Episode 33: “Fiine’s Talent”
Alerted by the commotion, the Magic Corps had wiped out the horde of black trolls attacking the village, but the damage had already been catastrophic.
Of roughly a hundred villagers, nearly eighty had died.
Of the twenty who survived, more than half — thirteen — were young children, saved only because their families had desperately shielded them with their own bodies.
Fiine had been one of them.
“…Are you eating properly?”
The survivors had been taken into the Magic Corps’ protection, housed temporarily in makeshift tents at the western base.
The man who came to see Fiine, living in one of those tents, was the same man who’d saved her.
“…Yes.”
The rationed meals were apparently prepared in the Magic Corps’ own mess hall — larger in quantity and higher in nutrition than anything she’d eaten before.
But no matter what she ate or drank, she couldn’t taste anything at all anymore.
Still, she ate, if only because being fussed over by the people around her was irritating.
“I heard you have no relatives.”
“…That’s right.”
The Magic Corps’ protection was only temporary; arrangements were already underway to send survivors, one by one, to relatives’ homes.
But Fiine’s parents had both been born in that village, with no family living elsewhere.
For children like her, with nowhere to go, the Magic Corps was currently searching for an orphanage willing to take them in.
She couldn’t picture what life at an orphanage would be like, but for someone as bad at communal living as Fiine, it was bound to be an uncomfortable place, without question.
She’d heard once that infants too young to remember anything were the easiest to place with new families — which meant Fiine, almost certainly, would be stuck at the orphanage until she came of age.
“If you have nowhere to go, why don’t you come with me instead?”
“…Eh?”
“I’m Burkhardt von Achenbach. Born into the Achenbach Viscount house, though as the second son, I won’t be inheriting it. I hold the rank of colonel in the Magic Corps. I’m not wealthy, exactly, but you won’t want for money.”
“…Why?”
Since he’d saved her, Fiine hadn’t so much as properly thanked him.
And they’d barely exchanged anything resembling actual conversation since.
(Besides, I’m not exactly the type anyone finds endearing…)
He might simply pity her, but plenty of other children were in similarly desperate situations.
Among them, surely, were others he himself had personally rescued, just as he had her.
“Because you have talent for magic.”
“…Talent for magic?”
“Yes. You don’t seem to realize it, but your magic capacity is considerable. Untrained as you are now, and still that much — the potential going forward is even greater.”
Every human being was born with some amount of magic power, but the quantity varied significantly from person to person.
Unless one’s magic capacity crossed a certain threshold, magic couldn’t be used at all.
That much, at least, Fiine knew. But nothing beyond it.
No one in her hometown had ever been able to use magic; she’d never once imagined she might be capable of it herself.
“Try drawing this.”
Burkhardt drew a sheet of parchment from inside his coat.
On it was a large, simple magic circle.
Handed a blank sheet and a pen, Fiine slowly traced it, copying the design.
“Place both hands over the circle you just drew, and put strength into your palms.”
She did as he said. In an instant, flame burst upward with a whoosh.
“Next, this one.”
Burkhardt drew out another sheet of parchment. The magic circle on it was slightly different from before.
She copied it again and pressed her hands to it. This time, instead of flame, a strong gust of wind whipped up all at once.
“Five more to go.”
She kept moving her hands exactly as he instructed.
The third produced water, the fourth earth, the fifth light, the sixth darkness — each springing from her palms in turn.
“This is the last one.”
The final magic circle he showed her was vastly more complex than any before it — countless lines and patterns overlapping in a dense tangle, difficult even to copy accurately while looking directly at the model.
Taking a long while to draw it out, she held her palm over it just as before.
This time, nothing shot out from her hand at all. Instead, the parchment itself began to warp and bend, slowly folding into the shape of a small doll.
“…I see.”
Burkhardt nodded and collected the parchment she’d drawn on.
(What does this mean…? Was it worse than he expected…?)
When Burkhardt had defeated the black troll, the flame he’d summoned had been massive.
Compared to that, the flame that had come from Fiine’s own palm just now was far too small.
And it wasn’t only the flame — every spell she’d cast had been the same.
“…So I really don’t have any talent after all?”
Burkhardt shook his head, then roughly ruffled Fiine’s hair.
It had been a long time since she’d felt another person’s warmth, and tears spilled from her eyes without her meaning to.
(Why am I crying?)
She didn’t know the reason, but the tears wouldn’t stop, no matter what.
“Come with me. I can make the most of your talent.”
She’d never once admired mages. Never once wished to become someone special.
So the reason Fiine nodded was simple: she wanted, more than anything, to be needed by someone.
“…Please, Burkhardt-san.”