My vacation flew by in what felt like a single day, and the new school year began.

  That meant I now had far less time for training and trips to the Mage Guild with Alak. I needed to leave this school behind as soon as possible so I could fully develop my talent.

  Alak managed to secure me permission to visit the Mage Guild’s library. It became my new routine: twice a week after classes, he would take me there by carriage, and I’d spend two or three hours inside. Those days were my favorites.

  Trips to the Guild felt like a sacred ritual to me. I would sit among towering marble shelves and immerse myself in magical treatises none of my peers had access to.

  My evening training sessions with Father also changed. After I learned to hold a fireball for twenty seconds, we moved to the next stage.

  I learned how to fire it.

  At first, my fireball would travel only a few meters before bursting into sparks. The mana I’d carefully shaped couldn’t hold together once I pushed it forward.

  We trained using an old stone slab as a target. I aimed. Fired. Studied where I hit — or more often, where the sphere collapsed.

  My progress, as always, was slow but methodical. Thanks to what I’d read in the Guild about projectile structural stability, I learned not just to launch the sphere — but to create a microscopic stabilization field along its tail.

  Now, after another six months of training, I could:

  Create a fist-sized fireball in one second.

  Hold it indefinitely, as long as I didn’t move.

  Fire it up to fifteen meters.

  That evening, after one of my Guild visits, Alak set up a clay target on the old stone slab — apple-sized.

  A very small and difficult target for a fireball.

  — Go on, Eyron. Your task is to hit the center, — Alak said, crossing his arms.

  I extended my hand.

  Within one second, a fireball formed in my palm — bright and stable.

  I chose my target, directed my mana, and pushed the sphere forward.

  This time, instead of exploding or falling apart, the fireball shot forward like an arrow.

  It flew the full fifteen meters and struck dead center.

  A dull impact echoed — and the clay target shattered into hundreds of fragments.

  Alak walked up to the remains, picked up a shard, and turned back to me.

  — Your progress has accelerated noticeably, Eyron. You can already consider yourself a beginner-rank fire mage.

  — I mean… I’m glad, but after all this time I’ve only mastered one spell.

  Alak walked back over to me.

  — You lack patience, Eyron. Those who know how to wait receive more.

  He was right.

  Because I’d finally gained a healthy body, I was trying to do everything I’d been unable to do in my previous life — as fast as possible.

  — Father, what rank are you in healing magic?

  — Special rank. But I trained for over forty years to reach it. Nothing in this world is gained easily.

  I sat down on the grass to rest. Alak came over and sat beside me.

  — Your mother and I talked… and we decided you no longer need school.

  — What do you mean? — I asked, confused.

  Alak looked away.

  — Your grades are flawless. You think far beyond your years, and because of that, school is slowing your progress. They teach very little magic there — mostly theory, history, writing, and other subjects you already mastered before you even enrolled. There’s no point waiting for graduation.

  I clenched the grass in my fingers.

  — But… shouldn’t I finish school first?

  Alak looked at me, surprised.

  — No. Why would you? You already know the entire curriculum.

  I exhaled slowly.

  In this world, there was no need to cling to formalities.

  …That made things easier.

  After a short pause, he continued:

  — I have relatives in Illusion. They specialize in enchantment. Since that field interests you, I decided to send you there. You’ll learn how to enchant and recharge various artifacts and weapons.

  — Illusion… is that far from here?

  — Yes. It’s the capital of the Dominion, west of here — roughly two thousand kilometers away.

  That far?

  So I wouldn’t be able to come home on weekends?

  What about Aria? If I went that far… I’d basically have to forget about her.

  — Would I at least be able to visit once a month?

  — I doubt it. The journey there and back takes at least two weeks. You’d only be able to return for major holidays.

  Two thousand…

  It wouldn’t be easy to leave everything behind and move to a completely different city.

  But Alak was right. There was nothing left for me here.

  I had to move on from this stage.

  — But… — Alak suddenly added, interrupting my thoughts. — First you’ll finish this school year. It wouldn’t be right for you to leave at the very start of a new term. Once you’re done, I’ll send you to Illusion. Agreed?

  — Yeah… okay.

  For some reason, I felt relieved after hearing that.

  The offer to move had been too sudden — but now I at least had time to properly say goodbye to Aria.

  We were sitting on a hill outside the city — where the grass grew higher than your knees and the wind always blew a little stronger than down below.

  From here, you could see the fields and the distant rooftops of Lorelin, drowning in the glow of the evening light.

  Aria stood across from me, her hands tightly clasped in concentration.

  — Once more, — I said calmly. — Don’t rush. Feel the flow.

  She nodded, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes.

  Mana began gathering around her body. The air grew damp, as if rain had just passed nearby.

