Larin sat alone in the private alchemy room provided by the academy, his workspace illuminated by the faint glow of mana-infused lamps. The air was thick with the scent of charred herbs, simmering liquids, and the faint metallic tang of crushed minerals. On the polished wooden table before him lay an array of components: Glowtail Luminidae scales shimmering like tiny moons, Thunderfin Eel oil bubbling softly in its vial, and the hardened essence of Obsidian Fathomfish, dark and impenetrable. The remnants of their fishing trip had transformed into treasures of experimentation.
Today, Larin worked to create a new spell—[Precise Mana Manipulation]. It was an ambitious endeavor, intended to refine his ability to control minute flows of mana. Such precision was crucial for advanced alchemy, where even the slightest misstep could lead to volatile reactions.
His hands moved with practiced grace, weaving intricate patterns in the air. Mana trailed from his fingertips like ethereal threads, intermingling with the components. Each gesture was deliberate, each incantation spoken in a low murmur. The scales of the Glowtail Luminidae dissolved into a fine mist as Larin infused them into a bubbling cauldron. The oil of the Thunderfin Eel followed, its vibrant charge melding with the luminous mist to create a potion that shimmered with a life of its own.
As Larin focused, his breathing slowed. He unconsciously fell into the rhythm of the [Sinlung Breathing Technique], the practice grounding him and amplifying his connection to the mana around him. The world seemed to fade, leaving only the glow of his work and the pulse of his own magic.
Suddenly, his vision blurred, and his eyes turned a brilliant white. A surge of energy coursed through him, overwhelming and exhilarating. The room faded into a void of pure light, and within this space, Larin felt himself expanding. Knowledge flooded his mind—not in words, but in concepts and sensations. The threads of mana became visible to him, each line connecting to another in a vast, intricate web. He understood how elements intertwined, how spells could be crafted with finesse rather than brute force.
When Larin's vision cleared, the potion before him had transformed. It radiated a steady, golden light, a testament to his newfound precision. He exhaled slowly, his body trembling from the experience. "So this is what enlightenment feels like," he whispered.
Across the academy, Ngieri stood in the lush training grove reserved for spiritual and elemental studies. Her focus was the water, a shimmering pool that reflected the two moons of Sinlung. She knelt beside the pool, her hands hovering above its surface.
"Breathe," she reminded herself, her voice soft and steady. The [Sinlung Breathing Technique] had become second nature, and as she inhaled deeply, the water responded. Tiny ripples formed, moving not outward but inward, converging into intricate patterns.
Ngieri's practice revolved around controlling the essence of water—its fluidity, its adaptability, its immense strength when concentrated. With a gesture, she lifted a sphere of water into the air. Her eyes glowed faintly as she froze the sphere mid-flight, then shattered it into thousands of glittering droplets.
As the droplets rained down, Ngieri smiled. Her connection to the element was deeper now, not merely commanding it but understanding it. The water felt alive, and in its dance, she saw glimpses of the ancient rituals her people once practiced.
In the academy's open training grounds, Gwendon's laughter rang out, a stark contrast to the heavy thuds of his sparring sessions. He stood bare-chested, sweat glistening as he hefted a blade crackling with mana. Around him, glowing runes floated in the air, each one humming with stored power.
"Alright, old friend," he said, addressing his enchanted weapon, "let's see if we can push things further today."
Gwendon's magic revolved around imbuing physical strikes with bursts of pure energy. The [Sinlung Breathing Technique] had enhanced his endurance and mana control, allowing him to chain attacks with precision. As he swung the blade, a burst of force erupted on impact, shattering a row of stone targets.
He grinned, his muscles burning but his spirit invigorated. "Every swing feels sharper," he muttered. "Every strike more controlled. This is what progress feels like."
In a secluded glade on the academy's outskirts, Rinku sat cross-legged, surrounded by a circle of flickering flames. His eyes were closed, his breathing measured. The flames did not consume the grass beneath them, nor did they spread. Instead, they danced in place, each flicker responding to Rinku's thoughts.
Rinku's expertise lay in the manipulation of fire, not as a destructive force but as a source of warmth, light, and transformation. As he practiced, the flames grew brighter, their hues shifting from red to blue to white.
"Balance," he whispered, his voice calm. "Fire is balance." He reached out, his hands cupping a single flame that hovered in front of him. It expanded, transforming into a miniature phoenix that flapped its fiery wings before dissipating into sparks.
Rinku opened his eyes, a satisfied smile on his face. His connection to the element had deepened, his control refined.
The four friends convened later that evening in one of the academy's shared halls. Their expressions were a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration, each bearing the signs of their rigorous practice.
"Alright," Gwendon said, plopping into a chair with a grin. "Who wants to go first? What's everyone been up to?"
Ngieri chuckled, sitting gracefully across from him. "Water, as always. But today was different. I…I felt something. It's hard to explain, but it's as if the water spoke to me."
"You're starting to sound like Pupi," Rinku teased, earning a playful glare from Ngieri. "For me, the flames were…alive. It's like they knew what I wanted before I even moved. That connection…it's incredible."
"I've been breaking stones all day," Gwendon said with a laugh. "But it feels amazing. Every strike is sharper, more precise. I'm ready to take on anything."
All eyes turned to Larin, who had remained quiet. He looked up, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I think…I've discovered something new. The [Sinlung Breathing Technique] doesn't just enhance us physically. It's changing how we think, how we connect to mana. I've developed a spell for precise mana control. It's still rough, but…it's a start."
The group nodded, their shared experiences forming a bond that went beyond words. They were growing—not just individually, but together, as a unit.
Their moment of camaraderie was interrupted by the hurried arrival of a messenger, his face pale and his breaths labored.
"Chief Zakop…and the council…they've attacked the Empire's envoy," the messenger stammered. "Rhabut…he's dead. The guards too."
The room fell silent, the weight of the news settling over them. Larin felt his chest tighten. "What? Why?"
"Details are scarce," the messenger admitted. "But it's said the envoy's demands were…unforgivable. The council acted to protect Tlangthar."
Ngieri's hands clenched the edge of the table. "The Empire won't take this lightly. They'll retaliate."
Rinku nodded, his usual lightheartedness replaced with grim resolve. "We need to prepare. If war is coming, we can't just stand by."
Larin's mind raced, the implications of the attack crashing over him like waves. The peace they had known was gone. "We'll do what we must," he said finally, his voice steady. "For Tlangthar, for Xiaxo. Together."