"That's what you meant?" Viviane said flatly, yanking her hand away as if it burned. "Seriously? Gods, Satria—I thought—ugh."
She turned her head sharply to the side, the wide brim of her hat dipping low to hide her expression. The starlight filtering through the window caught on the flowing white fabric of her robe, casting a soft, silvery sheen across its surface. Her fingers gripped the edge of the couch cushion like it might help anchor her embarrassment.
Satria looks calm despite the storm he'd just stirred.
"I meant it," he said after a moment.
Viviane exhaled slowly, her voice laced with barely restrained irritation. "You can't just say 'I want you' and expect that not to sound like a confession! You can't just blurt that out—there's a process for this, you know!"
"Sorry, I didn't grow up learning the right way to ask someone to be my master, okay?" Satria replied, steady.
"I didn't grow up with any of this—Avalon, mana, magic, revival, or ancient towers orbiting planets. We don't even have magic in my world. But now… now I've seen it.. And know what it's capable of."
He leaned forward, eyes glinting with something between awe and conviction. "The Archive. Your notes. That book—it's astonishing. It's like I was blind and now I can see how it all fits."
Viviane glanced at him—just briefly—from beneath the shadow of her hat. "That's just flattery."
"No. It's more than that. I want you, Viviane."
I want you.
The words bounced around her mind, a persistent, unwelcome chant. Her breath hitched—sharp and shallow.
I want you.
Her fingers twitched nervously against the couch cushion, heart pounding a little faster.
I want you.
A tight knot formed in her throat, and she forced her lips to part—only to clamp them shut again, as if trying to swallow the spell whole.
Viviane's eye gave a very unladylike twitch. Her cheeks burned again, and this time, no amount of rationalizing could cool the heat crawling up her neck. "Ugh—Argh—can you not say it like that?" she blurted, throwing her hands up like she could physically bat the phrase out of the air.
Silence passed, long and awkward.
"…You are the single most frustrating student that I have never agreed to teach," she muttered, tugging her wide-brimmed white hat down over her face like a shield. The fabric dropped slightly, but it wasn't nearly enough to hide the red across her cheeks.
Satria leaned in, propping his elbow on the table with a smug glint in his eye.
"I want you, Viviane," he said, voice soft, deliberate.
She froze.
A beat of silence.
Her fingers clenched the brim of her hat a little tighter.
"…Truly," he added softly, savoring the moment, watching the faintest tremble of a smile tug at her lips. Viviane breath hitched—just barely.
A quiet thud escaped as Viviane slumped forward ever so slightly, forehead nearly meeting the table. "I hate this," she muttered, face burning behind her hat. "I hate this so much."
Satria chuckled. "You should see your face right now," he teased gently. "It's adorable."
She made a strangled noise behind her hat.
Then came the rambling. "Adora—I—You—Why would— Why anyone even—damn—what even is this day?"
Satria smiled, satisfied. He really was enjoying this.
Viviane yanked her hat off and threw it onto the table, hair a mess, face redder than a cherry. Before she could pull her hands away, Satria gently took them in his. His touch was soft and warm, holding her hands like they mattered.
They stayed like that for a moment, quiet and close.
"Damn it! Damn you, Satria! You want a master? Fine! Fiiiiiine! You're exhausting me, you know that? Yes! I'll be your master! YES!"
Viviane shouted, her voice sharp and frustrated, her cheeks flushed as she tried to slam a fist on the table.
"Yes, Master Viviane," Satria said without missing a beat. "I'll treasure every moment with you… Master," he grinned.
Viviane groaned like she'd just made a deal with the devil. "Argh–! Damn it!"
Satria kept holding her hands, unfazed by her outburst—like he hadn't heard a word that would make him back down.
Even after Viviane had declared herself his master with all the fury and embarrassment of a cornered cat, even after she'd tried to bury her face in her hands—he simply reached out and held them.
His hands were warm. Grounded. Steady.
"Viviane," he said, voice soft but full of urgency. "Please… be my master. I don't mean just the title. I want to learn from you. Only you. You've already changed how I see the world. Let me walk the rest of it beside you."
