More than a month had passed since Lumberling began studying the Concordia Cycle under Vaenyra’s guidance.
And yet, despite all his effort, it still eluded him.
He sat cross-legged on the mossy floor of the glade, hands resting lightly on his knees, aura barely flickering as he cycled his essence through the Concordia pattern. His breathing was steady, but the spiritual flow was jagged, inconsistent, like trying to draw water through a cracked vessel.
Vaenyra stood nearby, arms crossed, silent as the moonlight filtering through the leaves. She’d been watching him for so ti now.
Finally, she spoke, her tone as frank and cold as mountain spring water.
"I don’t think the mage path is for you."
Lumberling didn’t stop the cycle, but he did open one eye and glance at her. "Hmm? What makes you say that?"
"If we continue like this," she said, "it might take you decades just to reach the Concordant State. That’s assuming I’m even willing to teach you for that long."
There was no malice in her voice, just quiet honesty.
Lumberling gave a small, humorless chuckle and let the cycle lapse. He exhaled slowly. "Yeah... I had that suspicion too."
In the past weeks, he’d noticed how sluggish his progress was. Despite practicing day and night, despite following her instructions precisely, nothing clicked. His talent in the magical path, if it existed at all, was buried beneath the dirt.
"How long does it usually take to reach the Concordant State?" he asked.
"On average, one year," she said flatly.
He blinked.
’One year? That ans I’m not just slow... I’m pathetically slow.’
It stung. But he didn’t flinch.
"I get what you’re saying," he admitted. "I’m not cut out for this. But I’m not giving up either."
Vaenyra raised a brow, expression unreadable.
"There’s still a chance, isn’t there?" he pressed.
She hesitated, then nodded. "A chance. Yes."
"Then that’s enough. Just teach what you can. I’ll handle the rest."
"That won’t work," she replied sharply.
"Why not?" he asked.
Her voice dropped slightly. "Because I’ve seen what happens to people like you. The ones who struggle from the very beginning. Even if you reach the Concordant State, and that’s a big if, it won’t matter much if you can’t handle the actual magic afterward."
She looked away, eyes distant.
"I knew soone," she said. "Terrible affinity. Worse than yours. But she tried. Trained for decades. Reached the Concordant State... still she couldn’t cast. It broke her. One day, she stopped training altogether."
Her voice faded. Expression unreadable.
Her eyes drifted, lost in mory.
A girl stood before her, eyes weary, voice barely a whisper. ’I wish I had your talent,’ she had said, then turned and walked away.
Lumberling let the silence hang for a mont, then gave a quiet chuckle.
"I’m not your friend," he said, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Even a beautiful elf is worrying about ? I must be doing sothing right." Then gave her a wink.
Vaenyra’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing.
Then his gaze sharpened.
"This is my path. It’s the one I’ve chosen. Whether I succeed or fail, that rests on . Your task is only to guide now. The rest, I’ll carry myself."
He held her gaze, unwavering.
Sothing in her chest stirred.
That sa fire... that sa hunger her friend once had. But sohow, it didn’t feel the sa. There was no desperation in his eyes, only focus, resolve. And a quiet, self-contained fury, like a furnace sealed under black steel.
She stared at him for a mont longer, then gave a slow nod. "Very well."
Lumberling returned to his posture and closed his eyes. Once more, he began the Concordia Cycle.
Vaenyra stepped back and resud her silent vigil.
And for the first ti in weeks, a small smile played on her lips, faint, fleeting, but sincere.
.....
The next day - Training Grounds, Noon
The sun filtered through the canopy, painting gold flecks across the clearing where Aurelya’s lesson continued. She stood, arms crossed, lips curled into a mischievous smirk.
"I heard you’re still struggling with the Concordia Cycle," she said offhandedly, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her anticipation. "I told you, not everyone is ant for the mage path. Why don’t you just stick to thrusting your spear? You seem much better at that."
Lumberling stretched lazily, as if her jab hadn’t even scratched him. "Doesn’t matter. I’ll keep at it," he replied with a shrug.
Aurelya blinked, her brow twitching slightly. That relaxed attitude was starting to get under her skin.
"Your subordinates are catching up to you, you know."
"Oh?" Lumberling arched a brow, his voice tinged with curiosity. "How are they holding up?"
"That Krivex and Aren are doing particularly well," she said. "They’re already beginning to grasp the Concordia Cycle. At this rate, they might reach the Concordant State in... seven or eight months."