  A thin film of water formed in front of her — then expanded, curving and closing into a translucent dome.

  A water shield.

  It wasn’t perfect: the surface trembled slightly, the thickness uneven in places — but the structure held.

  Aria opened her eyes and looked at me with hope.

  — Well?

  I smiled.

  — Not bad. For your first time — that’s excellent.

  She exhaled in relief — but then frowned again.

  — A-and… it’ll really hold?

  I narrowed my eyes slightly.

  — Let’s test it.

  She tensed immediately.

  — Wait, you’re not—

  — Relax, — I said. — I’ll start small.

  I stepped back a few paces and raised my hand.

  A small fireball formed in my palm within a second.

  — Ready? — I asked.

  She swallowed, then nodded.

  I directed my mana — and launched it.

  The fireball struck the water shield.

  A dull hiss filled the air — flame met water, and ripples spread across the dome. The shield vibrated noticeably, tension cracks rippling through its surface…

  …but it held.

  The fire dispersed into steam.

  Aria blinked.

  Then blinked again.

  — It… — she looked carefully at her hands. — It held?

  — It held, — I confirmed.

  For a second disbelief froze on her face — then it burst into joy.

  — I really did it?!

  She laughed — light, bright, so genuine that even I felt warmer hearing it.

  — You did, — I repeated.

  I was happy for her.

  …but I also felt a sting of unfairness.

  I trained harder than anyone — yet creating a shield like that was still beyond me.

  Still, complaining wouldn’t make me stronger.

  She lowered the shield. The water collapsed and soaked into the earth, leaving damp grass behind.

  I sat down beside her.

  Maybe… this was the right moment to tell her about my move.

  Why not? I doubted she’d be too upset.

  — Eyron, oh right — I didn’t tell you, — she said suddenly. — I finally stabilized water flow without a focus. Pure form. No collapse.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  — Seriously? — I looked at her. — That’s already above beginner level.

  She smiled wider.

  — I think so too. My teacher said I have good control — especially for water. If I keep this pace, in a couple of years I might even apply…

  She hesitated.

  — Abroad.

  — Where exactly?

  — Shahrian. The capital of Nal’Terra, — she said, excitement clear in her voice.

  — If I remember right, that country’s in the south of the continent?

  — Yep.

  Right. That’s where the Terr-Ain lived — monkey-like beastfolk.

  — I’ve heard it’s incredible there. Nothing like here. Different architecture, different magic… even the ecosystem.

  — Ecosystem? — I repeated.

  — Yeah! — she lit up. — Fruits that grow only at certain mana concentrations. Animals that change color with the seasons. They say even the air feels different.

  I nodded, listening — but my thoughts kept drifting back to last night’s conversation with Father.

  — And also… — Aria lowered her voice like she was sharing a secret. — I dream of seeing the statue of Azura.

  — The Sea God? — I уточнил.

  — Mm-hmm. They say it’s so huge its top disappears into the clouds. Can you imagine? Not in books. Not on engravings. In real life.

  I imagined it.

  And for some reason, I thought that even such a statue was still just stone — a god imprisoned in symbolism.

  — You really want to go that far away? — I asked.

  — I do, — she answered without hesitation. — Not forever, maybe. But… if there’s a chance to see a world bigger than Lorelin, why not try?

  Why not indeed.

  — And also—

  — Aria, — I interrupted. — After this school year… I’m moving to Illusion.

  She looked at me, confused.

  Her smile slowly faded.

  — You’re… leaving? To Illusion?

  She visibly deflated. The news hit her harder than I expected.

  — Yeah, — I said, lying back on the grass. — My parents want to send me to relatives there so I can study enchantment. They don’t see a reason to keep me in school anymore.

  Aria looked away, toward the sunset. From this hill, the view over Lorelin really was breathtaking.

  — For long? — she asked without turning.

  — I think so. I don’t know exactly how long. But I’ll visit during holidays, — I said, trying to comfort her.

  She was silent for a few seconds.

  I thought she might start crying.

  But instead she smiled — as if my words had reassured her.

  — Well… I’m happy for you. I’ve heard enchantment is very profitable. With your persistence, you’ll definitely succeed.

  For a moment, it felt like I was talking to an adult woman — not a nine-year-old girl.

  Even though she smiled, it was obvious the news upset her.

  In truth… she had no friends besides me.

  She wasn’t interested in kids her age — they simply couldn’t understand her.

  She was a genius.

  A real one — not like me.

  She had no past-life experience. No mentor father. No access to the Guild library.

  Everything she achieved, she did on her own.

  — I think I should head home, — she said, breaking the silence. — It’s getting late. Will you walk me back?

  — Yeah. Of course.

