16 - Adopted

The snow was still falling. Fragments of ice clung to the battlefield like the remnants of a dream that had not yet faded.

Professors, students, and attendants alike stood frozen on the sidelines, their faces painted with awe, confusion, or outright disbelief.

The vice principal of the Celestial Academy—William Terra, the stalwart pillar of stone and earth—had just sparred against a hooded figure so small, so deceptively frail-looking, that most thought it had to be some kind of illusion.

William, however, appeared unbothered by the weight of the stares.

His arms folded behind his back, his chin lifted ever so slightly, he radiated the calm authority of a man who had lived centuries and carried the dignity of each one with ease. He did not need to raise his voice to command attention.

“Professors,” he said, his tone even yet resonant, “resume the examinations. The applicants have waited long enough.”

The words were simple, but like a ripple across a pond, they broke the spell of stillness. Murmurs spread among the faculty.

They glanced at each other—hesitant, curious—but none dared oppose him. One by one, they turned back to their duties, shepherding students away from the field and back into their examination rooms.

The storm dispersed gradually as the professors worked, and within minutes the chaos of interruption was replaced by the quiet order of routine.

Only one figure remained out of place.

Luna.

Still cloaked in her mist spell, her form shimmered like heat rising from stone. She had been about to slip away the moment William spoke, eager to vanish into the anonymity she prized, but she caught his eye.

That single look froze her in place more effectively than any chain.

William didn’t scold. He didn’t command. He merely raised an eyebrow and gave the smallest tilt of his head—an unspoken order.

Stay.

Luna bit her lip under the hood. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but her rational mind knew better. Running from William Terra was like trying to outpace a mountain slide—you might gain a few steps, but in the end, it would swallow you whole.

So she sighed internally, shoulders slumping, and stayed where she was.

When the last of the applicants had disappeared inside and the murmurs of the crowd dimmed, William stepped forward, his boots crunching softly against the frost-covered ground.

His expression was not stern, but rather… indulgent, as if humoring a child who had been caught playing in the garden mud.

“Come,” he said simply, gesturing toward the academy’s grand spire. “We’ll talk in my office.”

Luna glanced at the battlefield around them—shards of jagged ice, frost still clinging stubbornly to the ground, and patches of snow piled high where her magic had run wild. She winced. “Uh… wait a second.”

With a small wave of her hand, the air shimmered as the blizzards she had unleashed began to unravel.

Ice melted into harmless wisps of mist, frost receded from the stone tiles, and even the cracked ground seemed to knit itself back together under her careful touch.

It wasn’t perfect, but in moments the courtyard looked less like the aftermath of a winter storm and more like a place where students could actually walk without slipping.

William watched, lips twitching as he fought back a laugh. “Efficient,” he remarked, folding his arms. “And considerate. Not many mages your age bother cleaning up their own messes.”

“It was my mess,” Luna muttered, cheeks puffing slightly. “Wouldn’t feel right leaving it behind.”

He chuckled, the sound rich with amusement. “Polite and powerful. You’re going to be a dangerous combination, little one.”

Luna rolled her eyes, tugging her hood a bit lower to hide her flushed expression.

“Now come.” He said with a soft smile.

“Do I have to?” she grumbled under her breath.

“Yes.” His eyes sparkled with amusement.

Reluctantly, she followed.

The inner corridors of the Celestial Academy were unlike anything Luna had seen in her two lives.

Towering archways rose overhead, gilded with intricate carvings of constellations and ancient runes. Walls of polished stone were inlaid with veins of crystal that glowed faintly, filling the hall with a gentle light.

Everywhere she looked, magic pulsed—woven into the very bones of the building.

Her gaze darted from wall to wall, ceiling to floor, each new sight tugging at her curiosity like a child in a candy store.

She had imagined scenes like this countless times when reading fantasy novels in her old life, but living them, walking through them… it was intoxicating.

William noticed. His pace was measured, steady, but his lips quirked upward at the way her eyes widened with every step.

When they finally arrived at his office, Luna stopped at the threshold, blinking.

The room was grand, but not in the ostentatious way she expected.

Heavy oak shelves lined the walls, stacked with tomes bound in leather and parchment.

A crystal chandelier hung overhead, its light refracted by suspended shards of quartz, bathing the space in soft warmth.

Scrolls and relics rested neatly in display cases.

On the central table lay an assortment of quills, inks, and maps, each meticulously arranged.

