Over the years, I had often theorized how magic worked. It was something Girem tried to instill, deciphering things from limited information. My assumption, based on the very few times Duke Estton cast a spell in front of me, was that it required an intricate system of phrases and gestures. Each word used perfect grammar, and every twitch of a finger choreographed with expert precision. And as it turned out, I was very far off the mark.

Magic, or at least spellcasting, operated using willpower and intent. Speech and body movements were not required but helped focus the mind on the desired effect. For example, creating a wall of fire might use the words "create," "wall," and "fire," along with a waved arm.

Part of me was thrilled the truth was so straightforward, though it would not save me much trouble. The other part of me felt a flicker of disappointment, though why I could not understand.

These focusing tools, while handy, still had several unacceptable downsides, speed being the most notable. Casting a spell took at least a few seconds, and that sort of delay could be fatal in a fight. There were a few ways to bypass this, but nothing feasible until my control improved. And as with anything else, the only way to do that was through practice.

And so, I found myself deep underground, in one of the dozens of training rooms built for private practice. According to Sig, enchantments filled the walls and floors, protecting them from damage and keeping reckless apprentices from hurting anyone else. Of course, they did not keep them from hurting themselves, but magic was a dangerous hobby.

But even though I knew I was ready to cast my first spell, that still left the question of what to choose. I had dreamed of this moment throughout my childhood, fantasizing about the heroes of stories and fables. In those sorts of tales, they always used powerful fireballs, lightning bolts, or blades forged from pure light, slaying monsters and saving princesses.

Unfortunately, my first spell was about as far from that as possible, dull but practical. Known as Traveler's Cloak, it was effectively a weak shield spell that created a partially sealed area around the caster. This bubble would not deflect weapons or offensive magic, but what it did do was keep out snow, rain, dust, and other irritants while maintaining a warm, dry interior.

Though no combat-oriented, it served a more important purpose for my development. Untrained mana channels were flimsy and weak, prone to tearing if pushed too far. The only way to change that was to work them out, gradually strengthening them over time.

By my understanding, Traveler's Cloak was a 'sustained spell that drew mana from my core at a constant rate. If I was right, this made it the perfect training tool, allowing me to condition my entire mana network gradually. I had no doubt noble families kept the more efficient tricks to themselves, but this would do for now.

And more importantly, creating a portable, comfortable space was deeply appealing. Fall was approaching, and with it came biting winds and a chill. I was already doing plenty of necessary suffering this semester and might as well not add some unnecessary if I could avoid it.

It took me a half-second to find my core, mana rising to my command with far greater ease. The chant was short, taking only a few seconds to recite as I waved both hands, focusing on the desired effect. I felt my energy swirl, racing through channels, only to fizzle out halfway through my body as my focus waned.

Twice more I pulled and twice more, my spell fell apart partway through, the energy fraying too thin in between. I suspected I was using too little, and on my fourth attempt, pushed as much mana as possible through my channels. This time, the flow stabilized as something snapping into place.

Around my body, a clear, green-tinted surface appeared, shimmering for a half-second before fading. A quick examination confirmed it was still there, pulling a trickle of mana through my channels to keep the spell working. Already, the air around me felt slightly warmer as my body heat raised the ambient temperature.

The sensation was unusual but not unpleasant, almost like a weaker form of Master Julian's orb. I watched the faint haze of green flow through my body for a moment, trying to estimate how long until I ran out of mana. My guess was fifteen to twenty minutes, give or take.

It did not escape my attention that the spell was most potent at my torso and left side, weakening almost to the point of failure at my legs. Normally, mana flowed through all my channels at once, creating a uniform effect, but those blockages made that impossible. It was something I planned to fix as soon as possible but did not have a solution. Not yet, at least.

I broke off the connection with another moment of focus and felt the spell fizzle, the shield disappearing. Traveler's Cloak worked fine, even if it took me the better part of a minute to create. But at this point, I was nearly defenseless, and that would not do any longer.

The beginner's spellbooks from the Archives had several exciting spells, but I chose the simplest offensive option I could find, Mana Bolt. There were flashier choices, even with my limited capabilities, that might use better names or sound impressive on paper, but that was not everything.

What Mana bolt lacked in appearances, it made up for in its flexibility. Beginners could only create and launch a single blast, but as skill grew, they could alter the spell in many ways. Some learned to control dozens at once, overwhelming enemies with a swarm of projectiles. Others focused on individual power and speed, creating beams that could slice through anything. A few even managed to turn them invisible or guide them mid-flight to hit moving targets.

If my mana lacked versatility, I would need spells that made up for that deficiency.

I turned, facing one of the hanging targets twenty feet away as I raised my left arm parallel to the ground, spreading my fingers and aiming my palm at the bullseye. Like before, I recited under my breath, keeping the idea of the spell in my mind as I pulled on my slightly-diminished reserves.

