Cyril rarely saw anything in his sleep, and whatever little he did, he would never remember it in the morning.
Perhaps this dream would be no exception.
Through eyes that didn’t feel his own, he suddenly saw a peculiar sight: a vast, endless red sea shrouded in darkness.
As a citizen of the Empire, Cyril never saw anything like it.
The crimson waters exuded a soft glow, acting as the only source of light in this mystical space.
He looked ahead and found massive shapes sticking out on the horizon.
They were colossal trees, stretching infinitely into the black, starless sky, as if trying to reach beyond it.
Even from such a distance, he could feel their ancient majesty.
Soon, the image changed.
Within that dream, he turned around.
Behind him was another tree.
This one was right in front of him, its sheer warmth and magnificence presented in full.
It looked just like the other trees, but he knew it was deception.
There was flesh inside.
Its name was Nyx.
It loved him.
At that point Cyril woke up.
He slowly raised his body from the bed, staring blankly at a wall.
What?
He slowly recovered, his thoughts still groggy and confused.
But an agonizing feeling soon swept away his confusion.
His head was threatening to crack open.
A certain tightness emerged in his chest and gradually transferred to his throat.
He heard about such a condition.
But surely he didn’t drink that much yesterday?
I need to get up before it’s too late…
Cyril hurriedly got off the bed and sped into the bathroom.
There, he lowered his head into a sink, closed his eyes, and barfed.
After a few painfully long seconds, the feeling finally went away.
It’s worse than I thought.
He felt as if something sliced through his throat.
Is that what alcohol is like?
No wonder its reputation is as bad as it is.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at the sink.
He saw a puddle of deep red liquid.
It was blood.
A mass of flesh lay in the center of the red sink, about the size of a fist.
He seemed to have puked something highly unusual.
What the-?!
Cyril recoiled a single step.
“What’s happening?!” Rhamn appeared in front of him, confusion in her red eyes.
Before Cyril had the time to answer her, the small pile of flesh suddenly twitched.
A red blur flew out of it, splattering small droplets of red.
It started making circles around Cyril in a lively, joyful manner.
Joyful…?
Cyril couldn’t help but wonder if there was something wrong with his reaction.
He wasn’t startled by this event, nor was he scared.
Cyril got a peculiar, instinctual feeling that it wouldn’t bring him harm.
Rather, it could only bring him the complete opposite.
He took a closer look at the unidentified flying object.
It was a butterfly with vivid red wings.
Cyril stretched out his hand, and the supposed insect happily landed on his index finger.
Cyril blankly stared at the butterfly, and the butterfly stared back at him, its antennae twitching in joy.
Somehow, he was able to tell that the insect was currently feeling happiness.
Huh?
Cyril stood like that for a minute.
How did this happen…?
The healer’s diagnosis rang in his ears again at this moment.
Stress-related issue?
How could this be stress-related?!
He just puked a live butterfly!
No, it seems it tore its way out of his throat!
The pitch-black stone Cyril ‘ate’ yesterday flashed in his mind.
Was that an egg of some kind?
No, that’s silly…
Even taking aside the feasibility of such a thing happening, the healer didn’t notice anything on his last visit.
Surely, something like that isn’t hard to see.
At this moment, Rhamn slowly waddled into his field of vision, a guilty expression on her face.
“It was entirely my fault.
In the middle of sleep I suddenly had the urge to…
see a butterfly.” Rhamn leaned closer to observe the creature on his finger.
“I made her, hehe~.”
You did…?
“Yeah.”
“It wasn’t my intention, but I did cause you harm.
I am terribly sorry.”
Rhamn solemnly bowed to him, her hands clutching into her skirt.
“I hope you are not lying,” Cyril couldn’t help but reply out loud.
The butterfly fluttered her wings a few times, drawing their attention.
The insect turned in Rhamn’s direction, and the antennae on her insect head twitched a little.
Cyril widened his eyes.
He got a peculiar impression that this tiny creature was trying to cheer someone up.
Rhamn raised her head, staring at the butterfly in surprise.
I can understand what it is feeling, and it can understand me?
It’s also aware of you?
The butterfly eagerly fluttered her wings, as if replying to his anticipation.
A spark lit up inside Rhamn’s red eyes.
“I think so, yeah!
There is a connection between us.
Even I might be able to communicate with her…
Watch.”
She went silent, and in a moment, the butterfly flew up.
The insect made a few loops in the air before landing on Cyril’s shoulder.
There, she posed with her wings outstretched like she was an acrobat waiting for the applause.
Rhamn immediately clapped with an excited smile.
“I asked her to do that.
She can really listen to me!”
She leaned in even closer, observing his shoulder with adoration.
“This is incredible!
She is staying with us, right?”
