Two days passed. No dreams, no echoes—just silence. For the first time since the collapse, I felt whole again. My mana was stable. My body didn't shake. But I had no idea where to begin.
The blank book sat in front of me like a mirror. Empty. Unforgiving.
"Great Sage," I murmured. "How does someone write a Grimoire without a master?"
[Query registered. Initiating response.]
[A Grimoire, or Completed Spellbook, is traditionally authored by high-ranking mages or instructors to archive developed spells, theories, and incantation frameworks. Most users inherit or copy from preexisting volumes. Writing one from scratch is extremely rare.]
"So there are no guidelines for Gravity magic?"
[Correct. No official or unofficial records exist within known archives. Probability suggests the art was either lost or intentionally erased.]
I tapped the pen against the page. "Then I have to make my own."
[Affirmative. Recommend structuring entries into core categories: Mana Theory, Spell Constructs, Applications, Failures, Modifications. Format is subjective but should allow consistent notation.]
The weight of it settled in. I wasn't just creating spells. I was inventing the language that could carry them.
A part of me wanted to ask Mom. Not for the magic itself. She didn't have Gravity, but she was a Summoner. She understood how magic manifested, how constructs were formed and bound through mana. More importantly, she knew structure. She knew how to teach.
But I stopped myself. Not yet. Not until I had something to show her.
I dipped the pen into the ink and started with the only thing I knew for sure:
Entry 001 - Theory: Gravity does not pull. It defines position. The closer something is to me, the more influence I have. Not because I attract it, but because I define where it can be.
My handwriting wavered slightly, but I didn't stop.
Implication: Gravity is not a force. It is a rule.
The words felt small. But they were mine. And this book would be too.
At least, they would be—if I could figure out how the hell the chapters were supposed to work.
"Great Sage, how are spellbooks divided? Like… in terms of structure?"
[Referencing known formats. Based on observed data from Subject: Satoshi Hoshino's spellbook, traditional Grimoires are divided into categorized chapters by spell complexity, elemental function, and theoretical advancement. Each chapter builds on previous entries in escalating order of risk, control, and application.]
I remembered the oversized tome tucked deep in the hidden chamber. The arcane script, the sectioning—each spell refined, annotated, contained.
"…So I can't just write things randomly."
[Correct. Unstructured entries may reduce long-term utility. Recommend determining chapter intent before transcription.]
Before I could ask another question, the door clicked softly.
"Oh, you're up?"
It was Mom.
She stepped inside, eyes scanning me—then the book, the ink-stained pen, and finally the faint lines under my eyes.
"You've been working," she said, sitting on the edge of my bed without waiting for a reply.
Her gaze lingered on the book for a moment longer. "Why did you ask for a blank book in the first place?"
I hesitated, then closed the ink bottle slowly. "I wasn't sure at first," I admitted. "But now… I think I'm writing a Grimoire."
She tilted her head slightly. "What made you want to do that?"
I paused. "I don't know," I lied. "I guess… if I'm going to have this magic, I need to understand it. And no one else can teach me."
Lelyah's expression shifted slightly. Her fingers brushed the spine of the book with something between reverence and worry. "Do you know why most mages don't write their own?"
I blinked. "Because it's hard?"
"Because it's binding," she said softly. "A Grimoire isn't just a journal—it's a reflection. A contract. Every word you write in it, every theory, every failure, every success—it all becomes a record of who you are and how you wield your power."
Her eyes met mine. "Most people don't want that kind of mirror. Especially when they don't know what they're becoming."
I didn't look away. "Then maybe it's better to know."
She was quiet for a moment.
Then, gently, she said, "If you really intend to keep going… then let me help. Not with Gravity. But with structure. With how to build a Grimoire that won't collapse on itself."
I stared at her.
"You'd help?"
"Of course," she said. "You're my daughter. "
Her voice didn't shake. It didn't soften. But there was something firm beneath it. Something proud. Something resolved.
For the first time since I was reborn… I didn't feel like I was starting from nothing.
"Then let's start," I said. "If we're doing this… I want to do it right."
She nodded, shifting slightly to sit beside me.
"First," she said, "you'll need to decide your Grimoire's foundational principles. Just like with magic, everything needs an anchor. A core. What do you want this book to represent?"
"…Control," I said. "Understanding. Power without collapse."
"Then that's what you write into its spine," she replied. "Not literally. But every chapter you build—every spell you define—should follow those rules."
I nodded slowly.
"Next," she continued, "categorization. Most Grimoires divide into five to seven chapters with subchapters: Theory, Constructs, Practical Applications, Failures and Redesigns, Experimentation, Combat Use, and Sealed Concepts."
"Sealed?" I asked.
"For magic that shouldn't be used unless you have no other choice," she said. "Dangerous spells. Unfinished rituals. Contingencies."
That made sense. I scribbled the terms quickly onto a fresh page.
"Don't rush it," she added. "You're not building a diary. You're building a legacy. If this book ever falls into someone else's hands, it should reflect exactly what you intended—and nothing you didn't."
