Chapter 26—The Face of Magic

The seventeenth day dawned with a clear sky, but the courtyard felt heavier than usual. The mist had lifted, replaced by sunlight that showed every scuff and crack on the training stones. By now, Raiden had memorized them all—the grooves worn by years of sparring, the pale rings where wards had flared to catch a blow too hard. His body bore the same marks.

But today, two of his usual companions were absent. Tadari had been summoned to a faculty review, and Ophelin had retreated to rest her leg after overexerting the previous day. That left Randall and Grenald to sit on the benches, while Raiden stood across from Liana Ravenwatch.

Ledios and Halia had arrived as well, the siblings leaning on the rail that separated the courtyard from the walkway. Ledios looked expectant, perhaps hoping to find Einfried again, but when told the knight was away on business, he only folded his arms and muttered that he’d make do with watching. Halia, wide-eyed, all but pressed against the rail, her gaze flickering between Liana’s striking silhouette and Raiden’s steady stance.

The duel began much the same as before. Liana conjured fire from bare air, water from nothing, the ground itself splitting to her command. Raiden dodged, parried where he could, staggered when he couldn’t. Grenald’s voice carried quietly to Randall. “Her timing’s perfect. She doesn’t waste an ounce of mana.”

Randall gave a low whistle. “She doesn’t waste a chance to show off, either.” His eyes had strayed again, only to catch Halia glaring at him. He had the grace to look away.

Midway through, when Raiden stumbled upright from a gale that had spun him half around, Liana spoke. “Tell me, Raiden. The rumors say you have elven blood. That you are mixed. Why do you not use magic?”

The question nearly knocked him down more than the spell had. He blinked, panting, sweat running down his jaw. “Because… I can’t.”

The admission silenced even Randall. Grenald leaned forward. Ledios shifted uncomfortably. Halia’s lips parted, then pressed shut.

Liana’s brow furrowed. For the first time, her rhythm faltered. Raiden seized it instinctively, lunging forward, blade raised for a counterstrike. But before he could close the distance, the earth between them surged upward into a solid wall. His blade struck stone, jarring his arms to the elbows. Liana hadn’t even blinked.

Her eyes lingered on him a long moment, thoughtful in a way that unsettled him more than her spells ever had. Then she resumed, unbothered, driving him back until the session ended with another bruise and another round of healing light from her hands.

Ledios exhaled, shaking his head. “Damn good. That’s… something else.”

Beside him, Halia’s eyes shone. “I want to do that one day,” she whispered, almost reverent.

Randall muttered under his breath, “Good luck with the outfit,” earning himself a glare from both Halia and Ophelin’s empty bench.

That night, Raiden lay awake, hearing her question over and over. Why do you not use magic? His answer felt hollow. He wanted to believe it was true—that he simply couldn’t. But the doubt in her eyes lingered like a spark waiting for kindling.

The eighteenth day began differently.

“Sit,” Liana said, gesturing to the courtyard stones instead of lifting her hands to cast.

Raiden obeyed, lowering himself cross-legged. His bruises still throbbed, his ribs ached where the wards had failed to cushion Tadari’s past strikes, but he pushed it aside.

Liana stood before him, arms crossed. “You believe you cannot use magic. I disagree. I spoke with a… colleague, and I believe your inability is not inability at all. It is misdirection. You were never taught correctly. So, we begin again. At the start.”

Randall shifted on the bench, already looking restless. Grenald leaned forward, eyes sharp with curiosity.

Liana began to pace, voice steady. “Magic, at its core, is will imposed upon the world. A living being bends natural law to purpose. This process has been given many names, but here, we will call them the Four Phases. Without them, you have nothing. With them, you can do anything.”

Her gaze fixed on Raiden. “Listen. And remember.”

She raised one finger. “First: Visualization. You must imagine the shape of the phenomenon you wish to create. Not vague wishing. Concrete, precise. Picture it until you can almost feel it in your hands. Without vision, mana has no direction.”

A second finger. “Second: Catalyst. Energy must come from somewhere. Mana within you, blood, enchanted stones, even items ground to ash. Something must be given to receive. Alchemists call this equivalent exchange.”

Grenald nodded. “That’s correct. It’s the same with ice. If I want a blade sharp enough to cut steel, the catalyst must be worth that steel. Energy for energy.”

“Exactly.” Liana lifted a third finger. “Third: Framework. Visualization is the image. Catalyst is the fuel. But you need structure to make the energy take form. Most rely on chants. Others use runes. I use gestures. Framework directs the current, like a river shaped by its banks.”

She paused. Grenald raised his hand. “I inscribe runes in advance. Etched silver, portable. Faster than chanting. Less flexible, but I prefer precision.”

Randall gave him a sideways look. “So that’s your secret.”

Grenald smirked faintly. “Not a secret. Just work.”

Raiden’s mind caught on the word framework. He remembered Tadari’s corrections, Ophelin’s sharp commands, his own habit of copying the way others moved. The idea that he’d always been learning not through words, but through motion—framework of the body—settled into him like a puzzle piece snapping into place.

“Fourth and last,” Liana said, her final finger raising. “Release. The letting go. Mana shaped by framework becomes caged energy. To finish the spell, you must release it. For some, that’s natural. For others, it is the hardest part.”

She lowered her hand. “These four. Vision. Catalyst. Framework. Release. Remember them. Etch them into your bones. They are the pillars of magic. Break one, and the rest collapse.”

The courtyard was silent except for the hum of cicadas in the grass beyond the wall.

Randall broke it with a mutter. “Sounds simple when she says it. Bet it won’t be.”

Liana ignored him. “Close your eyes, Raiden.”

He obeyed.

“Imagine your body as a vessel. A basin for water. Mana is that water. It lies in your center—the stomach, the furnace. It flows with your blood. It bends with your thoughts. Feel for it. Do not force. Just… listen.”

Raiden breathed slow. The sun warmed his face, sweat trickled down his back. He tried to imagine the water, to sense the flow she described. Nothing came. His chest rose and fell, his heart beat. But no surge, no swell of unseen force.

“I don’t feel anything,” he admitted at last, frustration curling in his voice.

Randall leaned back on the bench. “Called it.”

But Liana’s eyes narrowed, watching intently. To her sight, faint swirls gathered around him, so subtle they might have been mistaken for tricks of heat. They twisted, dissipated, then returned, as if something deep within him stirred but refused to surface.

“You feel nothing,” she repeated. “But that does not mean nothing is there.”

Her gaze flicked to Grenald, who frowned, straining as if to sense it himself. After a moment, he shook his head. “Nothing I can feel.”

“Because it is faint,” Liana said. “But it exists.”

The session stretched long. She guided his breathing, his posture, his focus. Each time, he tried, and each time, he failed. Yet each failure brought him closer, a hair’s breadth more aware of something he could not name.

By midday, she drew him to his feet. “Enough. Let us test in motion.”

They sparred. Liana conjured fire and stone, wind and water. Raiden dodged, blocked, endured. He still fell, still bled, still staggered under the bruises. But in the rhythm of her barrage, he noticed something small. A pause between the spells. A half-beat when her focus shifted from one element to another.

It was nothing, barely a flicker. But it was something he hadn’t seen before.

When she healed him after, her hands glowing against his scorched skin, he found himself smiling faintly despite the ache.

“What is it?” she asked, catching the expression.

“I think,” Raiden said, “I finally saw a crack.”

Liana tilted her head, eyes unreadable. Then, to his surprise, she smiled back—just a little.

“Good,” she said. “That means you’re beginning.”