  We walked toward her house.

  She talked to me like nothing had happened.

  And honestly… that was probably for the best.

  I just hoped she’d find a friend someday — someone who could truly understand her.

  Night wrapped the forest in a velvet cloak.

  Tall trees locked their crowns above the dirt road, turning it into a dark corridor. Moonlight barely pierced through the leaves, falling to the ground in scattered silver patches. The air smelled of damp soil, pine, and cold dew.

  A caravan moved slowly along the road.

  Wagon wheels creaked dully as they sank into the soft earth. Horses snorted, shaking their heads, harness chains clinking softly.

  Guards walked ahead and along the sides — several dozen men clad in vivanite armor. They stayed alert but calm: spears lowered, swords sheathed, steps steady and measured.

  From time to time, one of them would stop, listening to the forest, peering into the shadows between the trees where any danger might be hiding.

  — Heard the latest news from Sturmgrad? — one guard asked, adjusting his belt.

  — You mean another city refusing the Pantheon’s rule? — another snorted.

  — They say riots broke out again in the northern districts. Siverians clashed with the royal guard.

  — What did they expect? — a third cut in. — It’s been eighty years and people still call the Pantheon usurpers.

  — Those barbarians just want an excuse to fight someone.

  A fourth guard joined in, lowering his voice:

  — Don’t shout like that. You’ll attract bandits… or worse — a Lianomant.

  — Kira, don’t be stupid. No bandits or nature wardens in a forest this small. If we were in the Silver Moss Woods, sure — but not here.

  — Heh… you’ll remember my words. And it’ll be too late, — Kira muttered.

  — Yeah yeah, get lost with your horror stories, — the first guard shoved him lightly. — Tell them to kids when we reach Etherion.

  Kira sighed and, seeing no point arguing, hopped onto one of the wagons.

  Another guard noticed the commander riding nearby and called out:

  — Septim, what do you think about it?

  — The northern riots?

  — Yeah.

  The commander thought for a moment.

  — I think the Pantheon should be hanged in the main square of Hrabgrad. He slaughtered the entire royal family and still rules. That goes against everything Asgardian culture stands for.

  One of the mages riding beside them suddenly looked deep into the forest.

  It was quiet — but his eyes scanned the darkness as if sensing something.

  — Commander, — he said.

  Septim lazily turned his head.

  — What is it?

  — I don’t like this place. The mana suddenly got… dense. Like something’s sitting nearby.

  The commander’s posture stiffened.

  — You sure? Could be a flock of birds.

  — I’m sure, — the mage said, glancing around again. — Stop the wagons.

  — Halt! — the commander shouted. — Stay alert!

  The caravan stopped.

  Guards jumped down, drawing swords.

  Septim scanned the surroundings, listening to the silence that had suddenly grown too thick — oppressive.

  The forest seemed to be holding its breath.

  Even the insects had gone quiet.

  Guards spread into a semicircle around the wagons. Some gripped their hilts so hard their knuckles turned white. Others swallowed nervously.

  The horses shifted restlessly, snorting, tugging their harnesses.

  One suddenly neighed — sharp, terrified — the sound echoing down the road like a warning.

  After a few minutes, the commander spoke:

  — Nothing. Move—

  CRACK.

  A sharp, dry sound tore through the night.

  The commander never finished his sentence.

  His body jerked — as if yanked by invisible strings — and the next second his head separated from his shoulders.

  It fell into the grass, rolling, leaving a streak of blood.

  His eyes were still open.

  His body stood for a moment — absurdly upright — before collapsing to its knees and toppling over.

  — COMMANDER?!

  — WHAT THE HELL?!

  — WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!

  Panic exploded instantly.

  Guards shouted, broke formation — some retreating, others charging blindly into the dark, stabbing at shadows.

  Torches shook wildly, light scattering across tree trunks, turning shadows into jagged, twitching shapes.

  — SHIELDS! FORM UP! — someone yelled, but the voice drowned in chaos.

  Another sound came from the darkness.

  Short.

  Wet.

  A guard near the rear wagon jerked — then dropped.

  His sword clanged against stone as blood poured from his slashed throat. He choked, gasping, trying to scream — but no sound came out.

  — BEHIND US!

  Too late.

  Another fell.

  Then a third.

  No one saw the strikes — only the results.

  The forest itself seemed to move.

  Shadows between trees shifted too fast to follow.

  — Hold formation! Don’t scatter! — a second mage shouted, trying to take command.

  A dull impact answered him.

  His body flew backward as if struck by an invisible battering ram. He hit the ground with a crushed ribcage — armor caved inward like thin tin.

  — WHAT IS THIS THING?!

  The first mage — the one who sensed it — spun toward the forest, face pale, pupils wide.

