Dravin carried her to a room she'd never seen before. The room was circular and empty. The walls were smooth black stone and the floor was the same dark stone, but carved with intricate patterns—circles within circles, lines connecting to form geometric shapes, symbols she didn't recognize.
Multiple magic circles, overlapping and interwoven. The ceiling didn't exist. Or rather, it did exist, but instead of stone there was just... sky. Stars. Even though it had been morning when she woke up. The stars moved slowly overhead, tracing paths that made her dizzy when she tried to follow them.
Dravin walked to the center of the room and sat down. Cross-legged, still holding her. He adjusted his grip so she was sitting in his lap, facing outward, her back against his chest. One of his arms stayed wrapped around her middle to keep her from toppling over.
"Today we'll discuss mana pathways in greater detail," he said.
She looked up at him. He was staring straight ahead at the empty room, not looking at her at all.
"The primary channels run parallel to the circulatory system, but they don't follow blood vessels exactly. Think of them as..." He paused, his fingers tapping against her side like he was counting something. "Think of them as rivers that happen to run near roads. Similar paths, different purposes."
I understood that. I got it. Rivers and roads.
She tried to grab his finger to show she was paying attention. He shifted his hand away absently, still talking. "The secondary channels branch off at major joints. Shoulders, elbows, hips, knees. These are where mana tends to pool if you're not circulating it properly. Stagnation in these areas causes what most mages call 'channel blockage,' which can lead to..." He kept talking and talking, like he was reading from a textbook he'd memorized years ago.
She stared at the side of his face. Do you really think I understand this? I'm one month old from your perspective, I'm a potato that occasionally glows.
"The difference between active circulation and passive circulation is critical. Active requires conscious effort—you're manually guiding the mana through your channels. Passive happens automatically, but it's less efficient. Most mages use passive circulation during daily activities and switch to active during spellwork."
She reached up and grabbed a strand of his hair and pulled it.
He paused mid-sentence, glanced down at her, and carefully extracted his hair from her grip. "Don't do that."
Then he continued exactly where he'd left off. "Active circulation also allows for faster mana recovery. If you've depleted your reserves, conscious channeling can restore them at three times the passive rate, assuming your pathways are clear and..."
YOU'RE NOT EVEN LOOKING AT ME.
She tried again. Reached for his face this time. Her tiny hand patted his cheek.
He stopped talking and looked down at her. She looked back, trying to convey I'm here, I'm listening, please acknowledge that I exist as a person and not just a magical anomaly you're lecturing at.
"Are you uncomfortable?" he asked.
NO. I'M TRYING TO COMMUNICATE.
She patted his cheek again, more insistently.
"Ah. You need to be burped."
WHAT?! NO!
He shifted her position, lifting her up and patting her back. She hadn't even eaten recently. There was nothing to burp. But he kept patting anyway, clearly convinced he'd identified the problem.
After thirty seconds of this indignity, he set her back in his lap. "Better?"
I HATE YOU.
"Good. Now, where was I. Ah, yes. Mana recovery rates." He started talking again.
She screamed, loud and frustrated. He stopped and looked down at her, again. She screamed again.
"I see." He stood up, still holding her. Walked to the edge of the room where he'd left a bag. Pulled out a bottle of milk. "You're hungry."
I'M NOT HUNGRY! I'M TRYING TO TELL YOU THAT I UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU'RE SAYING!
He sat back down and offered her the bottle. She turned her head away. "You just indicated you wanted this."
NO I DIDN'T!
"Hania. Drink."
She kept her mouth shut. He sighed, set the bottle aside, and repositioned her in his lap. "If you're going to be difficult, we'll skip the feeding and continue the lesson."
That's not—ugh. Fine. Fine. Keep talking. See if I care.
"The third principle of mana theory states that magical energy follows the path of least resistance unless consciously directed otherwise. This is why untrained mages often experience wild magic—their mana is simply following the easiest route out of their body, regardless of whether that route is safe or controlled."
She slumped against his chest, defeated. This continued for three more days.
On the third day, she decided to try a different approach. When he started explaining the concept of mana resonance, she focused and pulled mana to her hand like he'd taught her in that first lesson. Made it glow, bright purple-silver light emanating from her tiny fist.
He paused and looked at her glowing hand, then looked at her face. She stared back at him, willing him to understand. See? I'm doing what you taught me. I'm following your instructions. I understand.
"Interesting," he said.
Yes! Finally!
"You're responding to my mana signature. When I discuss magical concepts, my own mana fluctuates slightly. You're picking up on that and mimicking it."
WHAT?! NO!
"This is actually a common phenomenon in magical infants. They're sensitive to ambient mana and will often mirror nearby signatures without understanding why."
I'M NOT MIRRORING! I'M DELIBERATELY CHANNELING BASED ON YOUR VERBAL INSTRUCTIONS!
But all that came out was "Waaaah!"
He dismissed the glow with a wave of his hand, and her mana scattered back into her core. "We'll work on controlling those instinctive responses later. For now, back to resonance theory."
She wanted to throw something at him.
By the fifth day, she'd tried everything. Glowing on command when he mentioned light. Moving her fingers in patterns when he described hand gestures for spellcasting. Even trying to mouth words, though her baby mouth couldn't form them properly.
