----

"They say Elevyarian nobles are not considered politicians. Why, simply because they come from a stereotypically peaceful kingdom? No. Mark my words, in the eastern lands rest elfe liars so treacherous, the second you speak, the second you'll be pushed into a pit of metaphorical knives."

- The Stigma of Treshna on the Anisa Continent, a personal opinion piece, Author Unknown (banned in Elevyar for blasphemy)

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Maevri Delacartes was welcomed by a graceful-looking administrator and the middle-aged mayor.

Maevri was one of the Delacartes triplets: Maevri, Mariana, and Mallev. Mallev had tagged along on the journey, and now was feasting his lustful eyes on the young administrator. He was treated with calm indifference.

Her brother always messed everything up.

Surprisingly, Maevri was welcomed in the administrator’s mansion, which looked even bigger than the mayor’s. It practically oozed luxury, and it almost unsettled Maevri that it was similar to the size of the viscounty's mansion. Swooping Resilian-style architecture and grandiose furniture proved that the lady was likely a runaway Resilian noble. Surprising, Maevri supposed, but not significant enough to report to the Duke.

Well, it made the job easier, anyways.

She didn’t like to associate herself with insignificant people.

“I’m here to teach you basic air magic.” Maevri beamed, clapping her hands together.

The mayor - was it Rook, her name was? - froze. The administrator only blinked.

“Mariana, my sister, has come up with a plan to strengthen the Duke’s territory," Maevri continued.

With her upcoming engagement to the Duke’s third son, it’s a contribution, Maevri thought internally.

Maevri picked up a biscuit and nibbled on it. It wasn't half bad. “The plan includes teaching all border town heads basic magic in order to defend themselves from invaders. With the Resilia situation, I’m sure you all understand.”

The incompetent Queen’s suicide, and the mass noble execution.

The two nodded, almost in unison.

A pause. “When would Your Ladyship like to begin?” the administrator asked, politely. Her eyes flashed, calculating, almost.

“Right now.” Maevri said casually, ignoring the surprised look in their eyes.

She just wanted to get this over with right away.

Maevri was only here because of her family. Mariana’s unlikely engagement just meant more work for Maevri.

It was said that in the Delacartes viscounty, the first daughter was willful, the second daughter was selfish, and the third son was lustful. Everyone was wondering who Orion would appoint as the inheritor of the viscounty. Now that the first daughter had secured an incredible stroke of fortune as a potential ducal consort, that left the selfish second daughter and the lustful third son. Even the commoners were said to lament the Viscount’s bad fortune - he was pitiful, for a treshna.

She and Mallev were sent to better their public image.

Stuck with a useless person who lusted over everything in sight, Maevri just wanted to go home.

She started her short explanation.

“Elevyar is the kingdom of air. Like Resilia is ice, Evangeline is fire, and Likator is earth, we have an abundance of air mages. There are four Specialities: Summoning, Manipulating, Sensing, and Shifting. But both of you will likely specialize in the former two. We’ll just teach you a summoning and manipulating skill each, and we’ll be off.”

Mallev licked his lips. “Sister, you can take the mayor. I can take the lady here. You know, numbers in power.”

“It’s power in numbers, brother.” Maevri sighed. “And you’re using it in the wrong context. I’ll take the administrator, alright?”

It was hard feigning politeness. Maevri wanted nothing more than to smack Mallev and never speak to or see the mayor-administrator pair again.

“But-” Mallev whined.

“Now.”

This fucker…

Mallev reluctantly skulked to the other side of the couch, where he started grumpily gesturing towards the middle-aged Rook.

Maevri was left facing the pretty administrator.

----

It was obvious the two nobles didn’t want to be here.

Accompanied by two maids and a guard, the sister had on a forced smile while the brother had on a slimy expression that made Novarra want to throw up.

Admittedly, the body she transmigrated into was quite attractive, but that didn’t make it any less weird. Besides, he looked barely fourteen.

“So, let’s continue.” The sister was said to be named Maevri, and the brother Mallev. Apparently, they were triplets. The oldest triplet, according to Belluse, had recently secured an engagement with Duke Rella’s third son on pure luck alone.

Likely, the Viscount has blackmailed the two into contributing something.

Maevri blinked.

She had crimson hair that resembled Belluse’s, but slightly more carrotish, with wide green eyes and a small nose. She was lanky, dressed in a plain mint green dress that would've brought out her pointy, shrew-like features if her unassuming face didn't look like one belonging fantasy novel's background character. Which, she admittedly was. Belluse was said to have been half Elevyarian, and had similar features to Maevri - of course, Novarra was biased, but Belluse was more attractive.

Expensive jewelry glittered on the noble's neck and wrists.

Novarra internally regretted she wasn't a robber.

