"This war has increasingly reminded me of the bitter ironies of my craft. The more I hone my abilities, the more I draw forth the poison that will ultimately be my undoing. And yet, to neglect my practice would only hasten my demise, for a mage unprepared is a mage destined for a swift end upon the battlefield. It seems that in this life, I must choose between committing suicide or getting murdered, and I have made my choice. May the gods have mercy on my soul."

Warmage Enes Orfil in his posthumously published diary.

3654 MA.

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4522 MA

Grand Temple of Atriya, Rovos, Kartas

As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, Vyas' heart swelled with a restless determination. The pressure of his imminent examination weighed heavily on his mind, driving him to seek solace in the sanctuary of the courtyard. There, amidst the tranquillity of nature, he could practice undisturbed. His goal was precision, for he already possessed abundant power. Instead of unleashing an explosion of uncontrolled force, he focused on refining the control of his abilities.

With each deft flick of his wrist, Vyas sent gentle gusts of wind swirling around the courtyard. The gusts carried leaves of every color—flaming reds, warm oranges, and bright yellows—along with dust and small pebbles, and as they floated through the air, they assembled into simple recognizable patterns.

Yet he remained unsatisfied. A faint tremor in his hands betrayed his anxiety, causing the straight lines to waver and curve, disrupting the harmony he sought to create. The delicate balance of the patterns teetered on the edge of chaos, threatening to dissolve into a whirlwind of color and motion. Vyas’ concentration wavered as frustration further weakened his ability to maintain control.

A group of birds - sparrows and blue jays - perched on nearby branches, seemed to watch with curiosity. They chattered amongst themselves, their heads tilting as they observed the human attempting to manipulate the wind, their feathers ruffling in the breeze. Their songs carried on the wind, weaving through the patterns like a living ribbon of sound, adding an unexpected layer of complexity to the scene.

As Vyas' control slipped, the birds took flight, their wings beating the air as they soared above the courtyard. Their sudden departure sent ripples through the patterns, causing the delicate strands to tremble and fray. Vyas gritted his teeth, his hands clenched into fists, as he fought to regain his composure and restore the order that had been so cruelly interrupted.

"No," he murmured. "Not enough. The lines need to be straighter, the angles sharper."

He tried again, concentrating on the flow of mana within him. The wind stirred, and the shapes evolved into simple illustrations—a quaint house atop a hill. A triangle on top of a square, on top of a semicircle. More detailed, more refined, but still not good enough. Frustration simmered beneath the surface, but Vyas clenched his teeth and contained it.

Despite Maya's resounding success the previous day, Vyas found himself unable to shake a worry that gnawed at his mind. It wasn't that he wasn't proud of her; in fact, he was overjoyed to see her victorious. Her performance had eased his concerns that their skills, honed in isolation, might not measure up to the skills of practitioners who had lived and trained in civilized society. Maya had more than proven herself capable of facing the challenges that lay ahead, and yet this realization only served to deepen Vyas' anxiety. For he was not Maya.

While she seemed destined to excel in the cultivator trials, Vyas couldn't help but question whether he could even pass the mage trials. Vyas knew that he just might be the least talented mage alive.

When the cultists had drained nearly all of his natural prana from him, they shattered the natural meridians within his body. After undergoing the aeonbond ritual and receiving a transfusion of Maya's life-saving prana, his body attempted to reconstruct those meridians. However, the reconstruction did not proceed without complications. The meridians that now traversed his body had been irrevocably enlarged and formed into a complex, messy shape.

Under ordinary circumstances, such massive meridians would have meant Vyas had the potential to become an exceptionally powerful cultivator. Yet, he no longer possessed his own prana to pursue that path. If he desired power, magic was his only option. The only problem he faced was that magic was a discipline that greatly favored those with thin meridians.

Control and precision were the foundations of a skilled mage's arsenal, because they were the qualities of a living mage. Humans, being living creatures, were born of prana, the energy of life. In stark contrast, mana represented the energy of the universe – potent yet entirely toxic to humans. Mages were uniquely insane in that they chose to repurpose their meridians, originally intended to circulate prana and maintain their health to instead channel the poisonous energy of the universe. Channeling mana allowed them to manipulate it into wondrous imaginative use cases.

Despite magic’s infinite use cases, it did have a dangerous side. The more mana a mage channeled through their meridians, the closer that mage inched toward death. Mana was inherently toxic to humans. History had taught mages that theirs was an art about doing the most with the smallest amount of mana.

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In the countless millennia preceding the Aeonshift, ingenious mages devised numerous methods to making the most of a minimal amount of channeled mana. Specialized detailed spells replaced previously generalized crude spells. Specialized magical disciplines like runic magic, alchemy and others were created. Mages invented and refined foci tools that could amplify the power of a smaller amount of mana.