Every single time, he had a rational explanation that had nothing to do with comprehension. "Muscle spasms." "Coincidental timing." "Reflexive response to visual stimuli."
It was driving her insane. On the sixth day, he spent an hour explaining the mathematical principles underlying teleportation.
She understood about half of it—the math was complex, involving concepts she'd never studied in her previous life. But she got the general idea. Space could be folded. Distance was relative. If you knew the coordinates and had enough mana, you could create a temporary bridge between two points.
When he finished, he looked down at her. "Of course, you won't understand any of this for years. But I find that explaining concepts aloud helps me organize my own thoughts. You're a very convenient practice audience."
A PRACTICE AUDIENCE?! I'M YOUR DAUGHTER, NOT A RUBBER DUCK FOR YOUR MAGICAL THEORIES!
She was so angry she could feel the mana in her chest responding, heating up, swirling faster.
"Ah. You're getting fussy. We'll stop here for today."
I'M NOT FUSSY! I'M FURIOUS!
He stood, gathered his books, and carried her out of the training room like nothing was wrong.
On the tenth day, he was explaining, for the fifth time that week, the difference between active and passive mana states.
She'd heard this lecture five times because he didn't think she could remember things from day to day. Because to him, every session was brand new.
She tried to stay calm, tried to breathe, tried to remember that he didn't know. From his perspective, he was talking to a baby who sometimes glowed and that was it. But the frustration kept building.
"—which is why most mages prefer passive circulation during non-combat situations, as it requires less mental energy and—"
Mana exploded out of her core in every direction at once, concentrated frustration manifesting as a shockwave of magical energy. The black stone walls cracked. The magical circles on the floor blazed white-hot, lines of light searing into the stone. The air shimmered and warped.
Dravin shot to his feet, still holding her. "Hania—"
The mana surge intensified. She could feel it pouring out of her, too much, too fast, but she couldn't stop it because she didn't know how to stop it when she was this angry.
"Pull it back," Dravin said. "Now."
I CAN'T!
More cracks spread across the walls. One of the floating stars in the ceiling exploded, raining light.
"Hania. Listen to me. Breathe. Focus. Pull the mana back into your core."
I'M TRYING!
But she wasn't, not really. The mana kept pouring out. Dravin's free hand came up, drawing a symbol in the air so fast it was just a blur of light.
A barrier appeared around them. But even with the barrier, the shockwave was immense. The training room shook. The whole Tower shook.
Somewhere distant, she heard glass shattering, books falling. Kofery shouting something she couldn't make out. She was crying now, tears streaming down her face, furious and helpless. I understand you! I understand everything you're saying! I've understood from the beginning! Why can't you see that?! Why do you keep explaining things like I'm not even here?!
The mana finally peaked. Then collapsed back into her core all at once, the sudden absence making her gasp. The barrier disappeared. Dravin stood in the center of a destroyed training room, holding a sobbing baby, his robes singed at the edges, his hair disheveled from the magical wind.
The black walls had scorch marks running from floor to ceiling. The magical circles were burned permanently into the stone, still glowing faintly red. Three of the walls had holes punched through them. Through one gap, she could see the library. Books were scattered everywhere, floating shelves knocked askew.
Kofery's voice echoed from somewhere in the Tower, "MASTER! WHAT HAPPENED?! ARE WE UNDER ATTACK?!"
Dravin looked down at her. She looked up at him through tears, her face red and blotchy, her tiny body shaking.
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he sighed. "No, Kofery," he called back. "Just a training accident."
"A TRAINING ACCIDENT?! MASTER, HALF THE EAST WING IS ON FIRE!"
"Then put it out." He stepped carefully over debris, carrying her out of the ruined training room.
An hour later, she was lying on a stone altar in a room she'd never seen before. The walls were covered in carvings that glowed blue. Dravin stood over her, his hands moving in complex patterns, drawing symbols that hung in the air. "I'm sealing your mana," he said.
No. Please. I just started learning.
"Not permanently. Just restricting access. You have too much power and zero control. Until you're older, your mana will be limited to ten percent of its current capacity."
I'll be more careful! I promise! Just don't do it.
"This is for your safety." He placed both hands on her chest, right over her core. "And the Tower's structural integrity."
Please...
He spoke a word: 'Vim Tuam Obsigno'
The constant presence on her chest, she'd grown used to over the past two weeks, suddenly went quiet. She could feel it. The vast ocean of power that should have been hers, locked away. She started crying again from loss.
"It's temporary," Dravin said, lifting her from the altar. His hands were careful, supporting her head properly. "When you're older, when you have better control, I'll remove it. But for now, you're too dangerous."
He carried her back toward the training room. Workers were already there. Mages in dark robes, repairing the damage with magic. The holes in the walls were closing, stone flowing like water to seal the gaps.
Dravin walked past them without comment. Set her down in the center of the room, on the floor, on her stomach.
She looked up at him, confused. What are you doing?
He placed one piece of white chalk in front of her. She stared at it, then at him. ...what?
"This," he said, gesturing to the chalk with one hand while waving the other at the floor, "is your training from now on."
...This is a joke, right?