Charlotte scratched the top of her head, her emerald eyes fixed on Cecilia as the princess deftly cast another six-circle spell. The air shimmered and crackled with power, the spell weaving itself into existence with a precision that would have left most spellcasters in awe.
"She's strong," Charlotte muttered under her breath, her gaze narrowing as she watched Cecilia's mana flow. Strong, yes—but there was something missing, something unpolished in the raw potential she wielded.
With a casual flick of her finger, Charlotte disrupted the spell. The mana unraveled midair, dissolving into harmless sparks that fizzled out as they touched the ground.
Cecilia blinked, startled by the interruption. "What are you doing?" she demanded, her crimson eyes flashing with irritation.
"You rely too much on your Gift," Charlotte said bluntly, crossing her arms as she leaned against the sleek, rune-etched wall of the training chamber.
Cecilia frowned. "What's wrong with using my Gift? Isn't that what it's for?"
Charlotte sighed, running a hand through her fiery red hair. "Your Gift, Witchcraft, is one of the best spellcaster Gifts in the world," she said, her tone calm but cutting. She gestured, and a holographic display materialized in the air, shimmering with lines of mana equations and spell diagrams. "The ability to skip calculations during spellcasting, to meld elements together with ease, to create original spells as naturally as breathing—it's extraordinary. But you're letting it do all the work."
Cecilia folded her arms, her expression a mixture of confusion and indignation. "I don't see the problem. Isn't that the point of a Gift? To enhance our abilities?"
"Enhance, yes," Charlotte replied, stepping forward. Her voice softened slightly, though her words remained sharp. "But you're using it as a crutch. You're letting it fill the gaps in your spellcasting instead of building a foundation strong enough to stand on its own. If you do more of the work, your Gift won't just patch things up—it'll elevate your spells to a whole new level."
She twirled her fingers, and the holographic display shifted, displaying a side-by-side comparison of two spells. One was clean and polished, the other raw but more potent. "Look here," Charlotte said, pointing. "This is what your Gift is doing now—smoothing over the cracks. But if you refine your fundamentals, your Gift will amplify your power rather than compensate for your flaws."
Cecilia studied the display, her brows furrowing as she absorbed Charlotte's words. "So you're saying… I'm wasting its potential?"
"Not wasting," Charlotte corrected, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "Underutilizing. And let me tell you, princess, nothing is more frustrating than wasted potential."
Cecilia's jaw tightened, the flicker of defiance in her eyes slowly giving way to determination. "Fine," she said, her voice steady. "What do I need to do?"
"Good question," Charlotte said, her grin widening. "First, we're going to break down your spellcasting process piece by piece. No shortcuts. No Witchcraft bailing you out. You'll start casting spells the hard way."
"That'll take forever," Cecilia protested, but there was no real heat in her voice.
"Good," Charlotte replied, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Forever's exactly how long we have. Well, until the mid-years, anyway."
Cecilia exhaled sharply, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward, betraying a hint of amusement. "You really don't hold back, do you?"
"Not when I see greatness," Charlotte said, her tone suddenly serious. "And, princess, you have the potential to be truly great. Don't squander it by taking the easy path."
Cecilia met her gaze, the weight of Charlotte's words settling in her chest. She nodded. "Alright. Let's do this."
Charlotte's grin returned, sharper and brighter than before. "That's what I like to hear. Now, let's get to work."
________________________________________________________________________________
Two weeks had passed since Charlotte had taken Cecilia under her wing, and the results were nothing short of impressive. The once-overconfident princess had begun to refine her raw potential, carving herself into something sharper, something more formidable.
"You're enjoying this a lot, aren't you, Tower Master?" Charlotte's assistant remarked, setting a steaming cup of tea on the polished desk in front of her.
Charlotte arched an eyebrow, her lips curling into a faint smile. "Am I?"
"Yes," the assistant replied with a knowing nod. "And might I remind you, you were the one who declared, quite emphatically, that you'd never take a disciple."
Charlotte chuckled softly, leaning back in her chair. "I did say that, didn't I? And yet…" She let the sentence hang, her gaze drifting toward the window. The sprawling view of the Imperial City stretched before her, illuminated by the soft glow of mana-powered lights. "It's… fun," she admitted. "Watching someone grow so quickly, seeing the leaps they make in just days—it's addictive, really."
