Chapter 33: Where is Mana?
Vaelira watched as Lucien extended his hand over the piece of parchment, fingers splayed loosely, palm hovering just a few inches
above the surface.
At first, she expected nothing.
A joke, maybe, some dramatic gesture followed by a grin and a muttered “gotcha.”
But then she felt it.
A pulse.
Not strong.
Not refined.
But unmistakably mana.
Her brow furrowed as she sat up straighter, suddenly attentive.
There was something gathering in him, raw and unshaped, like a current swirling in a river without direction.
She narrowed her eyes, focusing.
Yes, there it was again.
A soft thrum of energy radiating outward from his core.
Chaotic.
Dormant.
Alive.
But the paper remained still.
The candle’s flame didn’t waver.
No shadows stirred, no glow bloomed, no sparks danced.
And yet, he wasn’t trying to force anything.
Despite his Mana swirling, there was no pressure coming out of him.
That alone caught her off guard.
His posture was completely different from her own when she’d summoned her shadows.
No tension.
No grit of the teeth.
His shoulders were slouched, not in laziness, but in calm.
His eyes were open, staring at the paper, but there was no sharpness in them, his gaze was glassy, distant, like he wasn’t really looking at it at all.
He wasn’t pushing.
He wasn’t pulling.
He was waiting.
His breathing remained steady, quiet and slow, as if he’d entered some kind of trance.
Vaelira tilted her head slightly, watching him, confused but intrigued.
‘What exactly are you trying to do, Lucien?’
And more importantly.
‘What are you waiting for?’
***
The world shifted.
As Lucien reached for the well of mana inside him, something tugged at his consciousness, soft at first, then all-encompassing.
The library, the flickering candlelight, even the scent of old parchment bled away like watercolor left in the rain.
And then he was elsewhere.
The lights overhead were fluorescent, buzzing faintly with a mechanical hum.
The room was small, cramped, the wallpaper slightly peeling near the corner of the ceiling.
A bed stood against one wall, shelves cluttered with school books, old toys, and half-finished model kits.
He knew this place.
His room.
Back then.
Back home.
The air was thick with the echo of voices, harsh, clipped words rebounding in his mind.
Familiar voices.
Saying familiar lines.
"You're getting careless, Kim Jihoon."
"Do you think life will be kind to someone who slacks around?"
"We expect better."
He sat on the edge of his bed, the sound of the door slamming still ringing in his ears.
His tiny fists were clenched, knuckles white.
His eyes stung, and his vision swam.
A quiet sob escaped him, shoulders shaking.
‘Why wasn't I good enough?’
‘Why does messing up once make me worthless?’
He buried his face in his hands, not wanting to cry but unable to stop.
And then.
A soft knock.
Barely audible.
Before he could answer, the door creaked open.
A small girl padded in, barefoot, clutching something in her hands.
She was barely tall enough to reach the door handle.
His little sister.
Back then, just a kindergartener.
Her eyes wide with concern, her chubby cheeks puffy from sleep, a determined little pout already forming on her lips.
“I want to show you something,” she said, her voice small but steady.
He blinked, hastily rubbing at his eyes.
“What is it?”
She walked over to him like a penguin, opening her tiny hands to reveal a crumpled piece of origami paper, creased and wrinkled from far too many failed folds.
She plopped down beside him on the bed, legs swinging off the edge as she placed the paper on her lap.
“It’s a surprise,” she whispered.
He watched in silence as she tried to fold the paper.
Her tongue stuck out slightly in concentration.
Her fingers fumbled the creases, and the paper tore once or twice.
But she didn’t stop.
Each time she messed up, she unfolded it and tried again.
Quietly.
Patiently.
Until finally.
She held it up with both hands.
A slightly lopsided, asymmetrical crane.
She beamed.
“Ta-da! It’s a Crane!”
Lucien, no, Jihoon, let out a soft chuckle through his stuffy nose.
“Looks like this crane is tired.”
She pouted.
“Even if it is, it’s still a crane.”
He stared at the little paper bird in her hands.
Crooked, imperfect, but unmistakably real.
Made with care.
And then.
A tear slid down his cheek.
The warmth of that memory slipped away like mist.
He was back.
The manor’s library returned to focus, the candlelight flickering, the stillness of the air pressing in around him.
The paper was still lying on the table, untouched.
And Vaelira was staring at him, brows pinched together, concern flickering in her eyes.
“Lucien?”
She asked gently, her voice almost unsure.
“Are you… okay?”
Lucien blinked, another tear trailing down his cheek before he even realized it had formed.
Lucien wiped the tear away with the back of his hand and offered Vaelira a small, tired smile.
“I’m fine,” he said, voice soft but barely steady.
“Just... still a novice, I guess. What I wanted to– hoped for… didn’t happen.”
Vaelira tilted her head, watching him carefully.
“Magic’s like that,” she said after a moment.
“Frustrating. Slow. It takes time. Just like swordsmanship. There are no shortcuts.”
Her tone was calm, without judgment, the way one might reassure a friend who’s stumbled during a long run.
She hesitated, then added gently, “Are you okay?”
Lucien let out a faint chuckle, half humor, half something else.
“Yeah. I just... remembered something from a long time ago.”
He glanced at the paper on the table, still unmoved, and then down at his hand, flexing it absently.
“I don’t know why now, of all times, it decided to come back.”
Vaelira didn’t press.
She stepped closer instead, folding her arms loosely.
“Magic and mana itself are tied to your soul,” she said quietly.
