"It’s the wind."
"There isn’t any wind today."
Gwendolyn’s tail stiffened. She did not turn her head, but Cecil spotted a faint blush of pink spreading across the scales on the tip of her ear — so pale it would have gone unnoticed if he had not been watching closely.
She opened her mouth to reply, yet no words came right away.
A faint pink tint rose across her cheeks the second she caught the stunned look plastered across his face.
"—Shut up. Keep walking. Watch where you’re going."
Cecil did not press the matter. He faced forward and kept walking, a smile lingering on his lips as warm sunlight spilled over the back of his neck.
Gwendolyn buried her face into the collar of his robe, tucked her tail in, and curled into a small blue‑and‑white ball, completely still.
Much later, when they were nearly back at the academy gates, her muffled voice drifted out:
"...I just think you’re not entirely terrible."
"Mhm."
"Don’t get cocky."
"Mhm."
"I mean it. Don’t get cocky."
Cecil reached out and lightly touched her exposed back. She flinched, but she did not pull away.
"I’m not getting cocky," he said.
Gwendolyn said nothing more. But the little ball huddled inside his collar shifted, pressing just a tiny bit closer against his neck.
Only a little.
Cecil’s dormitory was inside one of the weather‑beaten old towers on the far‑western side of the academy.
Dried vines crawled across its outer walls, and the hallways perpetually reeked of damp stone dust. The tower had originally served as storage for discarded teaching equipment.
When the flood of new students outstripped available housing, it had been hastily converted into dormitories, assigned only to those ranked "near the bottom of the entrance examinations".
There were just six rooms on this entire floor, occupied by souls trapped in circumstances much like his own‑‑commoners, fallen nobles, or unlucky youths who had awakened ordinary‑grade Spirit‑Beasts.
As Cecil pushed open the door to his room, the door right next‑door swung open at the exact same moment.
A gaunt boy whose contracted beast was a copper‑shell beetle leaned halfway out, holding an enamel basin with a grimy towel soaking inside. Their eyes met, and both froze for a heartbeat.
"...You live here too?" Cecil asked.
"I’m the only one on the east end of the third floor." The boy shook the basin in his hand. "The room next to mine was empty before."
"I just moved in today. The last roommate dropped out."
"Oh."
Silence hung between them for a moment. The thin‑faced boy glanced down at Gwendolyn perched on Cecil’s shoulder, where the little lizard was twining the tip of her tail around a strand of Cecil’s hair, tying it into a loose knot.
"...Doesn’t it sleep?" the boy questioned.
"She rarely does."
"My beetle doesn’t sleep much either. At least it never makes noise." The gaunt youth paused. "I’m Edwin."
"Cecil."
"I know." Edwin turned toward the washroom at the far end of the corridor, yet his footsteps slowed as he walked past Cecil.
"Supposedly sorted by the rank of your awakened Spirit‑Beast." Edwin lowered his voice slightly. "Anyone with a Battle‑grade beast or higher goes to Group A. Those with ordinary‑grade beasts get sent to Group B. Group B takes entirely different classes‑‑mostly theoretical work, barely any practical combat lessons."
With that, he kept walking. His slippers slapped noisily against the stone floor, and soon his figure vanished around the far corner of the corridor.
Cecil stood in the doorway, watching Edwin’s retreating back disappear from sight, then stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
He took off his newly‑bought bracer and set it on the table, lined up the potion bottles beside it, and laid the three‑copper short knife right on top. He slipped out of his worn robe.
Gwendolyn hopped down from his shoulder onto the tabletop. She prodded the hilt of the cheap dagger with one claw. Rust coated its surface, and the leather cord wrapped around the wooden handle crumbled at the lightest touch.
"...Three copper coins," she commented dryly.
"It can be sharpened."
"Being sharpenable and being capable of fighting are two very different things."
"I know." Cecil picked up the knife and hefted it in his palm. "But you can’t grow larger right now either. We make do."
Gwendolyn offered no retort. She crouched upon the tabletop, her tail coiled beside her body, her icy‑blue eyes studying him intently with a graver gaze than usual. Then she spoke, her tone far more serious than her typical snark.
"Sit down."
Cecil blinked in surprise. "Sit where?"
"On the floor. Cross‑legged. Face me."
Cecil stared at her for several seconds before obeying. The cold planks of the old floor seeped chill upward through the thin fabric of his trousers.
He sat cross‑legged, resting both hands on his knees, and looked up at the palm‑sized blue‑white lizard perched on the table edge, gazing down at him like a monarch upon a throne observing his one loyal subject.
In the next heartbeat, a blinding swirl of pale blue‑white frost erupted out of thin air right before his eyes.
The tiny lizard vanished inside the swirling mist.
Cecil took an involuntary step backward, his eyes flying wide open in pure shock.
When the icy fog slowly settled, a slender young woman stood in its place.
