prologue

Agatha runs towards the back of the school castle, clutching her graduation certificate in one hand and a note in the other. Her long black hair flies along as she rushes to the place where the note directed her to be.

It’s the graduation day for the fourth years in the Mahika School of Magic. Everyone is at the school courtyard, including Agatha’s parents, watching the graduation program close. However, Agatha has different plans.

Those plans are in the place where her feet are leading her.

Agatha passes through the south wing of the castle with no problem. In the dying sunlight, all that she can see is the narrow entrance leading to Kalampusan woods, one of Mahika’s oldest forests. Without hesitation, Agatha runs to the entrance, which is directly in front of her.

Owing to her slight frame, she gets through quickly. Agatha runs through a maze of leaves, branches, and roots on the forest floor before another opening reveals itself. She passes through that without problems as well, and the sight of the frozen lake greets Agatha’s vision.

There is a lone boy standing in the middle of it, looking up at the sky. He’s wearing the same black and royal blue robes that Agatha and the rest of their peers have. His black hair flutters on the gentle breeze, caressing his ivory skin. He has his eyes closed, undisturbed even when Agatha’s footsteps drive away the silence that has surrounded him before. 

As Agatha runs to him, it occurs to her that this may be the last time that they may meet. After this graduation, the entire magical realm will open up to them, and she is sure that they will take different paths. After all, unlike her, he is meant to reach the highest of heights.

Though it pains her so, Agatha’s pace does not waver. She reaches the edge of the lake and nearly stumbles at the sudden cease of her running. The boy’s eyes open, and he looks at her with an indecipherable expression. “Hi! Have you been waiting long?” Agatha pants, as she tries to regain her breath.

Pushing her square glasses up her nose, Agatha’s surroundings come into sharp focus. The pink and orange hues of the sunset, along with the shadows of the trees, cast the blue color of the lake in a mystical aura. Even though Mahika does not experience winters, the lake has always stayed frozen. It’s a tidbit of information that Agatha has somehow gleaned from the decaying hardbacks in the library.

None of the shadows fall in the boy's way. His earth-brown eyes gleam as bright as the lamps coming from the school castle behind. Agatha’s breath gets stuck in her throat as it hits her with its beauty. His eyes remind her of the soil underneath her feet�"the giver and receiver of life. She can do nothing but stare back in silence.

Finally, the boy smiles, “No, you’re just in time.” His voice is raspy, like he’s never used it for more than once a day. Knowing him, Agatha expects it may be the case. She looks down to see skates on his feet. Once more, her heart aches for the certainty that this may be their last.

“Amos�"“ Agatha starts. Even though the emotion lumps itself in her throat, there are things that needed to be said. She opens her mouth once more, but the boy�"Amos�"holds his hand up and looks at her with a strained expression.

“No, Agatha. Don’t,” Amos shakes his head before skating away to the center of the lake. The wind blows harsher, striking the leaves on the ground. None of them graze even a single inch of Agatha’s robes. She tries to look as unaffected as possible.

But even the most simple of minds can see that Agatha is failing miserably in that regard. Amos raises his hands to the sky�"the left slightly lower than the right. He looks up at the orange-pink clouds above.

Amos Diamante is a wizard extraordinaire and the most mysterious person Agatha has ever met. He graduated with the highest honors of their year by a wide margin, earning perfect marks across all of his subjects. He is the second person to do so, right after the famous historical figure, Natalia Calaio.

An expert magical cartographer even at his young age, Amos is also a lock-in to a spot of the Department of Magical Location’s best cartography unit. Not only that, but also the rest of the government departments are offering him spots on their teams. The future that awaits for him is bright and something that Agatha can only hope for herself.

But as he receives his award earlier, Agatha sees no happiness on his face. Amos walks up to the stage alone, delivers a speech, receives the award, and goes back to his seat. Throughout the ordeal, his expression is as strained. It’s like the graduation event is more of a curse than a blessing.

Agatha wonders why. 

The way Amos has raised his hands to the sky is almost akin to the god-worshippers Agatha has seen in the lorgnette-box. Though his hands are barely touching each other, Amos still looks like he’s pleading to the beings above.

Eventually, the wind gives way to the music, and his performance begins. He slowly lowers his hands as he picks up speed and circles around the lake. Amos’ passive face gradually morphs to an expression of sadness and melancholy. 