Her assistant tilted his head, a flicker of curiosity in his gaze. "That's quite a change of heart for you, Tower Master."
"Not really," Charlotte mused, swirling her tea as she spoke. "When you're at my level, growth slows to a crawl. Each step forward feels like dragging a mountain behind you. But these kids…" Her voice softened, touched with something that might have been awe. "They're like wildfire. Every day, they become stronger, smarter, more capable. It's exhilarating to witness."
The assistant nodded thoughtfully. "It's true. In just two weeks, she's made astounding progress. To think, she could barely keep her Gift from doing all the work when she first arrived."
Charlotte laughed, a rich, melodic sound. "Ah, yes. She's a quick study, though. Stubborn, but quick. A shame she's leaving for New Year's—it interrupts the momentum. But she'll be back, and when she returns, I'll push her even harder."
Her assistant hesitated, then asked quietly, "And what of your own growth, Tower Master?"
Charlotte's smile faltered, her gaze turning inward. For a moment, the sharp, commanding presence she always exuded seemed to waver, replaced by something quieter, something more contemplative. She closed her eyes, reaching out with her senses to feel the flow of mana within her.
It was there, the barrier she'd been chipping away at for years. The edge of mid Radiant-rank. So close she could almost touch it, yet still maddeningly out of reach.
"Not yet," she said at last, her voice a murmur. "Three years, maybe five. That's how long it'll take me to reach mid Radiant-rank."
Her assistant watched her carefully, sensing the weight behind her words. "That's still remarkable," he said gently. "Most would consider it a lifetime achievement just to reach Radiant-rank at all."
Charlotte opened her eyes, a faint smirk returning to her lips. "Most aren't me."
She sipped her tea, the familiar warmth grounding her as she turned her thoughts back to Cecilia. If nothing else, training the next generation served as a potent reminder of why she pushed herself so relentlessly.
The world didn't stand still, and neither could she.
"So, how are the news agencies faring?" Charlotte asked, her tone casual as she leaned back in her chair, the faint hum of mana-powered lights casting soft shadows across her face.
Her assistant straightened, adjusting his glasses in that characteristic way he always did when delivering a report. "All well, Tower Master. There was a significant amount of pressure recently—largely due to how much attention Arthur Nightingale has been drawing—but the agencies are holding firm."
Charlotte's lips twitched upward, a mix of amusement and approval. "Arthur, of course. The boy can't even sneeze without the world turning its gaze, can he?"
"Quite so," the assistant replied dryly. "But as you instructed, none of the agencies have allowed themselves to be swayed. They remain steadfast."
"Good." Charlotte's voice took on a firmer edge. "The moment we let power dictate the narrative, we're lost. News must remain free—always. No strings, no hands pulling it like some marionette."
Her assistant nodded, his respect for her ideals evident. It wasn't every day you found someone of her stature so deeply committed to the principle of free speech, especially in a world where power often sought to control the flow of information.
"You're one of the biggest reasons they can operate without fear," he said, almost as an afterthought. "Without your endorsement and protections, the pressure from certain groups would be… considerable."
Charlotte waved a hand dismissively, though her expression softened. "It's nothing noble. A free press is vital. We can't let truth be twisted into whatever shape suits the highest bidder or the most powerful interest. The moment we allow that, we lose more than news—we lose accountability, transparency. We lose progress."
The assistant tilted his head slightly, watching her with curiosity. "And yet, even you must feel tempted, sometimes, to shape the narrative."
Charlotte let out a short laugh, her emerald eyes gleaming with something between mischief and determination. "Oh, I'm tempted. But that's precisely why I don't. Power unchecked is dangerous—even when you believe you're in the right. Especially then."
She leaned forward, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a storm about to break. "We can't control the future by silencing the present. Let the people speak, even when their words sting."
The assistant inclined his head, a faint smile on his lips. "As ever, Tower Master, you are full of surprises."
Charlotte took a sip from her cup of tea, her gaze drifting toward the sprawling cityscape beyond the window. "Not surprises, dear," she murmured. "Just the inconvenient truth."