She wore a flowing ice-blue long gown edged with faint icy blue embroidery, long silver‑white hair cascading over her shoulders. Cold, luminous blue eyes stared straight back at him. Her skin held the translucent, moon‑pale glow of winter frost.
Gwendolyn tilted her chin upward, her voice still carrying that familiar haughty edge, yet quieter than usual.
"This... is actually my true form."
Cecil waited two seconds.
Two more seconds passed.
"...Gwendolyn?"
"We are bound soul‑to‑soul." Gwendolyn lifted one slender finger, tapping her own forehead then pointing toward his chest. "Our contract works both ways. As the seal restraining my power slowly unravels, your body will change in turn."
Cecil parted his lips to speak, then closed them again. He had already felt it‑‑even before the glowing silver runes had appeared, his body had grown noticeably lighter. Still, Gwendolyn’s words gave him a brand‑new framework to understand what was happening.
"So... as your seal loosens little by little, I also grow stronger?"
"Precisely. But that change is slow and passive." Gwendolyn tapped the wooden table behind her with one fingertip. "What I am going to teach you is active control."
She stepped forward and stood directly in front of him, tilting her head slightly downward to meet his eyes. "Soul Resonance.
Beyond our basic contract, the link between us can be strengthened by consciously channeling your magic. The more you draw upon this connection, the more power I can release. If you adjust your breathing and your magic flow to match my rhythm, the might of a single dragon’s breath I unleash can double."
Cecil listened intently. This was the first time Gwendolyn had spoken to him in such a manner‑‑no sarcasm, no mocking jabs, every word sharp‑edged like carefully carved shards of ice, clear and precise without stinging.
"How do I start?"
"Close your eyes. Find that invisible thread connecting you to me."
Cecil shut his eyes as instructed. He quickly located that cool, faint thread deep within his soul. It had always been there, trembling softly, its far‑off end vanishing into unseen darkness.
"Now," Gwendolyn’s voice echoed from outside his inner vision, "try sending something along that thread toward me. Not magic‑‑you barely possess any magic at all. Send your focus. Pour all of your awareness down that line."
Cecil gave it a try. He concentrated, imagining the thread as a taut silk strand, and guided his consciousness sliding along its length.
At first the movement dragged, as if scraping across rough sandpaper. Then in one instant, the thread turned smooth. His awareness surged forward, plunging into a cold, boundless white void‑‑
Deep within the white fog hovered a ball of pale blue‑white light, flickering steadily like a beating heart. He could feel without doubt that this light was Gwendolyn herself.
"You see me?" Gwendolyn’s voice reverberated through the mist.
"I see it."
"Good. Now pull your awareness back. Move slowly‑‑do not snap the thread."
Retreating from that space came far more naturally than entering, like water receding with the tide. When he opened his eyes, a thin layer of sweat glistened on his forehead, yet his mind felt far clearer than before.
"That light‑‑the blue‑white glow I saw inside‑‑is that your true source?"
"More or less. Every last shred of my remaining power is sealed within that radiance." Gwendolyn knelt down gracefully on the floor right in front of him. Her soft white skirt spread out across the cold wooden planks. She lifted one hand, her fingertips hovering lightly above his knee. "You successfully entered that inner realm, which means our channel is open. Next, I will teach you how to borrow my power from within that space."
Cecil nodded slowly. Something deep inside him was waking, just as water begins to flow beneath the ice once the frozen surface cracks open in winter. He glanced down at his hands; his fingertips had turned faintly cold, carrying that unique frigid aura belonging only to Gwendolyn.
"...My hands are getting cold."
"That happens when you draw near to my source." A hint of satisfaction coloured Gwendolyn’s tone. "This is a good sign‑‑you have begun to borrow my power. Now guide that chill and gather it at the tip of your right fingers."
Cecil followed her directions. He pictured the creeping cold as a narrow stream, flowing from his chest down his arm toward his right hand. It moved sluggishly at first, then accelerated, finally pooling at the ends of his index and middle fingers.
He looked down: an almost invisible thin layer of translucent frost had formed over his fingertips, just like the fog that crystallises on cold metal when you breathe upon it in winter.
He gently touched the leg of the rickety old wooden table beside him. The moment his fingertips made contact, a patch of white frost spread across the timber, faint and delicate, as if someone had brushed the wood with an ice‑soaked paintbrush.
Cecil stared in astonishment.
A faint, barely concealed spark of pride flickered inside Gwendolyn’s luminous blue eyes. The corners of her lips lifted just a hair before she quickly smoothed her expression back into haughty composure.
"...This is only a tiny wisp of frost. Once you master this, you will be able to freeze your opponent’s weapons. With even more practice‑‑you can freeze people solid."
Cecil watched the frost fade slowly from the wood, leaving a darker damp mark on the surface of the plank. He lifted his gaze toward Gwendolyn.
"This is incredible!"
"What else can you teach me?" he asked eagerly.