The words sounded dangerously close to a love confession.
Viviane's eyes widened, lips parting like she meant to speak—but no words came out. Her heart jumped into her throat, and the room suddenly felt too small, too hot, too much.
Satria tightened his grip, unaware—or uncaring—of the emotional storm he was stirring.
"I mean it," he whispered. "This isn't just about magic. It's about you. It's always been you."
That was the last straw.
Crack!
A sharp spark of mana burst between them like a static pop, laced with golden threads of Viviane's signature energy. It wasn't meant to hurt—just to break contact. His hands were suddenly empty, hers flinching back as if shocked.
Viviane stood abruptly, the hem of her white robe brushing against the edge of the table. Her blush was fierce now, reaching the tips of her ears. "Tea… I need tea."
Satria stayed seated, blinking. "Did you just use mana?"
"No comment," Viviane replied stiffly.
Satria said nothing as he reached for the teapot on the table—an elegant porcelain piece shaped like a moonflower, still warm from earlier. He poured gently, the soft sound of liquid filling the quiet space between them. Clink. He slid a cup toward her with both hands, careful, almost reverent.
Viviane accepted it, her fingers brushing his—just for a moment. She didn't pull away.
The warmth of the tea seeped through the porcelain into her hands. She drank slowly, the first sip calming, the second deeper. She didn't speak. Neither did he. The silence between them felt less awkward now. Softer.
He smiled. "You're really bad at this whole 'emotionally distant mentor' thing."
"I said no comment!"
And in the quiet that followed, Viviane sipped her tea like it might erase the last five minutes.
It didn't.
Satria poured a second cup for her without asking. Viviane blinked, startled by the gesture. Her eyes flicked to his, searching for mockery—but found none. Just quiet sincerity.
"You're… surprisingly gentle," she murmured, watching the steam rise from her cup.
Satria tilted his head, amused. "In what way?"
"In an infuriating way," she muttered, but her lips curved slightly.
He chuckled. "Guess I'll just have to keep doing it, then."
She rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. Another sip. A beat passed. Then softly, she said, "You really meant it, didn't you?"
"I always mean it, especially..." Satria grinned, "when it comes to you."
Viviane took a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing as she tried to steady her racing thoughts. The flush on her cheeks faded slightly, replaced by a more measured expression.
"Alright," she said quietly, "but I need to know—are you really serious about this? Because if you're not..." Her voice trailed off, leaving the question hanging between them.
Satria leaned back, unfazed. "I am. Honestly, nothing else feels right anymore. This—learning magic, being your apprentice—that's my path."
Viviane snorted, a reluctant smirk tugging at her lips. "You always pick the hardest road, don't you? Do you even know what you're getting into? You might as well be signing up for eternal headaches."
"Headaches are fine," Satria said with a mischievous grin. "Better than boredom or pretending to care about stuff that doesn't matter."
Their voices rose, weaving between frustration and laughter. "You're impossible," Viviane muttered, running a hand through her hair. "You think magic is just some fun game? It's exhausting, dangerous, and—"
"But also incredible," Satria interrupted, eyes bright. "That's why I want to be your apprentice. Because it's real. Because it matters."
Viviane let out a long, tired sigh and rubbed her temple. "Being my apprentice isn't just about learning spells and making tea. You're expected to protect Avalon, keep the mana flowing properly, and eventually—you know—confront the Decay."
Satria just nodded. "Yes, I'm in."
Viviane squinted at him. "You're just gonna say yes? Just like that?"
Satria shrugged. "You told me to deal with the Decay. Seems pretty straightforward."
She opened her mouth. Closed it.
No words came out. Just a quiet, exasperated breath as she stared at him like he'd personally short-circuited her brain. Her fingers twitched at her sides, as if grasping for a retort that never came. The silence dragged a beat too long before she threw her hands up, defeated.
"Damn it!" Viviane cursed, the sound more weary than angry—like someone who'd just realized, not for the first time, that verbal sparring with Satria was a losing battle.