It was formal, dignified, and yet unmistakably magical.

It feels… like a magician’s study in a novel, Luna thought, her lips curving unconsciously. Not that I’ve ever been inside one before.

William gestured toward a sofa by the window.

“Sit.”

She obeyed without thinking, sinking into the cushions with little regard for posture or propriety.

She leaned back, arms sprawled loosely over the armrest, and tilted her head to better take in the rows of shimmering artifacts.

William watched her from across the room, lowering himself into the chair behind his desk.

Where her posture was carefree, his was impeccable—back straight, hands resting neatly atop one another. Yet instead of disapproval, his expression softened, a grandfather’s smile tugging at his features.

Her lack of etiquette didn’t bother him. In fact, it amused him. Refreshing, he thought. So unlike the rigid young nobles I see every day.

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Luna’s gaze wandered freely around the office, while William steepled his fingers in thought. Finally, he exhaled.

“Now then,” he muttered, almost to himself, “how to handle this mess…”

Luna’s ears perked up.

The words were quiet, but their meaning made her heart skip. She remembered the spar, the thunder of spells colliding, the frozen debris littering the grounds. She hadn’t cared about the consequences in the heat of the duel, but now—

“Oh no,” she whispered.

Panic welled up inside her chest. She had worked so hard to remain unnoticed, to live quietly, to travel this world on her own terms. A public spectacle like that duel was the very opposite of her plan.

If her identity spread, anonymity would be lost. Every noble, every guild, every would-be challenger would hunt for the mysterious mage who fought William Terra.

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She needed to get ahead of this.

“I—I can explain,” she blurted, leaning forward. “It’s not what it looked like back there. I wasn’t trying to cause trouble or show off. I just… wanted to test myself a little.”

William’s brow arched, amused. “Test yourself?”

Luna nodded, fidgeting slightly. “Yeah. I plan to travel the world, and I need to know how strong I really am. If I can’t handle a simple spar, how will I handle everything waiting for me out there?”

The words spilled out before she could stop them. Her chest tightened with fear, but there was also relief in voicing it aloud.

For a heartbeat, William simply regarded her. Then, to her surprise, he chuckled—a deep, warm laugh that rumbled like stone rolling down a mountain.

“Travel the world, hm? That does suit you. A free spirit, unbound by walls or rules.”

His approval disarmed her. She blinked, shoulders relaxing slightly, though she kept her guard up.

William leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Very well. Before I decide what to do about the uproar we’ve caused, I’ll need to know something first.”

Luna tilted her head. “What?”

“Your name.”

She froze. In all the chaos, she hadn’t even introduced herself. A flush crept to her cheeks.

“Oh.” She cleared her throat, sitting up straighter. “Well then…”

Pulling her hood back, she fixed him with a smug little smile, the kind that danced between pride and mischief.

“My name is Luna Aqua,” she declared, her voice brimming with confidence. “And I am a Level Eight Water Mage.”

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap.

William had suspected as much, but hearing it aloud was another matter entirely. His eyes widened just a fraction, the only betrayal of his surprise.

For a long second, he simply studied her—this small figure who carried herself like the ocean given flesh.

Then his lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.

“So you admit it,” he murmured.

Her grin only widened. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

William chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement. Proud little thing, he thought.

Level Eight, and she flaunts it as though it were a child’s ribbon. Yet behind his humor was awe. She wasn’t lying. He could feel the weight of her mana, the depth of her control.

Such a mage should not exist in this age. And yet here she was, lounging on his sofa with all the smugness of a cat who had stolen cream.

William reclined slightly in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, watching Luna with an expression that balanced amusement and curiosity. Her declaration still echoed in the chamber, Level Eight.

He had suspected, of course. The duel had confirmed more than enough. But hearing her proclaim it so boldly—smug smile and all—sparked something inside him.

Confidence. Youth. Freedom.

“Level Eight, is it?” William mused, his deep voice carrying the weight of centuries. “And here you sit, grinning like a fox cub who just stole into the henhouse.”

Luna puffed her chest, clearly proud of herself. “Naturally. I worked hard for it, you know.”

William chuckled, the sound warm. “I do not doubt it. Still, it is a strange sight. So small, so young in appearance, and yet…” His eyes narrowed, thoughtful. “…you carry mana that has ripened for centuries.”

The words made Luna’s grin falter. “Centuries?”

