Akira's breathing was ragged, sweat beading across his brow as he pushed himself upright. His limbs felt like molten lead — every muscle aching, skin tingling with leftover sparks of mana. Even the air seemed thick with the weight of unshaped power.
The Archmage stepped back, observing him with sharp, calculating eyes. No laughter remained.
"That power inside you," he said slowly, "is both miracle and curse. Unshaped mana is like wildfire — magnificent from afar, but destructive up close. And if mishandled, it devours its master."
Akira swallowed, throat dry. "Then… how do I control it?"
The Archmage raised a hand and, with a simple gesture, summoned a thin line of shimmering energy between his fingers — like a thread of pure starlight. It danced, twisting lazily in the air, as if alive.
"You do not wrestle with mana. You guide it," he explained. "Like threading a needle… within your own body. But you must be patient. Impatience makes mana bite."
Akira's eyes narrowed in concentration. "That sounds… painful."
"Oh, it will be," the Archmage replied with a grin far too excited for Akira's comfort.
Before Akira could protest, the Archmage placed two fingers lightly against his chest. A soft surge — firm, insistent, but controlled — flowed through him.
"Stand. Close your eyes," the Archmage instructed.
Akira obeyed. Darkness enveloped him. His own heartbeat echoed loud and uneven in his ears.
"Now… breathe. Not with your lungs — with your mana."
Akira tried to sense it again — the warmth. It flickered… then pulsed faintly, teasing him.
"Do not choke it," the Archmage warned. "Mana responds to emotion. Let your mind empty — no fear, no doubt. Think of it as a river, not a raging inferno."
Akira inhaled slowly. The warmth steadied. Again. Smoother this time. He felt it traveling… winding through channels inside his body he never knew existed.
"You feel it?" the Archmage asked.
"…Yes," Akira whispered, surprised by how delicate yet tangible it felt.
"Good. Now guide it to your arm — only a single stream."
Akira focused… but the mana surged too fast.
The floor cracked beneath his feet.
"Slowly!" the Archmage barked. "You are not throwing a punch. You are moving water through a pipe — not blasting it through walls."
Akira exhaled, trembling. He tried again — gentler this time. Warmth crawled down his shoulder… into his right arm… then paused at his wrist.
"It's stuck," Akira muttered.
"Because you are doubting," the Archmage replied. "Mana halts when its master hesitates. Decide what you want — then command it."
Akira clenched his jaw — and the warmth flowed again, pooling in his palm. A faint glow sparked between his fingers — weak, unstable, but real.
Akira opened his eyes, staring in disbelief. "I… I did it!" he grinned.
The Archmage casually snapped his fingers — poof — the light vanished.
Akira's smile died. "…Why would you do that?"
The Archmage arched a brow. "If you can only do it while I'm babysitting your mana, then congratulations — you've mastered nothing."
Akira squinted at him. "You could just say 'good job' like normal people."
"Normal people cannot bend the fundamental forces of the world," he replied. "We do not do encouragement."
Akira crossed his arms. "I bet you don't do friends either."
"I have a very fulfilling relationship with my books," the Archmage sniffed.
Akira sighed. "Okay, fine. So what now?"
"Do it again," the Archmage said.
"Do what again?"
"Magic."
"That's not helpful!"
"It wasn't meant to be."
The Archmage stepped back dramatically, folding his arms behind his back like some ancient theater actor.
Akira inhaled deeply. Feel the mana… call it… Nothing. He tried again. Nothing.
He clenched his fists, frustration coiling tighter than his muscles. "Why isn't this stupid magic working?!"
"Because," the Archmage said, deadpan, "you are trying to strangle it like a chicken. Mana is elegant. Respectful. Graceful."
Akira glared. "I'll respect it after it respects me first."
"Ah yes," the Archmage deadpanned, "classic negotiation tactic: threaten the invisible energy that keeps you alive."
Akira shut his eyes, planted himself in a perfect lotus position, and forced himself to calm every muscle. Every stray thought. Every lingering fear.
Slowly… the warmth pulsed faintly inside him… drifting toward his palm… Light flickered—but sputtered out like a sad candle.
Akira opened one eye. "…It died."
"Yes," the Archmage replied cheerfully. "Just like your concentration."
Akira groaned. "I swear I felt it! I almost had it!"
"Almost is the favorite word of failures everywhere," the Archmage said, patting his shoulder with mock sympathy.
Akira gave him a dead stare. "You're really bad at this teacher thing."
"And you," the Archmage countered, "are really bad at this student thing."
He lifted a hand, sending a gentle flow of mana toward Akira. The warmth surged again — stronger, easier to grasp. Light flickered back into Akira's palm.
"Oh! There it is!" Akira brightened.
"Yes," the Archmage nodded. "Because I am helping you. If I stop—"
The light instantly vanished. Akira stared at his empty palm.
"…You did that on purpose."
"I merely removed training wheels," the Archmage shrugged. "You immediately crashed into a magical ditch."
Akira clenched his jaw. "Can't you just let me succeed once!?"
"Oh, you will," the Archmage said with a wise, unhelpful smile. "Eventually. Possibly before the sun explodes."
Akira buried his face in his hands. "I'm gonna be stuck here forever…"
"Exactly!" the Archmage said proudly.
"That wasn't a compliment!"
Akira rubbed his temples. "Do you get some sort of magical joy from this?"
"Oh yes," the Archmage said cheerfully. "Unlimited joy."
He stomped to the center of the hall, dropped to the floor, crossed his legs, and shut his eyes tight.
The Archmage blinked. "What are you doing?"
"I'm gonna do this myself," Akira muttered through clenched teeth. "No distractions."
Akira shut everything else out — the echoing hall, the Archmage's expectant stare, his own lingering fear.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
The warmth didn't surge or burn this time — it flowed. Soft. Controlled. His heartbeat steadied, syncing with the pulse of energy moving through him. That faint glow spread from his chest to his arms, reaching his fingertips like a gentle stream.
The Archmage watched — eyes narrowing in sharp attention.
"Yes…" he murmured. "Guide it. Do not let it guide you."
Akira raised his hand slowly, palm open. A small sphere of shimmering light formed just above his skin — not wild fire, not chaotic heat… but calm, pure mana.
His eyes opened. For the first time… he wasn't scared.
"I… I did it," he whispered, stunned.
The orb shimmered brighter — responding to his confidence instead of fear.
The Archmage stepped closer, voice quiet but firm:
"Remember this feeling, Akira. Mana is alive. It reflects you. Rage births chaos… but willpower shapes miracles."
Akira nodded, breath trembling — but with excitement, not panic. The light hovered perfectly still. No shaking. No cracking stone. No whispers in his skull. Just control.
The Archmage placed a gentle hand behind his back — not to support, but to acknowledge the accomplishment.
"You took your first true step as a mage," he said.