"When mana fails, technique prevails."
The memory surfaced with crystal clarity — The mountain where he had trained for the last twelve years.
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"Your mana is depleted, Grim," Cassius van Ambrose said, his weathered face stern but his eyes kind. "Yet your opponent remains at full strength. What will you do?"
Young Grim, barely fourteen, stood panting in the center of the training circle, practice sword hanging heavy in his hand. "Yield?"
His grandfather's expression hardened. "An Ambrose never yields. Try again."
"Fight until I fall?"
"And guarantee defeat? No. Think, boy. When mana fails, what remains?"
Grim frowned, considering. "Technique?"
Cassius nodded, a slight smile appearing beneath his gray facial hair. "Precisely. Perfect technique requires minimal mana. Watch."