“It’s not just energy. When you’re learning how to call on it, sometimes you... look inward without realizing it. And whatever’s buried deep down, that’s what answers.”
Lucien’s eyes flicked up to meet hers.
There was a flicker of surprise in them, like he hadn’t expected that kind of insight.
She reached out and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“You don’t have to tell me if it was painful. But... if it was, it’s okay.”
Her grip was warm, solid.
“I’m here. If you need.”
Lucien inhaled through his nose, then exhaled slowly.
He gave a quick sniff and nodded, once.
“Thanks,” he said, voice a little quieter now.
The two of them stood there in the soft glow of candlelight, surrounded by books, silence, and the shared understanding that some things didn’t need to be said to be felt.
***
Just as the stillness between them began to solidify, like the comfortable quiet that settles at the end of a long, heavy conversation, a faint, almost imperceptible sound cut through the silence.
A soft rustle.
Lucien looked around.
He blinked slowly, thinking it might've been the flicker of the candle or the turning of a page, something mundane.
But then the paper moved.
It wasn’t much at first.
Just a twitch at the corner, subtle enough to be mistaken for the stirrings of a breeze.
Except the windows were shut tight.
No draft touched the table.
The air in the library was still, almost reverent.
Vaelira’s head turned sharply, her eyes narrowing.
“Did you just see-?”
The rest of her sentence died on her lips.
The piece of parchment, unfolded, untouched, gave another shake.
Then it spun.
Slowly at first, dragging itself in a slow circle like it was waking from a long sleep.
Lucien straightened in his chair, his entire body going still except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
It lifted.
Not high.
Barely a few millimeters from the table.
But it floated, its edges curling like fingers stretching after a long nap.
Then, with a delicate flutter, it began to fold.
Not randomly.
Not haphazardly.
But with an eerie, practiced grace.
One edge creased sharply into a triangle.
Another corner tucked inward.
Then another.
It moved with precision, folding and unfolding in sequence like it was thinking, testing, deciding.
Lucien leaned forward as if pulled by invisible thread, his mouth slightly parted.
“No way…”
Vaelira stepped closer too, her body moving without conscious thought, her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat.
The paper was folding itself.
That much was undeniable.
But more than that, it moved elegantly, like a dancer moving through well-rehearsed steps.
With a final flourish, the creases settled.
A crane.
Clean.
Crisp.
Delicate.
But impossibly alive.
Lucien made a choked noise, something between a gasp and a laugh.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He wasn’t even sure what emotion was clawing at his chest anymore.
Wonder?
Fear?
Nostalgia?
Some knot of all three?
Vaelira, for once in her life, had no snarky comment ready.
Her lips parted, then closed again.
Then opened once more.
“That… that’s not normal, right?”
Her voice cracked slightly on the last word.
But the paper wasn’t done.
As they stared, the crane shifted again.
Slowly.
Purposefully.
It turned.
Its head, or whatever it had that was an equivalent to a head, a narrow folded triangle, rotated on its paper neck and looked at them.
Or at least, it gave the distinct impression of looking at them, and that was somehow worse.
Lucien’s entire body tensed.
“Okay. That’s new.”
Vaelira’s head snapped to Lucien as he said that.
‘That’s new? You casted the spell-’
Flap.
The wings twitched.
A dry rustle, like leaves brushing across stone.
Flap-flap.
They moved again, stronger this time.
Then, with a final beat, it rose, smoothly, silently, into the air.
Lucien recoiled slightly, nearly tipping his chair as he watched the crane ascend.
“It’s flying. It’s flying.”
Vaelira said nothing.
Could say nothing.
Her hands hung limp at her sides, her eyes fixed on the impossible sight in front of her.
The crane hovered at eye-level now, its wings flapping with a rhythmic rustle, like parchment caught in a controlled breeze.
It circled once above the table, dipping gently in an arc that carried it toward the ceiling, then around the two stunned spectators.
The soft golden glow of the oil lamp caught its wings, casting a fleeting shadow on the wall that rippled like the silhouette of something alive.
Lucien stared up at it, a mix of awe and something more intimate, closer to reverence, etched across his face.
“It’s… it’s graceful,” he whispered, barely trusting his own voice.
“It’s magic,” Vaelira said, her tone almost accusatory, as if magic had crossed some line it wasn’t supposed to.
The crane glided downward in a wide, lazy spiral, then halted midair in front of Vaelira.
It hovered there for a beat, suspended in golden lamplight, wings fluttering like the heartbeat of a secret.
Her eyes widened further.
“No. No, no, no-”
But her body moved before her mind caught up.
She lifted her hand.
Palm open.
Fingers slightly trembling.
And with a quiet, respectful precision, the crane descended.
It landed.
The folded paper made no sound as it touched her skin, but Vaelira felt the weight of it, far greater than the sum of its creased corners.
It settled in the center of her palm, unmoving now, as if exhausted after its performance.
She stared at it, then at Lucien.
His expression mirrored hers, wide-eyed, slack-jawed, utterly dumbfounded.
And for the first time in a long while, Vaelira was left with no witty comeback, no dry observation, no sarcasm to veil the sheer disbelief clawing at her insides.
She looked back at the crane and finally, finally managed to close her mouth.
Her voice came out as a stammer, barely above a whisper.
“What the actual... flying… folding fuck.”
Lucien could only nod, his own voice hoarse with disbelief.
“Yeah,” he said, exhaling with a shaky laugh.
“That about sums it up.”
***
