Sunlight filtered through the erald canopy, casting dappled shadows on the soft moss below. In the center of the clearing, Aurelya stood with one hand raised, a faint shimr of mana curling around her fingertips. Across from her, Lumberling crouched behind a tree stump, frowning in concentration as his own mana fizzled out with a weak puff.
"That’s the third ti it sputtered," Aurelya said, her golden eyes twinkling with amusent. "Are you trying to scare mosquitoes with your mana flare?"
"At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if the elents just hated ," Lumberling said dryly, flicking his hand once more. As expected, nothing.
Aurelya smirked and stepped closer. "It’s not rigged. You’re just hopeless."
He gave her a pointed look. "Funny, coming from soone who still refuses to reveal her elent."
She tossed her golden hair over her shoulder, eyes narrowing playfully. "So secrets are better left mysterious. Unlike your elental talent, which is mysteriously missing."
"Maybe I’ve unlocked a hidden elent," Lumberling muttered. "Struggle. Pure and refined."
She chuckled, then took a seat on a mossy rock, crossing her legs. "All mages have innate affinities. One or two, usually. The more you have, the more versatile your magic. Just like with Knights, more skills, more power."
He wiped sweat from his brow. "So... how many do you have?"
"Two." She raised an eyebrow. "Sa as Thessalia."
"Let guess. Fire and drama?"
Aurelya flicked a pebble at him with a precise mana burst. It pinged off his forehead.
"You’ve got great aim," he muttered, massaging the spot she hit.
"Precision training," she replied sweetly. "Besides, if you really want to know soone’s elent, figure it out with your eyes, not your mouth."
"Is that an invitation?"
She rolled her eyes. "Back to practice, idiot."
.....
Late Afternoon, Elven Study Room
Books lined the carved wooden shelves of the study. Candles flickered, their light illuminating pages filled with ancient runes and diagrams. Lumberling sat across from Thessalia at a large table, her sharp gaze fixed on the parchnt in his hand.
"State the three binding principles of transmutation spells," she said without preamble.
"Stability of origin, clarity of form, and mana density threshold," Lumberling answered instantly.
"Correct. Explain the difference between passive mana flow and active channelling."
He did so, and continued answering question after question, his tone light and confident. His mind, honed through Imperial Mindseal ditation, recalled everything like a well-organized archive.
After a few minutes, he leaned back with a grin. "At this rate, I’ll surpass even you, Teach."
Thessalia didn’t look up from her notes. "Unlikely."
"A smile won’t kill you, you know."
She turned the page in her book. "And yet, you’re still alive after this long."
Lumberling chuckled.
He shook his head and murmured, "That smile’s in there sowhere. I just need the right chisel."
Thessalia, without looking, replied, "And I’ll invent a spell that makes idiots silent."
"Is that... a smile I hear in your voice?"
"Delusion is not a recognized school of magic, Lumberling."
Still, as she scribbled in her notes, her lips quirked, just slightly, before the expression vanished, like a passing breeze.
...
Week by week, Lumberling trained beneath the ageless boughs of the elven grove.
The air shimred with mana, soft and fluid like mist, yet every ti he reached for it, it slipped through his fingers like smoke. His hands trembled not from fear, but from sheer frustration. He tried again, lips moving through the chant, heart steady, focus firm.
Flick.
The spark vanished.
The spell collapsed with a fizzle and a puff of warmth, scattering leaves around him.
Lumberling clenched his fists and sighed. ’Not again.’
Nearby, Aurelya stood silently with her arms crossed, golden eyes narrowed, not with judgnt, but concern. Beside her, Vaenyra watched with a gentle gaze, her blue hair catching the wind. Neither said anything.
But they noticed.
They always noticed.
Though they never voiced it, the truth hung unspoken between them: Lumberling’s magical talent was... poor, worse, perhaps.
He struggled to shape mana into form. Even the most basic techniques, light globes, minor gusts, water shaping, often fizzled the mont he cast them. He morized theory faster than most, but his body and mana refused to cooperate.
Aurelya handed him a small crystalline orb after another failed attempt. "Try again. Feel it, not force it."
"I am feeling it," he muttered, half to himself.
"Then stop clenching your jaw like you’re about to punch a spell into existence," she said dryly, a smile playing at her lips.
Still, he persisted.
Every morning, he returned to the grove. Evenings found him ditating by the quiet stream, chasing mana through his veins like a hunter stalking prey. His failure did not shake him, it shaped him. He knew this rhythm. He had walked this path before. The hard one. The long one.