He goes back to the middle and reaches his hand forward, only to grasp at nothing. 

Amos freezes as soon as his hand catches the air. It’s like a world-shattering realization has struck him hard. Every single broken piece shows on his face as his eyes glisten and his lips try to fight off an unhappy curl. 

Then Amos turns and looks back haltingly, trying to see if what he’s trying to catch appears again.

But instead of staying rooted to the spot, Amos skates around the lake. He keeps on reaching to the empty air, only to meet the same result. The shadows catch up to him, casting a copy of black on the surface of the lake. It mimics his actions, but it is merely a husk of the quiet desperation that graces Amos’ features.

He picks up his speed while dancing to the heavy tune of the trees. Agatha hears the notes of a piano playing from a distance. It echoes around the lake, making the entire experience otherworldly. No doubt that Amos has convinced the trees in the forest to lend him their power. He is just great like that.

Agatha clenches her hands to her sides, staring determinedly at Amos, who is baring his soul in the ice. There is an unexplainable urge within her to run in the middle of the lake, grab his hands, and never let go. The very idea of Amos reaching at nothing haunts her to the core. It feels so wrong on many levels. 

She has known him for almost a year now, after their fateful encounter in this place. Agatha can say that he deserves nothing but the best. Amos has been kind to Agatha. Even when things get overwhelming for her, that she can’t find the will to speak. 

From the stoniest of silences to the bubbliest of chatters, Amos and his quiet personality have welcomed Agatha unconditionally.

But what can Agatha do? She is just as lost as him as well�"maybe even worse. Amos is grasping at the empty air, and she is looking at the vast clouds in the sky with absolutely no hope. All she can do is just to watch helplessly as the beautiful storm in front of her rages with unmatched ferocity.

Amos’ speed gradually decreases, until he comes to a stop, staring at Agatha a few meters away. A small, but resigned smile etches on his delicate features, as he regards her for what may be the last time. Agatha smiles back, just as sad, if not more. 

Both of them will go to separate ways after this, with Agatha’s combat magic internship and Amos’ potential career in magical cartography. Those are two different branches of magic that never really intersect unless something really peculiar happens. 

Sure, they can stay in contact�"the magical realm has a wide selection of communication modes that are far more complex and efficient that the ones used in the human realm. However, Agatha has a feeling that their friendship will just… die out on its own either way. She’s not the one to hope that all good things will last throughout her lifetime.

Amos has been her good thing. He has inspired Agatha to be brave in her own way. Underneath his delicacy and elegance, there is a strength that is great enough to shoulder the world. 

Agatha often sees it in the way his brown eyes remain steady amongst the envious and resentful looks from their peers. Agatha witnesses that strength as she looks up at him, standing alone at the top. 

She is not an idiot to think that it will last forever. Soon enough, the sensibilities of the world will call, and the two of them will assume their responsibilities. Agatha will inevitably become a matriarch of a decaying name, and Amos will go on and either build a house or join one that is as great as him. Then, this will just become a gem of the past that she will dust off from time to time in her old age.

Agatha’s smile becomes sadder as both of them break eye contact. Amos now skates at a slower pace, gracefully leaning on the ice on one knee. He raises his hands up, grasps the air, and brings it to his chest. His eyes close as he glides across the lake, hands still pressed like what it’s holding is something that he will never let go.

Amos looks up at the sky with a pleading expression on his face. Then he turns and effortlessly stands up, hands still on his chest. He slowly unfurls them, lets it fall to his side. His eyes never leave the orange clouds, which are now stained with blue. The fireflies come out and surround the lake with light, as Amos’ skate draws to a close.

The echoing melody of the piano rises in intensity as he breaks out his last dance. Amos reaches into the air one last time. However, instead of grasping the air, he keeps his hands open. It curls slightly. 

A longing expression crosses his face as he finds himself in the same spot to where he’s started.

Amos turns slowly, brings his outstretched palm to his lips, and raises it to the sky. The moon is about to peek out, as the blue triumphs over the orange. Agatha feels like the best part is already over.

Author's Note

lorgnette-box: the magical realm's equivalent to a CRT television--knobs and all. Mahikans rely less on it than humans do, but it still serves the same purpose.