In the morning, soft sunlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains of the West Pavilion, casting golden streaks across the red velvet carpet. The air was still, filled only by the rhythmic scratching of a quill against rough parchment.
Calian Larvin sat relaxed on his favorite maroon sofa. His right leg was crossed over his left, while his hand danced across a thick, black leather-bound journal. Following his daily morning ritual, he dedicated the first hour after waking to documenting his experiments, theories, and the progress of his powers.
"Day 1,460 in the West Pavilion," he wrote in neat, upright cursive. "The stability of the Time Loop is becoming increasingly precise.
However, the duration of time-freezing on large-scale objects still heavily depends on my physical condition at the time. The more exhausted my body, the shorter the duration of Stasis I can maintain."
Calian paused, dipping his pen into the ink. Beside the stack of books, a thin wisp of steam rose from a cup of Earl Grey tea, its aroma filling the room with tranquility. He took a small sip, savoring the warm, slightly bitter taste that awakened his senses.
Everything felt perfect. Calm. Peaceful. An ideal morning for a reclusive scholar.
However, peace in the West Pavilion had been a fragile thing ever since the arrival of its newest resident.
Crash!
Bang!
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The sound of heavy objects rolling and falling shattered the morning silence. The marble floor vibrated slightly. Calian didn't even need to guess; he simply let out a long sigh, massaging his suddenly throbbing temples.
The impact was followed by a very familiar groan of pain.
"Ouch! Ow! Dammit... my tail is caught!"
Calian slowly closed his journal and turned toward the spiral staircase connecting the first and second floors. At the base of the stairs lay a figure in a very inelegant position. The Beastfolk was sprawled face-down, limbs splayed like a stiff puppet, while his wooden sword had been flung under a decorative table.
"What are you doing, Wolvin?" Calian asked. His tone wasn't one of concern, but rather genuine bewilderment. "You are a Beastfolk. Your race is known for perfect balance. How could you possibly fall down the stairs of my own house?"
Wolvin rolled over and sat up, rubbing his waist. His face, covered in fine fur along the cheeks, was flushed bright red—whether from pain or embarrassment.
"I didn't 'fall'!" Wolvin retorted defensively, his wolf ears twitching in annoyance. "I was... performing a tactical infiltration simulation."
"Infiltration simulation?" Calian repeated skeptically.
"Yes! I'm training my ability to move silently on slanted and slippery terrain, like these cursed marble stairs," Wolvin explained passionately as he stood up, brushing imaginary dust off his linen trousers. "The goal is to completely conceal my presence, even when moving at high speeds. You know, to become your true shadow."
"And the result?"
"The result is I slipped because you polished these stairs too much yesterday evening with that time magic of yours!" Wolvin grumbled.
.
Calian gave a light shrug. "Cleanliness is a matter of aesthetics, Wolvin. Don't blame the marble."
Wolvin snorted and picked up his wooden sword. However, just as he was about to head back up the stairs to try again (mostly to escape his embarrassment), his sharp nose caught a sweet, floral scent.
Wolvin's attention shifted instantly. His keen eyes fixed on a white porcelain cup with gold motifs on the coffee table, right across from where Calian sat. The cup was full, but no steam rose from it.
Wolvin's throat felt parched after his failed morning practice.
"Whose tea is that?" Wolvin asked, walking toward the sofa and forgetting the pain in his waist.
Calian glanced at the cup. "That's yours. I brewed it this morning. This one is mine," Calian raised his own cup, "and that one is yours. But you were busy rolling down the stairs for an hour, so it's probably cold. Let me—"
"Fine, no problem!" Wolvin cut him off quickly. He didn't care about the temperature; he was thirsty.
Wolvin snatched the cup.
On the other hand, Calian's brain operated with a different logic. To him, serving cold tea to a guest was a form of discourtesy. And when Wolvin said "no problem," Calian interpreted it as consent for an instant fix.
As Wolvin's lips touched the rim and he began to tilt it...
Snap!
Calian flicked his fingers.
"Reversion."
The time magic took effect in milliseconds. Calian rewound the state of the tea in the cup to its boiling point, exactly as it was when poured from the kettle an hour ago.
Wolvin, expecting a refreshing cold drink, was suddenly met with liquid hell.
Slurp...
Wolvin's eyes bulged until they nearly popped out of their sockets.
"PHWAAAAH!!!"
Wolvin spat out the tea, slamming the cup back onto the saucer with a loud clatter, and stuck his tongue out. A thin wisp of smoke drifted from his mouth.
"HOT! HOT! MY TONGUE IS BURNING!" Wolvin cried out, waving his hands in front of his wide-open mouth, hopping in place like a worm on a hot plate. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes.
Calian stared at him in confusion, his own tea cup frozen mid-air. "What are you doing? Why such an overreaction?"
"What am I doing?!" Wolvin snapped, his voice lisping because his tongue was numb. "What are you doing?! Why did you heat the tea right as it entered my mouth?!"
"You said 'no problem'." Calian replied blankly, as if it were the most logical defense in the world. "I assumed you gave me permission to restore the tea to its prime condition. Earl Grey must be drunk hot, Wolvin. That is the basic rule."
"That's not what I meant, Mister Genius!" Wolvin exclaimed in frustration, gesturing at his reddened mouth. "I meant I didn't mind if it was cold! I was thirsty, not looking to enjoy the art of tea drinking! Look at this, my taste buds are numb!"
Calian sighed, putting down his book. "Alright, alright. Stop whining. You sound like a pampered puppy."
Calian reached his hand toward Wolvin's face.
"Reversion!"
A faint purple glow enveloped Wolvin's mouth. The stinging, burning sensation on the Beastfolk's tongue vanished instantly, pulled back by time as if the scalding incident had never happened.
Wolvin pulled his tongue back, smacking his lips to make sure everything was normal.
"Better?" Calian asked flatly.
"Yes," gummed Wolvin, still a bit annoyed. "But still, warn me next time."
Calian then pointed his finger at the tea cup on the table. "Reversion." The tea's temperature dropped back to lukewarm. A perfect temperature for drinking quickly.
"Great," Wolvin commented sarcastically after draining the tea in one gulp. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Time users really are something. You can manipulate reality however you want. Instant cooking, healing wounds, repairing things..."
Wolvin set down the empty cup, then looked at Calian with a sharp, judging gaze—the gaze of a soldier spotting a weakness in an opponent's strategy.
"But it's a pity your physical strength is as weak as a soggy cracker."
Calian's eyebrow arched. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me!" Wolvin said, stepping forward until his shadow loomed over Calian. "Your magic is god-tier, Calian. I'll admit that. But your body? Pathetic. You're pale, thin, and I bet you'd faint if you had to run around this pavilion twice without magic."
"I am a mage, Wolvin. My job is to stand in the back and control the battlefield, not to clash muscles!" Calian countered defensively, picking his book back up. "And I have you for the muscle part."
Wolvin snorted, refusing to accept the excuse. Suddenly, with a lightning-fast movement Calian failed to anticipate, Wolvin snatched the journal from Calian's hands.
"Hey!" Calian protested.
"Come train with me, Calian!" Wolvin shouted, holding the book high above his head so Calian couldn't reach it.
Calian stared at him coldly. "Give me back my book, Wolvin. I'm recording important data. I have no interest in the ritual of self-torture you call 'training'!"