Ambro stepped out of the tree line, a tight smile on his face. But Atlas noticed the slight furrow in his brow and the tension in his jaw it was subtle but there. As the Lightblade approached, the acrid smell of scorched meat seemed to hit him all at once. He crinkled his nose and shook his head slightly, muttering, "That's unpleasant."
Atlas silently agreed, his own stomach churning from the smell. He adjusted his grip on his injured arm, blood still dripping steadily from the gash along his bicep. Ambro's eyes flicked to the wound, and though his face remained neutral, something in his expression shifted—just for a moment. His lips pressed into a thin line, and the tight smile slipped. But before Atlas could dwell on it, the Lightblade's calm demeanor returned.
"You did better this time," Ambro said as his gaze swept over the group. "Still sloppy, but better." He crouched by the boar's massive corpse, examining its charred and bloody hide with a practiced eye. "You worked as a team, although this beast was a lot weaker than the frog. Good job"
Atlas lowered himself onto the grass with a grunt, careful not to jostle his injured arm. Marcus plopped down next to him, letting out a loud breath, while Kara perched herself on a fallen log, silent and composed as always. Her daggers rested on her lap, her posture stiff and her eyes distant.
Ambro straightened and dusted off his hands before pulling a small scroll from one of the pouches at his waist. The parchment was rolled tightly and tied with a simple piece of twine, but Atlas recognized it immediately. It looked just like the scroll he had bought for Wind Blade back at the academy.
"This," Ambro began, holding the scroll up for them to see, "is the basic Mend spell." He turned it over in his hands, "Healing spells are different from affinity spells. It requires pure mana—raw energy drawn directly from your core without your affinity shaping it."
Atlas frowned slightly, shifting where he sat. "Pure mana?" he asked, glancing between Marcus and Kara. They both sat still, listening intently, though Kara's expression tightened just slightly, as if the explanation was too basic for her liking. Marcus, on the other hand, looked intrigued, his brow furrowing as he leaned forward to examine the scroll.
Ambro nodded, his gaze moving to Atlas. "Most of what you've learned so far has revolved around shaping mana to match your affinity—Wind, Fire, Water, Earth. That's the easy part. Healing, however, requires restraint. You can't shape pure mana into anything. You have to guide it delicately, thread by thread, into a very specific pattern. It's precise work, you need excellent mana control compared to affinity spells where you can force the spell to take shape a lot easier.
He knelt down and spread the scroll open on the ground, revealing a series of intricate mana patterns sketched in dark ink. The design was unlike anything Atlas had seen before. Where Wind Blade's pattern had been sharp and jagged, the Mend spell's lines flowed like ripples in water, curving in graceful loops and spirals. The complexity made his head spin.
Ambro gestured to the pattern, his fingers hovering just above the parchment. "Each stroke here represents a pathway you'll have to guide your mana through. Healing requires a calm mind and careful control. If you rush or let your mana get tangled, the spell will fail and your mana will dissipated into the environment."
Atlas swallowed hard, his arm throbbing as if in response. He glanced at Kara and Marcus again. Kara's lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyes fixed on the scroll with intense focus. Marcus, meanwhile, scratched the back of his neck, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "I should've known that."
Ambro's gaze lingered on each of them in turn, his expression softening just slightly when it landed on Atlas's bleeding arm. For a moment, he looked like he might say something more, but instead, he simply nodded and sat back on his heels.
"Let's get started," he said quietly,
Atlas shifted closer to the scroll, his heart pounding as he stared down at the swirling pattern.
"Everyone take a good look at the pattern and then close your eyes and picture it."
Atlas listened and closed his eyes, letting out a steady breath as he focused inward. Slowly, the familiar image of his mana core appeared in his mind's eye—a swirling sphere of dark, unrefined energy. Like all freshly awakened cores, it was black, but there was a strange turbulence to it, it was untamed and churning beneath the surface. He felt the mana within, a roaring river surging through his veins, wild and relentless.
More than enough to try,
His eyes flicked open, locking onto the scroll Ambro had laid out. The intricate pattern etched into it glowed faintly, a roadmap for channeling the spell. He traced the lines with his finger, committing every curve and angle to memory before shutting his eyes again.
Drawing the pattern inside his body was easier said than done. He reached for his mana, willing it to obey, but it resisted. It was slippery, unyielding, and when he tried to shape it into the delicate weave required for Mend, it bucked against his control. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he clenched his fists, his breath coming faster. The pattern wavered, fracturing under the strain, and the mana surged wildly, refusing to be tamed.
"Relax," Ambro's voice came softly beside him, a steadying presence. "You're trying to force it too much. Think of it as guiding a stream, not building a dam."
Atlas nodded faintly, trying to focus on the advice, but his mana was anything but a smoove stream—it was a raging river. Each attempt to draw the pattern felt like battling the current, and no matter how hard he tried, the lines slipped away, incomplete and jagged. His arm throbbed, the wound bleeding steadily onto the forest floor, the pain a harsh reminder of his failure. He could feel the blood dripping down off his pinky and onto the leaves.
Soon it was the only thing he could focus on so he opened his eyes with a frustrated sigh, shaking his head. The forest spun slightly, and his hands trembled from the effort.
Ambro knelt beside him, there was a faint crease in his brow. His lips pressed into a thin line as he glanced at the blood soaking through Atlas's sleeve. Without a word, he reached out, placing a hand over the wound.
