The night's rain had passed. Mhari stood in the isolated clearing, dressed in simple clothes, the mask of the cheerful neighbor completely discarded.
"The rules are simple, Lith," she commanded, her voice sharp and serious. "First, no one sees this. Second, the City is not the reward for being strong. It is the reward for absolute control."
Lith, dressed like a small, determined warrior, nodded once. "I understand, Mama."
"Good. We begin with concealment. Your aura is loud, Lith. It's like ringing a bell in an empty hall. Any mana-sensitive person within a kilometer can feel that raw power, even when you sleep." Mhari didn't soften the explanation; the danger was real. "We must train you to seal it yourself, to make it silent."
Mhari raised her hand, and the atmosphere in the clearing shifted m a soft, vibrant hiss filled the air—pure, compressed Life Mana, Mhari's specialty, directed like a laser. "I will apply pressure to your core. Your job is to suppress it faster than I can push."
WHUMMP!
Mhari released a controlled wave of energy. It felt like a heavy cloak of compressed steel crushing his core, forcing the volatile wind mana to churn violently inside him. It was a suffocating sensation designed to force surrender.
"Seal it!" Mhari commanded, her tone unforgiving. "Find the lock and turn the key! Do not let it surge and expose you!" Lith gritted his teeth, the invasive pressure agonizing.
The Beastfolk. The sneer. Must be unseen.
He focused inward, ignoring the stinging pain and the instinct to fight back. He wanted silence. He forced his chaotically, powerful mana to obey his cold, absolute will.
SHNNK.
The heavy pressure Mhari applied suddenly met an unyielding wall of silence. Lith had successfully tucked his aura away by a sheer, absolute act of mental command. Mhari lowered her hand.
Seven years old. Instantaneous repression. He's terrifying efficient.
"Again," she said, her voice steel. "We will do this until your breath is quieter than your core."
They drilled for two hours. Mhari pushed Lith to the brink of unconscious three times, forcing him to instantly rebuild the invisible wall around his core. By the time the sun crept higher, Lith was pale but standing straight. His aura was gone, his mana core silent—a hidden vortex.
"Enough," Mhari finally said, satisfied with the concealment. "Now, the second condition: Fire."
She knelt and gathered a small pile of dry leaves and twigs. She didn't use a spell, but channeled a tiny, controlled spark of ambient mana into the tinder. A small, perfect flame sprang up—pure yellow, contained, and quiet.
"This is the condition, Lith," Mhari explained. "You must learn to harness its power without letting its rage consume you. Start small. Feel the energy of the flame."
Lith's face, which had been a mask of intense concentration during the repression exercises, suddenly fractured. His eyes widened, not with excitement, but with genuine panic.
WHOOSH
A violent, uncontrolled burst of wind magic erupted from his hand, scattering the carefully built fire and leaves across the clearing. The action was purely defensive, a desperate, instinctive rejection of the flame.
"Don't!" Lith cried out, stumbling back a step. His breathing was rapid, ragged. "I told you, Mama! I don't like fire! It's too loud!" Mhari instantly extinguished the scattered embers with a wash of cool Life Mana.
Too loud? No, that's fear. He associates fire with utter chaos.
She approached him slowly, cautiously. "Lith. You used raw power. Why did you push it away?"
Lith hugged himself tightly. "It feels...wrong. It's too hot, too fast. It break things. It's not clean like the wind. His voice was low, shaky, revealing a deep-seated, irrational aversion. It feels like the only thing I can't command. I hate that I can't command it.
Mhari knew this ran deeper than a simple preference. Fire magic, due to its destructive nature, was often linked to trauma or latent, uncontrollable power.
The Lightbringers, my lineage, were master of creation and Life. We abhorred chaos—and Fire is the purest from of chaos. His father's lineage... they were master of control, yet they, too, had a hidden fire element they feared. I needed him to Master it because if he can control the most chaotic element, his power will be truly sealed. But seeing this panic... I may have asked for the impossible. I am pushing my seven year old son toward the one thing that terrifies him, all for the lie of safety.
"Alright," Mhari conceded gently, though her resolve was steel. "Not today. But you must promise me, Lith. This is the key to the City. You must conquer the heat."
Lith swallowed hard, the terror still flickering in his golden eyes. "I will," he whispered, forcing determination into his voice. "I will conquer it, Mama."
—
Later that morning, Mhari returned to the village, physically drained and emotionally hollowed out. The tension surroundings Rhei was the next burden. He was waiting for her by the well, his field knife still glinting, but his eyes were red-rimmed with unshed tears and profound hurt.
