For the past two days, Dyan had been clearing the land with the constant help of Frila, Eunid's middle daughter. The girl had arrived early both mornings, unasked, and although at first she maintained her timid demeanor and barely held the wizard's gaze, little by little she seemed to be loosening up. Sometimes her cheeks still flushed if Dyan watched her for too long, but she no longer hid behind her hair as before.
Dyan had decided not to use magic to restore the place. Although with a couple of gestures and some words he could have sped up the process, he preferred to take his time. There was something about the physical labor—in the sweat, in the dirt under his nails—that calmed him. Perhaps it was a way of reconciling with the earth, or simply to distract his mind.
He pulled a stubborn thistle with force until he tore it out by the root. The sun was already high, and the air smelled of hot dust and broken sap. They had been weeding all morning, and there was little left. The worst had been removing the blackberries that had tangled like a plague around the main access, but Frila had provided him with an old shovel of her father's, and between the two of them they managed to clear a path.
He took off his gloves and walked towards the threshold of the old house, where Frila was finishing with the last remnants of weeds.
"Are you hungry?" he asked kindly, trying to soften his deep voice.
Frila looked up, avoiding his gaze. "A little," she murmured, rubbing her dirt-filled hands.
"I saw there are good fish in the river, just behind us. Fancy some? We could make a campfire and have lunch there."
"I like roasted fish, but... are you sure you can catch anything?"
Dyan smiled, amused by her doubt. "Trust me."
They walked together towards the riverbank, crossing the back garden where the overgrown grass reached their knees. The sun filtered through the high branches of the willows, and the murmur of the water was serene, almost hypnotic.
"Frila, can you gather some dry branches? I'll go fishing," he said, calmly taking off his shoes.
She nodded, though she looked at him with some incredulity. She hadn't seen a rod, or a net, or anything that resembled a fishing tool. She watched him closely as he waded into the river with his trousers rolled up.
Then it happened.
Dyan raised his arms elegantly and began to murmur words in an unknown tongue. The water stirred around him and, suddenly, it parted as if obeying an invisible command. The riverbed divided, exposing a stretch of rocky bottom, where dozens of fish, surprised and exposed, flapped awkwardly in search of water.
Frila dropped the branches she was carrying. Her heart pounded.
Dyan knelt and easily gathered four medium-sized fish, then murmured something before returning the water to its natural course. The waters flowed smoothly again, as if nothing had happened.
With a simple snap of his fingers, he lit a small campfire, and the flames began to dance over the dry branches as if they had been waiting. Everything about him seemed part of an ancient ritual, full of grace and a contained strength that fascinated Frila.
As the fish roasted, the young woman couldn't stop watching him. There was something in the way he moved his hands, in the faint light that seemed to envelop his body whenever he conjured, that kept her spellbound.
Sitting on two tree stumps near the fire, she finally dared to speak, her voice trembling:
"Master Dyan... can all wizards do that?"
"It's no big deal," he replied without arrogance, as he turned the fish over the fire. "Even apprentices can do it, with a little practice."
"It's... beautiful. Could I... see it again?"
Dyan looked at her, and on her face he saw a reflection of himself many years ago, when he had first witnessed true magic. He gently approached and took one of Frila's hands in his. She froze, feeling her heart pound. The touch of his skin was warm, firm, yet delicate.
"Watch this carefully," he said softly.
He whispered words that seemed to rise from the wind itself. The air around them vibrated, warm and dense. A sphere of iridescent light appeared on Frila's palm, which floated slowly towards the sky. Soon, other spheres began to sprout around them, spinning in the air like enchanted fireflies.
"Master Dyan..." she whispered, her eyes full of wonder, "it's amazing..."
She squeezed his hand tighter, without realizing it. The spheres began to swell, becoming translucent like bubbles, and one by one they burst in a shower of silver sparks that descended like flakes of liquid light upon them both.