There was a brief sensation of heat racing down my arm, a vibration rippling along the limb as green flashed from my hand. It crossed the short distance fast, splashing to the right of the bullseye with a loud 'thud'.

Shaking out my left hand to clear the pins and needles feeling, I walked closer, running fingers over the spiderweb cracks where my attack struck. There were flickers of brown mana filling in these fissures, repairing the damage already, but still, I felt another brief surge of triumph.

My skill and control were pitiful, the spell barely more than a diffuse cloud of mana rather than the tight sphere, but that would come in time. A few more days of practice, and I should have an excellent tool for self-defense. Or, potentially, something much darker.

The spellbook I had found detailed how strong each would be in the hands of a Vapor. For them, Mana Bolt hit about as hard as a punch from a trained soldier. Enough to injure, maybe even knock out someone if you aimed right. But Aether mana gave my spells unmatched power for my rank.

What would happen if I hit a normal man with one of those attacks? Would it cripple them? Kill the, even? It was a grim thought and one that floated in my mind, though I never consciously considered it.

I knew it was not a matter of if, but when, I took my first life. Girem made sure I was aware of that eventuality. Hell, he often mentioned how, "A good advisor has to shoulder the responsibilities of his lord. Even the ones they would rather not consider," which was a polite way to say, "You will have to order murders for the Estton's prosperity. Good luck."

But that did not make me thrilled about the prospect. I had never killed anything, man or otherwise. As I stared at my hand again, I realized that I would prefer to take another's life than lose my own if it came down to it.

That resolution did not make it any easier to stomach, I found.

A few hours later, I sat in my quarters, focusing inward on my channels. At this point, I could use Mana Bolt three times comfortably, maybe four if I pushed myself. Any further, and I risked injury. Worse, every limb except for my left remained blocked, limiting my options even more.

I had to break these blockages and fast, but how? My research had been inconclusive at best, and as far as I could tell, I was a unique case. Most mages did not have this issue and certainly not to this extent.

The most obvious answer was the Draught of Awakening, which was tailormade to break down and remove impurities. However, that was not an option. The formula was a carefully guarded secret, and even if I did have it, I had no formal training. A few textbooks on alchemy did little to teach me how to mix reagents, after all.

No, I had to try and break these down some other way. My first guess was brute force, throwing waves of mana into them to try and barrel through the blockages. All that resulted in was wasted energy and twinges of pain from my arm, so I quickly discarded that option.

The second attempt was a bit more elegant, as I focused on the boundaries, trying to break off tiny shards with carefully directed blasts. This strategy proved successful, and I could, with a mana pulse, flush these impurities out, like water flowing along a river.

Unfortunately, though it worked, it was agonizingly slow. It could take weeks to clear a single channel, and I had seven with at least partial blockages. I needed a faster solution, but after hours of thought, nothing came to me.

And so, I was stuck, slowly and steadily breaking away chunks of filth that filled my flesh. It was monotonous and boring, like digging a hole but a hundred times as tedious. Fate must have some sense of irony, leading me away from life as an ordinary shepherd only to stick me into this sort of job. I might as well use a rock to chisel-

My eyes snapped open, and I felt like smacking myself in the face. I was an idiot and deserved as much. Mana was malleable, but I used it like a sledgehammer, trying to batter down an almost-unbreakable barrier. I should have considered this already, and the fact that I had no was insanity.

Closing my eyes again, I pulled mana into my grip, but rather than throw it haphazardly, I focused, compressing the end into a point. It felt 'slippery' almost, and I had to work slow, carefully working it into the desired form. The result was a misshapen wedge, barely sharp by any usual standards, but it would work.

I took several deep breaths, aiming for the very center of the blockage, and pulled my improvised chisel back. With a more mental than physical grunt, it slammed into the center of the barrier, sending a reverberation through my right arm. Shards of onyx bounced off like stone-flecks, and I pulled back again, sending the tool into the same spot.

For the next hour, I continued this process, replacing my chisel whenever it broke apart. My mana drained far too quickly for my tastes, and when I was nearly out, I used the last to sweep the impurities from my body, leaving a black-ish oil slick on my flesh.

With a sigh and a brief grimace, I stood, making my way to the bathroom. The mess was almost gag-worthy, and I was not one to enjoy smelling, or looking, disgusting. No one should, for that matter.

My improvised exercise worked and faster than I hoped, though it drained my reserves quickly. If my time were endless, this would not be an issue, but the semester started in three weeks. I needed more mana to train and to experiment with, and so far, nothing in the Archives told me how to get it.

Though I wanted to avoid it if possible, there was one person who might have both the knowledge and inclination to help. I had no trust for him, sure that he had less than altruistic motives at heart, but he had asked Sig to train me. It seems it was time to speak with Master Julian again.