"They're gone, Mhari," Rhei said, his voice flat and raw. SCRIT-SCRIT. He dropped the sharpening stone. CLANK! He finally met her eyes, and Mhari saw the crushing weight of betrayal.
"Why?" He whispered. "Why let us believe we were simple, struggling humans all this time? I let my mother grovel! I stood there feeling pathetic, wishing I could defend you, while you..you were a queen playing dress-up."
Mhari felt a sharp, cutting pain in her chest.
I can't tell him the truth. The knowledge would paint a target on his back.
"I used those skills to protect this village, Rhei. I protected you and your mother. That is the only truth that matters."
"No!" Rhei stepped closer, the anguish I'm his heart making him reckless. "That is the cold truth of a ruler, Mhari, not a friend! That is deception. I don't care about if you have a magic or your power. I care that you didn't trust me." He ran a trembling hand through his hair. "I stood by you when you arrived. We shared our meals. I—" he stopped, the confession of his love dying in his throat. "I need you to trust me. I need you to give me one piece of the truth, Mhari."
Mhari looked away, unable to bear the honesty in his eyes. Her heart ached fot the connection she was about to sever.
"I can't," Mhari said, the words flat and cold, forcing herself to micmic the severity of a true noble. "It's too dangerous, Rhei. You have a family here. I cannot risk dragging you into my life."
Rhei stared at her, the last flicker of hope dying. He realized this wasn't abouyher power; it was another absolute conviction that his life was disposable compared to her secret.
"So that's it," he said, his voice now dangerously soft, drained of all emotion. "You've decided my life is too insignificant to be trusted with yours." He picked up his knife and stone.
SCRIT-SCRIT
The final, fracturing sound. "The keep your secrets, Mhari. But don't mistake your distance for protection. It just makes you alone." He walked away. Mhari remained by the well, forcing the pooling tears back.
I just lost the only honest thing I had left in this life. But he's safe. He's safe.
The heavy, crushing realization was her punishment.
—
TREE DATS LATER: Koda's City Mansion
Koda's office was a massive, intimidating space—a cold testament to Beastfolk supremacy. Koda, the immense wolf Beastfolk, sat at his desk, his expression severe, reviewing trade logs. Their need for rice was tactical, not dietary; the grain was essential for stabilizing a critical northern trade route that fed hundreds of human laborers working in their mines, a key source of their wealth that Baron Helvane managed. Koda hated relying on humans, but Helvane's high mana kept him reluctantly respectful.
The door flew open. Grimoire burst in, pale hysterical and clutching a polished ceremonial dagger to his chest. "Father! We need to go back! Now!" Koda set his pen down, his eyes narrowing with a flash of disappoinment.
Tree days, and he still hasn't regained his composure. Pathetic.
"Grimoire, tree days have passed. I expected you to put aside this childish humiliation. Forget that peasant."
"No, you don't understand!" Grimoire shrieked, tears of frustration and terror streaming down his face. "I told you, he wasn't normal! He used magic I've never seen! H-he disappeared—FWOOSH—and then choked me with the air! He moved too fast for a human!"
Koda's massive ears twitched, absorbing the details. He suppressed a furious snarl. "And you, a Beastfolk noble, allowed yourself to be defeated by a commoner's trickery? This is the most shameful act of weakness! Did he use a trick? A stone? You should have crushed him!"
"He didn't leave a mark, Father!" Grimoire insisted, his voice cracking. "I-I was screaming, fighting, but the air around his hand was thick! 85 felt like...like a crushing hand! He threatened to wipe out our entire race!"
The sheer, raw terror in his son's voice, combined with the impossible description of non-physical force and speed, finally convinced Koda that this was not a simple lie. It was something unknown, something dangerous—and worst of all, something human.
Koda stood up, his enormous shadow engulfing Grimoire. His rage was immediately and absolute, but it was split: 50% anger at the huma, 50% anger at his son's weakness.
"You allowed a human child to defile your honor," Koda grated, his voice a low, lethal growl that rattled the office windows. "This is direct insult to the entire Koda bloodline. Did that peasant mother teach her child to challenge the strong?"
Koda's claws flexed. He understood the political necessity of the Helvane alliance, but this challenge Beastfolk supremacy by a dirt farmer could not stand.
"Prepare the guard and reinforced carriage," Koda commanded, his eyes blazing with merciless vengeance. "We return to Eastfarmlands. That commoner and hisnmkther have just bought themselves a lesson in obedience that only pain can teach. And you, Grimoire, will be watching."
Koda slammed his fist down on the desk. CRACK! "No one threatens a Beastfolk. And no son of mine will tolerate being bested by a lowlife human."