I paused. "Then… what's your Grimoire like?"
She smiled faintly. "You'll see it someday. But this one? This one is yours."
And for the first time…
That didn't feel terrifying. It felt earned.
Chapter 01: Path of the Hunt
Gravity is not an external force. It is a defined law—an authority imposed through mana signature. As prey defines the predator by action, so too does space acknowledge a caster's dominion.
Sub-Section: Locus Casting Theory
Technique Theory: Anchor-Based Momentum Correction Notes: Begin foundational testing on redirective pull vs. fixed-point suspension.
"Path of the Hunt." The name sat at the top of the page like a challenge. It was bold. Maybe too bold. But I'd started. That alone felt like a victory.
I tapped the quill against the side of the ink jar, then glanced at the circle I'd sketched—three layered rings, not yet filled with runes. The structure was crude, but the shape felt right. The form mirrored something from summoning theory—three tiers of command, control, and anchor.
"A temporary name," I murmured.
Lelyah's voice carried over my shoulder, soft and curious. "It's not a bad one."
I blinked. "You think so?"
She nodded, lowering herself into the chair beside me. "Summoners usually start with structure first—base forms, runic limitations, anchor fields. But you've already integrated conceptual layering."
I looked back at the page. The rings. The scattered notations. "It felt right."
Lelyah offered a faint smile. "It's rough, but intuitive. And that's more than most get on their first try."
Lelyah traced a finger just below the title.
"You said this was about instinct," she murmured, tapping the line under Path of the Hunt. "But this here—'traction control'—that's movement under pressure. That's not just instinct. That's training."
I paused. "I guess it is."
"And this—'tracking the pulse.'" Her eyes flicked over my notes. "That's about reading the environment. Mana awareness in motion. Do you feel that naturally, or is it a reflex?"
"Half and half," I said. "It's like… my tails tell me where to move, but I have to listen. If I hesitate, it gets messy."
"Then the chapter's core isn't just movement," she said. "It's trust. Trusting your own magic to lead you, and trusting yourself to follow."
I blinked. "You got all that from one bullet point?"
She smiled. "This is the difference between a diary and a Grimoire. One records what happened. The other teaches someone why it matters."
"I don't even know how a Grimoire is supposed to start," I admitted.
"You started," Lelyah said. "That matters more."
Silence passed, then I asked quietly, "Mom… who were you trying to become?"
That caught her off guard. Just a flicker. A breath.
Lelyah didn't answer right away. Her gaze drifted slightly, not toward the notebook, but somewhere past it—like she was seeing another time.
"I was born a Tomaszewski," she said softly. "But our name was dragged through mud because of one person—Apollyon."
I stilled. I had heard the name whispered before, but never like this.
Lelyah didn't look at me.
"There was a time when people saw our crest and thought only of ruin. Of the Saint whose mercy was measured in body counts. The blood she spilled. The silence she left behind."
A breath. I stayed silent. Not out of fear, but out of reverence. I'd never heard her speak like this before.
"There were years," she said, "when I thought I'd die with no one ever knowing who I really was. What I had to do to live. But I survived. I adapted. I buried my past for something better."
She looked back at me, gaze clear.
"And then I had you. And suddenly… the Grimoire wasn't about surviving anymore. It was about building something you could stand on. Something that would outlast all the things I couldn't say out loud."
"…Do you regret it?" I asked softly.
Her answer was immediate.
"No. Because I see you."
She reached forward, gently tapping the page where I'd written Path of the Hunt.
A beat. Then she looked back at me. "I decided if I couldn't outrun the shadow, I'd teach you how to stand taller than it."
My throat tightened.
"You don't have to become what I was," she said. "Just… become yourself."
She started to say something more—then paused.
Her eyes flicked toward the door. Her expression shifted, faintly amused.
"You know," she said casually, "if you're going to check on her, Rei, you might as well come in instead of lurking."
There was a long pause. Then the door creaked open an inch.
"…How did you know?" came Rei's voice, half-defensive.
"I'm a Summoner," Lelyah said dryly, her tone somewhere between amused and exasperated. "I track more than monsters. I track mana threads, intent trails, heartbeat variance—even guilt. You don't spend a lifetime hunting contracts through unfamiliar terrain without learning how to read a person's presence from three rooms away."
Rei stepped into view reluctantly, brushing a hand over the back of his neck.
"I brought tea," he said.
Lelyah arched a brow. "And you were going to wait until we finished talking?"
"I call it being considerate."
"Mm. And yet your aura's all over the hallway like perfume on a letter."
Rei shifted, clearly unsure whether to stay or go. I didn't blame him. It wasn't every day you stumbled into a private moment between a mother and daughter.
He looked at me.
"You okay with me being here?" he asked.
I nodded once. "Yeah."
Rei gave a tiny smile, stepping forward with a tray in hand. But as he moved, I noticed the stiffness in their step—the subtle wince in their eyes.
"Rei?" I asked.
"I'm fine," they said quickly.
Too quickly.
Lelyah's gaze sharpened. "Sit. Now."
