When I got home, I immediately buried myself in Lerach's translation notes on floristics and the herbology of the modern magical world, and didn't hesitate to apparate out for a stack of mundane agronomy books. I understood perfectly well that the nymph had given me this task to extract the maximum benefit for the forest — but why not do it in a way that would benefit me, too?
Her request was a reminder that the world of magic didn't end with the disciplines I'd chosen. I used it as a stimulus, a motivation to expand my horizons. To master the mountain of literature I'd collected, I had to use mind magic: consciousness acceleration, trance for focus, and when my head felt like it would split from the strain, I'd cast healing and keep going. Even so, it took two weeks of hard work.
Ariel's questions I deflected with "just some interesting books." Which was true — I had a pile of adventure novels and fairy tales as cover. She was even pleased that her son was enjoying reading, something she herself had been deprived of. Not that she had much time for me anyway — her exams were looming, and she walked around like a sleepwalker, just as I did.
A few more days went into planning what, exactly, I wanted to achieve.
***
First, what is a magical forest, and why is it called that? Logically, it's a forest where magical plants and animals live. But what makes them different from ordinary ones? The answer: many of them, to varying degrees, use, absorb, or have been changed by large amounts of free ether.
So where does this ether come from, and why is there more of it in magical forests? It's all about ley lines — or, as they're sometimes called, dragon veins. These are channels, visible only with astral sight, that serve as the planet's main arteries, carrying colossal amounts of energy. A single ley line can conduct more energy in a second than I could produce in a year.
In places where these lines come close to the surface, the etheric background increases dramatically, simply from the "radiation." Our forest, for example, is about thirty kilometers long and seventeen wide, stretched west to east, an irregular oval from above. But the ley line only comes close to the surface along a two-kilometer stretch.
My idea was to place anchors along this entire stretch, directly connected to the main channel. The ritual was more tedious than complex — Sumerian mages often used it to power their homes. If it worked, the anchors would draw out and disperse much more energy than the background alone.
I calculated I'd need about fifty such anchors, spaced forty meters apart. The material was obvious: obsidian. Not Frai, but you couldn't do better, and in the mundane world, it's not just easy to buy — it's cheap. The only challenge was getting perfectly round, crack-free stones, but money solved that.
But just sticking anchors everywhere wasn't enough. Animals and plants would likely die or mutate near them — dispersers and converters were needed.
And that's where magical plants came in. Many can absorb, convert, and disperse excess energy as prana and mana, more suitable for living things.
Which species to use? Conifers and shrubs were out — too slow, too small. Large deciduous trees like oak, maple, or poplar would work, but only if I wanted to help flora alone. No, fruit trees were better: they give most of their energy to their fruit, which is why their wood is almost never used for wands. But for me, that was perfect — they'd disperse mana and feed the forest's inhabitants.
That's why I spent so long planning. The tree needed to be powerful, fast-growing, and not deplete the soil. Just as a human starts with conception, a tree starts with a seed.
In floristics, there's a fascinating branch called selection magic, which lets you create an oak with apples or a fir with watermelons — merging seeds and choosing the best traits. I'm nowhere near that level, but there's a ritual that combines seeds, gathering the best characteristics from two related species.
So I collected bags of seeds from ten apple varieties, three of them magical. I selected for productivity, taste, resistance to pests and harsh conditions, and magical properties, then combined them in sequence.
The resulting product I planted in the long-suffering clearing, assigned a number, and hit with every growth and improvement spell I knew from herbology and floristics. I also used various fertilizers.
The specimen under time acceleration charms and with dragon dung fertilizer won by a landslide. I then selected a set of charms that didn't conflict and improved the tree's characteristics without harm.
This took another month, and by summer, fifty smooth black obsidian spheres, forty centimeters in diameter, with the necessary runes, were ready in my expanded-space bags. The control group of a hundred seeds, fused from forty varieties, promised even better results.
***
Then came the tedium: approach the marked point, dig a circular pit a meter deep and four across, transfigure a ritual stone circle at the bottom, check the symbols, place the sphere in the central recess, fill the ritual with mana, and wait. If it worked, meditate to restore energy and move on. If not, repeat.
This took another two weeks, and I was so exhausted that my nous leveled up by ten percent just from the constant depletion and refilling of my reserves.
I thought it would get easier from there. Ha. First, I had to banish salt from the earth, leaving only fertile soil. Fortunately, the etheric background had increased, making recovery easier. Then I filled the pits with black earth mixed with dragon dung. With charms, it was monotonous but not hard.
