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Cyran sat in his dim-lit study. Dark eyes peeled on scattered books and stacked on top of his desk. His hand held on to his head—to ease the headache he has after reading these many pages. How the hell did they manage to publish these many books over the years?!
Right in front of him was an old book titled "Compendium of Practical Magic." The materials inside were of no use to him, but there’s no harm in reading it just to make sure. After all, the one who wrote it is his old classmate, the legendary "Magister Merlin."
Even after decades have passed, the title "Merlin" on them was still a stranger to Cyran's tongue. How would he have guessed that his old companion had long abandoned their true name? For someone who people claimed was humble, Merlin sure was a very familiar title to people's ears.
Truth be told, Cyran never and will not call them Merlin. Perhaps, he was used to calling them with the name they first introduced to him. Or perhaps, he wanted to be their only rival, their only match, and the only closest person they ever …
Thump! The sound of a heavy item fell on to the ground—disrupting Cyran's train of thoughts. He huffed, then stood from his seat to pick up whatever the thing that fell from his already messy desk. One day, he’ll probably clean his study. Probably.
Cyran looked upon it, it was a book that he knew well.
He hastily picked it up.
The cover was unscathed, thankfully. Cyran caressed the heavy book, then opened the very first page. Yellowed paper greeted him as a sign of its age. They weren't crumpled. Hell, it's not dusty at all. He exhaled, a huge wave of relief washed over him. His fingers traced Merlin's signature—feeling the depth of the dried ink pressed on the paper.
"A first copy of my book only for you, Cyran. May our paths meet again. We'll see each other soon?"
Ah, that certainly takes him back.
They were supposed to meet each other back then. The last meeting before they departed to went on a different journey. However, Cyran never came, not even telling them a single word. He never admitted that there was a small part of him that didn't want to say goodbye. Now, after all these years, that incident was no longer important, as the friend fellow mage he once knew has lost their memories.
When Cyran heard the news about the amnesiac “Merlin”, he wanted to feel sorry for them. But, it seems that they still have their expertise at magic—aiding those in need. What a shame. But it was not out of character, it was still them. He smiled at the thought before returning to a frown.
Below the message, there was their handwritten name. Not Magister Supreme, not Magister Merlin, or even just Merlin, but it's a name that Cyran knew well. Or if he’s bold, a name that only he knew.
What would their face look like when he calls them by their true name?
Would their face flush? Would they grin and smile ear-to-ear just like those days?
Would they finally regain their memories and come back to him?
Cyran chuckled grimly. He would be elated to see that.