Jon returned to the living room table, still hearing in the distance the calm rhythm of Elara's breathing within the magic circle. He picked up a quill, ink, and a block of smooth parchment. The room was silent, broken only by the distant bubbling of water in the bathtub and the faint hum of the concentration matrix. He took a deep breath and began to write, unhurriedly, but with a clarity he rarely afforded himself.
'The people around me need to improve. If I'm not around, I want them to have real tools, for their safety.'
The first lines were born as a preface, but became a map. He wasn't going to reveal dangerous secrets; he was going to deliver fundamentals. A way of seeing the world that few in Aeloria possessed.
Jon dipped the quill and traced: water. He drew a small triangle with vertices marked H, H, and O. Below it, he wrote in firm letters: H₂O.
'Water is not just an "element"; it's an arrangement. Two parts hydrogen, one part oxygen. The droplet obeys forces of attraction between molecules, bonds that touch like hands. In magic, when we say "water control," in practice we guide how these hands hold, push away, or vibrate.'
He noted that ice doesn't appear "out of nowhere," but rather when molecules arrange themselves into a network. Liquid water dances; ice stacks the dance into rigid patterns. To produce ice, it's not enough to "invoke cold"; one must remove kinetic energy (particle speed) and induce order.
'Magic = energy bridge. Mana acts as a catalyst: it decreases the effort needed for transformation to happen. In simple terms, it reduces the activation barrier. If the mana matrix orders the arrangement, freezing occurs cleanly, with fewer fissures.'
He smiled faintly, remembering the ice blade he had plunged into the goblin chief. He wrote an exercise: condense a single drop of vapor above the palm, then remove energy until it crystallizes without cracking. Repeat a hundred times. Failures teach more than successes.
He moved on to fire. He opened a space and noted: fuel + O₂ → heat + light + products. He remembered words no one there used: combustion, oxidation, exoenergetic.
'Fire is reaction. It needs three things: fuel, oxygen, and ignition. Air is about one-fifth oxygen. Wind feeds the flame because it delivers new O₂ to hot surfaces. If we separate, with mana, whirlwinds that bring pure oxygen to the spark, the fire is born aggressive and stable.'
Jon detailed how to create ignition without friction: differentiate charges in the air, "charge" a point with excess electrical mana until the air loses its resistance and the path becomes a lightning bolt. The spark is the match; the air and torch oil are the kindling.
"Isolating flammable gases increases efficiency," he murmured, noting that swamps release vapors that burn easily. In Aeloria, the "volatile ether" of certain herbs played the role of quick gas. It was enough to guide it with a wind funnel and ignite it.
He turned the page and wrote in larger letters: air. He remembered his physics professor on Earth, a blackboard, and a simple formula.
'Pressure = Force / Area. Compressing air with mana increases local pressure; upon escaping, it cuts. This is the basis of the wind blade. It's not a blade because "the element desires"; it's because a very narrow, pressurized corridor wounds as it expands.'
He noted a drill: lift a sheet of paper three paces away and cut it with a jet of wind without trembling. Then, increase the distance and reduce mana expenditure with each attempt.
He made a small vortex diagram. Spiral arrows and notes: "low pressure region in the center," "edges with high shear." Alongside, a warning: large vortices require stabilization; use two in opposite directions to neutralize unwanted torsion.
The quill slid to lightning. Jon wrote about potential difference, saltwater conductivity, and how vapor helps ionize the path in the air.
'To "pull" lightning, offer a track. Raise a column of vapor between you and the target, sprinkle salt with mana to increase conduction, then deposit charge at the top. The air yields, the lightning descends the track. Remember: lightning is hungry; give it a safe route or you will be the meal.'
Earth came next. He didn't pretend to know all the local mineralogy, but he left a principle: crystalline structures vibrate at frequencies. If mana imparts an oscillation that matches the resonance, fissures are born like ice in the sun.
'It's not "breaking rock with force," it's singing the right note until the crystal gives up being whole.'
At the bottom, a safety chart. He wrote almost like a sermon, but maintained his coolness: do not test fire in enclosed rooms; do not use lightning without an escape route; never freeze something inside your own body; do not compress air near the ears.
'If they understand the logic, they will create their own variations. That's the idea.'
He interspersed small tasks for each discipline: heat a drop until it turns to vapor without bubbling; cool a thread of water into snow without turning it into solid ice; light a candle with an electric snap, not a flame; slice a thin log with only wind; crack a pebble by resonance without touching it.
He closed the last paragraph with a personal note.
'Magic is not a miracle. It is language. The world responds better when you speak clearly. If the concept is clear in the mind, mana finds its way with less waste.'
He stopped, twirled the quill between his fingers, and looked at the door. He thought of Elara, Elija, Serena, Nortis. He thought of Riverwood and the academy, of Nolan clenching his fists.
'If this circulates, half the academy advances a year in a month. It's a risk… but it's better than leaving them in the dark.'
Jon blew on the ink, aligned the sheets, and added a simple index. "H₂O and ice," "Fire and oxygen," "Air and pressure," "Lightning and conduction," "Earth and resonance," "Exercises." He stood up, stretched his shoulders, and allowed himself a sip of water.
"Ready," he whispered to himself, putting away the manuscript. "Now, when I'm not here, may the answers find those who need them."
On the other side of the wall, the magic circle vibrated like a calm heart, and Jon felt that, for the first time, he wasn't just getting stronger. He was building solid ground for everyone.
Jon hadn't noticed when the door opened softly. Elara, already awake from meditation. Still a little wobbly on her legs and her body vibrating with energy, she stopped at the entrance, holding the doorframe with both hands.
Her eyes were teary, not from fatigue, but from the flood of emotions the pill had caused her. The wave of mana still pulsed in her veins, alive like newly kindled fire, and her heart fluttered confusedly.
She said nothing. She just watched Jon from behind, completely focused, leaning over the parchment. The muscles in his shoulders were still tense from the effort of his morning run and incessant training. The contrast between the fatigue in his body and the intensity in his mind made her press her lips together, unable to hide the warmth rising in her chest.
Tears finally overflowed, silently streaming down her cheeks. She quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand, but the smile remained.
"You're impossible, Jon…" she murmured softly, but her voice never reached him.
She remained there, motionless, just watching, as if afraid to break the scene if she took a false step. For Elara, that moment was more precious than any treasure.