Viviane gave him a blank stare. "You do realize Avalon isn't the kind of place you can just blink back to on a whim."
"I've noticed," he said dryly.
"How exactly are you planning to apprentice from another planet?"
Satria leaned back, completely serious. "Let me come and go. Give me a way to return here whenever I need to."
Viviane narrowed her eyes. "You want me to just hand you a shortcut to Avalon?"
"Exactly."
She scoffed, folding her arms with a sharp tilt of her hip, her eyes narrowing in incredulous disbelief.
"You want what now? A personal pass?" she repeated, like the very idea offended the laws of nature.
"Should I put your name on the tower too?" she added, dripping with sarcasm, as if the mere suggestion had propelled her halfway to madness.
"You literally brought me back from the dead. This doesn't feel like much."
Viviane stared at him, exasperation building in her eyes, then threw her hands up in surrender. "Ugh, why do I even argue with you? Fine. I'll think about it."
Viviane was baffled by how calmly he twisted logic to his favor. His logic—shameless, blunt, and utterly lacking in self-preservation—had steamrolled every one of her carefully constructed objections. No matter how sarcastic or cautious her tone had been, he'd met it with clarity, with unwavering conviction. Not arrogance, not bravado—just sincerity. And somehow, that made it worse.
She rubbed her temple, sighing into her palm like someone slowly realizing they were about to make a mistake they couldn't take back. There was no point arguing further. He'd already won.
Time wasn't on their side anyway.
Viviane rose from the couch in one swift motion, white robes rustling as she turned toward the center of the room. The faint scent of ancient parchment and candle wax filled the air, grounding the moment in something sacred and timeless. With a wave of her hand, the air shimmered—runes unfurling in delicate constellations across the stone floor, forming the base circle of the apprentice-binding ritual.
"Get over here already," Viviane said, voice sharp but steady, though a flicker of reluctant respect softened her tone. "Let's make this official before I change my mind."
Satria took a deep breath and stepped forward, the weight of what was to come settling over them both. He followed Viviane's lead without hesitation.
The ritual was about to begin. Satria stepped toward the glowing circle, his footsteps quiet but sure. He knelt down inside it—this time with solemn intent, steadying himself for what lay ahead. His eyes locked on hers, not in blind reverence but in quiet respect. This was no mere ceremony or game. It was a binding, a sacred pact.
Viviane didn't speak at first. Instead, she raised her hand, and the circle beneath them sprang to life. Starlight, woven from the shimmering energy of Avalon itself, cascaded down from the ceiling, threading through the air like silver ribbons drawn toward her outstretched fingers. The mana between them pulsed once—strong, steady—like a heartbeat shared between master and apprentice. The room hummed with magic power.
Satria lowered his head slowly, eyes closing as if shutting out the world beyond the circle. He drew in a deep, steadying breath, letting the rhythm of his inhale and exhale anchor him.
For a fleeting moment, Viviane hesitated, her fingers hovering just above Satria's bowed head. Was it nerves? Or the weight of the responsibility pressing on her? Then, with resolve, she lowered her hand and stepped forward. Her voice cut through the charged silence, steady and clear as the glowing mana spiraled around her.
"I, Viviane of Avalon, Protector of Avalon's Tower and Keeper of the Mana, with the eternal flow as my witness, hereby declare Satria Kusuma Wijaya as my apprentice. To enlighten him, to guide him, and to share with him the knowledge entrusted to me by my master and those before."
Her words echoed softly in the chamber, carried by the shimmering currents of mana. The circle beneath them glowed with a pale azure light, intricate runes flickering like stars in a midnight sky. The atmosphere thickened with magic, the very air charged with promise.
Satria inhaled deeply, raising his head to meet Viviane's gaze. Yet when it came time for him to speak, uncertainty flickered across his face. The ancient words—so powerful, so binding—felt heavy and foreign. For a heartbeat, he faltered, unsure how to respond.
Then, as if the mana itself sensed his hesitation, it reached out—a silent whisper flowing through him, a gentle guidance from the flow that surrounded the Tower of Avalon. The glowing runes beneath him pulsed in sync with his heartbeat, steadying his breath, guiding his tongue. The ritual's power made itself known, urging him to speak.
