Sitting up, Rowan held the Core in front of him, taking a deep breath.

  The smooth surface glowed faintly, the chaotic swell of Wind mana within it pulsing with a life of its own. He could almost feel its resistance, the raw, untamed Intent ready to put his to the test.

  With a steadying breath, Rowan began.

  He drew the mana in.

  It slowly drained from the Core, and if someone were watching him attempt this, they wouldn’t have seen anything spectacular. But from Rowan’s perspective, things looked—and felt—different.

  Mana tore through his channels like a tempest, each gust resisting his control. It didn’t want to be absorbed—its own inherent Intent fighting back, wild and unruly. But against the strength of Rowan’s soul, it didn’t stand a chance.

  He gritted his teeth and pulled harder, forcing the mana to flow through his body. He guided it with precision, channeling it towards his Core, willing it to obey.

  There, he packed it into every crack and crevice, feeding it into the space left by his advancement.

  Nearly a minute passed before he drew in enough for it to ignite, and the change was immediate.

  Rowan’s Core shuddered, the Wind mana fusing with its structure. It was as if a void he hadn’t realized was there had been filled, the missing piece sliding into place with exhilarating precision.

  Rowan blinked open his eyes, the emptied Core still in his hand. He turned it over once, then set it aside, his hand trembling slightly.

  There was a new well of energy inside him now, distinct yet harmonizing with the Fire mana he’d become so familiar with.

  He let out a loud laugh, the sound echoing through the room.

  “Well, that’s that done,” Rowan muttered softly, the words tinged with disbelief.

  A weight lifted from his shoulders. One that’d been there from the moment he Awakened. It was more than just progress—it was validation. Proof that he was moving closer to the strength he so desperately needed.

  His gaze shifted to the ring on his finger.

  If only you could see me now, he thought, a small, melancholic smile tugging at his lips.

  He’d come to terms with being born dull, and so had the rest of his family. But he could still see the quiet resignation in his father’s eyes, the subtle disappointment his mother tried so hard to hide. Rowan knew what he was. A disappointment in a lineage of Archmages and Grand Wizards.

  But now, standing here as an Orange-Core mage, a trait of seemingly unlimited potential, and a Vault overflowing with treasure, Rowan felt a rush of pride.

  A determined expression spread across his face.

  “I’ll show them,” he vowed. “Even if they’re not here to see it, I’ll make them proud. As long as I’m here, House Athlain still lives.”

  Rowan stood up and stretched, the residual hum of Wind mana coursing through him. It was exhilarating. There was something wild and boundless about it, a stark contrast to the raw, unrelenting heat of Fire.

  Eighteen percent is good, but twenty would have been better, he thought, brushing off his shirt.

  Gaining even a single percent would take longer now, and advancing to Yellow would be an uphill battle. But for now, Rowan wasn’t focused on that. He had a new affinity to play with.

  He stepped back out into the yard, his heart racing with anticipation. The tall oak he’d spent the last week under still stood in stoic silence, its branches swaying in the gentle breeze.

  High up on one of the boughs, Kai had returned. His familiar perched elegantly, pruning his feathers with quick movements.

  “Decided to finally show up, did you?” Rowan called, his voice light with amusement.

  Kai paused, tilting his head as he looked back at him.

  With an excited trill, he flew down from the tree, gliding towards him. He landed on his shoulder, nuzzling his beak against Rowan’s cheek.

  “That’s right,” Rowan said, grinning. “You’re looking at an Orange-Core mage.”

  Kai puffed himself up, spreading his wings wide and letting out a loud squawk.

  “Doesn't matter. I’m a higher level than you now.” Rowan smirked, quickly scanning his familiar.

  “Huh?” he muttered, the wind draining from his sails. “When did that happen?”

  Kai glanced at him, somehow managing to look smug. He jumped off his shoulder a moment later, flying back up to his perch.

  But even his familiar out-leveling him couldn’t dampen Rowan’s mood.

  He reached inward, focusing on the new well of energy within him.

