Cali was no longer with me conversationally, leaving me with much to chew on. He had a path for me, but I wasn't following it. Like I decided back on the pike I was no longer a side character. I was the main hand, not a follower. Damn it. Did that make me the hero? The rotten urchin was turning my tide and messing with my mind. I shook my head a few times for clarity. It didn't help. I had to actively focus on my new gloves to get out of my mind.

The leather gloves were a nice pair. The leather was soft, durable, and grippy. I washed them off a few times and extracted the water before trying them on. The blasted gloves didn't fit, and it wasn't just a length problem that I could solve by nipping the tips. The width was too tight as well. I threw the gloves on the ground in disgust, feeling the betrayal stabbing deep into my heart.

As the gloves stared at me contemptuously, I churned some crafty ideas. I picked the gloves back up, apologized for my irrational behavior, and promised to do better. In seconds, I'd broken down walls impeding my character growth. Soon, my butterfly…

That's it. I needed to leave this place. I added more layers of ice to my cocoon, enough to give me a couple days of protection, tucked my gloves into my belt, and headed into the woods to clear my thoughts. What I really needed was a body of water. That was my new quest.

I've traveled through these woods a few times now. Once while I was making up maps, another time as a guide, and the last time was on a guild assignment. The first two trips were the opposite of the last one—pleasant and peaceful. Though there could be a fair argument about the company being insufferable during those trips. Still, as they said, "the luxury of reminiscing is the power to romanticize."

However, they were a bunch of snobbish historians whom I often competed against in business. People either wanted to explore the past through books or discover the world with maps. Never both and absolutely not at the same time. I blamed historians for creating a past to which the future could never catch up.

The Bloodwoods, I found, never suffered the problem that plagued history and reality. No matter how much the tales exaggerated the trees, they were always larger in person. It was humbling to walk at their bases. Their girth was no less impressive than the wolfbears, even that was not doing it justice. You could carve houses into the base of the trees. There were even rumors of hidden villages within this forest. I never found them during my excursions, though I never encountered wolfbears either. So who's to say that wasn't real. Probably historians…

What I found most fascinating about the forest was that massive trees maintained a delicate balance. They did not pull mana greedily and rob other flora of growth, nor did they overbear with the release of their own energy. They maintained a symbiotic relationship with the entire ecosystem. The world felt properly balanced here. Each piece of the forest had its place and purpose, all working together to grow—not just grow. The forest flourished.

I walked a few more hours south, navigating hills as landmarks and recalling my memories to guide me. I turned east from Lone Rock and spotted the entrance to the hidden spring. The spring was the one area in the forest with a bit of overgrowth. Vines tangled with leaves and wove a natural barrier, hiding a pool of water. Even calling it an overgrowth was a stretch. The patterns of the weave looked like the work of an artisan. There were no tangles or snares, and it didn't look out of place. There was just a natural wall of beautiful greenery; if you gently pushed past it, a paradise of crystal-clear water and bright flowers opened up in front of you.

The spring was the Bloodwood's reservoir of water. There were actually several pockets of pools like this throughout the forest. This one just happened to be the closest to me. The pockets were a balancing act of the forest. After water transpired through the trees, the high-reaching leaves would absorb some of the vapors, condensing and trickling back down. Water was shared through a connected root system and eventually stored in small pockets. These pockets hydrated the small flora that often never felt a drop of rain. It also served much of the fauna as well.

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It was no wonder the forest felt balanced. Water mana was every bit of existence as earth, light, and life. I pushed past the natural barrier, careful to not upset it, stripped down, and waded into the perfect water.

One of the many perks of being attuned to water was near-perfect temperature regulation. I could live in an ice cave and never be cold. The heat of deserts never fazed me. Fire… well, that still burned, but that was different. The point was that water was comfortable, and being engulfed in the pure spring of the Bloodwood was peak harmony.

I floated in a state of emptiness until I was at peace with myself. When I felt calm, I opened my channels and began to cycle. I wasn't here to absorb the mana. Instead, it was to refresh mine. I pulled my mana from my channels and let it mix and flow with the ambient energy of the spring. The nourishing mana flowed back into my body more pure and refined than when it left. I continued the exercise, further refining my mana and strengthening my soul. Cores and channels were like a muscle. The more you used them, the stronger they became.

I was never among the elites of cultivators. To say I was passable was generous. I only managed to break through the initiate rank of page because I enlisted in the Alderi military like all youth of the Islands of Mauna. I was given pills, elixirs, and training. Though I was somewhat ashamed to admit it, I was carried by my squad and more so by my friend.

Mana manipulation didn't come naturally to me. At first, it was because of my frustration with my bound mana. I didn't want water. I presumed it weak, lacking in utility, and having little benefit to my way of life. My parents couldn't afford any techniques, manuals, or resources on how to use other elements, so when I was of age, the only option I had was the prevalent mana of the islands—water.

When I was recruited into the Alderi Marines, I learned to hide and conceal my presence. My strength wasn't high enough to throw ice shards that would deal any damage, and my control limited my chance of building new skills. I was carried by my connections to my squad and the fact that I was a decent ranger. I couldn't throw ice missiles, but I could shoot arrows with the best of them, and my tracking and scouting were adept thanks to my training in wisdom and survival pathways.

After separating from the Marines, I again became complacent with my cultivation. I had enough resources to build a small shop and get by on my skills. The path to power burned me out.

Years as a map maker and part-time guide kindled a new desire for growth. That desire was recognized when I started working with Lana. My understanding of mana and cultivation began to flourish with a new purpose.

Water was no longer just the element I had no choice to bind. It was the only element right for me. It was free, adaptable, powerful, and passive. It could be anything I wanted it to be. The skills I learned as a squire, ice dome, freeze flashes, and ice clone were thanks to the training I was given by my new friends.

Essentially, I was a late bloomer in terms of cultivation. Even with my new-found passion for my bound element, as a squire, mana only enhanced my abilities. Water energy was never a primary weapon. It didn't help that as a ranger, I wasn't the 'powerhouse' of my squad. I offered support, scouting, and backup. Rarely did I need to defend myself with ice barriers. Sometimes, I would end fights before they started with a well-placed shot, but that was only when strategy called for it.

Dependability added to my mana reluctance. Ninety percent of the time, people could count on your mana to work. However, mana could be stripped from a cultivator in several ways: a dark-attuned cultivator with a silencing skill, muting rune, mana-deficit environment—like my ice cube of preservation or a cultivator with a domain strong enough to restrict others' mana.

It only took a few days as a knight to remove my reservations about relying on mana. Maybe my stronger connection to water allowed me to trust it more. Or perhaps it was a greater understanding of what I could accomplish if I mixed blue energy into my life. More realistically, it was knowing that failure did not have the lasting sting of death. I had the chance to fail as many times as I wanted.

Tents wanted me to pursue his path to power, which he ultimately concluded was insufficient for his purposes. My path to power was going to be different. Most would call my path foolish. I didn't care. My mind was made up.

Like Bloodwood Forest, I’d seek power through balance. Afterall, if failure wasn't fatal, what would I lose?