Isack stopped, if only for a second. He shot me a sideways glance, the kind you'd give a child asking why the sky is blue.
"If you know how to take a hit, you'll know how to make others take one too. Besides…" He shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might've been a smile. "...you'll learn how to minimize the damage."
I fell silent, eyes lingering on the cover of the book. A stupid cover. A ridiculous title. And yet… it suddenly made sense.
Maybe, just maybe, understanding pain was the first step to mastering it.
"Shame I'm not all that interested in it right now," I muttered. "Maybe later, when I've got the time."
"Your call. Not that it'll change much," Isack said, walking away again. "But even the smallest difference can mean everything, when it's life or death."
He kept walking, but his words stayed behind.
✦ ✦ ✦
The walls still held onto that bitter lavender scent, tinged with something fainter, something metallic, like blood washed with expensive soap. Muffled footsteps echoed through the hallways of La Vie en Rose, too soft to distract, but steady enough to keep true silence at bay.
I stretched out an arm, adjusting the sleeve that covered my forearm. The shirt was clean, freshly pressed, and for the first time in days, there was no mud under my fingernails. I looked… presentable. But inside, it was still a battlefield.
As I walked, my fingers brushed along the cold marble walls. Cracked in places. The fractures ran like old scars. I took a deep breath.
"Three days of rest," I thought, biting the corner of my mouth. "Rest, huh?"
The first day had been a coma brought on by pure exhaustion. The second, I spent catching up on hunger and thirst. And the third… well, it was just beginning.
And unlike Drent, Beatriz, Oswin, and however many others went through those five days of hellish training and still didn't know the meaning of rest. I, on the other hand, got it. I understood it. I made the most of those first two days.
Still, the fact that some of them had the nerve to ask me to train on the first day of rest, I wasn't sure whether to be surprised, flattered, or just plain annoyed.
I shook my head to clear the thought. Today's training would be different. Not physical. Not bloody. But still a fight.
The black ring with gold accents on my finger pulsed faintly. A powerful artifact, currently useless, thanks to Leopold. Having it was like carrying an entire library on your back, but being forbidden to read a single word.
"Damian's going to teach me," I murmured to myself. "At least formally, this time…"
Even with the old man's restrictions in place. Even if I was still limited to casting only basic spells, one per element, as if magic were some kind of toy.
"Idiot," I muttered. Though I wasn't sure whether I meant him… or myself.
But that was that. My first lesson was today. And failure wasn't an option.
✦ ✦ ✦
"Alexander, I may be a scholar, but I hate beating around the bush and I hate wasting words, so let's get straight to it."
Damian's voice was sharp, almost surgical, like the tip of a quill just dipped in ink. Every word hit with weight and precision. He reminded me of those no-nonsense teachers who never bothered with small talk. His gaze was piercing, he saw everything I did. Hard to believe he was only fifteen.
"Show me what you know, and tell me what you want to learn."
I took a deep breath, trying to keep my posture straight. The clothes hung loosely on my still-childish frame, leaving me with an uncomfortable sense of vulnerability. But I raised my hands carefully and demonstrated the seven basic spells I'd mastered during my time in the forest, one after the other.
Damian stayed silent. Hands clasped behind his back. Head tilted slightly, like someone who already knows the answer before even hearing the question.
When I finished, the silence stretched a few seconds longer than it should've. Then I stepped a bit closer, still catching my breath, and spoke.
"I already understand what mana is. I know its nature, how it flows, how it reacts to emotions, to circles, to willpower. That's not what confuses me."
I paused, searching for the right words. "What intrigues me are the paths. I see labels, mage, swordsman, druid, alchemist… but those names are maps without roads. I want to understand the real choices. What kind of structure exists among practitioners? And above all…"
I hesitated. The question weighed more than it should have.
"How did you overcome the restriction?"
My fingers intertwined, an almost imperceptible, childlike, automatic gesture, but a genuine one. A reflection of the discomfort I was trying to hide. It still amazed me how this small body sometimes betrayed the true age of my mind.
Damian raised an eyebrow. For the first time since I entered the room, his lips curved into a faint smile, hard to tell if it was approval or just honest curiosity.
"Even though I said I don't like to ramble," he began calmly, "we'll have to start with the basics… But I'm glad to see you already have a grasp of nearly all the fundamental elements. That alone shortens much of the path."
He rose from his chair and walked over to a small shelf, where an opaque glass orb sat. He lifted it with one hand, and as he spoke, thin strands of bluish light snaked through the orb, as if responding to his words.
"To put it simply, mana is the fundamental energy. It flows through everything, your body, the environment, the world itself. It's the invisible force that permeates reality and, when shaped, becomes what we call magic, spells, enchantments."
He gently turned the orb.
"Mana is present in all things, living and non-living, in varying quantities and qualities. After generations of study, we discovered it could be manipulated in different ways, which led to the definition of the fundamental elements."
As he spoke, the orb pulsed in rhythm with his explanation.
"Each culture names the elements differently, but the most widely accepted are: fire, earth, water, wind, lightning, metal, plant, light, and darkness. When these elements are combined or refined further, you get what we call sub-elements, things like ice, magma, mist, crystal, mud, and many others."
He paused briefly, eyes now locked on mine, as if gauging my understanding.
