Morning light spilled lazily across the room.
Arin groaned and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling for a long moment before rubbing his eyes.
"…Morning, Cutie."
The words slipped out naturally. Half-asleep. Habitual.
He blinked.
Then frowned slightly.
Why did that feel normal?
He pushed himself up, stretched, and dragged himself through his usual routine. Splash of cold water. A tired yawn. A quiet room.
But something lingered in his thoughts.
Last night.
The flicker.
The reaction.
After freshening up, he returned to his bed and sat at the corner, elbows resting on his knees. Sunlight cut through the window, illuminating dust drifting in the air.
He stared at his palm.
"…Am I imagining things?"
Silence answered him.
His fingers slowly opened.
Darkness gathered.
Not violently.
Not dramatically.
It formed gently — like smoke pulled by an invisible thread — condensing into the familiar, shifting mass of dark magic in his hand.
Cutie.
Today, he didn't smile.
He studied it.
The dark magic moved softly, like a flame without heat.
"Can you hear me?"
It flickered.
But it always flickered.
That meant nothing.
Arin narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Move if you can hear me."
The magic twitched.
Just a little.
His breathing paused.
"That could just be… natural movement."
He leaned closer.
"You're useless."
The movement slowed.
Stilled.
Arin blinked.
"…I'm joking."
It flickered again.
His heart skipped.
Now his voice softened.
"You saved me."
The dark magic brightened faintly.
"You're amazing."
The flicker rose higher.
Not violently.
But noticeably.
Arin froze.
The room felt very, very quiet.
"You can hear me… can't you?"
The magic swayed like a flame dancing in invisible wind.
But the windows were closed.
There was no wind.
His eyes widened slightly — not in fear.
In awe.
"…You're actually listening."
For a moment, he simply watched it.
Then slowly… he closed his fist.
The darkness vanished instantly.
The air felt colder without it.
Arin exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair.
"I'm overthinking."
He stood up.
"Yeah. That's all."
But the doubt didn't leave.
As he stepped into the corridor, scratching his head, his thoughts tangled together.
Should I tell Caelum?
He'll think I've lost it.
Maybe I just want it to react… so I'm imagining it.
Ahead of him, he spotted Caelum walking casually down the hall.
Arin hesitated.
Then called out.
"Uh… Caelum."
Caelum turned slightly. "That tone sounds dangerous."
Arin walked closer, awkward.
"If I told you something… would you believe it?"
Caelum raised a brow. "Depends."
A smirk tugged at his lips.
"If you're about to confess you've fallen in love with your own shadow, I'll need solid proof."
Arin glared lightly. "I'm serious."
The smirk faded — just a little.
"…Alright. What is it?"
Arin explained.
The flickering. The way it stilled when insulted. The way it brightened when praised. The feeling that it was listening.
He didn't exaggerate.
He just described what he saw.
When he finished, silence lingered.
Caelum placed one hand under his chin.
"Hm."
He looked thoughtful. Not dismissive.
"…Interesting."
Arin blinked. "You're not going to laugh?"
"I would," Caelum said calmly, "if it sounded impossible."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Even I don't know whether something like that is possible…"
A pause.
"But the goddess might."
"No."
The answer came too fast.
Too sharp.
Caelum blinked.
Arin quickly waved a hand. "I mean — no, that's unnecessary. It's probably nothing. After the dragon incident, I've been overthinking. Stress does weird things."
He forced a chuckle.
"Yeah. I'm just being stupid."
He turned away.
"Oh — I just remembered. I have something to do."
He took a step forward.
A hand landed on his shoulder.
Firm.
Arin slowly turned his face.
His expression clearly said:
I knew this was a bad idea.
Caelum was smiling.
Not teasing.
Not mocking.
Just… certain.
"You know what I'm going to do."
Arin sighed.
"…Yeah."
And together, they started walking.
Unaware —
that deep within him,
something stirred quietly.
Not in fear.
But in awareness.