Before long, Elise found herself staring in astonishment at a magic circle that appeared to have been meticulously crafted. The realization swept over her, accompanied by a bewildered question that lingered in the air, “Did I… just do that?”
However, though the intricate design had snapped into place, the anticipated transformation remained absent. Cautiously, she reached out, index finger grazing the surface of the magic circle. But still, nothing stirred. An unease settled in—she had undoubtedly enacted some change, yet the subsequent effect eluded her grasp.
With determined intent, Elise retraced her memory, parsing through each action with meticulous recollection. What had she said earlier?
The very utterance of the Great Dragon’s name ushered forth a surge of resonance, akin to the vibrations that had preceded. Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning illuminating a pitch-black night, understanding unfurled in Elise’s mind.
Incontestably, the name of the Great Dragon was a key, a catalyst that could set the dormant enchantment into motion.
A surge of vibrant energy surged through the intricate lines of the magic circle, an electric current igniting a symphony of light. Simultaneously, Elise experienced a curious sensation—a dull ache seemed to unfurl from her forehead and unfurl down to her heart.
Her breath hitched as she withdrew her hand from the enchanting pattern, and almost as quickly, the peculiar ache receded, leaving only a sense of wonder in its wake.
What kind of magic is this?
Even though it appeared that the magic had indeed been set in motion, the true nature of its effects remained a shrouded riddle. The only perceptible outcome had been a tingling pain that had seemed to trace its path through her heart.
Yet, within this uncertainty lay a revelation—a discovery she held close. The name of the Great Dragon was a condition that activated the magical power within Elise’s body.
In truth, the separation of Sameshita and Gallian, dragon and magician, proved a feat unattainable. Despite the common perception of them as polar opposites, their relationship was far more intricate, a secret known to a select few.
A scarce handful understood the depths of the Great Dragon Sameshita’s legacy and his five esteemed disciples. The expansive tapestry of Gallian mythology was riddled with gaps and unanswered questions. The mystery of how the five human souls, Gallian among them, had become devoted disciples of the Great Dragon, and why Sameshita had bestowed upon them his exclusive draconic sorcery, was a narrative yet to be fully unfurled.
The enigmas of Gallian’s history unfurled like a scroll, each question unfolding into yet another labyrinthine puzzle. How had Gallian ascended to lead the quintet, anointed above the others? And why had Sameshita’s benevolence deteriorated into frenzied chaos? What twist of fate had turned the once-welcoming dragon into a harbinger of hate toward humanity, his transformation swift as a fleeting decade?
Yet, veiled beneath these riddles was the obscure lore, cloaked in shadows like secrets best kept hidden. This forbidden knowledge, woven into the very essence of Gallian’s blood, shied away from the light. A vast portion of these truths languished beyond mortal gaze.
Who, indeed, would credit such revelations? That the Dragon’s ruthless assault, unrelenting in its disregard for friend or foe, had swept across the continent, leaving devastation in its wake—an affront even to the gods themselves. All born of hearts ungrateful and thoughtlessly foolish.
In the annals of history, a crimson stain marred Sameshita’s legacy. He had ignited the flames that consumed half of Grandel, a macabre conflagration that claimed tens of thousands of innocent lives. Yet even amidst the carnage, the disciple who had ultimately severed his bond with the Dragon had somehow defied death’s embrace.
Was it regret that lingered in the shadows of Sameshita’s departure? Did remorse propel the cryptic words he left behind, an echo that resounded across time?
In the waning pages of the Gallian mythology, a final chapter told of Sameshita’s self-imposed exile, his voice echoing through eternity in a last exchange with his pupil.
[First of my disciples, illustrious scion of the mighty God Ordor, now the rising hero of Grandel. When you invoke this power, recall the name of your master who bequeathed it. As I am bound, so shall you never be free of me.
Throughout your existence, I shall never fade from your thoughts!]
“Thus, the meaning of ‘never forgetting Sameshita’s name’ resonates,” Elise murmured softly, the truth an epiphany unfurling before her. Even through generations yet unborn, the legacy of Sameshita would persist, an unending echo across the tapestry of time.
The bonds that tethered Sameshita and Gallian were an intricate web of unbreakable rules. Sameshita was bound by a decree to shield Gallian from harm, while Gallian was afflicted by an everlasting curse, ensuring he would never forget Sameshita’s name. Their story unfurled as a tapestry woven with melancholy.
Yet, the very taboos that had ensnared their fates now emerged as the protective armor and potent sword for Elise in the present.
“For now, I must practice drawing the magic circle, even if it’s crudely done,” she mused.
How long had she been lost within the labyrinth of her own thoughts?
Abruptly, Elise’s awareness refocused on her own reflection within the mirror’s embrace. The chemise, never intended to conceal much in the first place, had descended to her navel.
Unthinking, her hand drifted to her shoulders and chest, the touch unveiling a surprising softness.
“Perhaps I’ve gained some weight?” she pondered aloud. True, her condition had improved since her flight from Argan. The days of skeletal fragility had yielded to a healthier state. Nearly ten months had passed since her skin bore the rough, pocked marks of adversity. Ivetsa’s diligent care had nurtured her back to vibrance, each dawn heralding progress.
Her lips curved in a hint of self-contentment. “Not so bad at all…”
The reflection held no secrets from her. The echoes of admiration that had dogged her steps across time were bound to persist. But now, with this newfound assurance, could she not boldly confront the study’s threshold during the veil of night’s unrest, countering any advances with unruffled composure?