2 years later
It has been two years since the assassination incident; time passed quickly, yet the news behind the attempt remained scarce. It had been carried out so discreetly that the investigation proved to be almost a failure. As a result, the control around the prince had become heavier and heavier; more guards were hired, especially near him. The Lindell princess still came to the palace sometimes—perhaps because Aslan's mother and her mother were friends, or perhaps because of the regular discussions Aethan and Darius had regarding some matter.
I had grown comfortable in calling both Emperor Darius and the Empress my parents; perhaps they'd already grown on me, Aslan thought while sitting in the palace garden. I had also grown enough to finally move on from gibberish... Even though it wasn't perfect yet, Aslan could now speak in understandable language.
Still remember that day when I first referred to them as such... They smiled so wide that the day became a national holiday, Aslan recalled with a smile.
"Mother," Aslan had said.
"Wait! Did you hear that?" Empress Aurora exclaimed, immediately dropping her hairbrush onto the floor.
"He just spoke!" the Emperor said, running toward Aslan before picking him up in a tight hug.
"Now say 'mine,'" the Emperor prompted eagerly.
"Father," Aslan replied shyly.
"Yes! YES! Father! I ought to make this day a public holiday," the Emperor said cheerfully.
The air around him in the palace garden now felt like a gentle breeze grazing his very self, cooling him beneath the sun's bright glow. What a peaceful feeling it was.
Come to think of it, Mother did tell me that I would finally start to learn something. Did she hire a tutor? Aslan wondered, standing up just as he was about to walk through the garden. He could feel eyes watching him—one of the Emperor's assigned guards, no doubt. Honestly, he didn't mind, but sometimes having eyes constantly on him became a bit unsettling. Aside from his parents, he still didn't have the courage—or will—to even look other adults in the eye, with the exception of a few.
As he walked through the garden, the smell of flowers reached his little nose. Such a beautiful scent it was. Truly, the flowers in the palace garden were abundant and wondrously strange—like something out of an ancient tale.
Then, a familiar voice called out to him.
"Prince? Where are you?" said the voice of an old woman—Arabella.
"I'm hewe!" Aslan said, walking up to her before she took his arm.
"Well, there you are, little peanut! Come, let us go," she said, holding his hand.
"Whewe?" Aslan asked, curious.
"To the Emperor's study. He has prepared something for you today," Arabella said as they walked out of the garden.
Inside the Emperor's study…
Aslan saw a man and a woman standing before the Emperor, holding books and discussing something. The woman wore a delicate blue gown with a white collar and glasses perched on her nose. The man was dressed formally in black and carried a cane on his left arm for support. Perhaps he was in his sixties, judging by the cane. As soon as Aslan entered, both walked up to him and bowed respectfully.
"I greet the little sun of the Empire," the man said while still bowing, and so did the woman.
"My name is Duchess Porte of the House of Balion," the woman introduced herself.
"I'm Emil Löffler of the House of Löffler," said the man.
After the introductions, the Emperor walked to Aslan, picked him up, and spoke warmly.
"My son, these two will be in charge of your education from now on. Emil will teach you literacy, and Porte will teach you ethics," the Emperor explained.
Aslan then asked, "W-what 'bout Magish, Fathuh?"
"Magic," the Emperor corrected gently, smiling. "That, you'll learn from Grandpa," he added.
"I wuv magic! Yesh pwease!" Aslan cheered in delight.
I don't mind leawnin' 'bout ethics and witteracy... but magic? That's diffwent! And to leawn it fwom Gwampa, no wess? This is exshitin'! Aslan thought, thrilled.
"Seems like you already like the idea. I must say in advance—our prince is a bit shy with strangers. Don't mind it," the Emperor reminded them.
"Worry not, Your Majesty. We shall work around that," they both replied.
And so began Aslan's daily lessons with the two tutors. The first day was a bit hectic; the prince was very shy. Yet the act of bribing him with sweets worked like a charm. Even so, getting him to talk was still a bit difficult.