Oh, how she would've loved to steal those jewels at knifepoint.

“Air Summoning’s pretty easy.” Maevri summoned wispy traces of silvery-looking magic to her fingertips. “And Manipulation.” After she bent her fingertips slightly inwards, the magic followed, the air forming into a whirring spherical orb.

It was Novarra’s first time seeing magic, but she controlled her fascination, placing her focus on the tiny motions that Maevri made.

Then Maevri relaxed her fingers, and then the orb faded away.

“It’s more reliant on will. There’s magic inside everyone,” she explained. “You just have to feel the air around you, will the magic to your fingertips, and use that magic force to shape it.” The noble struggled to reach a comparison.

“Take it as a blacksmith’s forge,” she finally said. “The magic is the forge, the metal inside it is the air. To shape it, you need to heat it up, or will it in this case. I don’t know how to explain ‘will,’ so you’re on your own.”

Such an informative explanation.

Maevri gestured to a maid behind her, who brought two copies of a book over.

“The viscounty will give the books to you two,” she said. “A beginner’s guide. You can keep it.”

Her tone was as if she would've preferred to use the word donate instead.

Novarra maintained a polite tone. “Thank you, Your Ladyship.”

Maevri paused. “No thanks are needed. I’ll be back tomorrow to check on your work.”

She got up, signalling Mallev to do the same.

“We’re going now,” she said lightly.

Novarra saw the guests and Alessia out, and opened the book.

She sighed.

Time for an all-nighter.

---

Will, also known as Intent, is a large part of Understanding a Skill.

If Core is half, then Will is the other half.

Those who only use Will to wield a Skill may Understand [a Skill], but cannot hone it to its highest ability, and vice versa; Will applies for finding the magic inside you. It means accepting it, feeling it, and drawing it out. Will controls Magic, which is usually found through meditation attempts, which are listed on the next page.

Core is the key of an element. For example, if magic is the bow, then an element (fire, air, water, earth, etc.) would be the arrow. Will would be the wielder of the bow, and the Core would be the arrowhead. Even without the arrowhead, if the wielder (Will) is highly competent, you could still injure someone.

But to properly shoot as an expert, the arrowhead is necessary.

The Core of a Skill, is essentially, its meaning. But "it doesn’t mean just understanding its use. It means interpreting it to your own terms, comprehending it with every fiber of your being," according to renowned Mage Kalia Ermin.

More on Core (next page).

Novarra had been staring at the first page for an hour. Even Belluse had fallen asleep.

She had meditated, kind of found Will, and sensed the magic.

But what the hell was Core?

It said ‘next page,’ and Varra had read the next page, but it hadn’t made any sense.

Even though Novarra had the cheat code that was “REBUILD,” she understood that the Core was different for everyone. Evan King's Core for air had been ‘rise.’ Air would rise, and air would fall, and air would help Evan rise to the top. It was a personal meaning.

Think more abstract.

Air. Wind.

Novarra suddenly was reminded of a song that she had composed on as an heiress. She had composed many, but the simple, elegant feel of this specific one was, admittedly, better than most of the others.

She had been obsessed with it. Novarra was good at mostly everything, except perhaps athletics. Piano compositions were not a piece of cake, but decidedly easier than running a marathon.

On a whim, Novarra placed her hands on the pinewood table in front of her like she was playing a keyboard. She could almost feel the keys underneath her fingers, the imaginary ivories, as she played it while humming the notes.

There weren't any lyrics.

Back when Novarra had been in high school, her friends had praised her for her piano skills. All of them had backstabbed her in the end, in different ways, but she had expected it, so she wasn’t that offended.

It was a song Novarra had learned to play the piano for back then, in ninth grade, back when her skills were only mediocre.

If she was forced to go home, she didn’t want to go back home for the people. She wanted to go for her memories, sappy as it was.

The series that she followed, the pop groups that she listened to, the novels that she read, might seem like little things, but they had shaped her into the person she was today. There had been no mother, no father. Just music, and words, and worlds.

She was similar to Evan in the way that the author described, Novarra supposed, his trait of wanting to get lost in other worlds. His reason was that he felt the world no longer had a place for him, but Novarra’s was different.

Her playing sped faster over the keys.

She liked to create new worlds of thought, and stay in them. Safe hamlets. While Evan liked to fall in others’ creations, she liked to shape things, learn their meanings, and interpret them in her own way. It was her own type of freedom.

Perhaps, in a way, she had learned ‘Core’ long before she knew of its existence.

Wind.

She associated it with time, Novarra realized

With goodbyes.

With an unrelenting longing that would perhaps continue forever.

An unshakeable presence.

She finally found the word for it.

Flowing.

She played the last note, and leaned back in her chair.

That night, Novarra performed magic for the very first time.