewers was burned deep into his memory.
After the meal, Luke asked Yerna,
"Daiton has been entirely absent of late. Has something happened?"
Yerna hesitated a beat, then asked in a serious tone,
"…Lu. Do you miss Daiton?"
Miss him? That was not the feeling at all. Luke shook his head.
"I would not call it missing him. I was simply a little concerned. We have not seen him once this entire week."
"So you're worried about him?"
"Indeed. And his cooking was rather to my liking. With him nowhere to be found, I can hardly ask for it again."
"…"
Yerna wore a troubled look as she thought it over.
I should take him along for a hospital visit later…
…She had gotten a bit too excited that time and misjudged her strength.