Before they started their training Keal full of excitement said. "Amukelo, Eliss, isn't this exciting to you? Imagine how these new skills will help in our journey, how much more we will be able to see because of it."
Amukelo and Eliss nodded with a smile. Eliss added. "With these new abilities we won't fail to protect anyone."
As they were chatting the first challenge was introduced and they immediately got to work: mastering basic mana manipulation. Though it might seem elementary for mages of their caliber, manipulating the dense mana of the Draconian Lands was an entirely different beast.
For Eliss, Kael, Ksara, and Lyon, their prior education in the academy served as a foundational stepping stone. Their fingers danced and their minds weaved as they tried to draw and mold the thick mana around them. It was like trying to channel a raging river through a tiny funnel. The force was overwhelming, but with persistence, they began to find rhythm and control, guiding the torrential flow of energy with increasing precision.
But for Amukelo, the task was daunting.
Unlike his companions, his upbringing in an impoverished childhood left him deprived of even the most fundamental mana education. The others had years of structured learning to lean on, but he had to build his foundation from scratch. Every day, while his comrades moved on to advanced exercises, Amukelo grappled with the basics, trying to discern the flow of mana, to feel its pulse, its rhythm.
His frustration was palpable. There were days when he felt like giving up, where the weight of his perceived inadequacy bore down on him. But every time he faltered, his teammates were there. Eliss, with her patient guidance; Kael, with his motivational pep talks; Ksara, sharing techniques she'd learned; and Lyon, demonstrating maneuvers time and time again.
Two months passed, and while the rest of the team had progressed to more advanced techniques, Amukelo was still wrestling with the basics. But he was undeterred. With grit, determination, and the unwavering support of his teammates, he slowly began to grasp the basics of mana.
Six months had flown by, and the team's progress was nothing short of remarkable. Every swing of the sword, every spell cast, every movement had become more potent and precise. They had started harnessing the dense mana of the Draconian Lands to augment their natural abilities. Every punch, every arrow, every blast of magic was now amplified, tearing through the air with newfound ferocity.
However, amidst this rapid progression, Amukelo's journey was different. While the rest soared, he was still grounded, struggling with the basics. His hands would often shake, his focus waver, and the mana would slip right through his fingers, elusive and untamed.
Yet, what he lacked in immediate progress, he made up for in sheer willpower. Every sunrise, he'd be the first on the training grounds, and every sunset, he'd be the last to leave. The repetitive cycle of failure was enough to break anyone's spirit. Still, every time he faltered, he'd pick himself up, dust off, and start over.
One day, as the team practiced, the elderly draconian master stood at a distance, observing. His keen eyes, having witnessed countless trainees over the centuries, were fixated on Amukelo. He turned to a group of younger draconians, commenting, "That young human might be the one."
The younger ones, having grown up hearing tales of the challenging test that no one had passed in 72 years, scoffed at the idea. "Master, with all due respect, he can't even grasp the basics! How can he be the one to pass the test?"
The old draconian merely smiled, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of wisdom and amusement. "It's not always about immediate mastery. Sometimes, it's the unyielding spirit, the relentless drive that makes all the difference. Watch and learn."