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  Wind mana felt… different. It wasn’t the searing, commanding force of Fire. But free-flowing and dynamic, slipping through his mental grasp only to dart back into place.

  He extended his hand, drawing it out of his Core, letting it rise to the surface. A faint breeze swirled around him, tugging at his hair and clothes.

  “Alright,” Rowan smiled, his voice steady. “Let’s see what you can do.”

  The Wind mana coursing through his channels wanted to move. It wanted an outlet.

  What he did next wasn’t worthy of being called a spell. There wasn’t any precision or artistry in it. Just a valve being opened.

  He pointed his hand in front and drew on his reserves.

  A sharp gust erupted from his palm, tearing through the air with a low but persistent hum. It was inefficient, and unfocused, but it was Wind magic. A release of Intentless mana.

  Rowan cut off the flow a moment later, not wanting to waste it all in one go. But even those few seconds were enough to fill him with an eagerness he hadn’t felt in months. A curiosity and need to explore this new facet of his strength.

  It would take him weeks to start mastering stronger spells, Murmur’s and upward. Those required learning mana circuits and honing an Intent.

  But I’m more than capable of mastering a Whisper, he thought, already pulling at his Core again.

  That might have been an arrogant thought, but Rowan was sure he could do it.

  Mastering a spell—even a weak one—required time and effort. He hadn’t put any of the former into his new affinity, which would require going all in on the latter.

  The mana called to him, brimming with potential. There was a purity to it. Something that always managed to bring out a sense of wonder in Rowan.

  Imagining what he wanted in his head, Rowan let the flow guide him. The mana circuit for a Whisper-level spell was just a single line. Going from his Core to where he wanted the spell to manifest. In this case—and honestly in most of them—that was his hand.

  But even that line had a particular path it needed to follow. Rowan’s arm had dozens, maybe even hundreds of channels running through it, and after a few attempts, he managed to find the right ones.

  Forcing it wouldn’t have worked. He needed to let the mana flow as it wanted, forming his Intent around it as it did. A Whisper-level spell wasn't a complicated working. The Wind wanted to move, and Rowan let it.

  Blow, he imbued his Intent.

  A gale erupted from his palm. It rustled the branches overhead, whistling through the air.

  Kai didn’t miss his opportunity. He dove down from his perch, wings folded against his body. His familiar entered the spell, the unconcentrated sprawl of Wind mana doing little more than buffering his body before his wings spread. He cawed happily as they caught the Wind, propelling him forward.

  Rowan was rapidly burning through his reserves, the unpolished Intent and inefficient route doing little to help.

  It wasn’t a spell to boast about. In fact, it was downright bad. A small gust of wind was depleting him like he was throwing [Fireball]’s. Eighteen percent wasn’t a whole lot, but it still should have gone further than this.

  Rowan’s reserves had grown significantly over the last week, rising by twenty-five percent from working on his Core and another fifty from investing in Intelligence. But that was only for his Fire mana. The only Wind mana he currently had was from what he absorbed.

  He let the spell dissipate. Withdrawing his Intent and no longer drawing from his Core.

  Kai glided back towards him, landing and looking up at him expectantly.

  Rowan laughed. “Let’s go. I’ve got two more in me.”

  He’d already spent half his available Wind mana, that single cast burning through a majority of it.

  A little less this time, he decided.

  Kai didn’t need to be told twice, flying up and getting ready.

  Rowan focused intently, performing it again. Refining the spell.

  This time, the channels he guided his mana through were more efficient, and his Intent grew sharper. The spell in turn grew more polished, its cost lowering and scope narrowing.

  Kai was pushed back further this time, chirping in delight.

  Rowan felt something slipping into place, but it still wasn’t quite enough. He tried for a third time. Drawing on the last of his mana and letting the spell fly.

  A gust of concentrated Wind released from his hand.

  It wasn’t powerful—still barely more than a harsh breeze. Kai flew over it, using the first spell Rowan mastered with his new affinity as a makeshift playground.

