Chapter 933: A memory (3)
"Kid... you’re familiar with that, aren’t you?"
Lucavion fell silent.
Not the silence of dismissal—but the kind that sinks deep. The kind that tugs at buried memories and presses against scars that no longer bleed but still ache.
He stared at the dirt in front of him, yet his eyes weren’t seeing it.
He was remembering.
The cold stone of the old courtyard. The dust rising with every stomp of his feet. The blisters splitting open across his palms from a spear haft gripped too tightly. The barked orders of instructors. The impatient sighs of family watching from shaded balconies. His siblings—flawless in form, graceful in motion. Effortless.
And him?
Awkward. Slow. Too stiff where he needed to be fluid. Too tense where he should have flowed. Every movement echoing with "almost." Almost right. Almost good. Almost enough.
And never, ever quite there.
He’d spent years like that—chasing a perfection that never seemed to come. The techniques were drilled into him, repeated until he could recite them in his sleep. But his body never moved the way theirs did. His rhythm always lagged. His form always off. Every success felt borrowed. Every failure felt earned.
His grip... yes.
Too right.
Too rehearsed.
So perfect in shape, and yet so wrong in feel.
"...Yeah," Lucavion murmured at last, his voice quieter than usual. "I’m familiar."
Gerald watched him for a beat longer, then nodded once, as if confirming something he already knew.
"The way she held that sword," he said slowly, pointing toward Lucavion with two fingers, "was just like how you held your spear the first day I saw you."
Lucavion’s breath caught for a moment.
It wasn’t an accusation. It wasn’t pity.
It was recognition.
"I see..." he murmured.
Lucavion stayed quiet for a few more seconds, the weight of memory still lingering in his chest.
Then, quietly, without looking up:
"...What happened after that?"
Gerald gave a small hum, reaching for his tea again, swirling what little remained in the cup like it was a memory he could drink from.
"I saved her," he said simply.
Lucavion looked up. "Just like that?"
Gerald shrugged. "She was about to die. I was nearby. Didn’t take much thought. Sliced through the beasts, scooped her up. Done and dusted."
A pause.
"Then what?"
"She followed me."
Lucavion raised a brow. "She just... followed you?"
"She was stubborn," Gerald said with a faint chuckle. "Didn’t say much. Just stuck close, like a stray dog that decided you were worth betting on. At the time, I was traveling solo, so I didn’t really mind the company."
He leaned back against the tree again, the cup balanced on one knee. "But there was something weird about her."
Lucavion narrowed his eyes. "Weird?"
Gerald nodded slowly. "Yeah. Couldn’t quite place it back then. Nothing obvious. No strange aura, no dark energy pulsing off her back. But there was something... off."
"Off how?"
"I said I couldn’t place it, didn’t I?" Gerald snapped, his tone suddenly sharper. "But I was aware. Something about her was fundamentally different. Like the world bent a little when she walked. Like her presence didn’t fit into the flow around her."
Lucavion leaned forward slightly, voice low. "Then what? What made her different?"
Gerald waved a hand, irritated. "Would you just let me finish?"
"You’re dancing around the point, old man."
Gerald’s eyes flashed. "Brat! Be patient a little!"
"Just speak."
"You want answers without listening. That’s the mark of someone who doesn’t actually want to understand."
Lucavion gave him a sideways look, but didn’t argue further.
Gerald gave another hum, softer this time, tapping his fingers lightly against the side of the teacup.
"She was strange," he repeated. "Didn’t talk about herself. Didn’t complain. Barely ate. But every now and then, she’d get this look in her eyes like she was listening to something far away. Something no one else could hear."
He paused.
Gerald’s eyes drifted lazily toward the sky, though the light in them had dimmed—dulled by memory.
"Of course," he said after a moment, "I asked her name."
Lucavion watched him, silent.
"She told me she didn’t have one."
That earned a blink. "What?"
"Apparently," Gerald went on, voice steady but distant, "she was an orphan. Parents were gone. Had been for a while, from the sound of it. Didn’t belong anywhere. No village, no house, no guardians waiting around the bend. Just... wandered."
He tapped the edge of the cup absentmindedly. "From the way she spoke, it was clear she didn’t want to go into the details. So I didn’t push. But then again—" he glanced at Lucavion with a raised brow, "—what kind of normal child ends up alone in the woods, holding a sword too big for her hands?"
Lucavion nodded slowly. "That makes sense. Still... didn’t think you were the considerate type."
Gerald raised an eyebrow. "What, you think I’m heartless?"
"I’ve seen you scam free food off nobles with sob stories that weren’t even yours."
Gerald snorted. "That’s called resourcefulness."
"Sure."
The older man gave a mock scoff. "Of course I was considerate. What, you want me to bully a little girl who didn’t even have a name?"
Lucavion leaned back slightly, a dry look creeping onto his face. "...So it was because she was a girl."
"Maybe," Gerald said with a grin. "Or maybe not."
"Insufferable old man."
"Enigmatic." Gerald corrected, raising a finger.
"...Infuriating."
"I accept both."
Gerald leaned forward just slightly, gaze drifting not to Lucavion but to something beyond the trees, as if the weight of the moment had finally pulled him deeper into memory than sarcasm could shield.
"Eventually," he said, his voice lower now, less performative, "I figured it out."
Lucavion’s brows furrowed, sensing the shift.
"I didn’t realize it at first. Took time. She followed me through a few towns, a few monster nests. Picked up a dagger at some point—she was always trying to mimic what I did, clumsily. But she was quiet. Always quiet."
Gerald’s finger traced the rim of his cup absently, almost as if grounding himself there.
"Then, one night, we got ambushed," he continued. "It was nothing big—just a few mutated hounds, the kind that roam the outskirts of cursed plains. But it was the first time she saw me use it."
Lucavion didn’t need to ask. He already knew.
"Starlight," he murmured.
Gerald nodded once. "Yeah. I drew it like usual. Formed it around the blade. Shaped it. Let it flow." He exhaled slowly, not with pride, but remembrance. "And that’s when it happened."
Lucavion leaned in unconsciously, every muscle tuned now.
"She froze," Gerald said. "Her eyes locked onto the light, like it was the first real thing she’d ever seen. And then—"
He stopped for a beat, just long enough for the moment to settle.
"—she started glowing."
Lucavion blinked. "What?"
"I mean that literally," Gerald said, eyes narrowing slightly. "Her skin didn’t shine. Her body didn’t radiate. But her presence changed. The mana around her stirred, like it was responding. Starlight wasn’t just light to her—it was warmth. A call."
Lucavion sat still. Not even breathing now.
"She took a step forward," Gerald continued. "And the light moved with her. It wrapped around her fingertips like she belonged to it. Not as a cultivator, not yet—but like something deeper in her bones already understood it."
"Her physique..." Lucavion murmured.
Gerald gave a small smile.
"Exactly," he said. "She had one. A rare one. A special type."
Gerald’s gaze dropped to the cup in his hands, now empty and forgotten. His voice, though calm, carried something that wasn’t usually there—curiosity wrapped in something quieter. Something heavier.
"It wasn’t just that she responded to it," he said. "Her physique flowed with it. With my power."
Lucavion frowned, leaning in slightly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Gerald said slowly, "when I drew starlight, it didn’t just recognize her—it aligned with her. It pulsed in time with her breath. Bent around her frame.
It was as if....
Like it knew her."