Lumberling smiled.
She continued. "Rogar, Gobo1, Karnark, and Zarn, above average talent. Not bad at all."
"And the rest?"
"Grokk, Skarn, Takkar, Gobo2, Vakk, Gorrak, and Vrak... average. Not hopeless, but nothing special either."
Lumberling nodded slowly, absorbing the assessnt.
"And Tarnix, Izzek, and the rest of the rank-and-file soldiers... below average. They’ll struggle." Her voice turned neutral. "Still, it’s rare for an entire command to even attempt learning magic. The fact that so many are progressing is impressive."
That’s when she leaned in with a teasing grin.
"What if your subordinates end up surpassing you?" she whispered playfully. "Wouldn’t that be... embarrassing for their great Lord?"
She was baiting him. Expecting a spark of irritation or at least a flicker of wounded pride.
But he just chuckled.
"They sure are a talented bunch. I told you, they could learn magic," he said warmly, a glimr of pride lighting up his eyes. "If they surpass , that just ans I picked the right people."
Aurelya blinked. That wasn’t the answer she expected.
"You’re not... bothered?"
"Why would I be?" He turned to her, eting her gaze. "If they surpass , all the better. I’d much rather have talented subordinates. If they reach heights I can’t, I’ll gladly let them handle the hard part while I sit back and enjoy the view."
She stared at him for a mont, as if trying to understand a puzzle.
In this world, power ant everything. Lords who were weaker than their subordinates often t bad ends, betrayal, disrespect, exile. No one respected weakness. Yet here he was, smiling like a proud father over children outgrowing him.
"You’re really strange," she muttered, barely audible.
But as she turned away, a soft smile curved her lips.
A little strange... but maybe not in a bad way.
.....
Later that noon, beneath Aurelya’s sharp tongue and the dappled sunlight, Lumberling faced a different kind of trial.
Scrolls were neatly laid across the table, parchnt stacked and weighted with rune-etched stones. The air slled of lavender and aged ink. Thessalia stood by the tall window, arms crossed, her green eyes fixed on the man seated before her.
"Na the seven elental affinities recognized by classical Imperial Theory," she said coolly, skipping any formal greeting.
"Fire, Water, Wind, Earth, Lightning, Ice, and Aether," Lumberling replied without missing a beat.
She didn’t nod. "What does the Cyclic Reversion Principle explain?"
"That no elental affinity is truly isolated, given enough power, elental magic tends to return to its opposite or neutral state. It’s why fire sotis causes frost when mana destabilizes." He added, "Aether is the exception."
Thessalia tilted her head slightly. "And the primary limitation of dual-affinity mages?"
"Mana cohesion." He tapped the side of his temple. "Even if you’re born with two affinities, your ability to balance the internal flow of mana and convert ntal imagery into two elental constructs is... unstable at best. Most fail and combust." He smirked. "Literally."
Thessalia’s expression remained unreadable. She asked five more questions in rapid succession, ranging from obscure arcane history to complex magical equations. Lumberling answered each one precisely, sotis elaborating more than she expected.
Finally, silence settled between them. Thessalia stepped closer and set a scroll down in front of him.
"You have a good mory," Thessalia said at last, voice as cool as always, but lacking its usual sharpness.
Lumberling grinned. "That’s only because my teacher is good."
She didn’t reply at first, only looked at him, longer than usual. Then she turned back to her notes.
Her pen paused, just briefly, above the parchnt.
He actually enjoys this, she realized. The theory. The structure. The craft.
Rare, for a knight. Rarer still for soone who listened.
She tapped her pen twice against the inkpot, then murmured, "Try not to slack off. I expect ten more questions next week."
"Only ten? You’re going easy on ."
"I can make it twenty."
"...Noted."
Later that evening, he returned to the quiet glade. The moss felt cooler now beneath him, the cicadas humming their gentle lullaby.
He sat cross-legged, breathing steady.
Not to train.
Not to conquer magic.
Just to listen.
To feel.
Because even if he never mastered the Concordia Cycle, even if his fla never burned as bright as others...
He still wanted to understand the fire.
A breeze passed through the leaves. Sowhere in the shadows, Vaenyra watched him again, but this ti, she said nothing.
And for a long mont, there was peace.
Not triumph.
Not breakthrough.
Just... peace.
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