Trevis shook his head sharply, forcing the thought aside. Now wasn’t the time for speculation. They had to act swiftly—before the storm consumed him entirely.

Hageawn’s thoughts spiraled into chaos. Memories. Scents. The sensation of her touch burned against his mind like searing iron. He grimaced, trying desperately to push it all away, but it clung to him, unyielding.

His breaths came in shallow, ragged bursts as an overwhelming weakness sapped what little strength remained. I’m tired. His thoughts twisted. Unicorn— His eyes snapped open, ablaze with fury.

It hurt. Everything hurt. But he didn’t want it to end here. Not like this. Not until he understood—

Why wasn’t I enough? His heart clenched, the question stabbing deeper than any blade. Why do I have to suffer just for loving her?

The mana around him writhed in response, darkening to an ominous black. The storm twisted violently, its crackling energy sharp as knives. Trevis’s expression grew grave, his voice low but urgent.

“He’s agresating,” he muttered, the weight of the words sinking heavily in the air.

Trevis stepped forward, his staff glowing faintly. His voice rang out, cutting through the chaos like a blade.

“Initiate, I don’t know what you’ve been through,” he said, steady but commanding, “but I need you to hear me. Can you hear me? Respond!”

Hageawn’s reply was a feral roar that split the air, raw and guttural. His teeth clenched tightly, gnashing as the storm exploded outward. The mana surged violently, black tendrils of energy spiraling into the sky.

The other wardens exchanged uneasy glances, their staves trembling in their grips. The storm’s raw power churned in violent waves, its intensity gnawing at their resolve.

Toire adjusted his stance, gripping his staff tightly, his sharp blue eyes darting between Trevis and the boy at the heart of the chaos.

“Archmage,” he called, his voice tight with tension, “this is beyond an agrestal storm. What are your orders?”

Trevis didn’t answer immediately. His sharp gaze locked onto Hageawn, his mind racing. He could feel it—this wasn’t just a storm of mana. It was pain. Despair. Love turned to anguish. And it was devouring the boy.

Trevis took a step forward, his voice cutting through the chaos with measured resolve. “Hageawn, listen to me!” He raised his staff, its light pushing back the roiling darkness in fleeting bursts. “This storm—this agony—it’s not who you are. It’s what you must learn to command.”

Hageawn’s silver eyes locked on Trevis, wild and unfocused, his breaths heaving. The mana around him lashed out in jagged spirals, as if resisting the Archmage’s words.

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“I don’t care what you’ve lost,” Trevis continued, his tone sharp. “I don’t care what’s been taken from you. Right now, there’s only one question you need to answer.”

The Archmage drove his staff into the earth, the impact sending a shockwave of shimmering blue mana outward. The storm stilled for a moment, uncertain, as if the words held weight beyond mere sound.

“Do you want to survive this?” Trevis’s gaze bore into him, unyielding. “Do you want to control this?”

Hageawn flinched, the raw pain in his chest twisting tighter. His lips parted, but no sound came. The storm crackled in defiance, another streak of black lightning arcing into the sky.

Trevis pressed on, his voice softening. “You can’t outrun it, Hageawn. You can’t suppress it. This is your power. It’s part of you.” He gestured to the chaos around them, his expression grim. “You can let it destroy you—or you can choose to master it. But you must choose.”

The words seemed to cut through Hageawn’s haze of despair, if only for a moment. His trembling hands fell to his sides, his body sagging under the weight of his emotions.

“I don’t… know how,” Hageawn whispered, his voice hoarse and broken.

Trevis stepped closer, his presence steady and grounding. “No one knows how in the beginning,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “That’s why we have Spellcraft. It’s not a spell. It’s not a trick or a tool. It’s the understanding of who you are—and what your magic means to you.”

Hageawn blinked, his gaze flickering toward Trevis. The storm’s fury began to waver, the mana pulsing with less aggression. “Spellcraft…” he murmured, the unfamiliar word sitting heavy on his tongue.

Trevis nodded. “This mana isn’t random. It’s not chaos. It reflects you—your emotions, your desires, your will. If you don’t understand yourself, the mana will rule you. But if you can look inward—if you can face the storm inside—you’ll begin to see the path forward.”

The storm flickered, the black tendrils of mana curling back on themselves as Hageawn’s breathing slowed. He stared at Trevis, the glimmer of hope in the Archmage’s words warring with the weight of his despair.

“How… how do I start?” he rasped, his voice barely audible.

“You start by accepting it,” Trevis said simply, lowering his staff. “All of it. The pain. The anger. The love you’ve lost. It’s part of who you are. To master mana, you must first master yourself.”

Hageawn’s hands trembled as he closed his eyes, the storm pressing around him like a living thing. He could still feel it—every jagged edge of his sorrow, every sharp twist of his regret. But beneath it all, there was something else. Something quiet. Steady. Waiting.

Trevis raised his staff again, his voice calm but commanding. “Breathe, Hageawn. Focus. Start with one thought—one truth you can hold onto. Everything else will come in time.”

Hageawn inhaled shakily, the black mana around him pulsing in time with his breath. The storm still raged, but its edges softened, its fury tempered. Slowly, he weighed the Archmage’s words.

One truth I can hold onto?

He sighed heavily, and a single thought surfaced through the turmoil. I love you, Unicorn.

The inky light in his eyes began to recede, revealing a glint of silver beneath.

Trevis watched him closely, his own breath easing as the storm began to dissipate. He knew this was only the beginning—Hageawn’s journey would be long and treacherous. But in this moment, he saw the spark of something rare.

“Spellcraft cannot be taught,” Trevis said softly. “But I can guide you. The rest is up to you.”

As the last tendrils of mana faded into the air, Hageawn sank to his knees, his silver eyes glistening with exhaustion and something deeper. For the first time since the storm began, he felt a fragile sense of calm.

And with it came a faint, trembling thought: I want to understand.

Hageawn let out a gasp, his body radiating the silver glow of mana around him. Trevis muttered something softly, but Hageawn still heard it.

“He is indeed of the Elyr’hai.”