My Angel Can't Level Up

Time moved slowly in the Aldak household, each year marked by the hum of spellcraft and the clash of practice swords. By thirteen, I had memorized countless spell formulas, though casting them remained a struggle. My father's lessons grew more intense, the sting of his disappointment sharper with every slow incantation. Each misstep earned a harsh correction, his words cutting deeper than any physical blow.

Still, life wasn't all training. Rin, now ten, became a constant source of light. With her quick smile and endless curiosity, she filled the gaps my father's stern gaze left. When the pressure of training weighed me down, Rin would tug my hand and lead me outside to chase fireflies or sit beneath the old oak tree near the garden, her laughter a melody against the distant hum of city life.

At fourteen, my magic improved, though not as fast as my father hoped. I could conjure fire and lightning with more control, though channeling mana still took time. Rial's patience wore thinner, and our training sessions stretched longer. Sometimes, we practiced until my fingers trembled and sweat soaked through my shirt.

"You'll never survive the academy if you can't cast faster," he'd say after another failed attempt.

I bit back the urge to argue. Magic wasn't just about speed—it was about control, power. But those words never left my lips.

Outside of training, life offered fleeting moments of peace. Rin and I would climb the grassy hill beyond the city walls, where the world felt quieter. We'd lie on our backs, staring at the endless sky, while she talked about the future. Her dreams were simple—exploring beyond the city, finding a place where magic didn't decide a person's worth. I listened, though I doubted such a place existed.

My mother, Lilia, was the gentle counterbalance to my father's relentless expectations. A skilled healer and enchantress, she often soothed the wounds—both physical and emotional—that Rial's training inflicted. When my muscles ached from overexertion, she brewed restorative teas infused with calming spells. When the weight of my father's disappointment settled too heavily on my shoulders, she would brush my hair back and say, "You are more than your speed, Ryven. Power lies in understanding, not just in how quickly you can wield it."

Her words were a small comfort, though they did little to change Rial's approach.

By fifteen, whispers of the Binding Ceremony circled among my peers. Some boasted about the angels they hoped to receive—warriors with wings of gold, protectors wrapped in armor that could shatter steel. Others worried their angels would be weak or fragile.

I said nothing. Deep down, I feared my casting flaw might somehow affect my angel—what if I received a guardian who shared my limitations? The thought gnawed at me, but I kept my worries hidden. Every failed spell became a reminder of what might come.

My parents had their own bonded angels, celestial beings bound to their souls since their own ceremonies decades ago. My father's guardian, Valen, was a towering presence, his wings edged with silver and his armor bearing the scars of countless battles. He was as disciplined as my father, watching our training sessions with a silent, piercing gaze.

My mother's angel, Seraphis, was a stark contrast—serene, with wings as soft as moonlight and a voice that carried an otherworldly calm. He often watched over Rin and me when Mother was away, his presence soothing in ways that even words could not.

Seraphis, more than anyone, understood my struggles. "Mana flows differently for everyone," he told me once, his ethereal gaze steady. "Speed is not the only path to strength. Some rivers carve mountains not with force, but with patience."

But patience was a virtue my father did not share.

As my sixteenth birthday approached, the air within the household grew heavier. Even Mother, usually a calming presence, seemed more anxious. Rial's training intensified, and we drilled long past sunset. His instructions were sharper, his patience thinner.

"Again!" he barked as I stumbled over the final syllable of a lightning spell.

Mana surged through my veins, slow and unyielding. Sweat trickled down my forehead as I forced the spell forward. Sparks danced across my fingertips, but the delay was obvious. My father's frown deepened.

"You have great power, Ryven, but hesitation will get you killed. Speed is everything."

I clenched my fists, frustration clawing at my chest. No matter how hard I pushed, my body resisted the rapid flow of mana. Yet, I swallowed my frustration. Arguing wouldn't change anything.

Days passed in a blur of training and restless nights. Each attempt to speed my casting yielded only marginal improvement. The pressure mounted, a weight that settled in my bones and refused to leave.

One evening, after another grueling session, I collapsed onto the grass outside. The cool breeze offered a small reprieve, carrying the faint hum of distant city life. Rin appeared beside me, her hands behind her back.

"Here." She held out a small, silver charm shaped like a flame. "I made it for you. It's supposed to bring good luck."

I took the charm, turning it over in my palm. The craftsmanship was rough but earnest, and warmth spread through my chest.

"Thanks, Rin."

She grinned. "You'll do great, Ryven. I know it."

Her unwavering faith both comforted and weighed on me. I clutched the charm tightly, wishing I could believe her words as easily as she said them.

On the final night before my sixteenth birthday, I sat atop the familiar grassy hill outside the city walls. The wind whispered through the tall grass, carrying distant laughter from the marketplace below. The fading sun cast warm hues across the horizon, painting the sky in shades of amber and crimson.

I exhaled slowly, the weight of expectation pressing against my chest. Tomorrow loomed just beyond the horizon—a day that would shape my future and test everything I had endured. My gaze drifted upward, searching the sky as though the answer to my doubts lay hidden among the stars. Somewhere beyond those distant lights, my angel awaited. The question that lingered was whether I was ready to meet them or whether i wanted to meet them.