As the material took the desired shape, he exhaled with force and a gust of wind disposed of the dust, containing it in a corner bin. Yuki grew somewhat used to his minor tricks of magic, and though she exclaimed with wonder every time, she stopped questioning it some time ago.

As Yuki’s subconscious shifted to accept magic as something normal, Leonardo could freely cast magic in her presence and would not incur a karmic judgement. If anything, having sympathetic believers on your side reinforced magic and made it easier to accomplish.

Were he to convert everyone in the monastery and have a small cult following, his magic would be a breeze as they would resist the kismet together. He’d also achieve more potent effects with way less effort. In theory, as long as he could convince everyone in the world that magic is possible - the Kismet would shift accordingly, and everyone could cast freely once more.

This would remain a theory, however. Dozens of powerful organizations tried over the years, and all failed. It was in the best interest of vampires, werewolves, demons and the likes to remain incognito and to smother mankind’s potential. To that end, they’d never allow humans to even the entertain the idea that their existence wasn’t myth. If billions of people knew they existed, there’s a good chance a hundred thousand of them would band to hunt them down to the ends of the earth. That’s how the inquisition supposedly came about, anyway.

“Pass me the hand-drill.”

Focusing on the object that resembled a flute more and more despite only a few minutes having passed, Leo started to work on the small details. Burrowing into the core of the cylinder, he used Materia Dharma to sense each micrometer and guided the tool perfectly. With laser precision, he scraped the inside and rounded it out, then once more employed a Elemental rote to clean the dust with a minor wind spell.

Next, he calculated where the finger holes went, and without even marking them down physically, started to open them one by one. The tridimensional model was already fashioned in his head, now he simply had to follow the steps to achieve it.

In nary half an hour or so, the physical adjustments were made and the flute could already be played. This basic work could sell as it was, and perhaps some wandering bard would pay a few gold for it. This wasn’t his target audience, however, so a few extra steps had to be taken.

First, he used a set of precision chisels to carve out various motifs along the surface of the flute, giving it an artistic flair. On the rear end of the flute he naturally stamped out his logo. Prominent but not glaring, it occupied the centerpiece without damaging the aesthetics. Around the symbol, he etched out Daedalus Astula in a Proto-Greek cypher. The words were small and barely readable with a magnifier glass. The calligraphy was precise to the millimeter, as if done by a modern printer.

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Finally, he used sandpaper abrasives to polish the surface to an almost glossy smoothness. After applying a layer of oil coating and drying it, the work would be truly finished.

Naturally unwilling to end up wasting a few days, he placed the flute on a special stone plate. It was special in the sense that it had a mysterious spiritual engraving. The lines were attuned to the mysteries of heavens, and if one were to meditate deeply on them, one might uncover traces of the secrets of time in them.

Despite not having Tempus 3 to slow or speed up time, he could use this rudimentary formation along with Materia 2 to speed up the rate at which the materials blended together in a reaction.

Using magic as a means of bypassing the bothersome parts, he managed to save a lot of time. For example, by ensuring the wood absorbed a sufficient uniform amount of oil, he could use a single thick coating, instead of having to do three or four thinner coats.

“There we are, little fox. What do you think of it?” he beamed at Yuki proudly after playing a short tune.

“It’s pretty, big brother. And, it sounds pretty too!”

“Heh. What if I told you in the right hands, this one flute could ensure everyone in this orphanage is fed for a year?”

Pausing for a second to run a few calculations of her own, she finally glared at him with conviction. “Nonsense. You’re making fun of me again!”

Shaking his head with a wry smile at her disbelief, he waved a hand to dismiss her then retrieved the other pieces of wood. Making short work of them, he assembled a simple container to fit the flute. It was a box roughly 50 cm in length and 15 cm high. It used clever sliding grooves to open the top instead of relying on a metal mechanism.

He didn’t spend much time on decorating the box, only doing the corners and engraving his symbol dead center of the top slide. He then finished it with abrasives and oil, making it smooth to the touch. Lastly, he worked his Transmutation magic to dry and ‘age’ the wood. Although ornate, the container was purposefully less appealing than the flute. He left the majestic sculpted boxes for later, intending to make jewel cases.

Finally, he placed a pillow inside. He’d purchased a few meters of silk from Byzantine merchants, one of his costlier acquisitions. Using some of it to tailor a bag which he’d filled with white sand, he closed it up and fashioned a pillow which fit perfectly with the box. Not only would it give the object some extra weight, it would also support the flute in a smooth enclosure to prevent collision damage.

Admiring his handy-work with great satisfaction, Leonardo felt strangely inspired. Even without a skilled musician to assess it, this could definitely be called the best flute of the present age. Despite not being the best at it, Leo dabbled in music for years now, so he knew its worth at first glance.

This flute would become his first meaningful trace in history. The first flap of the butterfly wings. The origin of his first great plan to return home…

‘Home? Where or when will I find it?’

Assailed by a strange sense of melancholy, he brought the flute to his lips and sought a release. Entranced by emotions or perhaps on instinct, he found himself playing an old Tibetan folk song. The tune seemed to forge a link to the future, to the unfamiliar home his heart nonetheless claimed as its own.