The next morning, the room was quiet except for the faint scratching of my pen against paper. The book Cerys had given me lay open on the desk, its pages spread across diagrams of energy flows and rudimentary spellcasting techniques. I'd been studying for hours, trying to absorb as much as possible before the evaluation.
Lyra sat by the window, watching the streets below with a wary eye. The sunlight framed her profile, and I could see the faint tension in her shoulders—she was always on alert, even when we were supposedly safe.
"Still reading?" she asked, glancing at me without turning her head fully.
"Still trying to make sense of it all," I replied, leaning back in the chair. "This whole system—it's... different."
"Magic isn't supposed to be simple," she said. "If it were, everyone would use it."
"Yeah, but there's so much to learn," I said, gesturing to the open book. "Control, focus, flow. It's like trying to balance a bucket of water on a sword's edge."
Lyra smirked faintly. "And you thought swinging a sword was hard."
"Funny," I said, rolling my eyes.
The book's section on basic spellcasting had a single instruction written in bold:
"Feel the flow. Shape it. Release it."
It sounded simple, but every attempt I'd made so far had ended in failure. My first attempt at drawing energy from the air had resulted in a sharp jolt running up my arm, leaving my hand numb for minutes. My second attempt had nearly set the corner of the desk on fire.
"You're overthinking it," Lyra said, stepping closer to watch me work.
"How can I not overthink it?" I asked. "There's literally a diagram telling me where to channel the energy, how to shape it, and what not to do. Do you know how many 'don'ts' there are?"
"More than a few," she said dryly. "But magic isn't just about following rules. It's about feeling it—letting it flow naturally instead of forcing it."
"And you know this because...?"
She hesitated, her gaze flicking to the book before returning to me. "I've had some training. Enough to understand the basics."
I raised an eyebrow. "Enough to be a Spellblade?"
"Something like that," she said, her tone dismissive. "Focus on your own training, Aric. You've got a long way to go before you're ready for that evaluation."
Taking her advice—or lack thereof—I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, letting the air fill my lungs. The pendant at my chest pulsed faintly, its warmth steadying me. I reached out with my senses, searching for the flow of magic around me.
At first, there was nothing but the quiet hum of the room. Then I felt it—a faint, elusive current that seemed to brush against my skin like the edge of a breeze.
Feel the flow.
I focused on the current, pulling it toward me gently. The energy responded, gathering at my fingertips like static electricity.
Shape it.
I pictured a spark—a small flame, contained and harmless. The energy wavered in my grasp, resisting as I tried to mold it into form. My breath hitched as the current surged, threatening to slip away.
"Relax," Lyra said, her voice calm but firm. "You're trying too hard. Let it settle."
I exhaled slowly, loosening my grip on the energy. The current steadied, forming a faint, flickering glow at my fingertips.
Release it.
The spark flared to life, a tiny flame hovering just above my palm. It flickered unsteadily but held its shape, casting a soft, warm light in the dim room.
I stared at it, a mix of awe and disbelief washing over me. "I did it."
"Barely," Lyra said, though there was a hint of pride in her voice. "Now do it again. And make it stronger."
By midday, the desk was littered with scraps of parchment covered in notes and diagrams, each one a record of my attempts. The sparks were becoming easier to summon, their shape more stable, but I was still a long way from mastering even the basics.
"Do you ever feel like you're missing something?" I asked, setting down my pen.
Lyra looked up from her spot by the window. "What do you mean?"
"This power," I said, gesturing to the flame dancing on my fingertips. "It's incredible, but it feels... incomplete. Like I'm only scratching the surface."
"Magic always feels that way," Lyra said. "Even the greatest mages in history were always searching for more—more power, more knowledge, more understanding. It's the nature of the craft."
"But I'm not a mage," I said.
"Not yet," she replied. "But you're closer than you were yesterday."
The sun dipped low in the sky as I practiced, the light outside turning golden and soft. My body ached from the effort, and my mind felt like it had been stretched to its limit, but there was a small, flickering spark of satisfaction in my chest.
"Good enough for today," Lyra said, standing and stretching. "Get some rest. You'll need it."
"Are you sure this will be enough for the evaluation?" I asked.
"It'll have to be," she said. "But you're getting there, Aric. Keep at it."
I nodded, the warmth of the pendant against my chest a steady reminder of what was at stake. The road ahead was daunting, but for the first time, I felt like I was starting to understand the foundations of magic—and myself.