Next, I planted the seeds, layering on a complex of charms. Every day, I had to check all fifty, renew the spells, and water them. Only by the end of summer did I finish, when the saplings were strong enough to absorb mana on their own.
I used certain charms from herbology, floristics, and time magic so often that I could cast them almost instantly, and wand-based ones no longer needed a focus or words. But I regretted nothing — these six months gave me more than I'd hoped: knowledge, experience, and strength.
Over time, the influence of my saplings would spread to the whole forest — including the veela coven. And the apples! I don't even know what kind they'll be, since the trees are constantly fed with mana I couldn't provide in my experiments.
***
I looked at my fifty saplings — my creation, raised with my own hands and effort — and felt a deep sense of accomplishment. Fireballs, flying brooms, animated jewelry boxes? No, this was real magic, something that would remain even if I died, unless I became immortal or left this world.
"Admiring the fruits of your labor?" came a melodious voice. I turned to see the nymph, who had approached without a sound. She placed her palm on one of the apple trees, listening.
"You could have just planted seeds and left them. My request would have been fulfilled. Why did you come every day and care for them?"
"Because they're my creation. I put so much work and effort into them, it would have been sacrilege to just abandon them," I answered after a moment's thought.
"Well, you fulfilled my request, so I'll help you as promised." With a wave of her hand, a bud formed on a branch, blossomed, and almost immediately dropped its petals. A golden fruit swelled and ripened in seconds. She picked it and took a bite.
"Tasty apples. Not bad work, youth."
"Wait, what if I'd done something trivial? Just planted saplings and left — would you still have helped me?" I asked, watching the apple disappear, its core falling to the ground and sprouting instantly.
"Of course. I keep my word. But can a mage who settles for little achieve greatness?"
It seems I'd been played.
"That's unlikely. So, what should I do now?" I asked after a pause.
"First, listen and hear. And if you understand, that's wonderful. I'll start by saying I received knowledge of yoga from a man… many winters ago. So I don't understand some things myself — I'm not human. But I'll sense if you're doing something wrong and guide you."
So, yoga isn't about strengthening the body — that's just a side effect. The main goal is self-knowledge, understanding your soul and the world, to achieve enlightenment, escape the cycle of reincarnation, and move to the next level of being. In practice, very few ever reach that level.
There are two types of meditation in yoga: external and internal. The first is directed at the world, the second at oneself.
"Do you want to ask something?" the nymph asked.
"Yes," I said. "Which meditation is more important?"
"I'll answer with a question: which half of your body is more important, right or left?" I understood — I'm not a fool. A fool wouldn't have.
"Sorry, that was a stupid question," I replied.
"Better to seem foolish and ask than stay silent and remain ignorant. Through others, you know yourself; through yourself, others. Using only one, you'll get what you want, but using both, you'll get what you need.
I'll continue. Meditation must always be directed at something — your body, your soul, a bird in the forest, or even a thought or idea. You must clearly imagine what you want to achieve.
Take your example — you were probably disappointed by your small progress, but you can't be blamed. You certainly don't lack persistence. You just didn't understand what you wanted. Abstract 'strength' of the body, without understanding what exactly you want to strengthen and by how much — that's like a blind man wandering in the dark.
You already know internal meditation, and with my hint, you'll find your path. But today, I'll teach you external meditation." She beckoned me to my apple tree.
"Try to feel yourself as the tree. Since you grew it, you won't find a better conductor."
"All right," I said, sitting in lotus position and leaning against the trunk. I felt the rough bark at my back and a surge of ether passing through me.
"External meditation doesn't focus on internal feelings — they get in the way, and you must cut them off. When you succeed, imagine the tree in your mind, concentrate on it, become it."
I listened to the nymph's voice until it faded. I felt nothing, as if I'd died again. Then I remembered her guidance and pictured the apple tree in my mind. With my near-perfect memory and daily care, I could imagine it down to the last leaf.
How long I sat, I don't know. Suddenly, it was as if a switch flipped, and I became the tree. I "saw" not with eyes but with aura, felt with bark, sensed warmth and sunlight through my leaves. Water and nutrients rose through my roots. In their center, the roots cradled a sphere — hot, but filled with pleasant energy.
