The cabin was quiet, the moonlight filtering through the open windows in silver sheets. Lucian sat by the fireplace, a book in his lap, unopened. His mind was still reeling from the results of the test. Malrik told him about it yesterday.
98.
Malrik hadn't said a word after seeing it — not really. He'd just whistled low, like someone had just seen a ghost.
Now, he stared blankly at the fire. He didn't know how to feel. Vindicated? Angry? Tired?
Malrik stepped halfway through the door, then paused. "…Still sulking over that test result?"
Lucian's expression darkened. "It doesn't change anything."
"It changes everything," Malrik replied, facing him. "Aptitude like that is not just a gift. It's a damn war drum. The world will hear it, whether you want it to or not."
"Do you hate it that much?" he continued, looking at Lucian.
Lucian didn't answer at first. He leaned back, exhaled. "What, magic?" A hollow chuckle escaped him. "No. I just hate what it did to me."
Lucian looked away. "I didn't ask for it."
"No one ever does." Malrik stepped in, taking a seat across Lucian.
Lucian snapped up. "You think it's that easy? That I should just run back into magic like nothing happened? Like I wasn't broken for six years?
"So are you just going to stop just like that?" Malrik said, voice like tempered steel. "I also saw you fight for your life in the woods, outnumbered, outmatched — and still turn the tide with one spell and a broken mana stone."
Lucian went silent.
He leaned forward, eyes sharp. "You want to toss that away? Fine. But don't insult the talent by pretending it doesn't matter."
Lucian looked down. "Maybe I shouldn't have gotten this power."
A beat. Then Malrik's voice dropped to a near-whisper.
"You've got the kind of potential people kill for," he said, looking into the fire. "If you're gonna quit magic, fine. Just don't do it without knowing what you're giving up".
Lucian flinched.
Malrik stepped up, and moved towards the bedding area. "Sleep on it."
Lucian sat there long after he left, watching the fire die down — and wondering if maybe, just maybe... there was still a spark left in him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning...
The clearing was quiet. A gentle breeze passed through the tall trees, making the grass sway like silent worshipers in an ancient cathedral.
Lucian sat cross-legged on the soft earth, his chest bare. His eyes were closed, breath steady. With every inhale, he drew in the quiet of the woods. With every exhale, he sank deeper into himself.
He dove inward — past thought, past memory —and descended into his own mindscape.
Within the stillness of that inner world, a glowing sphere pulsed like a sapphire star. It sat in the center of a vast dark expanse, it's surface twisting and turning with a vibrant blue light. Threads of mana, like glowing rivers, ran from it in every direction — his mana pathways, branching like veins in his spiritual body. A sight he hadn't seen in years. It felt...serene.
He released his mana .
It surged from the core and flowed along those pathways, radiant and fluid, a blue wave of luminous liquid. As it passed, he directed his will into it. Outside, his body remained still — but within, his consciousness expanded outward alongside the mana, stretching like invisible tendrils into the world around him.
And suddenly...
He could feel.
The soft roll of the grass.
The flutter of leaves disturbed by wind.
The scurrying steps of ants beneath his legs.
A rabbit breathing from behind a bush, 8 meters to the left.
Everything within his radius was no longer just part of the forest — it was apart of him too. It lived within his mana.
"This… is magic."
He breathed out slowly, and the runes began to surface in his mind — carved into memory from years of hidden study. His fingers traced the gestures, guiding the formula into reality.
A magic circle formed beneath him.
Blue lines etched into existence, precise and graceful. At each point of its geometric star, floating runes shimmered, orbiting like celestial bodies.
Then he focused.
Runes swam into his mind — symbols sharp and sacred, curling in rigid angles and flowing curves. The runes came together, clustered into a trianglar formation, one for drawing air, another for creating a spark and the last using pure mana as fuel. A single spell, simple but elegant.
The symbols danced and realigned in front him, forming a single glowing circle of sapphire light — runes locking into place with a subtle hum.
Lucian raised his hand slowly, palm up.
[Ignis], he whispered in his mind.
A spark flared to life. Hovering above his palm, a gentle blue flame curled — elegant, focused, restrained.
The first flame he had cast in six long years.
But just as he admired it, his mana zone shuddered. A presence had entered it — firm, controlled, radiating practiced will.
Lucian's brows furrowed instinctively. His mana touched the intruder — and instead of piercing or sensing… it rebounded. The opposing mana struck back with silent confidence, sending a backlash through Lucian's will.
It hit like a slap.
His breath caught. The runes shattered.
The magic circle cracked and dissolved, so did the flame.
His eyes snapped open.
Standing behind him, at the cabins doorway, was Malrik.
And worse? The bastard was smiling.