I could kill myself of course, but it felt like that would make a mockery of the sacrifice I had just made. If I was going to do that now, I should have left all of our shields up, and let us go out together when they failed. No, I should make it count for something.
One of Azenum's most frequent teachings was: "It is alright to make a mistake, but you need to learn from it. You should never make the same mistake again."
Never again. In order for my shields never to fail again, I would need to practice. I would need to train until my mana pool was so deep that my shields could never be broken. I would improve my white magic abilities until I could heal a black smudge back into a person. A person is only dead if there isn't a white mage strong enough to heal them.
But where? The idea of someone finding me, asking me questions--Where are Azenum and Izena? Why did you go off to train alone? What happened in the final battle?--I grit my teeth as the radiating acid feeling returned. I needed to go somewhere where I wouldn't be found, even by accident.
I turned to the west. The ocean invited me beyond the horizon. Sailors were reluctant to leave sight of land--there were worse things than storms and sandbars in the deep oceans--but I was no mere sailor. I was, objectively, a mage of unprecedented power. If I went far enough out to sea, surely I would eventually find an island where I would never be found.
My resolve steeled, my fists clenched, I took a deep breath and turned my sight inward toward my mana pool.
Even heavily depleted as I was from the battle, only Izena could match the amount of mana that--
Oscanion's attack is a crashing wave of flames crossed with stinking pus, a disgusting perversion of a flame spell that I'd seen Izena cast many times. The air stinks of soot and ozone and Oscanion's peculiar rot. The flames reach Izena. Her shield is breaking, as is mine--
'No! Focus!' I scolded myself. 'Materialization is mana intensive, and you're as exhausted as you've ever been. This is not the time to be sloppy.'
I squeeeezed mana out of my extended right hand, in its purest, condensed form, with more difficulty than normal, like forcing a puff of air out after fully exhaling. Nevertheless, out came my liquid sunlight--so pure and holy!--and it followed my will, shaping itself into a small platform just large enough for me to sit comfortably. To do that much only required sufficient mana and a little training in manipulation. The next step, making it solidify so that it could support me, was the part requiring real skill. Azenum had insisted that I practice materialization and solidification relentlessly, because the only thing a white mage can do as a "magic" attack is make a glorified stick of solidified white mana and smack enemies with it.
I wasn't looking at Azenum when--
No. Deep breath.
'Give the mana just the right shock to solidify it,' I mocked myself, in an internal monotone. 'Feel the mana pulsing. Time it. Time it...hit the resonance...kzap. Yay. Great job, Menelyn. Now, absorb the rebound...kzip. Wow, you're amazing. Now quickly damp the aftershock transients...'
"Ohoho!" Izena's voice came from behind me. "That's impressive. You've become very skilled, little sister. That level of control is proof of a lot of practice."
I squeaked in surprise. Izena so often managed to sneak up on me that I half-suspected black magic had a cloaking spell that no one told me about.
"It's because you're so good at focusing," Izena explained, and shrugged.
Also a mind-reading spell.
"No, as I have said, I'm just your sister. I know you better than anyone." She giggled, then continued with her original point. "Your ability to focus on a single task is an asset, but be careful not to let it become bad situational awareness. Or worse, obsession."
"I--. I can make it solid consistently now, an-and quickly," I stuttered out. While I was timid and bad with praise by default, I was far from the only person who felt flustered speaking to Izena. She was just so...cool. Now sixteen, she was a worldwide celebrity.
She eyed my blade with a subtle and mysterious smile that was so very Izena.
"So, little sister, I have always wanted to try a mana-sword fight, but you are the only mage whose pool is large enough to make a good one." In a single motion, she summoned her pure black light-swallowing version of the glowing blade of white light in my hand. "Aside from me. Want to spar?"
...So cool.
"Isn't it!?" Izena said, raising her sword and waving it a bit. "Sure, there's not much practical value, especially for a black mage, but still!"
"Not the sword, you," I corrected, raising my own.
It was nice to make her blush for a change.
"You are a celebrity, too," she countered. "As much as I am."
...Seriously, mind-reading was supposed to be red magic, not black.
I was so glad to be her sister. And proud.
"Huuuuuh," I exhaled. That should have been a happy memory. It would have been a happy memory. Now, it only...
Well, my platform came out perfectly despite the distraction. The Academy would be gasping in awe at such a display of mana control, murmuring about prodigies and goddesses.
That sparring session had gathered an enormous crowd by the end. After all, it was probably the world's first mana-sword fight.
"A mage is one in a hundred thousand, and the two of you are one in a hundred thousand among mages, young ladies," one of the senior masters had announced to the room, afterward.
'And behold my grand miracle! Not so omnipotent, am I?'
Provide too much hope, and the desperate will see what they need to see.
Heaving a sigh and choking back sobs, I took a seat on my very own personal glowy white hover chair platform thing. As I shot off over the ocean, I needed to make a shield to block the wind.
'Ah, there they are. There are the tears.'