Training did not begin with power.
It began with denial.
Kael stood knee-deep in a cold stream, arms outstretched, palms open to the sky. Dawn light fractured across the water's surface, bending around his legs like liquid glass. His muscles burned. His breath shook.
"Do not draw," Mask said from the riverbank. "Do not shape. Do not want."
Kael clenched his jaw.
The current pushed against him, steady and unyielding. Magic pulsed beneath the water—faint, tempting, alive. Every instinct screamed at him to reach, to steady himself with power.
He didn't.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
Kael's legs trembled violently.
Elmyra watched from the bank, unease tightening her chest. "This is pointless," she said. "He's suffering for nothing."
Mask did not look away from Kael. "He is suffering for discipline."
Kael's knees buckled.
The water surged—and then stilled.
Not because Kael commanded it.
Because he endured it.
Mask raised a hand. "Out."
Kael stumbled forward, collapsing onto the bank, lungs heaving. Every nerve screamed—but beneath the pain was something else.
Control.
Mask crouched beside him. "Rule one," he said. "Magic answers need, not effort."
Kael nodded weakly.
"Rule two," Mask continued. "You will never practice magic when tired, angry, or afraid."
Elmyra scoffed. "Then when will he use it?"
Mask's voice hardened. "When it matters."
Kael forced himself upright. "And rule three?"
Mask's gaze locked onto his. "You will never use magic in front of witnesses unless I permit it."
Kael frowned. "Why?"
"Because the world is already watching," Mask replied. "You don't need to invite it closer."
---
The Elf Kingdom Reacts
In Lethrien, calm shattered.
The High Circle chamber buzzed with restrained fury as news spread—not rumor now, but confirmation.
A human had cast.
Not instinctively.
Not accidentally.
Trained.
Lord Ithorien slammed his staff against the crystal floor. "This is an insult! Humans stealing magic while our lower castes remain forbidden?"
Vaelthryn rose slowly from her throne. "Magic was not stolen."
"It was taught," Ithorien snapped. "By him."
Murmurs rippled through the chamber.
"The Masked One violates ancient accords," another noble said. "If humans learn magic freely, the balance between kingdoms collapses."
Vaelthryn's eyes narrowed. "Balance is already collapsing."
She turned toward the Mirror of Breath. The image shimmered—Kael standing in the stream, enduring without casting.
Silence fell.
"He is not reckless," Vaelthryn said softly. "That makes him dangerous."
A younger noble leaned forward. "Then we act?"
Vaelthryn hesitated only a moment.
"Send observers," she said. "Not assassins."
Yet.
---
Something Unspoken
That night, Kael sat beside the fire, staring into the flames without reaching for them. His body ached deeply—but his mind was clear in a way it had never been.
Elmyra approached quietly and sat beside him.
"You didn't complain today," she said.
Kael smiled faintly. "I thought about it."
She studied his face, then looked away. "You're changing."
"So you keep saying."
"No," Elmyra replied softly. "I mean… the way you look at things. You're calmer. And that scares me."
Kael turned toward her. The firelight painted her features in warm gold.
"I'm still me," he said.
"For now," she whispered.
Silence stretched.
Then Elmyra spoke again, quieter. "If magic takes the wrong thing from you… promise you'll stop."
Kael wanted to promise.
Instead, he said, "I promise I'll try not to lose you."
Elmyra's breath caught.
She didn't move closer.
But she didn't move away either.
From the shadows beyond the fire, Mask watched without comment.
---
The First Move
They felt it before they saw it.
The forest went still—unnaturally so.
Mask rose instantly. "Down."
Too late.
A bolt of compressed wind tore through the clearing, shattering a tree where Kael had been sitting moments before.
Figures emerged—three of them, cloaked, faces hidden behind dull metal masks etched with unfamiliar symbols.
Not knights.
Not mages.
Hunters.
"Elmyra," Mask said calmly, "do not engage."
The lead figure spoke, voice distorted. "Kael, son of the swordsmith. You're requested."
Kael stepped forward instinctively.
Mask's hand snapped out, gripping his shoulder. "Do not answer."
The figure tilted its head. "The one who took the princess sends regards."
Kael's blood ran cold.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
"A message," the figure replied. "Magic has a price. And you're spending too loudly."
The hunters moved as one.
Mask stepped forward—and the world bent.
Not violently.
Precisely.
The ground fractured in clean lines. Air twisted. Space folded just enough.
The hunters staggered back.
Mask's voice dropped to something ancient. "Leave."
They hesitated—then vanished into smoke and wind.
Silence returned.
Kael stared at Mask. "You said no witnesses."
Mask turned away. "Some rules bend."
Kael clenched his fists.
The kidnapper wasn't hiding anymore.
He was responding.
And that meant the game had changed.
---
End of Chapter 15