Ophelia sat on the cold stone floor in the corner of her room, breathing slowly with her eyes closed, trying to calm her racing heart. She focused on the mana gathering around her, as if responding to her call. For the first time, she felt it—warm, pulsating, like a living being brushing against her skin.
But she wasn't ready.
Suddenly, the energy trembled and slipped from her control, snapping back at her like an angry current. Blue flames licked her face and hair, leaving her screaming silently.
When she opened her eyes minutes later, smoke rose from her scorched hair ends, and the skin on her face peeled—blackened by burns, as if coated in ash. She tried to heal herself with herbal ointment, but it was useless. These weren't ordinary burns; what stared back at her in the mirror was shocking, as if the mana itself had rejected her.
Days passed without her leaving the room. Wrapped in a blanket, she hid from everyone's gaze—even her own.
Then, one evening, her window quietly opened.
Damian entered.
He stood for a moment, watching the shadow wrapped in the blanket, then quietly called out:
"Ophelia… are you alright?"
She didn't answer him.
He slowly approached, kneeling down to her level. He gently reached out toward the blanket, but she pulled it away sharply.
"Don't come closer... You'll just mock my face, like everything else mocks my existence."
This time, his tone softened, free of any teasing:
"Let me see. I promise... I won't mock you."
After a moment of silence, she slowly pulled the blanket away from her face.
He held his breath—not from disgust, but from the pain he saw in her eyes.
"How did this happen?" he asked quietly.
She replied bitterly,
"Because I tried to be something, to use the mana... but it seems it hates me as much as everyone else does."
He stepped closer, placing his hands gently on her raw cheeks.
"Mana doesn't hate you. It just doesn't know you yet."
A soft light flowed from his palms. She felt a gentle warmth seep into her skin, as if something was singing inside her bones. Within seconds, the pain faded… then the blackness… then the burn marks disappeared.
She stared at him in surprise, touching her skin that had returned to normal, whispering,
"How… do you have healing powers?"
Damian gave a faint smile.
"Something like that. Not exactly, but enough to fix your mistakes."
Ophelia looked at him, her hands still trembling on her knees. She felt numbness in her face, as if something inside her had broken. She said nothing, but her gaze was full of questions.
Damian sat silently on the floor opposite her, his back leaning against the wall.
"I never said controlling mana would be easy," he said softly, as if speaking about something he was used to.
Ophelia hesitated, then whispered,
"I just wanted to succeed… once, without causing chaos."
He looked up at the ceiling and answered,
"Chaos is part of learning. You expect perfect results from the first try? It's natural to stumble; no one succeeds on their first attempt."
He paused, then added more seriously,
"If you were an ordinary person, this wouldn't have happened at all. But you're not. You're dealing with energy most people never see in their entire lives."
Ophelia lowered her eyes and said,
"If you knew this all along, why didn't you tell me?"
Damian gave a half-smile.
"Because you wouldn't have believed me. Now, you're only starting to see things as they really are. And that… is a good start."
She slowly lifted her eyes to meet his, as if trying to find something reassuring within him. She said nothing, just kept watching him quietly.
Damian met her gaze, his tone more serious this time:
"I'm not here to give you ready answers or paint a rosy path. I'm just showing you the door. Crossing it… that's your choice."
Ophelia took a deep breath, then said,
"I'm not afraid to try… I'm afraid to fail again. To prove to everyone that I really don't deserve anything."
Damian shook his head lightly:
"No one deserves anything from the start. People earn what they want after losing a lot. And if you wait for someone to believe in you before proving yourself, you'll wait a long time."
Ophelia's shoulders relaxed slightly, as if some weight had lifted.
"So…" she said quietly, "what do I do now?"
Damian stood slowly and extended his hand without a word.
"We start from the beginning. This time… without recklessness."
She looked at his hand, then gently took it and nodded.
"Alright… from the beginning."
Damian led her to the middle of the garden, where the ground was covered with dry oak leaves and the air hung still, as if nature itself was holding its breath.
He spoke while tracing shapes in the dirt with his fingertip:
"This time, we won't try to control the mana, but to discover it. You must feel it, not command it."
Ophelia leaned closer, watching the symbols he carefully drew.
"That's… a sensing circle, right? I read about it in one of the books."
He looked at her with clear admiration.
"Smart as always. But this one is modified for someone without a mana vessel."
"I still don't understand how I can use mana without a vessel."
Damian continued drawing:
"You don't carry it inside your body, but you're covered by it… like your body is imprinted with traces of an ancient energy we haven't yet identified. We start there."
When he finished the circle, he pointed to its center.
"Sit here. Focus on feeling, not thinking."
Ophelia hesitated for a moment but then stepped inside the circle and knelt. She closed her eyes and began breathing slowly.
Minutes passed with no change. Then... a cold breeze, barely perceptible, brushed over her arm. It was followed by a faint pulse, as if the earth itself was calling her.
She opened her eyes slowly and saw fine strands of blue light swirling around her… not burning, not harming—just gently enveloping her like quiet fingers from a distant spirit.
Ophelia looked at Damian. He was smiling, but this time he said nothing—just nodded, as if what was happening was the answer itself.
She kept her gaze fixed on those glowing strands, as if seeing a reflection of something buried deep inside her, something unfamiliar yet not entirely strange.
She whispered without realizing it:
"They're… gentle. They don't hurt, they don't burn…"
Damian slowly approached and sat just outside the circle:
"Because this time, you didn't try to force them. You simply… let them be."
She spoke in a low voice, almost in awe:
"It's like they know me. Like they've been waiting for me."
He answered quietly, watching the strands fade away:
"Mana isn't just energy. It's memory. Something from the past and from within you at the same time. All that was… and all you can become."
Ophelia was silent for a moment, then looked at him with questioning eyes:
"Have you felt this all along?"
Damian smiled—a quiet smile, heavy with unsaid things.
"Always."
Her eyes returned to the earth, to the circle dissolving in the breeze, and she whispered to herself:
"Maybe… I can be something after all."