"Winter is already here."
Mom said it while adjusting the groceries spread across the kitchen counter, though the weather had already made the announcement hours ago.
The cold had settled properly now. Not the playful kind from autumn mornings, but something heavier. Persistent. The sort that slipped through cracks in the windows and lingered quietly against your skin no matter how tightly you wrapped your coat.
Outside, the tree beyond the kitchen window stood stripped bare, dark branches stretching against a pale afternoon sky.
"It's gotten really cold," I thought, rubbing my palms together before reaching for another biscuit from the plate beside me.
At least the kitchen still held warmth.
Steam drifted from the pot near the stove while the smell of garlic and soy sauce slowly filled the room. It clung to the air in that familiar way home-cooked food always did.
Comforting.
Dangerous too, maybe.
Comfort made it harder to leave things behind.
"What exactly are we making again?" I asked around a bite of biscuit.
Mom paused just long enough to glance at me.
"Chicken Adobo."
She returned to arranging ingredients across the counter.
"I told you before we went to the market."
"Ah."
Right.
That explained the soy sauce. The vinegar too. And the mountain of garlic currently waiting for me on the cutting board.
"Dad's coming today," I said suddenly as the realization hit properly this time.
A smile slipped onto my face before I could stop it.
Mom only hummed in response while measuring oil into the pot.
"Maybe we should've bought pork too," I added, picking up the knife. "Not just chicken."
"I thought about it," she replied, pouring water into the marinade. "But pork prices have gone up again."
"Hm."
I lowered my attention back to the garlic cloves.
The knife thudded rhythmically against the board while my thoughts drifted elsewhere entirely.
Overseas.
The West.
Magic.
Every time I tried organizing the conversation in my head, it seemed to collapse halfway through.
Like my brain already expected resistance.
"Mayu."
Mom wiped her hands against a towel and nodded toward the pot.
"Cool this down a little so it marinates properly."
"Right."
I stretched out my hand slightly.
The sensation came easier now. Not effortless—never effortless—but familiar enough that I no longer doubted myself each time.
The heat around the pot loosened gradually beneath my control, steam thinning as the liquid cooled.
Mom watched for a moment before returning to washing rice.
"Mom…"
I straightened slightly.
"You know I could do much more if I had higher education."
There.
Too late to pull the words back now.
I stepped closer to the counter as though physically following the conversation might somehow help.
"Have you even decided what you want to become?" she asked calmly.
Rice poured into another pot with a dry rattling sound.
"Medicine. Law. Accounting."
Each profession landed with practiced certainty.
"Those are stable jobs. Well-paying jobs."
She reached toward me without looking.
"Knife."
I handed it over.
"Yes," I admitted quietly. "They are."
The kitchen suddenly felt smaller.
Not physically.
Just—
tight.
"But Steven said I could learn much more about magic if I studied in the West."
My voice came out smaller than I intended.
Mom didn't answer immediately.
"Mayu," she finally sighed, "magic already troubled you enough when you were younger."
I inhaled sharply before cutting in.
"That was years ago."
She stopped chopping.
"I'm older now."
I looked down at my hands instead of her face.
The smell of onions mixed with vinegar and soy sauce while the rice behind us began softly boiling.
"If you want to study something Aether-related," she continued more quietly, "you could attend the same university your father did."
The knife resumed moving.
"You could become an Aetheric Engineer."
The words felt careful. Prepared. Safe.
Too safe.
"I don't want to build engines," I said.
The sentence came out firmer this time.
"I don't want to spend my life designing Aether machinery."
The chopping slowed slightly.
"I want to cast spells."
I swallowed before continuing.
"And understand why they work."
The kitchen fell silent again.
Not empty.
Heavy.
The boiling rice became the loudest thing in the room.
Then Mom finally turned toward me. Really turned this time.
"I want you alive," she said quietly.
"Stable."
Her eyes held mine fully now.
"And close to home."
A pause settled between us.
"Is that too much?"
I looked away first.
Something in my chest twisted painfully at that.
Because no.
It wasn't too much.
That was the problem.
The knife resumed its steady rhythm against the board, controlled but somehow different now.
My throat tightened.
The onions stung my eyes, and I let myself pretend that was the only reason they burned.
I knew I had worried her.
Honestly, I probably always had.
Hospitals. Migraines. Dizziness so bad I couldn't stand properly some mornings.
The memories sat heavily inside me.
I hated remembering those rooms.
The smell alone still bothered me sometimes.
But things had changed after that woman explained what was actually wrong.
Not sick.
Not broken.
Different.
Capable of interacting with Aether neurologically.
A mage born in the East.
That realization had rearranged something fundamental inside me.
I wasn't just a patient anymore.
I had potential.
A future that felt like mine, even if nobody around me fully understood it yet.
Or maybe they understood it too well.
"Mayumi."
Mom's voice softened slightly.
"Please put the pot on the fire."
"Okay."
My legs felt heavier than they should have as I lifted the marinated chicken carefully and carried it toward the stove. The metal handles warmed quickly against my fingers.
I set the pot down over the flame and adjusted the heat.
Almost immediately the smell deepened.
Garlic.
Soy sauce.
Bay leaves.
Pepper.
Home.
Behind me, Mom continued chopping vegetables while weak winter light spilled through the kitchen window.
Neither of us spoke again for a while.
Only the sounds of cooking remained.
Boiling rice.
Simmering broth.
The scrape of knife against wood.
"Dad's coming today," I reminded myself quietly.
Maybe he would understand.
Maybe he would see what I was trying to say.
Or maybe he'd agree with Mom.
That thought sat there for a moment.
Unwelcome.
The kitchen carried on around us in a silence too full to truly be called quiet.