“Yes.” His tone was matter-of-fact, as if he had simply observed that the sky was blue.

She tilted her head, frowning. “You think I’m centuries old?”

William leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Tell me your age, then. Humor me.”

Luna froze. Age wasn’t a question she often had to answer. In her old world, she had been twenty-two, fresh from the trenches of university life, hardly seasoned at all. Here, though, she had already endured forests, mountains, monsters, and sweets beyond counting.

But the truth was still the truth.

“…I’m twenty-two,” she said finally, her tone stubborn. “Twenty-two years old.”

William blinked once. Then twice. A slow smile spread across his face, tugging at the edges of his beard.

“Ah,” he said, voice dripping with gentle amusement, “so young women still guard their ages fiercely, even after two centuries.”

Her jaw dropped. “I said twenty-two! Not two hundred twenty!”

He waved a hand as though dismissing her protest. “Yes, yes, of course you did. Twenty-two. Perfectly believable.” His eyes twinkled with mirth.

Luna felt her blood pressure spike. “Grandpa!” she snapped, pointing an accusing finger at him.

The word slipped out before she realized it, and William’s eyes lit up at the title.

“Grandpa, is it?” he rumbled, thoroughly entertained. “Now that I could get used to.”

Luna’s face turned crimson. She crossed her arms, glaring at him like a sulking child. “Don’t twist my words! And don’t call me two hundred anything. I’m really twenty-two.”

“Mm.” William leaned back again, utterly unbothered. “Then tell me—how did you reach Level Eight in only twenty-two years? It took me nearly four centuries to climb so high.”

She hesitated. Explaining that she came from another world, that her mastery was born of endless nights gaming, strategizing, and studying systems that didn’t even exist here—that wasn’t something she could reveal. So she settled for a huff and a smug smile.

“Talent,” she said, as though that explained everything. “And sweets. Lots of sweets.”

William laughed again, a booming, hearty sound that filled the office. “Ah, so sugar is the true secret to ascension. If only I had known, I might have reached Level Nine by now.”

Luna’s lips twitched upward despite herself. She liked this old man.

He didn’t treat her with suspicion like Anna’s tutor did, nor with awe like the knights. He teased her, humored her, but beneath it all, respected her strength.

Yet his next words knocked the wind from her chest.

“You may not realize it, but declaring yourself Level Eight, would invite curiosity. Nobles, guilds, even kings will want to know your name. If you wish to travel freely, as you said…” He paused, eyes sharp. “…you will need protection.”

Luna stiffened. “I can protect myself.”

“Undoubtedly. But freedom is not merely strength. It is the ability to walk unchallenged.”

He let the words sink in before continuing, voice softening. “If you were to become my granddaughter, none would dare impede you. You could travel this world as you pleased, with doors opening before you instead of closing.”

Luna’s head snapped up. “Granddaughter?”

William nodded serenely. “Adopted, of course. I have a daughter already. But a granddaughter would be a joy.”

Her mouth opened, then closed again. “You can’t just… adopt me. I’m not a stray cat.”

He smiled knowingly. “Ah, but you act like one. Wandering alone, wary of strangers, curling up only when offered sweets. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Her face burned. “That’s—! That’s not—!” She cut herself off, realizing she had no defense. She did behave exactly like that.

William’s smile widened. “See? It fits.”

Luna groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Why is this happening to me?”

“Because,” William said gently, “fate enjoys her jokes. And I enjoy her choice.”

Silence fell for a moment. Luna peeked at him through her fingers, gauging whether he was serious. He was. Completely, utterly serious.

“…What’s in it for you?” she asked cautiously.

“A granddaughter who makes me laugh,” William replied without hesitation. “And perhaps, in time, one who shakes the dust from this old heart.”

The earnestness in his tone disarmed her. She expected manipulation, hidden motives, schemes. Instead, she found warmth.

But still—accepting meant attention. It meant ties. It meant losing the anonymity she valued.

Her thoughts churned until William interrupted with a sly grin.

“Of course, if you refuse, I could always mention to the academy staff that the mysterious Level Eight mage is a young traveler with a fondness for cookies…”

Her head snapped up, horrified. “That’s blackmail!”

“Negotiation,” he corrected smoothly. “So? Granddaughter?”

She glared at him for a long, long moment. Then, with a defeated sigh, she muttered, “Fine. But only because you’re impossible to deal with otherwise.”