Without conscious thought, the words came—clear and sure—as if carried on the wind itself:
"I, Satria Kusuma Wijaya, apprentice of Viviane, servant of Avalon's Tower and steward of magic, with the eternal flow as my witness, accept your guidance. I vow to learn, to honor, and to uphold the knowledge passed down through you and the masters before you."
As the last word left his lips, the mana swirling around them flared brilliantly. Patterns of radiant light wove through the air, enveloping them in a radiant veil of light, as if spun from threads of pure starlight. The circle beneath them pulsed with renewed strength—a vibrant, living symbol of their new bond.
The Tower of Avalon shuddered violently, ancient stones humming with awakened power as the ritual's surge rippled through its very foundation, as if the heart of the satellite itself had been set aflame.
Viviane's lips moved, reciting the formal rites under her breath, but her expression had softened. A reluctant mentor. A persistent apprentice. And now, by oath and mana, a bond made real.
As the ritual completed, the tower seemed to hum with renewed energy. Somewhere in the depths of Avalon, the mana recognized the bond.
**
The Tower of Avalon's hallway stretched out before them, quiet and aglow with ambient mana. The soft gleam of silver filigree traced patterns along the walls, pulsing gently with life. Viviane led the way, her footsteps brisk, her robes trailing like drifting mist behind her. Satria followed without a word, the silence between them thick with the weight of what lay ahead.
At last, Viviane spoke, her voice steady and direct.
Her eyes darkened with seriousness, "Your task is clear. You're not just going down there to poke around. You're going to confront the Decay."
Her tone sharpened.
"But you're not strong enough to do it alone—yet. So here's your real mission: Raise allies. Build an army. Find people, creatures, forces willing to stand with you. You'll definitely need them."
Satria's smirk lingered, a spark of cheeky confidence lighting his eyes.
"Yes, Master," he said smoothly, the edge in his voice clear but tempered with genuine respect.
"I'll remain here to monitor the flow and the Decay. Things have been... unsettled lately, and if anything unexpected stirs, I need to be ready."
"Yes, Master."
They passed beneath a high archway, the corridor broadening. Faint vibrations ran beneath their feet—the chamber ahead was stirring.
"Master Merlin is still recovering. His last encounter with the Decay nearly took his life. That's why you exist. You're not a replacement, Satria. You're a new hand in this old game. The one that the mana wouldn't reject."
"Yes, Master."
Viviane paused before a large sealed door, resting her hand on the glowing sphere etched on its surface. The magic awakened beneath her fingers, stirring softly as if responding to a presence it had known for ages—familiar and alive.
"Convince whoever you must. Make them believe. Lead them. And when the time comes... destroy it."
"Yes, Master."
Viviane didn't turn. Her shoulders tensed at the words, a groan catching in her throat. "Still hate that," she muttered—but no correction came.
Instead, she exhaled sharply, gave a small, irritated shrug, and brushed the thought aside like dust off her sleeve. No time to dwell on it. Her eyes flickered briefly with a hint of frustration as the reincarnation chamber opened before them—bathed in a soft, pulsing light, waiting in solemn silence.
The hallway narrowed into a dimly lit chamber, the air shifting as if they'd stepped into a room. Candles flickered along the walls, casting shadows across the stone floor. At the center stood a raised altar, etched with delicate runes—humming faintly with dormant magic.
Satria whistled under his breath, but said nothing.
Viviane moved ahead, the hem of her robe brushing quietly against the floor. She reached the altar and began arranging the ritual components with precise care—placing mana stones in a circle, uncorking a vial of stardust-like powder, checking the alignment of the runes. Her movements were practiced but slowed, distracted by thought.
"Avalon exists outside Contraria's natural timeflow," she said at last, not even bothering to take a glance towards Satria. "Normally, it runs faster here. Days here are hours there—or sometimes minutes. But for the sake of the ritual, I've tried to slow it down to match with Contraria's."