He trained. Day after day. Spell after spell. He stumbled more than he soared, but he always got back up.
.....
As night fell, study gave way to strategy. The wooden chessboard replaced dusty scrolls as the elves circled around for a different kind of duel.
Lumberling sat across a carved wooden chessboard, three sets of eyes studying him, each gleaming with silent ambition.
Aurelya moved her knight forward with confidence, slamming the piece down as if it were a declaration of war. "Check."
Lumberling arched a brow and countered with a rook, sliding it across the board in a clean arc. "Mate in three."
"What, no, wait.." Aurelya leaned in, golden eyes scanning the board before she slumped back with a frustrated sigh. "Ugh. Again?!"
Thessalia, cool and reserved, watched with an expression of mild interest. "You’re too aggressive, Aurelya. You collapse your defenses too easily."
"Says the one who just got baited into a forked bishop trap twenty minutes ago," Aurelya shot back.
Thessalia tilted her chin. "That was... experintal."
"Right," Lumberling said, lips twitching.
Truth be told, both had grown rapidly. Thessalia, with her analytical mind, had already surpassed Aurelya in pure calculation. She lacked warmth, but her focus was razor-sharp. Aurelya, for all her pride and theatrics, wasn’t far behind. Her instinctive plays were improving day by day.
But neither ca close to the quiet storm that was Vaenyra.
She never boasted. Never complained. Barely even spoke during gas.
She simply watched.
And learned.
Every trap, every counter-move, every nuance, she absorbed them like ink on parchnt. Her style was unorthodox, unfamiliar... and increasingly lethal.
Lumberling had beaten her consistently at first. But he could feel the tide shifting.
Maybe two months. That’s all it might take.
And the skills he’d slowly polished over twenty-five years as a hobbyist... she might match them. Or surpass them.
’What a monstrous talent,’ he thought.
’And the fact that she’s so damn diligent despite it... no wonder she’s reached her current stage in both the Knight and Mage paths.’
He leaned back after another narrow win over Vaenyra and looked across the board at the three elves, one pouting, one calculating, and one deadly calm.
"I’m going to need to start reading new books," he muttered under his breath.
.....
The next morning, Lumberling stood in a shaded glade beside Aurelya, practicing his mana drills. The air shimred softly with latent magic. Birds chirped in the canopy above. It was peaceful, calm, even. A rare mont of serenity.
Then a fireball ca flying straight at his head.
He barely ducked, the fla singing a few hairs and vaporizing a startled mosquito mid-flight.
"Seriously?!" he yelped, staggering behind a stump.
Aurelya stood with arms crossed and the most unapologetic expression imaginable. "Sorry. My hand slipped."
"Slipped," he echoed, brushing soot from his shoulder. "Funny, that ’slip’ was perfectly aid."
She looked off to the side, chin up. "Maybe if soone didn’t whistle a smug tune after every chess ga, certain people wouldn’t be... motivated."
"Ahh, motivated." He grinned. "This is revenge for the ’pawn-only’ win, isn’t it?"
"No comnt."
"You know, for soone so elegant and golden and sparkly, you sure throw a lot of fireballs when you lose."
She gave him a sideways look. "And for soone with the magical affinity of a damp sock, you talk a lot."
"Ouch." He clutched his heart. "Hit with another fireball next ti, that one hurt more."
A pause.
Then, unexpectedly, Aurelya laughed. Not a smug chuckle, not a sarcastic scoff, but a real, light laugh that danced through the trees like wind through leaves.
Lumberling blinked, startled.
She caught his look and waved a hand dismissively. "Don’t make a thing of it."
He smiled anyway.
"Hey," she added, her voice softer now. "You’ll get it. Magic’s just... stubborn sotis. Kind of like you."
"...Thanks," he said, scratching the back of his neck.
Aurelya nodded. "Besides, watching you chase fireflies with your mana every day is honestly kind of inspiring."
"Touching. Truly," he said dryly. "Maybe next ti, cheer for without trying to burn my eyebrows off?"
"No promises."
She turned away with a smirk, walking toward the stream where Vaenyra and Thessalia were already waiting. As she passed him, she flicked her fingers, and a tiny, harmless spark danced through the air, curling like a playful wisp before fizzling out harmlessly.
Lumberling watched it fade, then looked at his own hand.
He took a breath.
And tried again.
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