  Rowan pumped a fist into the air. “Ha! Third try!”

  It was hard not to feel giddy after what he’d just done.

  This has to be some kind of record.

  Rowan had barely had his new affinity for five minutes, and he already managed to master a spell. Even a weaker one would have taken most mages days, if not even weeks to properly learn. But he was a member of House Athlain. Magic was his, by right of blood and birth.

  Fire, Wind, Earth, or Water, it didn’t matter. Rowan had a connection to all of them that went deeper than anyone knew. Other mages thought they needed to whip the mana into shape, to force it into doing what they wanted. But that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

  “Listen and guide,” Rowan recalled his mother’s words. “That’s how you get mana to do what you want.”

  Not everyone was capable of doing that. Guiding was one thing. Everyone did that in one form or another when they moved it through their channels. But listening was different. It required a mage to let go of his control—letting the mana do as it willed—all the while keeping a firm hand on his cast.

  It was a hard mindset to master. One wrong move resulted in soul damage, a miscast tearing away at your channels.

  Rowan had a safety net in the form of his trait, his soul capable of withstanding anything he threw at it. But even with it, that hadn’t happened to him since the first time he cast a spell. All the way back on that fateful day in Eiselyth.

  He knew what his mana wanted to do. Heard it speaking its intentions loud and clear.

  Fire was destructive. It wanted to consume and spread, to change everything it touched into a different form.

  But Wind mana was different.

  It was free, and at its core, all it wanted to do was move.

  Rowan pulled up his spell list, his smile widening at what he saw.

  He grinned. “One down, thousands more to go.”

  His arsenal wasn’t the largest, or the flashiest. Ten spells weren’t a lot when compared to mages who had been honing their craft for years. But Rowan hadn't been at it for years. Barely half a year had passed since he Awakened, and he’d already advanced in rank, and was on the cusp of mastering his first Chant-level spell.

  There was so much for him to do, to discover and learn. Not just about his new affinity—or just his old one—but about magic as a whole.

  Rowan craved it like a drowning man craved air.

  This was the start of his Path, and he wouldn’t stop at just Fire or Wind.

  I don’t get to just be good. Or even great, he thought, fists clenching in determination. I need to be the best.

  It was easy to feel satisfied after what he accomplished. Advancement was a milestone worth celebrating. But Rowan wouldn’t accomplish his goals by growing complacent.

  Both his parents had been Archmages, and his brothers and sisters were well on their way too. Even so, none of them survived the calamity that befell Eiselyth.

  If Rowan wanted to learn the truth, being an Orange-Core mage wasn’t nearly enough.

  Right now, his opponents were goblins—and the occasional Silver-rank—but that wouldn’t always be the case. There were other Archmages out there, warriors capable of splitting mountains with nothing but a swing of their weapons. And to learn the truth about what happened that day, Rowan would need to stand on equal ground with them.

  He whistled.

  Kai dove down from above, unfurling his wings and landing on his shoulder. He glanced at him with an expectant expression, nipping at Rowan’s coat.

  “We can play later,” he said, summoning a piece of parchment covered in enchantments. “I think it’s time I mastered [Fireball].”

  The last week had left him brimming with an eager energy. The monotony and boredom were well worth the rewards, but now that it was done, he wanted to do the same thing as his new affinity.

  Move.

  His strength had grown tremendously since the last time he’d visited, and Rowan was intent on testing exactly how much stronger he’d become.

  Kai cawed excitedly, flapping his wings.

  “If things go the way I hope, we’re not going to be the same level for long,” Rowan smiled. “I’m going to give you a feast.”

  His familiar didn’t need to be told twice. He nuzzled closer, wrapping a wing around Rowan’s shoulders to hold himself steady.

  Sending a bit of mana into the teleportation token, Rowan felt it come to life. The enchantments flared, a familiar purple glow engulfing both of them.

  It sent them away from Litwick, from the Verdant Plains altogether, teleporting them across the Kingdom to the Scorched Plateau.