"Splendid! I've never met such an easy young boy to teach. He picks things up faster than his peers. Could it be Her Highness's blood?" Emil praised, after Aslan managed to spell ten words on the first day.
"You're right! I've never taught such a well-behaved child around this age, though sometimes he just won't look at me," said Porte.
"Indeed, such a shy thing he is. But sometimes it feels… strange, as if he's in his own world," Emil agreed with Porte's observation.
In the palace training field…
Today would be Aslan's first lesson with the great mage Verdinand—aka Gwampa. This might be the first time Aslan was this excited about something; who wouldn't be? He could now learn to use magic just like his mother. In the old world, magic was nothing but fantasy to him. To hold something you once believed a myth in your own hands—what soul wouldn't be thrilled?
While he waited patiently, suddenly a door appeared before him. The door looked almost as if it were painted by light itself, the intricate magic circle around it simply captivating. And from it, the mage appeared.
It was Gwampa! Such an entwanth! Aslan marveled in awe.
"I greet you again, my grandchild; oh, how much you have grown in these past years, and yet this grandpa probably has lost so much time that could've been spent with you."
"I'th okay, Gwampa. I know you busy," Aslan said, running to hug him. In a past life, he hadn't even had the chance to know the feeling of having a grandparent. But now, with Verdinand, he felt no fear. He felt... safe.
"Are you ready to learn?" Verdinand asked.
"Yesh, Im weddy!" Aslan beamed.
"Then we shall begin from the most basic… what do you understand about magic?" he asked.
"I seen picshures in da book! Magic is when you... um... conjuh it fwom youwself," Aslan replied, trying hard to remember the pictures in the books Mother gave him.
"Hrmmm, you're not wrong," the great mage replied. "But technically speaking, magic is more complicated."
"How so?" Aslan asked again, his big eyes filled with eager wonder.
"To use magic, one must become a conduit to mana, using one's own vessel as a channel for it to flow," he explained gently.
"So... anyone can do dat?" Aslan tilted his head.
"No, child. Some people cannot channel mana through their body; we call them people without a gate," he explained patiently.
"So they can't use mana if they don't got no gate?" Aslan asked again, puzzled.
"Not exactly. Some people are special. While they can't harness mana with their body, mana may come to them in another form—through spirits. Those who use spirit magic form contracts with a spirit," he explained again.
"What if da spirit no wanna choose them?" Aslan asked, blinking.
"If a spirit doesn't choose them, mana may come in a different way. You see, mana is always absorbed by the body. When one can't release it directly, it may manifest through tools. We call these magic artifacts. Some may wield swords imbued with magic. And for those who lack both spirit and artifact... mana may still bless them with strength. Their muscles absorb the energy instead, and it manifests as raw physical might," the mage added with a gentle smile.
"Now would you want to try magic yourself" verdinand said while smiling.
"Yesh !" Aslan replied My lips is still not working properly he thought.
"Alright, first give me your hand and imagine the happiest moment of your life," he said while guiding Aslan.
And so Aslan moved inside his mind, happiest? What would be the happiest moment of his life? The happiest moment of my life is…when I'm going to buy cake with Mom, Aslan thought. And then, slowly, a faint light shone in his palm. Thus the great mage spoke again.
"And now remember the saddest, try to think of the saddest thing you can," he said, his voice echoing throughout Aslan's mental realm.
And then the memories came, the feeling of dread, the scent of blood, the warning sirens, the chaotic atmosphere. Ah, this…the day mom died, Aslan thought.
And suddenly the faint light became dark. "Yes, you are doing well, my child," the great mage said, yet Aslan didn't answer. The darkness in his hand became darker and darker, it is heavy, almost like a neutron star, and yet it kept getting bigger and bigger, the pure malice and the feeling intertwined together. "Snap out of it, boy!!" the great mage's voice echoed throughout the mental realm, and yet he can't. The memories melted into a dark liquid around him, and from it hands came, dragging him as he was about to sink deeper and deeper into it. Suddenly, he became awake again, he had returned to the real world, the great mage was panting, catching his breath. Aslan looked toward him before saying.
"What…what just happened…?"