Rei sighed, setting the tray down and folding into the nearest chair like they'd been holding tension for hours.
I studied them more closely. The pale sheen of sweat. The clenched jaw.
"…Are you in pain?" I asked.
Rei flinched. "It's nothing serious."
Lelyah moved smoothly across the room, placing a hand on Rei's shoulder. "Cramps?"
Rei looked away. "Maybe."
Lelyah reached into her coat, pulling out a small satchel. "I thought so."
She handed it over without another word. Rei accepted it, eyes a little tired but grateful.
[Notice: Subject Reilan Gintama continues to display signs of physiological distress consistent with menstruation. Reminder: Subject is biologically female.]
"He's not—"
[Correction denied. Genetic data remains consistent. Subject Reilan Gintama is biologically female. Social identifiers may not align with physical characteristics.]
I grit my teeth slightly. "You're wrong."
[No anomaly detected. Statement logged for future cross-reference.]
I forced the thought down. Not now. I wasn't ready to unpack that yet.
Lelyah returned to my side. I looked at Rei. Then back at my Grimoire.
"You're writing a Grimoire," Rei said, half-curious, half-awed. "Seriously?"
I raised an eyebrow. "You say that like it's a bad idea. That's the reason I asked for a blank book from you"
"No," he said quickly. "It's just… not something people your age usually do. Or even think about."
"You're right, but you know her. She's never been a normal child." Lelyah said evenly.
Rei dipped his head in apology. "Didn't mean it that way."
"I know," she said, softer this time.
He looked over at me again, something gentler in his expression. "Still. It's impressive."
I smirked faintly. "You just like that it'll give you something to copy from one day."
"I would never—"
"You would absolutely copy my Grimoire," I cut in, deadpan.
"Maybe a little," he admitted. "But only the good spells."
Lelyah raised an eyebrow. "If you can tell which is which."
"I have standards," he said with mock offense.
"Low ones," I muttered.
He laughed quietly, then leaned forward slightly, studying the page. "Path of the Hunt… sounds more like a title for a war chapter."
"It might be," I said honestly. "I don't know where it'll go yet. 'Path of the Hunt' is probably just a temp name."
Rei tapped his finger against the edge of the table, thoughtful. "What happens if it becomes something more than just a guide? Like… what if it becomes dangerous?"
I tilted my head. "Then it gets sealed. Like Mom said."
"And what if you're the danger?"
That gave me pause.
I looked down at the ink drying across the parchment.
"That's why I'm writing it," I said finally. "So I know when I cross the line."
Lelyah and Rei both went quiet at that.
Eventually, my mother broke the silence. "You know… I never had that kind of certainty at your age."
I glanced at her.
She smiled faintly. "Which is why I'm glad you do."
Rei's eyes flicked between us, then back to the open page. "If you ever need someone to spar with once you start testing spells…"
"I'll add a page for emergency healers just for him," I said dryly.
"Make it two," Lelyah added, smirking.
The laughter that followed was brief but real.
Then, without warning, Rei's expression tightened. His shoulders drew in ever so slightly, and I saw the way his hand curled into his lap.
Lelyah noticed too. Her voice softened, but there was no mistaking the knowing tone. "You should rest soon."
"I will," Rei muttered, standing slowly.
But that wince—subtle, quick—didn't escape me.
"You're still in pain," I said.
"I'll be fine," Rei insisted, already halfway to the door.
I didn't press further.
Had I ever seen Rei hurt like this before? Or had I just never noticed—because I thought I already knew who he was?
He paused at the doorway. "I'll be back later," he said, voice tight.
Lelyah just watched him go, her eyes narrowing faintly—not unkind, but knowing.
Once the door shut, she turned to me. "Let him carry what he thinks he has to. But be ready when he can't."
I nodded slowly.
And just like that, we were alone again—with ink, pages, and everything still ahead of me.
The moment barely settled before a knock came at the door. It was soft, polite—different from Rei's earlier arrival.
"Lady Lelyah," a voice called through the door. "Your presence is requested in the central atrium. The guests from House Fontaine and House Albrecht have arrived."
I blinked.
Already?
Mom's posture shifted. Calm, but precise.
"They're early," she murmured.
"Do I have to go?" I asked, not quite ready to shift out of this moment.
She gave me a look. Not stern, but resolute. "They've come a long way. First impressions matter."
I groaned softly and pushed my chair back.
Mom offered a hand. I took it.
"Let's get you dressed," she said, rising to her feet. "They're not just here to smile and sip tea—this is about alliances, future influence, and making sure the right eyes see you as more than a footnote."
I blinked. "That sounds… dramatic."
She gave me a knowing look. "Everything's dramatic when nobles are involved. But these are the heirs of House Fontaine and House Albrecht. Their mothers have more influence than most realize, and their children are being groomed to inherit more than titles. What you say, how you carry yourself—even how you breathe—is going to ripple."
I stood slowly, letting her help me straighten my sleeves. "So it's a test."
"It's always a test," she murmured. "But that doesn't mean you can't win it."