The horizon only ends where your imagination does.
Limit
The backyard was quiet, save for the faint rustle of leaves stirred by a gentle breeze. I leaned back in the garden chair, legs stretched out lazily, and scrolled through the latest posts on my fan page while Mose sat a few feet away, glaring at a potted plant like it had personally insulted him.
There were memes, dramatic quotes I never said, and an edit where someone gave me glowing eyes behind my mask and a flaming crown.
"Shay, are you even paying attention?" Mose's voice was laced with frustration, breaking through my thoughts.
His hands hovered awkwardly in front of him, trembling with effort as he attempted to draw the life force from it from afar. It was... not going well.
"Of course I am," I drawled without looking up. "You're trying to suck the life force out of that plant from a distance, and it's not going well."
He groaned. "Not going well? It's not going at all!"
"This isn't how I imagined it," I muttered.
Mose, his face red with exertion, shot me a desperate glance. "What do you mean?"
I lowered my phone and studied him. Mose was sweating, his brow furrowed in concentration, and the plant remained stubbornly green and lively. I tapped a finger against my chin thoughtfully. Then I gestured vaguely toward him with my phone. "I pictured you like a human octopus, with invisible tendrils of magic reaching out to suck the life force from the plant. You know, all dramatic and tentacle-y."
Mose froze mid-glare, his mouth agape. "What?! That's not how magic works!"
I sighed dramatically. "And you're sure about that? Because it's a great visual."
"I'm sure," he said, clearly horrified.
"Pity," I said with a sigh, slipping my phone into my pocket. "It would've been more entertaining. Well, fine," I said, standing up and brushing off imaginary dust. "If my octopus idea is off the table, let's try something more practical."
He raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"
Rolling my shoulders, I stood and sauntered over to him, crouching beside the struggling mage. "Tell me something—how do mages summon objects to their hands? Or lift things without touching them?"
Mose frowned, his brow furrowed. "They... focus their magic, shaping it with intent."
"Exactly." I tapped the side of my temple. "Magic doesn't have built-in limits. You're the one limiting it because you're trying to do what you think is possible instead of what is."
He blinked at me, confusion flickering in his eyes.
"Sit closer to it," I instructed, gesturing toward the plant. "Not on top of it—this isn't about physical contact—but close enough to make your brain believe it's within reach. Then reach out. But no touching."
I walked over to the plant. "Magic might not have limits, but your brain does. Wait are you waiting for? Get closer already."
Mose shifted forward. His hand hovered over the soil, fingers twitching as if testing the air for some hidden connection. His breathing slowed, his focus sharpened, and then—just as I was about to check my fan page again—the leaves of the plant trembled and then turned yellow.
"I did it," Mose whispered, awe filling his voice. Barely, though.
"See?" I smirked. "It's all about tricking your mind into letting magic flow freely. Magic doesn't care about rules, but mages do. It's human nature."
Mose still stared at the plant, disbelief plastered across his face. "But... how?"
"Doesn't matter." I stood, brushing nonexistent dust from my coat. "What matters now is finding your limit. Experiment. Move to the next plant. See how far away you can get before it stops working."
He scrambled to his feet, determination replacing his earlier frustration. "Right! I'll—wait, are you just going to sit there?"
I raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the chair. "Of course. Supervising is exhausting work, and I'm still processing how the world doesn't have octopus mages."
Mose groaned but didn't argue, turning his attention to the next unfortunate plant as I returned to my spot on the chair, fan page back in hand.
I leaned back on the chair, my attention shifting from Mose to the plants as he muttered to himself, moving between pots. Each success brought a small gasp of wonder from him, followed by renewed determination to push himself further. It was almost endearing—almost.
I watched him experiment, my thoughts drifting to the mages I had known in my past lives. The ones who had left a mark—on history, on the battlefield, on me—weren't the ones with oceans of magic at their disposal or spells capable of leveling cities. Those were predictable, and predictability could be countered.
No, the truly dangerous mages were the ones with imagination. The ones who didn't just accept what magic could do but asked what it shouldn't do. The ones who looked at the rules of magic and saw them not as boundaries but as challenges.
Like the mage who had turned raindrops into ice blades, slicing through an entire platoon while they laughed at the "harmless drizzle." A mage who could crystallize the air inhaled or exhaled by their opponents into shards of solid matter, turning something as simple as breathing into a deadly hazard. An alchemist who reversed the creation of glass, turning mirrors and windows into streams of blinding, choking sand during battle.
They weren't the most powerful mages. Not by a long shot. But they were unforgettable.
My gaze fell back on Mose. He was crouched over another plant, beads of sweat forming on his brow. His lips moved as if he were coaxing the life force out of it with a spell or a plea. He wasn't there yet—not even close. But he had potential. If he could unshackle his mind, stop worrying about what was possible, and start thinking about what wasn't, he could become someone worth fearing.