Cyril looked at the butterfly.
Her compound eyes met his gaze without a trace of fear, only pure joy and trust.
Even though it was his first meeting with this creature, he could feel that it held only the purest love towards him, with no deceit or hidden meanings.
He turned his head away, finding that gaze heavy.
“Sure.
Not like there is any other option.”
Was he supposed to let her out through the window like she was some common insect?
Rhamn raised both of her hands in the air, cheering as if it were the happiest day of her life.
“That’s great!
Thank you!!”
“I already have a name for her.
Welcome to our little family, Morpho!”
Morpho fluttered her wings in celebration.
A genuine feeling of happiness spread from her to Cyril.
Cyril moved his head away from the insect, fighting against the bizarre influence.
Instead, he observed the bathroom itself.
When Morpho emerged, she decided to race around the room, sending small droplets of red everywhere.
His bathroom currently looked like it belonged to a serial killer.
So, before any detective came around, it was probably better to clean it.
Cyril sighed in resignation.
…
After he was done, Cyril sat on his bed wearing a blank expression.
Seeing things was weird enough already.
Morpho landed on the window near the bed and looked at the outside world.
Somehow, Cyril was able to tell that she was currently feeling anticipation.
What kind of magic can let you do what I have experienced right now?
He carefully felt his throat.
The butterfly seemed to have torn her way out of his body.
Cyril no longer felt any pain, nor were there any traces, but the experience was a rather vivid one.
How come there are no traces?
The mass of flesh he puked out wasn’t that small.
Unless it phased through his body, it should’ve left some damage.
Judging by the pain, it didn’t phase through.
Cyril stood up and walked towards the kitchen.
He grabbed a knife, staring at it for a few seconds in thought.
“That’s a terrible idea.”
Ignoring the voice in his head, Cyril slashed at his palm with the knife.
It left a small wound.
Rhamn gazed in horror at the blood trickling from his palm down into the sink.
Morpho flew over, landing on the counter.
Her compound eyes gazed at him with worry.
Cyril tried to ignore their feelings of concern, observing instead the wound on his palm.
Blood flowed like normal, the wound staying the same.
“Quick!
Get a healing potion!”
Just as Rhamn’s worried voice reached his ears, a change happened.
Suddenly, without warning, the wound on his palm changed.
The flesh moved by itself, closing in until the gash was no longer visible.
In a few seconds, there was not a single trace left on his palm.
“Oh?”
Morpho jumped in place, as if impressed by a trick from a wandering magician.
Cyril nodded with realization.
My body’s capacity for regeneration increased.
But why didn’t it happen immediately?
“I know!”
“It’s because I did that.
I wanted to fix the wound, and it happened.”
Cyril looked into her red eyes.
She nodded up and down like a pecking chicken.
I see.
We’ll test it.
Cyril slashed with a knife again.
“Hey!!”
Blood once again leaked from his palm.
Don’t do anything now.
Restrain yourself.
“…Fine.”
Sure enough, now, no matter how long he stared at it, the wound remained.
Just like a regular human would experience it.
Without healing magic, it would take up to a month for something like this to disappear.
He used too much strength, so it might’ve even left a scar.
Try it now.
Rhamn nodded.
Then, without any particular action, the wound immediately began healing.
In no time, it was gone completely.
“Ta-da~”
“That’s awesome!
What a cool power!”
Morpho nodded up and down, her antennae twitching in excitement.
Is it?
It’s useful, no doubt.
However, a simple healing potion could do just about the same.
“…”
Cyril moved his hand a little, trying to get a feel for it.
He felt vaguely out of breath.
It seemed the regeneration took some toll on him.
A healing potion does not have this weakness.
“Whatever!”
Cyril washed his hand in the sink and then wiped it with a cloth.
He walked back towards the bed and sat down.
The butterfly immediately returned to her position on the window, peering at him with joy.
You can heal my wounds and create living creatures…
Can you create someone again?
“Yes, and I think I can create more than just butterflies.
Want me to show you?
You know, to prove it.”
Rhamn looked at him with anticipation and a little mischief.
…No need, I believe you.
He didn’t ask any other questions but simply observed the red butterfly nearby.
There was an undeniable, obvious sense of kinship between them.
It was as if his heart held infinite warmth towards this insect, unable to garner even a drop of ill will.
Cyril had never experienced such a feeling before.
After a while he dropped onto his bed and let out a long sigh.
Now what?
Rhamn also appeared on the bed, lying shoulder to shoulder with him.
She kept silent, awkwardly scanning the ceiling as well.
That letter I got makes a bit more sense now.
Who knows what mages will do once they find out about this?
Maybe they will dissect my body to find out how it all works.
I don’t think being a noble will help against some of the crazier ones.
…I also want to know how it works.