And my creator leaned against my trunk — the one who grew me from a seed, toward whom my branches reached in gratitude, though I was still too weak. And beside the creator stood the mistress of the forest, before whom all bowed…
My thoughts grew vague, and I was torn from the vision.
"Not bad for a first time, but it was dangerous. You almost became a tree and lost yourself. Next time, I might not be here, so you must learn to exit meditation yourself."
I came to lying on my back, lungs burning from lack of air, gasping. When I recovered and wanted to try again, she said:
"When you entered meditation, I felt your soul is burdened," she said thoughtfully.
"How so?" I asked, confused.
"Suppressed feelings, hidden vices, guilt, shame, lies — all these weigh on the soul and hinder growth. Before you continue, you must let them go."
"How?"
"Find it, find the burden on your soul, and wash it away, let it go. Every rational being has such a burden, and with age it only grows heavier. This time, I'll help you."
I sat in lotus position again and focused on my soul. I felt nothing — until a gentle hand touched my solar plexus and everything went dark.
***
"Dad, everything's fine, I'm just on academic leave," — the scene with my father appeared. I was nineteen, expelled from university for absences and failing exams due to drinking and partying. I lied to my father, saying everything was fine.
"I'll return in a year and continue, I just need to figure myself out."
"Of course, son," he said, coughing hard, but I didn't pay attention. I didn't realize then he had lung cancer.
He looked at me with warmth and love. "I believe you."
Now I know he understood everything, but said nothing. He didn't want to quarrel before his death, wanted me to be happy. If I hadn't been such a fool, I might have noticed. That same year, he died, and everything was cut off for me.
I was overwhelmed with shame, unworthy of his trust. While he suffered, I drank, smoked, and chased girls at parties. Only after his death did I get my act together and start studying like mad.
The shame for not justifying his trust, for my lies, for never saying goodbye — it was still deep in my heart. But now I understood: my father would be proud of me. Everything I achieved in my past life was what he wanted for me — to find myself and be happy.
My soul felt lighter, and the scene changed.
***
"Miranda, I love you, will you be my girlfriend?"
I'm fourteen, in love for the first time. She was the class beauty, and half the boys in school were in love with her. Only I was foolish enough to confess — and publicly, at that.
"Have you seen yourself? A boy with an unpronounceable name. Get lost and don't embarrass me, idiot."
She was a real piece of work. She preferred rich older men, thought herself the center of the universe. Later, I learned she became a single mother after being lied to by some guy.
When I found out, I gloated. After all, she'd made me the school laughingstock. But as I grew up, I realized I was just as much to blame for approaching her. Only a complete fool — which I was — couldn't have predicted her reaction.
There's no point holding childhood grudges, much less rejoicing in others' misfortune. The scene shifted again, and I saw…
***
…Ariel. This wasn't a memory, but my fear and guilt. She accused me of deceiving her, using her, forcing her to give birth to me, of performing untested rituals on her without her knowledge, of pretending to be her son all these years.
I thought I'd redeemed myself, but no — the guilt had just gone underground. I approached and hugged this image, and it melted away. I realized I couldn't free myself from this burden until I received forgiveness from Ariel herself.
But this burden keeps me from sliding into darkness, from using everyone around me for my own ends. It doesn't drag me down — it reminds me to seek better solutions, to become better.
If I confess, only I will feel better, and it will only complicate things with Ariel, who won't know how to relate to me. She won't abandon me, but I won't lighten her burden — only make it heavier. Sometimes, a lie is better than the truth.
I accepted this burden. The scene changed for the last time.
***
A huge mass of black energy rushed at me, like an inevitable disaster. I knew it was my fear of Gaunt, welded into me.
"So I found you, muggle. Now you will suffer incredible torments, and when you die, I'll seal your soul and torture it for centuries!"
I'd thought about this for a long time. My constant training was because of him, the fear that Gaunt would find and kill me — this time, forever. I knew he'd deceived me first, that he was rotten to the core. I'd destroyed what he considered priceless, and he'd never let me live.
How many times had I woken from nightmares, drenched in sweat? But now… I was grateful to him. He brought me the book that made me a mage. He gave me the drive to grow that I could never have maintained on my own.
Fear shouldn't cloud the mind — it's needed for survival, to mobilize all resources. My fear helped me survive. The image vanished.
***
I woke up near evening, alone. The nymph was gone, and no matter how I called, she didn't come. I understood — she had fulfilled her promise and owed me nothing more.
Getting up, I apparated closer to the village and trudged home.
***
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