Mose finally managed to drain the life force from a plant a pot away. He looked up at me, breathless, his face alight with triumph. "Did you see that?"
"Barely," I said, waving a hand lazily. "But good. Keep going. And remember, if you can imagine it, you can do it. You just have to want it enough."
He frowned, wiping sweat from his temple. "That's easy for you to say."
I leaned back lazily watching him struggle. "You're still overthinking it," I said. "Magic isn't about brute force. It's about finesse. Like a spider weaving a web, or…" I gestured vaguely, "a human octopus with invisible tendrils."
Mose whipped his head around, glaring at me. "Can you not bring that up again? I'm trying to focus."
"Fine, fine," I replied, waving him off. "But seriously, you're doing it wrong. Think less 'grabby' and more 'invitation.' Magic likes to flow naturally. You're trying to yank the life force out like it owes you money."
He blinked at me, a mixture of disbelief and suspicion creeping into his expression. "How do you even know this stuff?" he asked, voice incredulous. "You're not a mage. But you sound like you've got all this figured out."
"Figured out?" I let out a laugh. Kid, I've spent lifetimes figuring this out... "The only thing I've learned is that magic is limitless, but people aren't. Break that limit, and you're dangerous. Keep whining, and you're just another mage."
Mose grumbled something under his breath but turned back to the next plant. I leaned back again, my thoughts returning to the past.
If I could train Mose to unlearn his limits, to think like those dangerous mages I'd known, then maybe he'd be more than just another mage. Maybe he'd be one of the few who changed the rules entirely.
Mose's hand hovered over the next plant, trembling slightly as sweat dotted his brow. The faint shimmer of magic flickered but refused to latch onto the leaves. He groaned, his shoulders sagging.
"It's too far away. I can't do this anymore," he whined, turning to look at me with the most pitiful expression he could muster. "I need a break. My brain's going to explode."
I arched an unimpressed brow. "Your brain's not going to explode. You're just not used to this level of focus."
"It feels like it's going to explode," he shot back, flopping dramatically onto the ground. "Magic takes energy, you know! Mental exhaustion is a real thing."
"Good thing you're still alive, then," I said dryly. "You're barely scratching the surface, Mose. You've got plenty left in the tank."
He groaned louder, covering his face with his hands.
"If you can't handle this, how are you going to handle real battles?" I smirked at him. "Magic doesn't wait for anyone to take a nap."
He let out the loudest, most exaggerated sigh I'd ever heard and dragged himself upright. "You're the worst."
"And you're the one who keeps arguing with me instead of working. Now get back to it."
(...)
The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of wood and the faint hum of energy that always seemed to follow magic practice. I headed to the kitchen, craving something warm, and decided to make cocoa. I set four mugs out. Even if Mose had whined through most of his session, he'd earned it.
Once the cocoa was steaming and rich, I carried the tray upstairs. As I approached Alex's room, I heard the faint thud of movement. Training, no doubt. Alex was as relentless as ever, always pushing himself, always trying to get better. I paused outside his door and nudged it open just a crack, peering inside.
Alex stood in the middle of the room, his shirt discarded, beads of sweat clinging to his back. His arm elongated and shifted before snapping back to human form. Partial transformation.
For a moment, I just watched. Partial transformation wasn't just rare—it was one of the most intricate feats a shifter could accomplish. Most couldn't even dream of controlling it. Either you shifted fully or not at all. But Alex… he was chasing something only a handful of shapeshifters could master.
The memories came unbidden, flickering through my mind like old film reels. I'd seen this before. In a life long past, Leo had mastered the same technique. The strength of a lion's claws on a human hand, the agility of a predator while retaining his human form. It was devastating in combat. And Alex—he'd mastered it, too, in most of my lives.
I leaned against the doorframe, watching him silently. It was uncanny, seeing him again in this state, determination carved into every line of his body. In those previous lives, he'd been just as relentless, just as fierce. Alex was a natural for this kind of control, but watching him now, I could see the strain etched on his face. It wasn't easy, even for him.
A pang of something unfamiliar settled in my chest—pride, maybe? Nostalgia? I wasn't sure. But I knew one thing: Alex would master this again.
Clearing my throat, I pushed the door open a little more. "Training hard, huh?"
Alex startled, his arm snapping back into human form as he spun around. "Shay!" he barked, half-annoyed, half-embarrassed. "What are you doing creeping around like that?"
I held up the tray with the cocoa mugs. "I come bearing gifts," I said, smirking. "Thought you could use a break."
His gaze flicked to the tray, then back to me. "I don't need a break," he grumbled, but the way his nose twitched told me he wasn't entirely opposed to the idea.
"Sure you don't," I said, stepping into the room and setting the tray down on a nearby desk. "But even relentless shifters like you need sugar sometimes. It's scientifically proven."