“Is it really that important?
Yeah, it happened.
Not the end of the world.”
Rhamn sheepishly whispered, trying to sound cheerful.
“Also, I have a suspicion that the stone we ate is not unrelated to what happened.
I feel it nourished me and made me stronger.”
Cyril gave her a side-eye, helplessness on his face.
Fascinating.
I can eat rocks to strengthen the voice in my head.
“It is fascinating.”
He sighed again, moving his face back towards the ceiling.
Do I have to wait for the headmistress to come back to find answers?
“You can also head back home and ask your dad.”
“…”
Cyril quietly contemplated his next course of action for a moment.
Rhamn was silent, patiently waiting for an answer.
This really doesn’t seem like something I should ignore much longer.
But it’s clear I can’t solve it on my own.
I need help.
From whom?
Regular mages are useless, and the staff here is under suspicion.
I need someone from the city, someone powerful.
But, again, is it wise to share this with an outsider?
I’ve been warned against it.
The wooden ceiling of his dorm seemed to become taller as he stared at it.
Cyril felt his thoughts muddle into a jumbled mess, and a piercing noise rang in his ears.
He lay still, surrendering himself to the growing worry.
Humans are selfish by nature.
Why wouldn’t they use a vulnerability like mine to gain something from my wealthy father?
…Would he agree to demands like that if someone approached him?
Or would he ignore me?
Perhaps he will help because he wouldn’t want further tarnish on the family name?
So, all he has to do is disown me.
Yes.
That’s a simple solution.
Perhaps that’s what he would do regardless.
…Should I contact Ophelia?
I did get the impression she warmed up over the last year or so.
Perhaps that was just my misconception.
She is my personal maid, yet she never did anything for me.
How could that be?
She must hate me for one reason or another.
Is there anyone else I know?
It seems not.
…Is there anyone I know that I can share this with, anyone that would care about my well-being at all?
No.
“…”
Why would I be upset about that?
It’s a natural thing.
It’s a good thing.
I should be proud to stand on my own, without the need for human comfort like a hapless child.
What am I even doing right now?
Suddenly, a butterfly landed on Cyril’s nose, and the ringing in his ears stopped.
He saw bright red wings cheerfully flutter and black compound eyes that looked right back at him.
Her insect eyes held not a single stray thought, only pure desire to make someone feel better.
Morpho desperately wanted to make him feel better.
Cyril froze.
Slowly, a perplexingly warm sensation filled his heart.
The butterfly’s eager flutter seemed to say to him, ‘It’s alright.
Don’t be sad.’
They were silly, childish words befitting a clueless, newborn insect.
But they were strangely effective.
Just because this butterfly didn’t wish to see him feeling down, he suddenly felt better.
It was a strange connection.
In fact, the perplexing closeness he felt with this insect wasn’t unique.
He felt similarly with Rhamn.
The bond between them was the same.
However, appearances were indeed everything in this world.
With Rhamn, he saw a mind-reader who came out of nowhere with an unknown agenda.
“Oh…”
But Morpho was different.
How could she possibly hide anything from him?
This butterfly was innocence itself.
Her compound eyes were the purest Cyril ever saw in his life.
There was no way this wonderful creature was capable of deception or betrayal.
To her, he was the whole world.
To her, he was something close to a real parent.
Cyril couldn’t find a reason to reject this being.
It just felt good to be in her presence.
Then, maybe Rhamn is also not malicious?
“Yes!
Also, parents are usually two.
Don’t make Morpho live in a one-parent household!”
The corner of Cyril’s mouth imperceptibly rose before he quickly regained his composure.
He raised his body from the bed.
The red butterfly flew up in the air and cheerfully made circles.
Casually observing her, Cyril stretched, his mind much more relaxed now.
I’ll continue my studies for now.
I don’t seem to be in any danger.
If something happens further, then I’ll consider heading home and digging for the information myself.
“Great plan!” Rhamn gave a thumbs-up.
Cyril got up and walked towards the desk in his room.
Today is a weekend, but there is much I can still do.
Study, train, and get used to the butterfly.
He sat by the desk, opening a book on Spellmaking.
Morpho landed on his shoulder, peeking at the text as well.
Though her eyes quickly grew confused.
Cyril’s blue eyes, however, regained their composure in full.
In fact, he felt lighter with every second.
What I’ve experienced could in no way be described as a stress-related issue.
Unless some hallucinations make people puke butterflies and give them regenerative powers?
“They couldn’t last time I heard!”
So what’s happening to me is real.
I am not insane, nor alone.
Finding comfort in that realization, Cyril continued his student life.
Sure, there was a voice in his head, and who knew what else he’d puke out next, but those were small things in comparison to a bright future.
Besides, surely these things are not as bad as they seem.