Eight years had passed since that day in the forest.
Lamping Village remained the same. The wooden houses still stood in neat rows. The rice fields and orchards were as green as ever. The farmers still left at dawn and returned at dusk. But Razaq was no longer the small boy he once was.
He was now fifteen years old. His frame was no longer slight—he was taller and more filled out. Not bulky, but lean and solid, a body tempered by years of helping his father in the fields and gathering firewood every afternoon. His face had begun to show lines of resolve, and his jaw had hardened.
But his eyes remained unchanged. They still drifted northward, toward the tower that was never visible from his bedroom window.
That day, Lamping Village was busier than usual.
It was the Day of the Grimoire.
Every child who reached the age of fifteen would gather at the church. There, they would summon their respective grimoires—the books that would accompany them for a lifetime, recording every spell they would ever learn.
"It's a big day," Relia said that morning as she prepared breakfast. "Eat plenty, son."
Razaq nodded. He stared at his plate—clear soup and hard bread, the same as always. But this morning, it felt different.
Anxious.
"Don't be tense," Lucy said softly. His quiet father rarely spoke much. "Whatever happens, I'm proud of you."
Razaq smiled. "Thanks, Dad."
The village church wasn't grand. It was a simple wooden building with a shingle roof. But this morning, its courtyard was packed with fifteen-year-olds. They came alone—without their parents.
"Ra!"
Razaq turned. Usaid trotted toward him. His once-messy hair was now neater—combed back in an attempt to look more mature. But his wide grin was exactly the same.
"You ready?" Usaid asked, clapping Razaq on the shoulder.
"Look at my face. I'm resigned."
"Ah, resigned my foot." Usaid gave him a playful shove. "You have the largest mana pool in this village! Remember what Priest Markus said? Your mana shines brighter than anyone else's."
"But I can't use magic, Us."
"Not yet." Usaid looked at him seriously. "Today is different. The grimoire isn't just for those who can already cast spells. It's for those who possess mana. You have mana, Ra. It has to come out."
Razaq went silent for a moment before saying, "I hope you're right."
"I know I am!"
The church doors swung open.
Priest Markus appeared. He had grown much older. His hair was whiter, and his steps had slowed. But his eyes—they were still warm.
"Come in, children," his voice was gentle.
They entered one by one. Inside, the church felt solemn. Wooden pews were arranged neatly, and candles flickered in the corners. In front of the altar sat a small table with a worn fabric cushion—the place where the grimoires would manifest.
Priest Markus stood before them.
"Children, you are now fifteen. The age of adulthood." He paused. "Today, you will summon your grimoires. Close your eyes. Feel your mana. Pull it to the surface. Call upon your book."
The children closed their eyes. Razaq did the same. His hands trembled slightly.
Call the book. Call the book.
One by one, light began to manifest.
Aldric—a quiet farmer's son from the edge of the village—was the first. Before him, a grimoire appeared slowly. Its cover was light blue, with patterns of small ripples that moved like river water. Aldric opened his eyes, his face beaming.
"I... I got it!"
Priest Markus smiled. "Water magic. Well done, son."
Next was Serena. The cheerful girl with long hair received a green grimoire patterned with falling leaves. Wind magic. She gave a little hop of joy.
Then came the others. Fire, earth, water again. One by one, the books appeared.
Then, it was Usaid's turn.
Usaid closed his eyes, his expression solemn. A few seconds passed. Ten seconds. Twenty.
A violet light erupted before him.
Slowly, a grimoire took shape. Its cover was deep violet with dark black patterns that shifted like liquid shadows. The patterns weren't static; they flowed and swirled as if they were alive.
Usaid opened his eyes. They widened in shock before his trademark grin broke out.
"I GOT IT!"
Priest Markus examined the book. "Violet with dark patterns. Shadow magic. Rare, my boy."
Usaid turned to Razaq, giving him a thumbs-up. "Did you see that?!"
Razaq smiled. "Congratulations, Us."
Now, only he remained.
One by one, the other children sat in the pews, clutching their respective grimoires. Razaq was still standing. Alone.
"Razaq," Priest Markus called. "It is your turn."
Razaq stepped forward. His legs felt heavy, and his heart hammered against his ribs. He stood before the altar.
He closed his eyes.
Call the book. Call the book.
He took a deep breath, feeling the mana within his body. That massive mana—the one that had always been there, always flowing, but never able to break free.
Come out. Come out!
Nothing.
Razaq furrowed his brow. He tried again. Harder. More focused.
COME OUT!
Nothing.
Sweat began to bead on his forehead. His hands shook. He tried again. And again. And again.
Silence.
The eyes of the other children were fixed on him. Some looked confused, others pitiful. Priest Markus observed him with a concerned expression. Usaid clenched his fists.
"Razaq..." Priest Markus's voice was soft. "Try one more time."
Razaq tried. Mana surged—he could feel it, he could almost touch it. But nothing manifested. It was like water trapped inside a bottle with a sealed cap.
Empty.
No grimoire appeared.
Razaq opened his eyes. His chest felt tight, as if he couldn't breathe.
"I failed."
Priest Markus approached and placed a hand on Razaq's shoulder. "Son, perhaps it isn't the right time—"
"But my mana is huge!" Razaq interrupted. His voice rose, his eyes welling with tears. "I have the largest mana pool! Why can't I do it?!"
Priest Markus had no answer.
Razaq looked down, his shoulders shaking. He wasn't crying—not yet—but he was close.
"Today... all my hopes..."
He didn't finish the sentence.
Usaid stood up, wanting to approach him. But Razaq had already turned away.
"I'm going home."
Outside the church, the sunlight felt agonizingly bright.
Razaq walked quickly. Dejected. Broken.
"Ra! Ra, wait!"
Usaid caught up to him.
"Ra, listen to me."
Razaq stopped but didn't look back. "You saw it yourself. I failed. I don't have a grimoire."
"But you have the largest mana—"
"FOR WHAT?!" Razaq spun around. His eyes were bloodshot. "What's the point of huge mana if it can't come out? What use is it, Us? You have a cool grimoire, a rare shadow magic. Me? I have zero."
Usaid went silent.
Razaq walked away.
That night, Razaq sat on the edge of his cot.
The small room felt even more cramped than usual. The tiny window showed nothing but darkness.
His hands were empty.
No grimoire. No magic.
A dream of becoming an Archmage?
He let out a bitter laugh.
A hollow dream.
He lay back, staring at the ceiling.
Maybe it's just not meant to be.
But deep within his chest, in the innermost part of his being, something stirred. Something that refused to die.
Razaq closed his eyes.
He didn't know that within that darkness, something was waiting.