Alex huffed but grabbed a mug anyway, muttering, "Thanks," under his breath.
I took a sip of my own cocoa, watching him as he sat on the edge of the bed. "You're working on partial transformations," I said casually, though my mind was still racing with memories.
He glanced up at me, surprised. "Yeah. How'd you know?"
"Call it an informed guess," I said, keeping my tone light. "It's not something just anyone can pull off, you know. You're aiming high."
Alex shrugged, but there was a flicker of pride in his eyes. "It's useful. If I can get it right, I'll have an edge."
"You will," I said, setting my mug down. "I've seen it before, you know. Not many can do it, but those who can… they're a force to reckon."
Alex tilted his head, studying me. "You talk about it like you've seen a hundred shifters try."
I smiled faintly, memories tugging at the edges of my mind. "Maybe not a hundred, but enough to know this. Keep at it."
He snorted. "That's the plan."
Satisfied, I grabbed the remaining mug. "I'll leave you to it, then. Don't push yourself too hard."
"Don't worry about me," Alex said, already focused back on his practice.
Balancing the tray, I made my way to Rolo's room. When I nudged the door open, the sight before me was... typical. Rolo was slumped over his desk, cheek smushed against a pile of notes, his messy hair sticking out at odd angles.
For a moment, I just stared, my first instinct to sigh at the sight of him dozing off in the middle of work. Lazy as ever, I thought, the reprimand already forming on my tongue. But then my gaze settled on the mines again, and the words caught in my throat.
Around him lay a collection of scattered tools, half-finished blueprints, and— I froze mid-step.
Mines. Not one. Not two. But three.
Three already?
I set the tray down carefully on a cluttered corner of his desk, my cocoa forgotten as I bent down to inspect the devices. Each one looked intricate, and eticulously crafted despite the chaos of his workspace. My brow furrowed as I studied them. These were unique, different from the prototype and layered with multiple energy signatures. A hybrid design? How had he managed that so quickly?
I straightened, my arms crossing as I took in the scene. Rolo's slow, even breaths were the only sound in the room.
Should I have asked for more? The thought crept unbidden into my mind. I had given him the task knowing it would be a challenge, one that would keep him occupied and focused. But his progress—this kind of progress—was faster than I'd anticipated. Too fast, almost.
I reached out and picked up the hybrid mine, careful not to disturb its delicate energy layers. Turning it over in my hand, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of awe.
I glanced down at him again, still drooling lightly on his notes. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?" I murmured.
The mine in my hand pulsed faintly, as if in agreement. Placing it back on the desk, I pulled a blanket from the back of a chair and draped it over Rolo's shoulders.
"Rest up," I muttered, more to myself than him. "At this rate, I might need to rethink how much I'm paying you."
Still, a small smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I left the room. No, not maybe. I am sure that Rolo and Mose, together will definitely change the rules. It's just a matter of time and a bit of nagging.
I made my way back to Mose. The mug of cocoa was growing lukewarm in my hand, but at least he was finally getting his break. When I stepped outside, Mose was exactly where I'd left him—half-slumped against the wall, his hands on his knees, panting dramatically as if the life-draining plant had put up a heroic fight.
"Did you fight a war while I was gone?" I teased, walking up to him.
He groaned, barely looking up. "I'm fighting for my sanity, Shay."
Rolling my eyes, I handed him the mug. "Here. You earned it."
Mose perked up instantly, snatching the mug like it was some sacred artifact. "Cocoa? For me? What's the catch?"
"No catch," I said, settling into a nearby chair with my own mug. "You get a quick break. Emphasis on quick. And I'm watching, so don't get any ideas about stretching it out."
He shot me a suspicious glance, sipping cautiously at the cocoa. "Hmm. This isn't poisoned, is it? Like, a motivation potion or something?"
I laughed. "No. Just cocoa. Relax while you can."
For a few moments, we sat in companionable silence, the warmth of the cocoa cutting through the brisk air. I watched as Mose stared into his mug, his expression softening.
"This is good," he mumbled, almost to himself.
"Of course, it is. I made it," I replied smugly, taking a slow sip from my own mug.
Mose rolled his eyes but didn't argue. He took another long sip before slumping even further down the wall.
"I needed this," he admitted, his voice quieter now.
I leaned back, letting the warmth seep into me.
But, of course, the peace couldn't last forever. "Alright," I said, finishing off the last of my cocoa and standing up. "Break's over."
Mose groaned dramatically, clutching his mug like it was a lifeline. "Shay, I just sat down! My brain is fried! You're going to kill me at this rate!"
"You'll live," I said, smirking. "Now get up. That plant's not going to drain itself."
He muttered something under his breath—probably unflattering—but dragged himself to his next victim anyway. As much as he whined, I could see the determination in his eyes.
And that was why I kept pushing.