  He saw a flicker of movement in the bushes.

  — THERE! LEFT!

  He thrust both hands forward.

  Mana erupted in freezing cold.

  A massive ice projectile formed from the air — over three meters long, jagged like a spear.

  — TAKE THIS!

  It blasted forward with a thunderous crack.

  Trees exploded into splinters. Bushes turned into shattered ice and wood. The ground buckled like it had been struck by a hammer.

  …silence.

  No scream.

  No blood.

  No body.

  Only frost settling and vapor rising.

  The mage froze, breathing hard.

  — Did… I hit it? — someone whispered.

  The answer came immediately.

  The sky ignited.

  A colossal fireball slammed into one of the central wagons — appearing out of nowhere.

  BOOM.

  A blinding flash tore through the night. The shockwave hurled men off their feet, horses thrown aside, wagons shattered like straw.

  Flames roared upward, devouring wood, cloth… flesh.

  Another mage raised a barrier, protecting the survivors.

  Inside the dome there was only heavy breathing, groans, and the crackle of burning fire outside.

  — What is that…? — a guard whispered in horror.

  Shadows moved again beyond the barrier.

  Another fireball — larger than a meter wide — crashed into it, exploding into sparks.

  The barrier held.

  Then…

  A figure emerged from the trees.

  — That barrier’s pretty sturdy.

  A warrior stepped out of the bushes.

  One crimson gemstone replaced his left eye.

  He wore expensive armor made of pyrocrystal and aquazine. A double-bladed glaive hung on his back.

  — I didn’t expect to find high-tier mages here, — he said with a faint smile.

  The guards charged instantly.

  The mage dropped the barrier, forming dozens of ice spikes.

  The warrior — clearly a Neitmark — didn’t even draw his weapon.

  He stepped forward lazily.

  Invisible air blades — part of the Wind Dance style — sliced outward.

  The first guard didn’t even scream.

  His body split apart mid-charge — like an invisible razor passed through him.

  Blood sprayed as the halves fell.

  — WHAT—

  The air howled.

  Invisible scythes tore through the formation, cutting armor, flesh, weapons.

  Spears snapped like thread.

  Guards fell one after another.

  The mage slammed both hands to the ground.

  — GLACIAL TEMPEST!

  Mana exploded outward.

  Hundreds of ice spikes erupted from earth and air, thick as pillars.

  Trees snapped like matchsticks.

  The forest became a frozen wasteland in seconds.

  The spikes closed around the warrior.

  For a moment — he vanished.

  Then the ice itself was cut apart.

  The structures split mid-flight, sliced into perfect segments.

  Fragments rained down harmlessly.

  The warrior stood untouched.

  He turned toward the mage. The crimson gem-eye glowed softly.

  — Beautiful, — he said sincerely. — That spell could wipe out a small village.

  The mage stepped back, hands trembling.

  — But you’re fighting the wind… — the warrior tilted his head. — And wind can’t be held.

  — Shut up! — the mage roared.

  He stomped the ground — freezing everything.

  Trees. Bodies. Wagons. Horses.

  Even the Neitmark was encased in ice.

  The mage formed one last colossal ice spear — pouring all his mana into it.

  It was the size of a small house.

  He launched it.

  The impact shattered the frozen figure into hundreds of shards.

  The mage exhaled, staring.

  — Is… he dead?

  Silence.

  He stepped closer.

  Then—

  Click.

  A soft sound.

  Almost friendly.

  The pain came later.

  First — numbness.

  Then he saw his hands fall to the ground.

  Both of them.

  Severed cleanly.

  Blood burst out a heartbeat later.

  He collapsed screaming — raw, animal terror.

  — AAAAAAA!

  — I know, — a calm voice said.

  The warrior stepped out from behind a fallen tree.

  His armor was cracked, scorched, frost-bitten…

  But he was uninjured.

  He crouched beside the mage.

  — I’m looking for a key. Though… it’s more like a cubic artifact. You were transporting it, right?

  The mage spat blood.

  The warrior sighed — then placed a glowing hand on his chest.

  He healed him just enough to speak.

  — Well?

  — I… don’t know any artifact…

  — Then why such heavy escort?

  — Gold… we were transporting gold…

  The smile faded briefly.

  — I see. An entire unit for metal. I thought I’d find it here.

  He stood.

  — Please… don’t kill me…

  The warrior paused.

  For a moment — something human crossed his face.

  — Sorry, — he said quietly. — I can’t leave witnesses.

  He snapped his fingers.

  The mage died instantly.

  The warrior stood among the corpses, the burning forest, shattered wagons.

  He looked around.

  — Boring, — he muttered.

  And vanished into the night as if he had never been there.