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{Chapter: 92: Friends We Made Along The Way}
In a warmly lit, tastefully decorated house filled with fine tapestries and polished wooden beams, a group of young boys and girls—each barely ten years old—gathered around a roaring fireplace. The soft glow of the flames danced across their eager faces, reflecting youthful ambition and the fragile hope of a better future. The scent of spiced pastries and fresh fruit lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of burning oak.
Standing proudly before them, his silhouette outlined by the flames behind him, was Saya. He wore a fine tailored cloak adorned with golden embroidery, a small badge shaped like a burning quill pinned to his collar—a symbol of his recent advancement to intermediate apprentice. Raising his hand, he addressed the room with fervor, his voice echoing with the practiced confidence of one raised in nobility.
"Intermediate apprentice is only the first step," Saya proclaimed passionately, his dark eyes gleaming with pride. "We mustn't be content with this achievement. There are higher peaks ahead—loftier goals waiting to be conquered. A better tomorrow still awaits us. For knowledge, for power, for glory!"
The group erupted in enthusiastic agreement, fists raised in the air. "Yes!"
Saya nodded inwardly, his heart swelling with satisfaction. His efforts were paying off. Over the last three years, not only had he cultivated his magical abilities, but he had also brought together a loyal circle of promising new apprentices. He was not the most talented among them—but his charisma, drive, and leadership had made him a focal point of unity and ambition. In an environment where competition was brutal and solitude was common, Saya had formed a rare thing: camaraderie.
Born a prince of a distant coastal kingdom, Saya had been raised with dignity drilled into his bones. "The head may fall, and blood may spill," his old sword tutor had once told him, "but never lose your bearing." He took that to heart, even here in the heartland of wizardry where titles meant little, and power meant everything.
Knowing their youth, Saya made sure their celebrations remained appropriate. Alcohol, after all, was forbidden in the academy, and even more unwise for children with so much magic latent in their veins. Instead, he raised a silver goblet filled with sparkling fruit juice and smiled warmly.
"Tonight, let's enjoy the best of what I could gather. Eat well, drink well, and may laughter fill our hearts."
With that, the evening blossomed into a joyful affair. The long dining table groaned under the weight of roasted meats, sweet buns filled with jam, candied fruit, and steaming pots of exotic stews. Magic-themed parlor games broke out—dueling illusions, puzzle enchantments, and a floating board game where the pieces moved on their own.
Laughter rang through the halls as the young apprentices let go of their burdens, if only for a while. Even Saya, always a little more reserved, allowed himself to grin as two boys tried to charm a pastry into dancing and accidentally made it explode in a puff of sugar.
Eventually, as the night mellowed and the group sprawled out across sofas, cushions, and rugs, their energy spent, Charles approached Saya. He plucked a small piece of lemon cake from the table, bit into it thoughtfully, and joined him on the open balcony.
The two stood in silence for a moment, looking over the silvered rooftops of the nearby campus buildings, the moonlight bathing the city in soft hues. A breeze carried the faint notes of distant music and the rustling of trees.
"What are your plans next?" Charles asked quietly, his tone more serious now.
Charles himself had changed remarkably. Gone was the frail, insecure boy who had clung to Saya's coattails. Three years of body training, hardship, and rigorous study had forged a lean, confident youth. His back was straighter, his voice firmer. His presence carried weight, and his gaze was steady, as if he could see through to the heart of things.
Saya looked at him with faint amusement. "I wish I had some grand plan to tell you," he said with a soft laugh. "But the truth is, advancement to the next level—becoming a high-level apprentice—it's not like before. There's no clear direction, only obscure clues and fragmented methods. Even the tutors seem hesitant to guide us too much. They say it's a personal journey."
Charles nodded, chewing slowly as he took in the words. "Still, you're doing better than most. You've built something. That matters."
"Perhaps," Saya said, leaning on the balcony rail. "But I don't want to get complacent. I know talent can fade if it's not nurtured, and friendships can fray if taken for granted. I want us to grow together, not just in rank, but in understanding—of ourselves, of magic, of this world."
Saya leaned slightly against the balcony rail, one hand resting on its cool marble surface as he watched the faint outlines of stars through the crystalline glass. The room behind him still hummed with the low chatter and laughter of their companions recovering from the evening's merrymaking, but here—just slightly apart—something quieter stirred.
Looking at Charles, who stood tall beside him, Saya's lips curled into a faint, almost nostalgic smile.
"You know," he said softly, "you've really changed these past three years. If someone had told me back then that the thin, hesitant boy I met on orientation day would become this… I'd have laughed. And yet, here you are."
Saya's words carried an air of gentle amusement, but behind them was something far deeper. He wasn't simply observing growth—he was acknowledging resilience, willpower, and transformation. A trace of admiration flickered in his voice, the kind rarely heard from someone who had always stood ahead of the curve, always been the one others followed.
Charles lowered his gaze, a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He lifted a hand to scratch his head, his slightly tousled dark hair shifting under his fingers.
"I didn't expect it either," Charles admitted honestly, his voice soft. "But I suppose... something inside me didn't want to stay the same."
And he hadn't.
Not in body, not in mind.
Charles had grown. Not just taller and stronger through years of disciplined knightly training, but inwardly too—shaped by trials, hardship, and quiet comparisons. Watching Saya, training beside him, listening to his lectures and speeches—it had all left an impression deeper than words could express. Saya had become his north star.
But he never told him.
How could he?
He remembered, with a sting in his chest, the day Saya had spoken with stark conviction: "Subordinates and friends are two different things. A person's purpose shouldn't be borrowed from someone else's dream. If someone stands in your way—even if it's yourself—you fight. To me, a friend is someone equal."
And so, Charles had held back the truth. He had never called Saya his role model. Never told him that the path he walked was one he followed not out of ambition, but admiration. To Saya, Charles feared, he was still a follower—someone who hadn't yet earned the right to be called equal, let alone friend.
In his heart, Charles often wrestled with the idea of "dreams." What was his dream, really? Was it to become a Wizard of great renown? To protect those he cared about? Or was it, shamefully, to simply become someone that Saya could one day respect not as a subordinate… but as a peer?
*****
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