Magic Adventure: Story About Julius

I woke up.

It didn't happen all at once — I just became aware that the light behind my eyelids was warmer, steadier. No cold. No dirt under my cheek. A pillow.

Warmth. A blanket. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling.

Wooden beams. Darkened with age, cracked and solid. Real. Strong. I kept staring at them, just to make sure they weren't some kind of illusion. Not a hallucination before death.

I was lying in bed. A real one. There was a mattress beneath me. My body ached, but in a different way — more like a fever that had just broken. A dull ache in my muscles, but no bone-deep pain. Scratches stung, especially on my legs and shoulders, but even that pain felt… alive.

I turned my head.

The room was small. Stone walls. A modest hearth. A wooden table with a bundle of dried herbs hanging from one corner. And by the wall — a chair. In it sat a man. An old man.

He was resting, leaning into the armrest, eyes closed. Not quite asleep — more like dozing.

He wore a deep red cloak — long, its edges frayed, slightly crooked as if thrown on in a hurry. Beneath it, dark trousers and a shirt. His head was bald, but he had a full silver beard. And his face... calm. The kind of calm that comes from being used to silence — and maybe even strangers in his bed.

I didn't know who he was. I didn't know where I was. I didn't know how I'd gotten here.

But I knew this much: I wasn't in the forest anymore, I wasn't lying in the mud.

And someone had saved me. I closed my eyes for just a second.

And for the first time in many days… I wasn't afraid of the quiet.

The old man woke up quietly. He simply opened his eyes and looked at me—as if he already knew I was awake. There was no surprise in his gaze, no urgency. Just the calm weight of someone who had seen too much to be startled by anything anymore.

He poured a warm herbal drink and handed it to me. It was bitter, earthy, slightly sharp on the tongue. My hands trembled as I took the cup, but I drank slowly, almost reverently. My body clung to the warmth like it had forgotten what safety felt like.

He didn't ask questions. Just told me where he'd found me—at the edge of a ravine, half-buried in leaves and mud. No shoes, no bag, barely alive. He said I looked more like a corpse than a boy. Most wouldn't have stopped.

He didn't want to know who I was. Or where I'd come from. He simply said that leaving someone to die facedown in the dirt wasn't the kind of thing he could live with.

I listened, silent. Words were heavy in my mouth. Too many memories were stacked behind them, and none of them wanted to be touched.

He returned to his chair and let the silence settle.

And I lay beneath the blanket, body still aching, but lighter somehow. Not from healing—no, not yet—but because, for the first time in days, I wasn't on the edge of dying. I was somewhere. Inside walls. On a bed. In a moment that didn't demand anything from me.

For now, that was enough.

He watched me for a long while. The room was quiet, save for the soft crackle of dry wood in the fire. He didn't rush me, but eventually asked—gently, like someone trying not to scare a wounded animal—how I had ended up alone, in that forest.

I didn't answer right away.

The words stuck in my throat, too sharp with memory to come out cleanly. In my mind, I saw Mother's eyes again—that farewell I never wanted to accept. I heard the roar that shattered houses, lives... and something inside me.

My chest tightened. My fingers clenched the blanket. And then, one name broke free from me—hoarse, trembling with rage and sorrow:

"Acnologia…"

Tears welled up, but I didn't look away. That name wasn't just pain. It was everything I had lost, everything that had burned.

"How I wish… I want to kill you…"

It came out almost as a whisper, but there was weight in it—more than words. A promise. A curse. A prayer no god would answer.

I didn't see his face, but I heard the sharp breath he drew in. And I knew.

He recognized it. He knew where I was from.

Aurorum. The village that no longer existed.

He said nothing. Only lowered his eyes.

And in that silence, for the first time… I felt understood.

Not pitied. Not questioned. Just… understood.