Night was falling slowly over the city, and with it came a strange kind of stillness.
Not the peaceful kind.
The kind that settles just before a storm—when people go to bed early not because they’re tired, but because something in the air whispers that it’s better not to be out after dark.
In the inn’s bedroom, Garlan was tossing and turning like a nervous pancake.
The mattress creaked with every roll, and he kept groaning, muttering, whimpering nonsense.
— “Nnngh… not the flames… not the chains… I didn’t do anything… stop…”
A few feet away, Marenna opened one eye, not surprised.
Another nightmare.
But this time, something felt off.
She pushed herself halfway upright, reached a hand toward him, hesitated… then gently placed two fingers on his forehead.
She winced.
— “You’re burning up, you walking kettle…”
She was about to shake him awake, but stopped.
He wasn’t just hot.
He was pulsing.
Under her fingers, a strange mana current vibrated slowly—out of sync with her own.
It wasn’t a fever.
It was something else.
An echo?
A second heartbeat?
She pulled her hand back, troubled.
Garlan suddenly sat up in his sleep, panting.
His eyes stayed closed, but they twitched beneath the lids.
A small green flame puffed out of his mouth—just a “poof”—twirled once above his nose, then vanished without a sound.
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Marenna blinked.
She stepped back.
— “…Okay. That’s definitely not just indigestion.”
The next morning, around a campfire in the inn’s back courtyard, Tharion was chewing on a root that clearly wasn’t meant to be eaten by anything but rocks.
Garlan was still asleep, curled up in a blanket, his face peaceful—though his cheeks were a bit red.
Marenna, arms crossed, stayed silent for a while.
Then finally sighed.
— “Tharion… do you know anything about… spontaneous magical overflow?”
The centaur raised one eyebrow. Then the other.
— “You mean, like when you sneeze and accidentally blow up the attic?”
— “No. I mean… when someone’s asleep, dreaming—and their magic moves on its own.”
Tharion chewed slowly.
Very slowly.
— “Did that happen?”
— “He let out a fire puff in his sleep. And he was burning hot. I’ve never felt a mana flow like that. Dense. Ancient… not human.”
Tharion’s face darkened. He looked at Garlan. Then at the fire’s embers. Then at Garlan again.
— “Burning, huh? Probably your touch lit something in him. Couldn’t handle the heat,” he said with a crooked grin.
— “Hilarious. Truly. I’m rolling,” Marenna replied dryly.
Tharion shifted slightly.
His tone changed.
— “I once knew a guy. Long time ago. Cast spells without incantations—like you two. One night, something snapped in a dream.
He woke a demon.
Or a memory.
Or maybe himself.
Nobody really understood.
He burned down an entire town.
Said he hadn’t done anything.
Said he was just scared.
Said… he’d felt himself becoming something else.”
Marenna stared at him.
— “And you think Garlan…”
— “I don’t know. But I’ve never seen a kid release a mana flame in his sleep. And I’ve trained a lot of kids.”
He grunted.
— “Tonight, you sleep on one side of the tent. He’s on the other. I’m in the middle. With a bucket of water.”
That evening, back in their makeshift room at the inn, Marenna settled onto her straw mat.
Garlan had already passed out, exhausted from the day.
He was sleeping peacefully.
But… she couldn’t stop looking at him.
She walked over, hesitated, then gently pulled a blanket over him.
— “I don’t know what you are, Garlan. But if you turn into a giant salamander tonight, you owe me breakfast.”
She smiled.
Then, almost whispering:
— “And if you do become a monster… I won’t go far. I’ll bring you back.”
She slid under her own blanket.
And for the first time in days, sleep took her without a fight.
Outside, a warm wind blew through the city.
And deep within Garlan’s belly, somewhere beneath the skin…
a small green spark pulsed.
Just once.
Like a heartbeat.