She said it plainly, almost too casually—but her fingers lingered for a moment over the ritual chalk, just a fraction longer than necessary. A slight hesitation. As if adjusting Avalon's timeflow was not routine for her. As if this precise calibration, delicate and risky, was something even she hadn't attempted before.
Satria raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.
"You'll cross into Contraria's within minutes," she continued. "But while you're gone, time here will stretch. It'll give me more room to monitor the Decay, and… prepare things on this side."
She lit the final row of candles with her magic, the warm light reflecting in her eyes.
"It's a temporary measure. I hope it works." She sighed, dusting off her hands. "Master Merlin would've gotten it right on the first try."
Satria finally grinned. "You will too, Master."
Viviane scowled, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. "Don't start. I'm not in the mood to entertain your cheeky ass right now."
He raised his hands in mock surrender, but the spark in his eyes didn't fade. Despite herself, Viviane felt a twitch of a smile threaten the corner of her mouth—but she turned quickly, hiding it behind a scoff.
"You better not die before I get all this figured out," she muttered, more to the altar than to him.
With a flick of her fingers, the ritual circle around the altar ignited. Mana flickered to life, dancing between the runes in graceful arcs. Viviane stepped back, dusting chalk from her hands.
"It's ready," she said at last, not quite meeting his gaze. "Get on the altar, you damn cheeky apprentice."
Satria stepped forward—he didn't even hesitate.
With a steady breath, Satria climbed onto the altar and lay down. Beneath him, the surface was cool, humming faintly with dormant mana. Overhead, the candle flames quivered—not from wind, but in quiet sync with the heartbeat of the altar.
Viviane stepped into place at the edge of the circle, her footsteps barely stirring the quiet air.
"Now, let's get this over with," she muttered. "I'm already sick of seeing you."
Viviane tapped her staff twice—sharp tak tak sounds echoing through the chamber. The circle blazed to life.
Viviane stood tall, the glow of the circle casting a soft light on her determined face. The air around her thrummed with ancient power, quiet but undeniable, as if the very essence of the tower was lending its strength to her voice.
"With the blessing of the eternal mana, I, Viviane of Avalon, send this child forth into the world. May he fulfill his duty—to protect, to restore, to do what must be done."
Blue flames erupted around the altar, flickering wildly as a fierce surge of mana roared through the tower's ancient stones. The very air trembled; the ground beneath them shuddered as if the tower itself breathed the power of the ritual. Cracks of mana crystals shattered and spun in chaotic arcs, caught in the maelstrom of gathered energy.
"Bless him with magic…"
Her voice softened, reverent, as a faint shimmer of light pulsed in the circle.
"Bless him with brilliance…"
A gentle warmth spread through the air, like the first touch of dawn.
"Bless him with courage…"
Her eyes flickered with quiet fire, steady and unwavering.
"Bless him with honor…"
The room seemed to hold its breath, heavy with unspoken promise.
"Bless him with wisdom."
Her words hung in the air, final and sure, as the glow around them deepened.
Viviane's voice echoed off the walls, weaving itself into the fabric of the ritual. Satria's chest swelled with excitement; the thrill of new beginnings tingled beneath his skin. A magician's life awaited—full of danger but with a lot of possibility.
"I, Viviane of Avalon, with the mana as my witness, grant Satria Kusuma Wijaya his second chance at life."
Light lifted Satria's form from the altar, a radiant cocoon of energy swirling around him.
The final words slipped from Viviane's lips: "May the mana be with you, Satria Kusuma Wijaya."
A column of shimmering mana erupted skyward from the Tower of Avalon, soaring beyond the clouds—then arced downward, disappearing into the world of Contraria.
Viviane's lips curved into a rare smile. The ritual was complete, but one last reminder lingered in her voice, soft but firm: "Remember, my cheeky apprentice—if you want to keep this second life, you'll have to deal with the Decay, okay?"
Satria's smile widened, a spark of determination in his eyes. 'It's not like I have any other choice, right?', he thought.
Light enveloped his body, dissolving him into shimmering particles. The tower's glow faded as his new life began—his second chance. Rebirth in mana and bound by duty.