Cael's cryptic advice about the restricted section of the library gnawed at me. My suspicion of him remained a cold knot in my stomach. Why would he help me? The man who had been part of the world that destroyed my family. Yet, the glimpse of control he had given my shield, and the promise of unlocking my own chaotic power, was a temptation too strong to ignore. I needed every advantage I could get.
The next day, after classes, I made my way to the deepest, least frequented part of the academy library. The "restricted section" wasn't locked, but it was marked with subtle wards that hummed with ancient magic, discouraging casual exploration. I pushed past my trepidation and entered. The shelves here were taller, the books older, smelling of dust and forgotten knowledge.
I searched for "Advanced Mana Manipulation." The texts were unlike anything in our standard curriculum. They spoke not of rigid spells and formal incantations, but of feeling the flow of magic, manipulating it directly through will and intent, almost as if it were a part of my own body. It was an intuitive, raw approach that resonated deeply with something within me that formal lessons had failed to touch. I devoured every word, staying until the library closed, my mind buzzing with new possibilities.
Cael's help continued, subtle and unsettling. He never approached me directly in public. Instead, I'd find an open book on a specific page in the library that perfectly addressed a problem I was wrestling with. Sometimes, during a practical class, he'd pass by my station and murmur a single, precise word – "Anchor," "Release," "Focus" – and suddenly, a sputtering spell would gain stability, or a wavering energy surge would become contained. He moved like a shadow, his presence felt more than seen, his assistance a silent undercurrent to my struggles.
I hated accepting his help, hated the thought of owing anything to him, but my pragmatic side won out every time. Each whispered word, each conveniently placed text, felt like a piece of a puzzle, and as I absorbed them, my progress accelerated at an astonishing rate. My once-erratic spells became focused, powerful bursts of energy. I still didn't have the elegant precision of the "elite" students, but my magic had a raw, undeniable force that seemed to surprise even the professors.
During our elemental control assessments, where we had to conjure and sustain increasingly complex magical constructs, my structures were less ornate than others, but they held firm against simulated attacks, their defenses unbreakable. Eliza, struggling beside me, watched my rapid improvement with a growing sense of despair. Her own constructs often crumbled, and her efforts seemed to drain her more than ever.
One evening, as I was practicing a particularly difficult energy flow pattern, Eliza watched from her bed, her arms crossed. "You're getting so good," she said, her voice devoid of its usual warmth, a sharp edge now. "It's like you just... understand it, all of a sudden. Even better than the others."
I paused, feeling the familiar tension in the air. "I'm just working harder."
She scoffed, a bitter sound. "Working harder? Or is it because you have a private tutor now? What does he want, Kira? Why is he helping you?" Her gaze flickered to the door, hinting at Cael's unseen influence.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied, turning back to my practice. I didn't want to talk about Cael, or the debt I felt, or the growing chasm between us.
Eliza remained silent for the rest of the night, but the quiet resentment in the room was a tangible thing. My magic was growing stronger, but my friendship with Eliza was growing weaker with every surge of power I felt.