"This way!" Aaron called, weaving through the crimson sea of red lilies until he reached the sitting area nestled at their center. "There should be an astermite at the centre of its table," he added, confidently.
Merlock followed closely behind. On the stone table sat a luminous blue gem, gleaming with the tranquil brilliance of a moonlit lake. The moment Aaron touched it, the serene glow was swallowed by a thick swirl of black clouds—dense, dark, and impenetrable.
"I see... So you're a dark mage," Merlock mused, a spark of intrigue lighting his eyes. "Quite rare these days. That means we'll need to get you a grimoire. Fortunately," he said with a grin, "I have just the match for you."
With a flick of his hand, a book materialized before them. It was unlike any book Aaron had ever seen—sleek, pitch black, and utterly devoid of markings. Just looking at it stirred discomfort, as though staring into the abyssal eyes of a midnight owl, gazing back through the darkness.
Aaron raised a skeptical brow. "Doesn't look like much. Are you sure this is what you meant by 'perfect'?"
"You shouldn't judge a book by its cover," Merlock replied without missing a beat. "This is one of the oldest and most powerful grimoires in existence. Even if it were an ordinary one, it'd still suit someone like you at this stage."
Aaron sighed, resigned. "Fine, I'll give it a try," he muttered, sounding less annoyed at Merlock and more at himself—for having to put in effort.
"I'm going to disappear for now," Merlock said suddenly, his tone softening. "I'll be storing myself inside the grimoire to replenish my mana. Spirits don't sleep, after all."
Before Aaron could respond, Merlock's form dissipated into a mist of white light and slipped into the grimoire's pages.
"Wait—what spells am I even supposed to start with? That's not fair!" Aaron shouted into the air, receiving no answer but the rustling of the lilies in the evening breeze.
"Well... he's gone. For now." Aaron sighed again and glanced up. The sun was setting, and golden rays filtered through the trees. "I should head home before I'm grounded for life. It's already been a full night and day..."
When Aaron returned to the mansion, he called out like he always did, "Mom! I'm home!"
A voice echoed from the stairway.
"Not that brat again..." murmured a maid, seated on the bottom step of the grand staircase leading to the upper floor.
She wore a classic black-and-white maid dress, her posture relaxed yet composed. Her sleek black hair framed a face with sharp, confident features, and her red eyes held a spark of mischief. A small beauty mark under her lip only enhanced her charm. Though only one maid worked in the mansion, she carried herself with the dignity of someone who didn't need anyone else.
Her name was Suttela.
"Where's my mom?" Aaron asked, casually approaching the steps.
"Probably in her room," Suttela replied flatly.
"Got it. Thanks."
She blinked. "You never thank me. You're in a surprisingly good mood. Did you get yourself a girlfriend or something?"
Aaron smirked. "Why? Concerned about my love life now?"
A faint blush rose on her cheeks. "Don't flatter yourself. Like anyone would want to be with someone who constantly causes trouble."
"Maybe I quit drinking. That's why I seem different."
"Or maybe you hit your head somewhere," she muttered. "Anyway, your mom was worried. Don't expect her to go easy on you this time."
Aaron gave her a tired smile. "Wish me luck, then. You're being sweet today."
He turned and started walking up the stairs. Suttela watched him disappear, her face thoughtful.
"'You're so sweet?' What was that about? What's with this sudden change? He has been acting different... is he trying to impress me?" She shook her head. "No way. That can't be it. He's five years younger than me... But he is handsome, and rich, and... what am I even thinking? Get a grip, Suttela!"
Aaron gently opened the door to his mother's room. The space was dimly lit, the faint orange glow of a lamp casting long shadows across the room. A breeze drifted in through the open window, rustling the curtains. His mother lay on the bed beneath a red blanket, her long silver hair shimmering faintly in the low light—like moonlight on still water.
When she turned toward him, her violet eyes met his—deep and clear, like amethysts dusted with snowfall.
"You do realize how late it is?" she asked, her voice calm and even, though her eyes betrayed her fatigue.
Aaron lowered his gaze. "Yes, I do. But I can explain—"
"Enough," she interrupted gently. "I'm not in the mood for excuses. Come here. Sit beside me."
He obeyed quietly, sitting at the edge of her bed. The lamp's glow caught the black book in his hands.
"What's that?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
"It's a grimoire. A spirit gave it to me. I've decided to change—to stop wasting time, to quit drinking, and to become someone who can pay off our debts... our family's debts."
For a moment, there was silence. Then a soft smile spread across her lips. Her eyes shimmered, tears gathering without falling.
Without a word, she pulled him gently down onto her lap, resting his head there and brushing his hair back with care.
"I had a feeling something was different today," she whispered. "You've grown up a little, haven't you? That's exactly the kind of man I hoped you'd become."
She hugged him close, her voice tender. "It's okay to stumble. You're still a child in many ways. But taking responsibility—that's what matters. I'm so proud of you, Aaron. I was going to ask for your help soon... but here you are, already making that choice on your own. You've matured."
She paused for a moment, then added quietly, "Your father may have been tricked easily, but he's a good man. Don't carry hatred for him. I still love him. And I love you too, my son."
Aaron couldn't hold back the tears anymore. He clutched the grimoire tightly as he wept.
"I love you too, Mom," he said through his sobs.
"There, there. My little crybaby," she chuckled softly, stroking his hair. "Men aren't supposed to cry so much... but maybe I'll let it slide, just this once."