Although the Aeonshift eliminated the death sentence of mana poison, it did not change the established philosophy of magic. Control and precision remained paramount. The magical renaissance had led to the creation of numerous new magical industries slowly revolutionizing the world. Inventions such as airships, magic-powered lights, and animated constructs were just a few examples of the newly coined "magitech" creations, all built and operated only with the help of controlled strings of mana.

Because of this, Vyas was an aberration in the world. Vyas' unique condition made mastering magic a constant struggle. But he knew that just because it was difficult did not mean it was impossible. It was for that reason he practiced constantly. In the morning, he practiced, in the afternoon, he trained, and at night, he refined. Even living in a monastery full of powerful cultivators and mages, he trained more than anyone else.

Despite his consistent effort, the truth was that his control was only slightly better than a new mage. He had little idea how far he could go in the trials with his erratic control, and he couldn't shake the lingering fear that Maya alone might be accepted into the Institute. It was this fear that drove him to practice and calm his nerves this morning.

His gaze briefly drifted towards the sun, which had now climbed higher in the sky, casting longer shadows across the courtyard. Taking a deep breath, Vyas steeled himself and once again reached for the mana coursing through him. His focus intensified, his hands moved more deliberately, each gesture slow and steady. The patterns of swirling leaves and dust seemed to dance under his command, but there was still something amiss.

He bit his lip, frustration nibbling at the edges of his resolve. He could create the exact shapes he wanted, but still struggled to direct them in an exact path that was beyond his grasp. It was as if his magic was a wild stallion, powerful and beautiful, but not yet tamed by his will. As he wrestled with his own limitations, beads of sweat formed on his brow, mingling with the dust and grit of the ground.

A sudden gust of wind tore through the courtyard. Vyas flinched, momentarily losing control over the patterns he had been crafting. The delicate forms dissipated, leaving only scattered leaves and dust in their wake. He let out a sigh, the weight of his fears pressing down on him once more.

Vyas closed his eyes, listening to the sounds around him - the rustling leaves, the chirping birds, the distant hum of the bustling city beyond the walls. He knew that frustration would only cloud his mind, and that the path to mastery was paved with patience. He took several deep breaths, inhaling the scent of dewy grass and damp earth as he exhaled the tension that had built up inside him. With each breath, he sought to calm the storm within, imagining the chaotic gusts of wind in his mind gradually settling, the whirlwinds becoming gentle breezes. He sought to find the stillness that would allow him to see a way forward, to untangle the knots of anxiety that held his potential in check.

He raised his hands once more, the familiar flow of mana coursing through him like a river. This time, as the wind responded to his command, he focused not on the patterns themselves, but on where he wanted them to go. It was a subtle shift in perspective, but it was enough. The swirling leaves and dust began to move with purpose, coalescing into shapes standing in place in morning air.

As Vyas' concentration deepened, the patterns seemed to come alive, transforming from simple geometric shapes into a miniature landscape. Tiny hills and valleys formed from the leaves and dust, while the wind whispered through the trees like a gentle breeze. The birds, drawn back by the spectacle, swooped and darted through the tiny world, leaving trails of sparkling light in their wake. The picture was still not as precise as he had hoped, but there was progress, and that was enough to make him smile.

Just as Vyas was about to summon another gust of wind, a voice called out to him, soft and familiar. "You're going to wear yourself out if you keep going like this."

The sudden intrusion of a familiar voice shattered Vyas' concentration. He blinked and turned his head, startled, to find Maya perched on the steps behind him, her arms crossed and a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

He stared at her for a moment, startled by her sudden appearance. It seemed she had been there for some time, her keen eyes observing his every move, her presence as quiet and unobtrusive as the shadow she cast on the sunlit steps.

Maya rose from the steps, her eyes filled with concern as she approached Vyas. As she walked, she noticed the sweat that soaked through his robes, the dark circles under his eyes, and the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. "You've been working hard, Vyas," she said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "But you need to trust in your abilities and give yourself some rest. You won't be able to perform at your best if you're tired before you even begin."

"I..." Vyas began to protest, his words faltering as he realized the truth in her statement. His body felt heavy, his limbs trembling ever so slightly with exhaustion. He had been so consumed by his practice that he hadn't realized the toll it had taken on him. He sighed and nodded, conceding the point.

"You might be right," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of weariness.

"Of course I'm right," she replied, her smirk widening into a grin. "And what you need right now is some good food to settle your stomach and clear your head. I smelt the scent of fresh bread from the streets just now, and I think it's time we tracked it down and bought ourselves a proper breakfast."

Vyas hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on the patterns he had been weaving in the air. However, the thought of warm, fresh bread was too enticing to resist. With a sigh, he nodded and allowed himself to be swept away by Maya's enthusiasm.

"Alright," he agreed, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Let's go get that bread."