"And then we have what we call the primordial components, not quite 'natural elements,' but fundamental aspects of existence: space, time, gravity, illusion, memory... Many of these are practically mythological nowadays. Not because they're impossible, but because those who once knew how to wield them… vanished. And talent alone can't replace lost knowledge."
I nodded slowly, drinking in each word like a student starving for meaning in the chaos of possibilities.
"And… aura?" I asked, more out of curiosity than urgency. "Is it separate from mana?"
Damian smiled faintly at the corner of his mouth.
"Good question. Aura is, in essence, mana, but filtered through individuality. It's the manifestation of willpower, mixed with a person's vital energy. Controlling aura requires both physical and mental strength. If mana is the ink, aura is your personal calligraphy. A direct reflection of the soul, if you prefer a more… poetic definition."
"So in the end…" I murmured, still digesting what I'd heard, a faint glimmer lighting up in my eyes. "Aura is mana… with identity."
"Exactly." Damian gave a reserved nod, his gaze still fixed on me, not just measuring what I understood, but how much it affected me.
Outwardly, I stayed still, or tried to. But inside, my mind was spinning like newly greased gears. That once-confusing picture was finally beginning to take shape. I wasn't just understanding, I was remembering what it felt like to be excited to learn.
Damian noticed the thoughtful silence and waited. When he saw I was still watching him, he continued, his tone a bit lighter:
"Now that we've aligned the basics… we can talk about the paths." He interlaced his fingers and rested his elbows on the table. "Or, if you prefer, professions."
I tilted my head slightly, listening intently.
"Just like a baker masters the art of bread, or a blacksmith the shaping of steel, or a teacher the craft of teaching… the world of mana has its own specializations." His voice was steady, that of someone used to teaching but making an effort not to sound dull. "Some are combat-oriented. Others… less so. And most are more hybrid than they first appear."
I nodded subtly, absorbing every word.
"To sum it up: there isn't a single path." He paused, eyes locked on mine. "But if we were to break it down in a more didactic way, there are two major branches, mages and aura masters."
I raised an eyebrow, already anticipating the explanation.
"Mages, as the name suggests, work with mana in its raw or channeled form. That includes sorcerers, druids, witches, alchemists, conjurers, and more. Each with different methods and philosophies, but all manipulating essence in a way that's… less personal, and in a way or another, a more academic one."
"And aura masters?"
"They use mana with identity. Aura is born from within, willpower, conviction, personal essence. Swordsmen, monks, guardians, scouts, spear masters, brawlers… all of them are aura users, even if their styles differ."
"But not every swordsman uses aura, and not every mage sticks strictly to mana, right?"
Damian smiled, clearly pleased by the observation. "Exactly. There are swordsmen who, lacking aura talent, use magic to make up for it. And mages who, through discipline and control, awaken their aura, to shield themselves or enhance their spells. Those are what we call battle mages."
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to sort through all the information. "And the mages who prefer the backlines, the ones who shape the battlefield from afar?"
"Those are war mages." He raised a finger. "Powerful, strategic… but often slow and vulnerable. Within that branch, you'll find many specializations: formation masters, who use circles and patterns;
enchanters, who imbue objects with magical effects;
curse masters, manipulators of decay and affliction;
liches, mages who gave up their humanity for eternal power; rune specialists; elementalists… and so on."
"And the same applies to the aura side?"
"Yes. There are vanguards, the ones who charge into danger, carving the path for others while harnessing their full bodies with enormous quantities of aura. They don't explain themselves. They just exist." He shrugged. "Some blend aura with stealth, others with spiritual manipulation. It all depends on who you are."
"So… no limits?"
"There are limits." His tone shifted, turning more sober. "Talent. Affinity. Physiology. But most of all, choice. And, like everything else in this world, not all paths lead to light."
His eyes gleamed for a moment, something strange and ancient flickering in them.
"Professions like lich, true necromancer, illusion master, cursemaker…" He said the words slowly. "All of them exist. All have their methods. And yes, they work, and believe it or not, they also have its utility to society."
He paused briefly, gaze drifting away like he was reliving memories best left buried.
"Of course they rarely come free." He crossed his arms firmly. "Even the ones we call righteous and correct paths have their prices. His expression was growing darker. "Nothing is all sunshine and roses. These gifts always demand a price, sometimes from your soul, sometimes from your body…"
Then he looked directly at me. His eyes burned with a raw sincerity that made me swallow hard.
"…And sometimes, from the world around you. People, nature, even time itself can be affected. This isn't something to take lightly."
I swallowed again, letting it all settle. "So… there is a path. But at the same time, it's not fixed." I murmured, more to myself than to him. "Identity shapes aura. Choice defines the cost."
He nodded. A small, proud smile appeared, then vanished. "Still, knowing that doesn't prevent mistakes. It just makes them conscious ones."
There was a moment of silence. The nearby fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the walls of the underground training hall.
"And the Dracknum restriction…in our bodies …" The name felt ancient, heavy, like a seal pressing on my chest every time it was spoken. "How did you break it?"
He took a deep breath, but didn't answer right away. He walked a few steps away, stopping in front of a stone pillar etched with runes worn down by time. He ran his fingers across them, like someone seeking comfort in an old scar.
Then he unclenched his hand and smiled, a smile that seemed to carry too many feelings at once, like someone laughing just because they couldn't cry, or even like a child that did something bad, being catched.
"Ah… as for that... the truth is, I never broke it."