Symeon had a grip on Istroama’s wrist, and both were surveying the changes to Symeon’s manifest. Not that Symeon needed to force Istroama to look. Indeed, Istroama had his hand on Symeon’s shoulder and absolutely refused to let go as he focused on a singular line.

“Access to all aspects of magic. That is immense, friend Symeon. I’ve never heard of any mortal being able to tap all aspects. Even the gods could only use nine of ten, in theory. I mean, I don’t know of anyone having the nerve to ask one about it. That bit about your mana regeneration and output needs exploring too. Oh, this is very exciting indeed!”

“So.. what do I do?”

Istroama broke the connection and paced away across the campsite. “It’s more a question of what do you do first? I suppose some grounding in magical fundamentals is in order, but I’m ever so excited to get you using actual magic!” Istroama slowed his wandering to inspect the campsite for a branch, something straight, pliant, yet firm. He found such a candidate and took it in hand with some satisfaction. “Let’s test your instincts. Go ahead. Try conjuring a spark of fire.”

Symeon blinked a few times, shrugged, and tentatively began to wiggle his fingers in the general direction of the campfire. “Spa…” His pronouncement was cut short by Istroama slashing him across the hands with the branch.

“NO! No manipulation of digits, no announcing your intentions, and no fetishistic focuses if that was your next idea. I will not have you dancing about to process mana! You will not be shouting spell names like some witless imbecile! HA! May as well publicly beg to be counterspelled! No sir, you are unmarked matter, ready to be sculpted into a masterpiece, and may all the gods smite me if I let you take shortcuts.” Istroama’s visage was an alarmingly near-lustful lear. “No, you’ll learn the right way first.”

“WHAT? Man, just tell me you don’t want me doin’ that stuff, you don’t gotta hit me!” Symeon was instecting his knuckles, seeing the branch had drawn a little blood, which was a minor concern compared to the strangeness of seeing the same wound heals closed fast enough to be visible.

“Pain is clarifying. You will remember this lesson and not do it again.”

Symeon shook the ache out of his hands. “Seriously, just tell me next time. Look, what do ya want me ta do?”

Istroama looked directly into Symeon’s eyes, as if looking for something. Symeon leaned away slightly, discomforted by experience. “I need you to be the fire, Symeon. Feel it, call it, make it subject to your will. That seems to be your strength, so we begin there. As you proceed I will explain what you need to know.”

Symeon stood listening, very carefully not speaking or moving as he thought about fire. Istroama continued his monologue, pacing around Symeon as if inspecting a cut of meat on the hook.

“There are two major factors to be aware of. First, magic is fleeting. It only lasts as long as it’s consuming mana. If you create fire with magic, the fire will vanish when the mana is withdrawn. The changes the spell enacted will remain. To revisit the idea of creating fire, what it consumes will stay consumed.”

Symeon was trying to concentrate, but still asked questions. “So what about the heat? The magic fire burns, it goes out. Does the energy just go with it?”

“No, no it does not. So if you wished to start a real fire, you would create an intense spark to create sufficient heat so as to cause mundane ignition. Oh, I say, well done, that was very quick!”

Symeon was having issues concentrating in the face of his visible results. There was a sphere of visible heat-shimmer an arm’s length in front of him, about the size of his head and radiating sweat-inducing warmth. “What you have there, friend Symeon, is what we call a hotspot. It’s not a real spell so much as an expression of mana, but it is a good starting point for fire magic. Go ahead and give it more mana. Oh, and if you ever actually say ‘Hotspot’ while creating one, I will whip your flanks until you are very sorry indeed.”

Symeon strained to make more happen. “Man, I can feel it. I got more, I just can’t get it out.”

Istroama sat down to watch Symeon. “Hmmm. Worse than I hoped, better than I feared. Maintain it at this strength for as long as you can, please.”

Seconds passed with no change, then minutes while Istroama rubbed his scalp, feeling the beginnings of stubble on his brow and wondering at it. With fifteen minutes gone and no variation, Istroama stood again with the stick at the ready. “Do you feel any weakness or strain?”

“Nope. Honestly, I think I could do this all day.”

“Really? Interesting. How about now?” The question was accompanied by a probing jab between the shoulder blades with the whippy-stick.

“OW! Knock that off! Don’t make me use myself on ya.” Symeon flinched and the hotspot wavered, but nothing more.

Istroama jabbed Symeon twice more despite the objection, and seemed satisfied when the spell stayed up. “Right. Well done, you can stop now. I have good news and bad news.”

While Istroama was talking, Symeon had grabbed a branch for himself. “C’mere for a minute, Istroama.”

“Oh ho! A friendly duel! Well, I simply must accepWHOA!” Symeon had launched a feinting jab with his offhand, and when Istroama reflexively flinched brought the stick around to strike across Istroama’s hip with some force. The branch was not terribly substantial and shattered, and Istroama’s robe cushioned much of the blow, but the strike still stung.

“Oh I say, poor form Symeon!”

“That wasn’t a duel, that was payback for wackin’ me over and over. Ya wanna duel?” Symeon retrieved another branch. “We can go round ‘d round if ya want.”