“Splendid!” William’s smile lit up his entire face. “Now then—tell your dear grandpa your age.”

“Twenty-two!” she shouted, cheeks blazing.

“Mm, yes, yes,” he said indulgently, like humoring a child. “Two hundred twenty. Noted.”

She slammed her forehead against the sofa cushion with a groan. Why did I agree to this?

The conversation shifted, though Luna’s exasperation lingered. William explained slowly, patiently, the truth of aging in this world—something she had never truly understood.

“Ordinary humans live seventy years, on average,” he began. “But once you reach Level Seven, your lifespan extends to two hundred. Age slows. My daughter, for instance—an Imperial Knight at Level Seven—is sixty-four, yet appears scarcely older than her late twenties.”

Luna blinked. That explained the odd youthfulness she’d seen in powerful figures.

“At Level Eight,” William continued, “life stretches further. One thousand years. And in rare cases, appearance reverses. A gift of youth, though never so extreme as yours. Most of us look like grandparents—forties, fifties, perhaps older.”

He studied her, eyes narrowing slightly. “But you… you look barely into your teens. That is a mystery. Such youth is usually reserved for Level Nine.”

Luna’s mind reeled. She hadn’t realized her level affected age itself. The thought of living centuries, millennia even, felt surreal.

William’s final words sank like stones into her chest,

“And at Level Nine, lifespan reaches ten thousand years.”

Ten thousand. She couldn’t even grasp the number.

“No wonder you thought I was two hundred,” she muttered, half to herself.

William smiled softly. “Exactly. Which is why, my dear granddaughter, I find your claim of twenty-two… amusing.”

She shot him a glare. “But it’s the truth.”

“Of course it is,” he said with grandfatherly patience, his tone dripping with disbelief.

She threw her hands up. “Forget it! Believe what you want!”

Inside, though, her thoughts spiraled. So everyone thinks I’m some ancient monster in disguise… great. Just great. Twenty-two years old, zero dating experience, and already considered a grandma.

Her shoulders slumped, a bitter laugh escaping her lips.

William noticed the change and, with the wisdom of centuries, reached into a drawer. When he set a plate of sweets on the table, Luna’s eyes lit up instantly, her gloom dissolving like sugar in tea.

“Grandpa,” she whispered reverently, snatching a cookie.

He chuckled. “That’s better.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while—she nibbling happily, he watching with fondness. But eventually, William leaned forward.

“The examinations are nearly finished. Shouldn’t you be with your young friend?”

Luna blinked, then shot upright. “Anna!”

She had nearly forgotten. Scrambling to her feet, she turned pleading eyes on William. “Can you take me to the guardians’ waiting area?”

He rose as well, his towering figure a contrast to her petite frame. “Of course. But only if you promise one thing.”

Her stomach dropped. “What now?”

“That you’ll call me Grandpa from now on. Not just when you’re flustered.” His grin was wicked.

She groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you agreed already.”

With no choice, she huffed. “Fine. Grandpa.”

Satisfied, William escorted her down the corridors. But when they neared the waiting hall, Luna stopped.

“This is far enough,” she said quickly. “If people see me walking with you, it’ll cause chaos.”

He raised a brow. “Ah, already worried about appearances, granddaughter?”

She glared, but nodded.

“Very well.” William paused, then smiled warmly. “Go. And remember—you’re not alone anymore.”

With that, he turned and strode away, leaving her at the edge of the waiting area.

The guardians there gave Luna odd looks when she slipped inside.

“Why is a little girl here already?” one muttered. “The exam isn’t finished.”

Luna ignored them, plopping down in a corner and munching on the cookies William had slipped her. She had no intention of explaining herself to strangers.

Minutes passed. Then the doors opened, and the examinees began to spill out—tired, nervous, but relieved.

Luna’s eyes scanned the crowd, but her small stature made it impossible to spot Anna. It was Anna who spotted her.

“Luna!”

The girl rushed forward, skirts swishing, and threw her arms around Luna. Luna blinked, startled by the force of the hug, but quickly returned it.

“You did well,” Luna murmured, patting her back.

Anna beamed, her cheeks flushed with joy. Around them, guardians and students alike glanced curiously, but neither girl cared.

In that moment, they looked less like mage and traveler, noble and wanderer—and more like sisters reunited after a long separation.

And for Luna, it was enough.