"Did you like it?" Dyan asked without releasing her hand.
Frila nodded, speechless, trembling between awe and the adolescent tremor of her heart. A part of her wished to stay there forever.
He gently released her hand and returned to his seat. The smell of roasted fish filled the air.
"Thank you for your help, Frila. You're a good girl," Dyan said in a serene voice.
Frila smiled, but felt the words pierce her like a thorn. The "good girl" made her wince, and for a second her smile wavered, just slightly, before recomposing itself.
The fire crackled between them as the sun slowly descended behind the trees. And though she didn't know it, Frila would never forget that day.
---------------------------------------------
Frila returned home when the sky was already tinged with orange. Shadows stretched along the dirt path, and the song of the cicadas filled the air like an ancient murmur. She held her arms crossed against her chest, as if trying to retain in her hands the warmth that still remained from the magic, the aroma of roasted fish, and the softness of the wizard's voice repeating words she didn't understand, but felt etched beneath her skin.
She walked slowly, unhurried, dragging her feet in the dust, as if each step took her further from a dream she didn't want to wake from. Inside her, her heart still beat fast, confused, as if something had changed without her knowing when or how. It was a mix of vertigo and sweetness, of guilt and wonder. Her mind couldn't stop replaying the moment Dyan took her hand, the way his skin glowed as if the sun inhabited him from within, the spheres of light floating like enchanted fireflies, the way the entire world seemed to fall silent to let only his magic exist.
When she crossed the threshold of the house, Anidia was waiting for her, sitting on the bench by the entrance, arms crossed and an eyebrow arched.
"Where have you been these past two days, Frila?" she asked as soon as she saw her, in that inquisitive motherly tone that intended to sound severe, but always softened in the end.
Frila hesitated for a moment. She knew she hadn't done anything wrong, that she had only helped the wizard with the garden herbs... but she couldn't explain what she had felt without it sounding like madness.
"I was with the wizard," she finally said, lowering her gaze. "He asked for my help cleaning the land."
Anidia narrowed her eyes. "From morning until evening? Two days in a row?"
Frila nodded, and as she did, she heard the soft creak of the table from the kitchen. Casia, the eldest, was stirring a stew in the iron pot, but she soon turned slightly towards them. She didn't say a word, but her gaze was enough. She knew her too well. That way of barely pursing her lips, that brief gesture of her eyebrows: Casia knew. She knew, in a second, that something had blossomed in her younger sister.
Frila tried to keep her expression neutral, but a blush crept up her neck to her cheeks, betraying her.
"Ah," Casia finally said, in a casual tone. "So, the wizard."
"He's kind," Frila replied too quickly, as if defending herself. Then she lowered her voice. "And powerful. I'd never seen anything like it. It's... like being in the middle of a fairy tale."
Casia didn't reply immediately. She served dinner with calm movements, but in her mind, a mix of tenderness, worry, and a hint of sadness simmered. She knew how these stories began. She knew that tales with wizards and village girls rarely ended well for the girls.
Anidia crossed her arms, looking at Frila with curiosity.
"You like him, don't you?" she asked with a mischievous smile, but her eyes weren't so lighthearted.
Frila didn't answer. She sat at the table in silence, letting her fingers brush against the splintered wood as the soup steamed in her bowl. She didn't want to talk. She didn't want them to put a name to what she was just beginning to understand. It wasn't just that she liked him... it was that she had felt seen for the first time. There was something in the way Dyan looked at her when he spoke to her, with that serene calmness that didn't judge her, as if she wasn't a timid girl, but someone worthy of attention.
"It's just that..." Frila murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "He's different from everything else."
Casia served the last portion and sat across from her. She looked at her for a long time before speaking.
"Just remember that men who glow don't always warm," she said softly, without harshness, like one giving advice from affection and experience. "Sometimes they only dazzle."
Frila swallowed. She didn't reply. But inwardly, she promised herself that, the next day, she would return.