“Excellent. Let us ‘go round and round’ as you say, in the spirit of healthy competition. Oh, I do envy you, having the opportunity to learn magic AND combat from me.”

“Shuddap ‘n fight, fancy lad.”

Symeon and Istroama sparred there in the field for a while. Both men were somewhat awkward in their movements. Istroama would fumble on occasion as he forgot himself and attempted some epic leap that was only sensible without gravity, while Symeon seemed unused to his own size, leaving himself open to grazing blows when a block came short of protecting an entire limb. It became clear that Istroama was objectively the better combatant, but Symeon made up the difference in mayhem, using the terrain to his advantage and not hesitating to grapple or throw objects. All the while, Istroama explained his perspective on Symeon’s magic.

“So, the result is in line with my predictions. Moreso in fact, as I underestimated the severity of your state. You were able to conjure at an acceptable strength for a beginner, but you were unable to… I say, unhand my weapon sir! Why would OW! Abusing my inability to shapeshift, I see. Oh, I shall be using that maneuver for myself, well done. Right. You were unable to increase your flow, which is going to limit your abilities. On the other manipulator…”

“Hand. It’s called a hand.” Symeon took the moment to kick some stray moss toward Istroama’s face, causing Istroama to backstep. Symeon followed up with a stabbing lunge which Istroama batted away.

“...hand. Interesting. You were able to maintain that spell for a ludicrous amount of time. I was watching your mana through the process. One data point is insufficient for a conclusion, but I suspect your regeneration outpaces your capacity to use it. That would be VERY interesting indeed. And THIS!” Istroama stepped in close and brought his shoulder into the larger man’s chest. Symeon staggered with surprise as Istroama capitalized by bringing the stick down over Symeon’s wrist, causing the man to drop his branch in pain.

“C’mon now, that hurt. Friendly duel, right?”

“Oh, rub some filth on it and fly it off. You’re the one with regeneration.” Istroama began pacing around the campsite while Symeon watched a bruise form on his wrist, turn lurid colors and fade to nothingness in moments. “Here’s the short of it. If I’m right, you’re not going to be hurling meteors about, but you will be able to throw various bolts until we’re both thoroughly bored with it. Well, bursts are more likely, bolts are really a Momentum thing.”

"This is somethin’ else, ya know? I mean it's great, but if I understand ya right magic makes most of what I know pointless."

“I don’t follow.”

“Well, I got a whole mess of stuff in my head about survival. I got a stack of ways to make clean water, start fires, I can gut ‘n skin just a ridiculous bunch of things, but if I can just conjure stuff up it’s… wait. What about water and air? What happens if I conjure somethin’ someone consumes ‘n then stop the spell?”

“Ah, it’s been tried before. Doesn’t work, I’m afraid. Each body has its own mana, and when you try to pierce that mana your spell tends to fail. It’s why most magic goes for impact over penetration. Water and air would disperse before intermingling with your target.”

“Honestly, that’s sort of a relief ta know. So! I can use magic to make somethin’ as long as I maintain it, but then it goes poof.” Symeon rubbed his hands together with glee. “Naw, yeah, bein’ able ta conjure a tool on demand? Bein’ able ta generate heat? That’s a whole bag of shortcuts right there. Hey, can I use magic ta move stuff ‘n have it stay put?”

“Yes, that’s a fundamental usage. One could call up a Wall, but it is a constant drain. The alternative is to move existing matter to become the wall, and then you’re done and able to do other things. Assuming the wall can stand without magic, of course.”

“Oh, I’m gonna abuse this so hard. WOOO! I’d say let’s get ta work, but if I’m right this isn’t gonna be much work. Come with me, yer gonna keep teachin’ while we go get some lumber. Ya said Presence was gravity, naw, yeah? If that’s magic, tell me how I make that work, buddy.”

---

The Lasle trees that made the forest by the river were simple plants, with no spark of sentience. This was a blessing, as Symeon and Istroama laid a merciless culling on the tree line. Symeon didn’t call up anything grand, but he never stopped and under Istroama’s direction the variety of magics blossomed. Tree trunks were systematically ground at with tiny, blasting razors of Water, the imperiled tree then seized with a cushion of Air and guided down. The path to the river was purged of growth with a thin sheet of Fire, and Earth used to both bury the embers and smooth the way.

Istroama found few moments where he felt the need to bring a branch to bear against Symeon for speaking or gesturing while using mana, and was delighted to move on from Elemental magics to the Esoterics. Presence let Symeon lift Chthonian Imps out of the river in helpless, fist-sized clumps, then vanished them into magical space with Absence. Momentum and Inertia were used to great effect in slaying any Myriad that was senseless to draw too close, slamming them violently into the ground or simply locking the insectile wings to cause them to fall into the river..

Of the last two magics of the ten, Istroama said nothing, content to let Symeon be ignorant of the more dangerous powers for the time being.

So it was that Symeon carved a swathe through the forest, with a steady stream of wood coming forth to the campsite on cushions of Presence and Momentum. The industry came to a halt for a time while Istroama explained the deeper interpretations of magic.