The morning sun filtered gently through the forest canopy as Lyra stirred from her rest. The air smelled of moss and mist, crisp with the promise of something new. Her body ached faintly from the travel, but her mind was alert—eager.
"Noxy," she said aloud, stretching her arms overhead. "You said you'd teach me my first spell today. I'm ready."
"Good. Then we begin with the basics," Noxy replied. Her voice came soft but clear within Lyra's mind. "And for that, we use the Language of Nature. Before you can master any other tongue, you must walk where all mages begin."
Lyra nodded, her anticipation rising. She settled beside a moss-covered stump, pulling out her notebook and charcoal.
"Your first spell is simple in purpose, but not in execution," Noxy continued. "It's a cleansing spell—used to draw moisture from the air and wash the body. It is a test of pronunciation, visualization, and will."
Lyra blinked. "…Wait. That's it? A cleaning spell?"
"Yes."
"But I thought… I don't know, something with fireballs? Or at least a spark? This sounds like laundry magic."
"And yet laundry is essential," Noxy replied dryly. "So is hygiene. And control. If you cannot master this, you are not ready for anything greater."
"Ugh, fine," Lyra muttered, grabbing her charcoal again. "Just… don't expect me to be excited about scrubbing myself magically."
Noxy spoke the chant slowly so Lyra could write it down:
"Sylmira ven arasil."
"Sylmira ven… arasil," Lyra repeated, but her tongue stumbled over the second word.
"Again. Slowly. Let the syllables flow, not stutter."
Lyra practiced for several minutes, fumbling her way through the pronunciation. Her first attempt at casting the spell resulted in a sputter of light and a damp patch of moss.
"I think I forgot to picture it," Lyra admitted, frustrated. "I just said the words."
"Words without intention are hollow. You must see the spell. Feel the water gather, feel it wash over you. Let your mind shape its form."
She closed her eyes. She imagined the air condensing into drops, weaving together into a stream. Then she tried again:
"Sylmira ven arasil!"
Nothing happened.
Lyra sighed, dropping her head in her hands. "Why is this so hard? I thought magic would be more… instinctive. Flashy. I've read too many stories."
"You have no natural gift," Noxy said calmly. "Which means you must learn it all from scratch. Every chant, every step. But that also means you will understand it more deeply than most."
Rather than falter, Lyra gritted her teeth. She sat down cross-legged, closed her eyes again, and focused. Over and over, she practiced the chant, letting the image of cleansing water take clearer shape in her mind.
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Time passed. Minutes, then hours. The forest swayed quietly around her, a hush of old trees bearing witness to her struggle.
Finally, when her voice had grown hoarse and her thoughts sharpened like a blade—she spoke the words again.
"Sylmira ven arasil."
This time, a gentle rush of coolness swept over her skin. Her body felt lighter, cleaner—her dirt and sweat washed away by a current of invisible water. Her eyes flew open in wonder.
Then she staggered slightly, her breath catching in her throat.
"Whoa… that felt weird. Like something left me."
"It did," Noxy said. "That was your mana."
"Mana… so that's the price?"
"Yes. All magic requires something in return. In this case, the energy came from within you. Your mana is the fuel for all spells. Each tongue—each language—demands a different amount. If you try to use a tongue that's beyond your mana capacity, your body will break before the spell finishes."
"So that's why people can't just learn every type of magic easily?"
"Correct. Everyone in this world possesses mana, which is why anyone can learn magic. But what varies is the capacity they hold and how fast it regenerates. Those born with greater reserves or faster recovery are often called 'gifted.'"
"Can I increase mine?"
"Yes. Through constant training—draining your mana repeatedly with spells—you can slowly expand your capacity and strengthen your regeneration. There are also herbs and potions that help speed the process. And exposure to areas with dense ambient mana, like this forest, especially its deeper parts, will also accelerate your growth."
"So just being here helps me get stronger?"
"Exactly. But it also puts a strain on your body. That's why learning to adapt is essential."
Lyra absorbed the explanation in silence, watching the faint steam rise from her skin where the cleansing spell had worked.
"Okay… maybe that was kind of amazing."
"And functional."
She stood, stretching again and turning slowly beneath the trees. Her skin tingled from the magic, and for the first time, she felt like she had truly crossed a threshold.
But their lesson did not continue.
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As they followed the trail deeper into the forest, the air began to change. It felt thicker—richer, but also heavier. Breathing took more effort. The wind carried a strange weight in it, and even the leaves shimmered faintly with unseen energy.
"The ambient mana here is denser," Noxy murmured. "It's not dangerous, but it will take some time for your body to adapt. The deeper the forest, the greater the saturation. That's what makes this place… special."
"It's so hard to breathe," Lyra said, pressing a hand to her chest. "But also… kind of exhilarating."
"That's a normal reaction when suddenly exposed to high density of mana. Let it settle. You will grow stronger for enduring it."
Lyra continued forward, step by step, until the effort began to fade. Her lungs adjusted, and her steps regained steadiness. The trees were older here, their bark marked with ancient glyphs and twisted growths. The light dimmed as the canopy thickened, until day felt like dusk.
"We've finally reached it," Noxy whispered. "The deeper part of the forest. The boundary between the known and the forgotten."
Lyra stopped walking and stared ahead. Something pulsed faintly in the distance—a pressure, not sound. A sense of memory older than words.
Her training had only just begun.
And yet, the forest had already begun to change her.