The magician's eyes flicked to the group of participants who had just demonstrated their skills. "Then you four, go take your seats with the audience!" His voice rang clear and sharp.
Wax wasted no time. In an instant, he bolted from the podium, sprinting toward the horizon without a word, leaving only the sound of his boots pounding against the earth.
Aelia descended slowly, covering her face with trembling hands. She slipped into the front row, her shoulders hunched in a small, silent surrender.
The audience was watching intently, eyes darting between the participants. Some leaned back in disbelief, their faces contorted in skepticism. Others sat forward, their gazes sharpening, waiting for something monumental. A few whispered in shock, unsure if they were witnessing brilliance—or madness.
Arie was the calmest of them all. With measured grace, she descended from the stage and walked off toward the city, her form soon swallowed by the trees and bushes that lined the path.
The magician stood still for a moment, the weight of their silence pressing in. He tilted his head back, staring up at the sun for a long, contemplative pause. When he finally spoke, his voice was filled with quiet urgency. "We need to move on. Time is running out."
Turning to the two remaining participants, Luna and the tall man, he gestured toward the seats beside him. "Now, come sit."
With a flick of his hand, three chairs appeared beside him, conjured from dark wyrmwood. Their backs were etched with curling runes, the velvet seats humming faintly with dormant magic. Between them stood a table of blackened oak, warm to the touch and inscribed with faded, ancient symbols.
The tall man sat first, settling into his chair with practiced ease. He wore a heavy, weathered coat that fell to his knees. His sharp black eyes gleamed from beneath the shadow of a fedora, his rugged hands betraying years of labor. His dark brown hair curled beneath the brim, tousled by the wind.
Luna, standing beside the chair, hesitated. Her legs were too short to climb.
The magician noticed and smiled, a glint of amusement in his eyes. With a simple flick of his fingers, the chair's legs shrank instantly, bringing the seat to her level.
Luna hopped up, but before she could settle, the legs extended back to their original height. She blinked, a slight frown crossing her face.
Once both were seated, the magician settled into his chair with a sigh of contentment. He turned toward the audience, his smile widening.
"This next part will be a bit educational," he announced, his voice carrying over the gathered crowd. "We're going to show these two how to sense magic—and maybe even cast a bit of it. Feel free to follow along, but I warn you: don't force it."
Some nodded. Others simply leaned in closer, their curiosity piqued.
"What do you think magic is?" the magician asked, fixing his eyes on the tall man.
The tall man thought for a moment, his gaze fixed on the table before him. He leaned forward, his hands folded neatly in front of him.
"To me, magic is a means of solving problems," he began, his voice steady and grounded. "It's an extension of humanity—filling the gaps where our natural abilities fall short. Medicine, for instance. We might eventually cure people using conventional methods—treatments, remedies, science. But the truly dangerous illnesses? The ones that defy our current knowledge? Magic can fix them. It's a tool, a means to an end."
He paused, his gaze turning distant. "But magic, too, has its limits. There are things that neither magic nor science can fix—things like magic backlash, or the consequences of tampering with forces beyond us. That's why magic matters. It's not just a tool—it's a bridge between what is and what could be."
Luna, listening intently, glanced at him. A flicker of sadness passed across her face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. Her eyes returned to the magician, a quiet intensity in them.
"Well said," the magician replied, nodding in approval. "That's a practical view of magic. And you, miss?" He turned to Luna. "What are your thoughts?"
Luna's fingers nervously fidgeted with the sleeve of her dress, her gaze drifting to the silent crowd before returning to the magician. She took a deep breath, her voice soft but unwavering.
"Magic," she said, "is like a story. A story created by people, for people to read."
Her fingers tapped the table lightly, one tap after another, as though each sound was a word in her own tale.
"Sometimes the story is happy. Sometimes it's sad. And sometimes… it's just frustrating."
A few soft chuckles rippled through the crowd, a warm acknowledgment of her innocence. But Luna didn't pause.
"But it's still ours," she continued, her voice firm. "Everyone's. Like a shared story we all forgot we knew."
She looked up at the magician, her eyes clear and steady. "What we choose to do with it—that's the real magic."
The magician's smile softened, his gaze gleaming with approval. "Well said," he murmured, leaning back in his chair. "That's a unique perspective. Most people just see magic as a weapon or a tool for convenience. But you… you see it as something deeper."
He sighed, the weight of his thoughts sinking in. "It's pitiful, really."
The magician clapped his hands together with a sudden burst of energy. "Time to move on. Let's talk about mana."
He turned to the audience. "Anyone who wishes to join us in sensing mana is welcome, but please—proceed with caution."
A hushed understanding swept over the crowd, and they leaned in, waiting for the next part of the lesson.
"Now," the magician said, turning his attention back to Luna and the tall man. "Close your eyes."
Both of them did as instructed. The world around them faded, the sounds of the crowd growing muffled, until there was only silence.
"Mana isn't something you chase," the magician's voice cut through the quiet like a whisper. "It's not a thing to grasp. It's more like… trying to remember the name of a song you heard long ago on a forgotten day. You don't look for it. You let it come to you."
Luna's breath slowed, the soft rhythm of her heartbeat filling her senses. The sounds of the world outside faded, leaving only the faintest echoes. Her chair became a distant memory, the warmth of it fading into the background.
"Now, picture the world as a lake," the magician's voice murmured, calming and steady. "Still and silent. You're standing in it—waist-deep. The water is cold and clear. Beneath the surface, something waits. Not to harm you. Just to be seen."
Luna pictured it—this vast, serene lake. She could feel the cold, the clarity, and the depth of the water. The silence around her was a comfort, an invitation.
"Now reach," the magician said softly. "But don't reach with your hands. Reach with your breath. Let the quiet open a door."
Luna inhaled deeply. And then, she felt it. A shift inside her, as if something deep within her was stirring, waking. There was a flicker, a buzz behind her ribs. The lake inside her mind began to swirl—slowly at first, then with increasing force, spiraling toward her center.
"I… I feel something," Luna whispered, barely more than a breath.
The magician smiled, his eyes gleaming with quiet awe. "Good. Don't try to hold it. Just let it hum, like a name on the tip of your tongue."
Luna's fingers twitched on the table, and the runes carved into the wood pulsed gently in response, as if resonating with her.
Then, with a sudden shift, the waters inside her stilled. The whirlpool slowed, and Luna felt a strange sense of calm. But then—
She was running.
Not with her feet. Through a world of endless oceans, waterfalls cascading from above, and glittering rivers stretching into infinity. She ran through it all, her body weightless, the world a blur of movement and light.
The magician's breath caught. His eyes widened in shock. His lips parted—but no words came.
The audience, seeing the magician's stunned reaction, began to murmur. Some leaned back in disbelief, others sat forward, their eyes locked on Luna, waiting for the next miracle. A few were visibly shocked, unable to tear their gazes away.
What they had witnessed was beyond comprehension. No one—no mage, no scholar—could connect with mana so effortlessly. It took years of rigorous study, countless failures. But Luna had done it without hesitation, as if the current of mana had reached out to her first.
It shouldn't have been possible.
Finally, the magician exhaled slowly, as if he had been holding his breath for far too long. His voice was quiet, almost reverent. "Welcome to the Mana, Luna. You've tapped into the current."