"Watch carefully," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Feel the flow."
Atlas blinked, confused, but then he felt it—a subtle pulse in the air, a ripple of energy as Ambro's mana began to move. It was smooth, precise, unlike the chaotic torrent that roared within him. The pattern for Mend formed effortlessly, a perfect weave of energy that Atlas could almost see. He stared, mesmerized, as the golden light of the spell wrapped around his arm, stitching the torn flesh back together.
The pain ebbed away, replaced by a warm, tingling sensation as his skin knitted itself whole. Atlas tried to follow the flow of mana, to memorize the shape of the pattern, but it slipped through his grasp like water through his fingers.
"There," Ambro said, his hand withdrawing. "That should hold for now."
Atlas flexed his arm experimentally, the skin tender but intact. He glanced up at Ambro, unsure of what to say. The man's gaze lingered on him for a moment, his eyes softening slightly before he stood and turned back to the others.
He clenched his fist, feeling the faint thrum of his mana beneath the surface, a reminder of the power he still couldn't command.
"I'll get it," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.
But as he looked down at the faint stain of blood on the ground where he'd been sitting, a flicker of doubt crept into his mind.
***
Ambro crouched beside the boar's massive carcass, his knife glinting faintly in the light filtering through the trees. With practiced precision, he cut into its skull, carefully extracting the core. It was smaller than Atlas expected for such a large beast, but the swirling brown energy within it had a faint shimmer of green, like flecks of emerald suspended in amber.
"Earth affinity," Ambro muttered, holding it up for a moment before tucking it into a small pouch at his side. "A decent core. Not rare, but useful."
He stood and dusted his hands off before glancing at the group. "Alright, we're moving. No sense lingering here."
Atlas pushed himself to his feet, his arm still sore despite Ambro's earlier healing. He watched as the man approached him, holding out the scroll for Mend.
"Take this," Ambro said, his tone softer now. "You'll need to memorize the pattern in your spare time."
Atlas nodded, tucking the scroll into his pouch. "Thank you," he said, though his voice was subdued. He hated how difficult it was for him to learn spells. The memory of struggling with Wind Blade gnawed at him. It had taken him a full month to master, and even then, it wasn't particularly strong. He didn't want to admit it, but the effort it took left him frustrated—frustrated with himself.
The group set off deeper into the forest, the thick canopy overhead casting dappled shadows on the ground. Atlas stayed near the back, his senses tuned to the mana around him. The faint hum of ambient energy rippled through the trees, and every now and then, he caught the faint flicker of something alive—a bird high in the branches or a small animal scurrying through the underbrush. He focused on those signals, letting them reassure him that there were no larger threats nearby. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that Ambro was doing the same, and likely far better.
They walked for hours, the forest growing denser as they went. The air was warmer now, the biting chill of the mountains replaced by the crisp scent of spring. New buds were beginning to sprout on the trees, and the ground was soft with fallen leaves.
When Ambro finally called for a halt, they set up a small camp beneath the shelter of a wide tree. The fire they built was modest, barely enough to stave off the night's chill. As Blades, Ambro had explained, they were expected to train their bodies to survive in any environment, which meant learning to sleep on the ground, under the open sky, with only the bare minimum of comforts.
Atlas couldn't complain too much, though. At least they weren't in the snow anymore.
He sat apart from the others, staring into the flickering flames. The quiet buzz of conversation between Kara and Marcus barely registered as his thoughts churned. What was wrong with him? Was he just slow? Weak? The questions swirled, each one sinking him further into a restless silence.
"Atlas."
He blinked and looked up to see Ambro standing over him, a faint crease in the man's brow. His voice was calm, but there was a hint of concern in it.
"You alright?" Ambro asked, crouching down beside him.
Atlas hesitated, then sighed. "Not really," he admitted. "I don't get it. Everyone else makes this look easy, but I struggle with everything. Spells, control… It took me a month to learn Wind Blade, and it's not even that strong."
Ambro tilted his head slightly, studying him. "You're being too hard on yourself," he said. "You've only just awakened your core, and you're already doing well. Everyone progresses differently."
Atlas shook his head, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "That's not it," he said. "It's like… my mana won't listen to me. It's wild, and I can't shape it the way I'm supposed to. I could picture the spell after a couple days of practice but my mana just doesn't want to listen."
Ambro was quiet for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. Then he placed a hand on Atlas's shoulder. "May I?" he asked.
Atlas frowned. "May you what?"
"Send my mana into you," Ambro clarified. "It'll let me see how your mana behaves. If there's something unusual, I'll know."
Atlas hesitated but eventually nodded. "Alright."
Ambro closed his eyes, his expression growing focused. Atlas felt a strange warmth spread from the man's hand, followed by a faint pulse as Ambro's mana entered him. It was subtle at first, like a second presence weaving through his own, but then it reached his core. Atlas felt his mana flare up in defiance, it began to build and no matter what he tried it wouldn't calm down. He could feel it wanted to lash out at the invading mana.
Ambro's eyes snapped open, wide with shock. His face paled, and he yanked his hand away as though burned. For a moment, he simply stared at Atlas, his mouth slightly open, as if trying to form words but finding none.
"Ambro?" Atlas asked, his voice wary. "What's wrong?"
But Ambro didn't answer. He turned his gaze away, his expression clouded with something Atlas couldn't quite place—something that looked disturbingly close to fear.