Friends.
The word lingered in my mind far longer than it should have.
What exactly was a friend anyway?
It was easy to confuse it with acquaintances. People you greet, people you talk to, people you sit beside, because circumstances place you together. Acquaintances come and go. They exist because of convenience, shared locations, shared goals, or shared boredom.
Once those disappear, so do they.
Love was easier to define, in a way. Love was sharp, heavy, consuming. It demanded exclusivity, devotion, sacrifice. Love wanted something in return, even if it pretended not to. Love could rot into obsession or burn into hatred just as easily.
But friends were different.
Friends were people you cared about, and who cared about you in return. You could argue with them, dislike them, even hate them for a moment, and that would not erase the underlying concern for each other's well-being. You could clash without wanting to destroy one another. You could walk separate paths and still worry if they stumbled, maybe laugh at them in the process.
That mutual concern was what mattered.
And when I looked at the girl standing in front of me, I understood why she asked.
Tasora Rigel was lonely.
When someone achieves too much too quickly, the world reacts in predictable ways. Respect follows first. Then envy. Then fear. And fear isolates better than any wall ever could. Her personality did not help either. Blunt, impulsive, and unfiltered. She did not know how to soften herself for others.
Tasora's story was painfully simple.
An average girl born as a miracle.
As a child, she weaved magic effortlessly. At first, it earned her friends and admirers. Children gathered around her, praised and followed her. Blinded by her innocence, she believed they were genuine.
She did not notice the whispers behind her back.
The jealousy.
The resentment.
When she finally confronted them, she tried to step back. She tried to laugh it off. She tried to apologize for being different. But the girls did not stop. Their insecurities pushed them forward, sharper and louder with every word.
And then, for the first time in her life, Tasora's hair glowed.
"Stop!"
The entire elementary school grounds froze.
Leaves stopped falling. Birds approaching the nearby trees hung motionless in the air.
After that, everything fell apart.
Researchers swarmed her. Institutions took an interest. But once they realized her concept was unstable and dangerously powerful, they backed away. Fear outweighed curiosity, but they did not give up contacting her here and there.
She tried to return to her friends.
But jealousy had turned into terror.
"Monster."
"Please do not kill me."
No one approached her again. Not classmates. Not teachers.
Not even her parents.
With nowhere else to go, she went to the researchers who once sought her out.
And now, years later, she stood in front of me, cheeks faintly flushed, asking for something so simple it hurt.
"Can you be my friend?"
I looked at her shy expression and felt my chest tighten.
Deep down, I wanted to say yes.
She was one of the few people who never turned on Finster, even at his lowest point. I wanted to repay that kindness. I truly did.
But I could not.
That title belonged to Finster. The first genuine friend of Tasora Rigel had to be him, not some extra who knew the script in advance.
I stepped closer and gently patted her head.
"I cannot be your friend."
Her eyes widened.
"Oh… I see… that is…"
I cut her off before the words could finish breaking her.
"But I can be your apprentice."
She blinked.
"Apprentice?"
"Yes. Apprentice," I said firmly. "I want to learn directly under you and become strong like you. I will follow you, learn from you, and serve you as you see fit. I will share everything about myself, both my strengths and my weaknesses, and carry them together with you."
I smiled faintly.
"Just think of it as a more formal way of starting. We are not equals right now. But maybe someday, after that… we can be friends."
For a moment, she looked stunned.
Then her eyes gleamed.
"Yes. All right. You will be my apprentice or whatever," she said, suddenly bursting with energy as she grabbed my hand and shook it up and down enthusiastically.
Look at this kid, being so happy over something that an everyday person would consider common.
But strangely, seeing her smile like this stirred something inside me. A faint sense of pride that I did not expect to feel.
This girl was not smiling because of Finster.
She was not smiling for herself either.
She was smiling because of me.
Tasora was smiling because of me.
I let out a quiet breath and looked away, pretending to stretch my neck. If I stared any longer, I might actually start feeling responsible for her happiness.
She pointed upward, finger sharp and precise. "Your predicament is still there."
"The downward force," I replied. "Yeah. I know."
Her brows furrowed. "Then why are you still standing here?"
Before that, Tasora, I need to confirm something with you.
"yeah what is it"
I know that concepts do not work through the influence of thrum but through the user's will. However, I still do not know what my concept is. If that is the case, would it still work if I simply trace my will itself and cast it outward, disabling my unconsciously activated concept?"
"Yes. Unlike our magic, which relies on thrum, concepts draw power from the mind. The very stat everyone considers useless. So why are you still asking me something so obvious?" she said. "Your will is easy to trace. It is practically spelled out right above us."
I shrugged. "I did not activate it on purpose."
My thoughts drifted back to what I had wanted while we were still in the air.
If I am going down, she is coming with me.
"I was not trying to escape," I muttered. "I decided we would both crash."
Tasora inhaled sharply.
"That explains why it stuck," she said. "You unconsciously declared that both of us must fall while we were in the air. But now that we are on the ground, the concept has nothing to act on. It keeps lingering because you never gave it a condition for when it should end."
I clenched my fists.
I tried recalling my will, forcing everything back to normal. I focused, willing it to stop. My eyes flared, blue highlights glowing as I stared back at the invisible force in the sky. In my mind, I commanded it to end.
Tasora let out a small gasp. "Oh. It is starting to fade."
But my nose was bleeding, and blood was creeping from the corner of my right eye.
"Stop," Tasora said sharply. "Seriously, how low is your mind stat?"
I was about to proudly say C-, but because of Verde's curse, it was lowered by five stages.
_________________________________
Authority: Verde's Curse.
Origin: Verde
Status: Passive
Effect: Reduces Mind Stat by 5 stages unless the user consumes the required nourishment.
Required Nourishment:[Polaris's Blood]
_________________________________
I answered instead, "H-."
"Pfft—hahahahaha," she burst out laughing. "Even the most average weaver who never trains starts at F+. You are two stages below that."
I wiped the blood from my nose and the corner of my eye with my sleeve, the fabric already stained dark. The pressure in my head pulsed, but the invisible weight above us had changed. It was still there, clinging to the air like a stubborn residue, yet thinner now.
Tasora followed my gaze upward. "You can feel it too, can you not?" she said. "The force you've used did not fully disperse."
"But some of it is gone," I replied. "It is weaker than before."
She nodded. "Your will is unraveling it, piece by piece.
I exhaled slowly. "That is good enough for now."
"There is no need to rush; you removed the downward force itself. What you have to just deal with is the aftermath fragments," she said. "Let's continue at another time; any further strain would just damage you."
Before I could respond, the facility's voice interrupted us.
"You have one hour remaining. Would you like to extend your stay?"
"No," I said immediately. "Voice prompt accepted."
"Reservation ending acknowledged."
I stretched my arms. Crack. Everything hurt.
"True. It is better to stop here," I said. "We have class tomorrow as well."
Tasora nodded in agreement.
As I walked toward the door, a thought slipped into me. The Temporal Weaver's First Apprentice. It sounded fitting. A title for my novel story, borrowing Finster's original one, The Golden Weaver's First Apprentice.
A memory of what Finster used to call Helle surfaced, and I could not help but grin.
"See you tomorrow," I said lightly. "Master."
I closed the door behind me.
A moment later, a furious scream tore through the room.
"Do not call me that!"