One day, when Amukelo finished his shift, he and Pao met near the well — the one by the inn's side, where the shade of a weather-beaten oak tree gave relief from the midday sun. Amukelo had just finished a round of half-hearted sparring with Bral, who, after barely breaking a sweat, decided it was the perfect time for a nap. Pao walked up. "Hey, Amu…" she said with a grin, brushing a loose strand behind her ear.
Amukelo wiped sweat from his brow, looked up, and met her gaze. "What's up?"
Her eyes lit up a bit more. "Do you remember when we talked about mana before meeting Ulhem?"
He tilted his head slightly, thinking. "Yeah, you told me I'd start training once we left this cursed region. But… I guess you were thinking what I was thinking." He smirked, straightening up. "I was actually about to ask if we could start."
Pao's smile stretched ear to ear. "You really want to begin now?"
He nodded. "Yeah. There's not much else to do, and we've got time. Might as well do something useful while we wait."
She beamed at him. "Then let's find a quiet spot. It'll need focus — and no distractions."
They both glanced around. The outpost was busy, and the inn too loud. The best place they could think of that would be peaceful enough for something as delicate as mana training was the library. Though it wasn't heavily used, the structure was clean and well kept, with shelves that held old records, scriptures, manuals, and some local texts.
They slipped inside. A handful of people milled about: a young soldier flipping through a dusty tactics manual, an old clerk half-asleep with a quill in his hand. No one paid them any mind.
Pao led the way toward the back corner, to a cozy reading nook with cushioned benches and an arched window that spilled warm sunlight onto the floor. There were no real books back there — just a place for those who wanted to sit quietly and think.
As they sat, Amukelo took a deep breath and let his eyes sweep the quiet space. "What a perfect place," he muttered. "For antisocial people like us."
Pao shot him a mock stern look, hands on her hips. "It's called a learning environment, Amu. Otherwise, people like you wouldn't be able to concentrate."
Amukelo chuckled. "Yes, yes, I'm a lost cause without silent corners and smarter people near me."
She grinned. "That's the spirit."
Then she adjusted herself, turned to face him fully, and tapped her finger on her lap. "Alright, then. Are you ready?"
Amukelo nodded. "More than ever."
Pao folded her legs beneath her and leaned forward a bit, smile playful but focused. "Good. So — first test. Tell me what you remember from what I taught you."
Amukelo blinked. "You want a quiz?"
"Absolutely."
He rubbed the back of his head, then took a breath and began, "Okay… mana. Mana is in everyone. Everything. Like air, but way cooler."
He continued, "It circulates through our bodies like blood. Even people who never awaken it have it — and it actually helps them too. You told me it boosts recovery, keeps people healthier without them even knowing."
Pao crossed her arms, nodding slowly.
Amukelo pressed on, his brow furrowing as he tried to recall more. "There are two big categories of using mana. Magic, which is pulling it from inside yourself. And runecraft, which taps into the mana in the environment to make things happen."
Her eyes glinted at that.
"And mana's not easy to restore. It's tied to rest. That's why mages can be completely drained if they push too hard without stopping. Even if they wait, if they don't rest, the mana doesn't come back."
Pao tilted her head a bit, clearly pleased.
"And, uh," Amukelo scratched his chin, "if you overuse it by fighting or training, it can be good. Like a muscle. Makes you stronger, bigger pool. But if you lose mana because of something draining you — like healing potions — then that can decrease your mana reserves. It can be hard to restore, maybe even permanent."
Now Pao smiled fully, lips pressed together, head bobbing slowly.
"That's why mana-draining enemies are such a pain," she added.
Amukelo said hesitantly. "Ughh... yeah."
There was a silence after that. Amukelo said everything he remembered. For a moment he sat there awkwardly.
Pao finally spoke. "You… remember most of the things."
Amukelo gave a small shrug. "I tried. I guess it stuck."
Her serious expression shifted into one of joy, and she bounced slightly in her seat. "Amu, that's more than most students with noble schools remember."
From a nearby table, an old librarian whispered sharply, "Shhh! This is a library!"
Pao ducked her head with a sheepish smile, and whispered, "Sorry."
Then she leaned in close to Amukelo and said, almost too softly, "I'm really proud of you. It means you listened. And it means you care."
He smiled gently back. "I had the best teacher."
Pao smiled warmly. For a moment they just sat there in silence, until Pao eventually broke it.
"Okay, so the first thing you'll need to learn," she began, "is how to actually feel mana. That's step one. It might sound simple, but it's actually one of the hardest things for people who've never worked with it."
Amukelo nodded slowly. "Alright… so how do I do that? I just try to feel mana around me?"
She smiled and held back a laugh, "Haha! That won't be so easy."
He tilted his head, confused. "What do you mean?"
Pao raised a finger, as if giving a mini-lecture. "Mana is like air — always there, all around us. You're breathing it in now. It's even moving through you. But just like air, you don't really notice it until something about it changes."
Amukelo furrowed his brow. "Like… when there is wind?"
"Exactly," Pao said. "With air, your skin helps you feel temperature or the wind blowing. But with mana… there's no skin. You don't have a natural 'mana sense.' You weren't born to feel it. So it's more like your bloodstream."
She leaned back slightly and tapped her chest. "Think about it. You don't feel your blood pumping unless something's seriously wrong. You don't feel it clotting. It just… works. You were never taught to notice it. That's how mana is too — it flows through you, but unless you train yourself, you'll never know what that even feels like."
Amukelo was quiet for a moment, processing that. "So… you're saying trying to feel mana is like trying to feel my blood moving?"
Pao nodded. "Exactly. That's why it's so hard to learn this on your own. You're trying to use a sense you don't really have."
He sighed. "Well, that sounds fun…"
Pao laughed again, gently this time, and said, "That's why most new mages or people who want to awaken their mana… they don't do it alone. They train with someone."
She held out her hand then — palm up. "Because I can do this."
Amukelo looked at her hand; there was nothing, no sound, no flash of light, just her hand.
Pao continued, her voice softer now. "I'm pushing a strong, concentrated amount of mana out into the space right in front of you. More than you'd normally feel in the environment. For a trained mage, this is like a wind tunnel. It causes a disturbance — something your own body might start to pick up on."
Amukelo frowned, squinting like he was trying to see it. "I feel… absolutely nothing."
Pao let out a slow breath and chuckled. "That's normal. Don't worry."
He looked back at her. "So… what? I just keep sitting here until something feels weird?"
Pao nodded again, patient. "Pretty much, yeah. But it's not about forcing yourself to feel something. Think about it like this — what would happen to your other senses?"
"They would sharpen," Amukelo said slowly, piecing it together.
"Exactly," Pao said, eyes lighting up. "You'd take away sight, focus all your energy on your ears. That's why we're here — the silence, the soft seating, no one to interrupt. It's about cutting off as many other sensations as possible, so that you can train your body to notice something it's always ignored."