Jiran sat in the library, content to read away his morning in peace. He was slightly antsier than usual thinking about new methods to hold his mana over his injury. This first task from his new teacher was not simple.

However, Jiran reigned in his excitement and diligently continued his reading. Perhaps he would find some vital clues in these three books. It felt like only an hour had passed when the knock came, reminding him of lunch.

With renewed enthusiasm, Jiran first allowed the mana from his meal to split itself inside his body. Half moved to his injury as usual and the other half began spreading through his body. Instead of allowing the second half to spread out, Jiran pushed it back into his stomach where it pooled together slowly throughout his meal.

Jiran did his best to automate that process so he could focus on the mana as it entered his injury, something he was intimately familiar with already. His teacher had told him to ‘listen to the mana,’ so he tried to do just that.

I don’t think he meant to listen to something inside my body, so what did he mean? I’ve heard the phrase before, mom used to use it all the time. In church as well, they would say it over and over, listen to the voice of the mana. But what does that mean?

Jiran closed his eyes and pushed out all the distractions around him as he focused on the mana. The blob of energy hung near his injury, slowly being devoured as usual. Jiran looked deeper, isolating the smallest section of mana that he could. Cloudy and murky the substance could move easily throughout his body, but not effortlessly. The mana had physical properties, yet could pass through solid objects.

So is the mana somehow moving between the particles of matter? It causes no pain as it moves so it must not be interfering with my body’s cells. Yet the mana can repair damaged cells and even create new cells.

Slow down there Jiran don’t get distracted, listen, listen.

Jiran refocused his efforts, trying to discern some pattern in the movement of the ghostly energies.

Pain exploded across Jiran’s forehead as the heavy wooden spoon landed a critical hit.

“Get the depths out of my kitchen Jiran! If you want to take a nap, do it somewhere else.”

Shock ruled his consciousness for a few short moments before Jiran realized what had happened. With a sheepish apology, Jiran padded out of the staff eating section of the kitchen and headed to his delivery box to see if he had any work to do.

There were only two deliveries, both at the pier. Placing the letters in his satchel Jiran headed out of the manor. Since there was no need for the cart today he was able to sprint the entire way.

Each time a cloud burst he would throw himself to the ground and coat his hand in mana. Matching the fluctuations of chaotic energy.

Sprint, channel, sprint, channel.

Jiran raced through the nearly empty streets. For most townsfolk, Densoon was a time to bunker down, a break from the hard work of the previous season.

Jiran found himself loving the constant threat of the chaotic Density. Now that he could absorb some of it, feelings of conquering the storm, standing up to nature, and emerging victorious flooded him.

Jiran pushed the absorbed mana to his neck and did his best to hold it there. As he progressed, he discovered he could release the mana normally and most of it would enter the injury on its own. Then he would regather what tried to disperse and repeat the process until it was all absorbed. Jiran knew this method was crude and it wasn't what his teacher wanted him to learn. For now, it would keep him from getting too close to tiering.

Neither recipient for his deliveries was home so he left the letters from Samris in plainly visible areas.

Back at the manor, Jiran made himself comfortable in the yard. Once more he entered a deep meditation, he listened, observed, and focused as hard as he could but there was nothing discernible to him that could be a ‘voice’ of the mana.

What are they saying? Listen to the voice of the mana, to listen is to communicate. I’m trying to bridge the gap between my thoughts and the mana. I already do that but it’s a one-way street. I gather emotion and intent then send it to the mana and it does what I want. There is no emotional response, no intent that comes back to me.

Maybe there is though and I’m just not receiving it, if my intent travels through me and to the mana via an emotional bridge, can I somehow let the mana do the same? Give it an emotional bridge to share its intent with me.

Jiran focused on how he gathered his emotions to command his mana. He would summon a thought, which elicited an emotion, then create intent and push the two together at the mana.

To let the mana communicate back to him he needed an empty bridge. So instead of a memory, Jiran focused on emptiness, a void, the lack of everything. He stripped out his thoughts, his emotions, sense of self, feelings of his body, sounds, and smells. Then without any sense of wanting his mana to do anything, he gingerly extended a strand of consciousness to the blob of energy in his neck.

Static? It sounds like, no that's not sound. I’m not hearing anything, it's like a feeling, an emotional response, a memory, and a touch all at once. It’s too much information, I need to focus on one thing at a time.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Then the bridge faltered and failed. He had done it, Jiran couldn't keep the smile off his face. His thoughts raced trying to figure out how he was supposed to maintain a void of thoughts and emotions, while also picking apart the thoughts and emotions inside the static. He couldn't split his brain in two, there had to be another way to do both at once.

At the same time, he had to maintain his orders on the mana so it wouldn't disperse into his body bringing him closer to tiering. It was like holding an egg and a fifty-pound dumbbell in your hand at the same time. While also having two conversations. He needed to automate some of the actions so he didn't have to focus on them. The only solution he could come up with was practice.

Practice is exactly what Jiran did, he sat on the ground unmoving for hours. He created a rotation of all the different steps and cycled through them as quickly as he could. Not focusing on perfecting any step, just quickly cycling through them. Thought, emotion, command, release. void, connection, static, release.

Jiran was so absorbed in his practice that he didn't notice the tap on his shoulder from the girl who was sent to call him for dinner, nor did he notice the suns go down. . It wasn't until Samris nudged him roughly with his foot that Jiran snapped out of his trance.

With a nod of his head, Samris directed Jiran into the manor, then led him up to the study where they sat down as the wards activated.

"Jiran, it's time we had a talk."

Sitting up straight in his chair at the serious tone Samris had used, Jiran focused..

"Yes Samris, what did you want to talk about?"

"Your recovery has taken longer than either of us anticipated. Now your healing is almost complete. It's past time you begin repaying your debt to myself and this town.

"Tomorrow we will begin the combat training. I expect you to apply yourself as you always have. This will mark a significant deviation from your routine. Prepare yourself, I will not be easy on you.

"I have invested a significant amount of my time and resources in you Jiran, I'll not see you die easily. Which is to say, you will become strong."

"I understand Lord Samris, I will do my best."

"We shall see."

That night Jiran lay restlessly in bed.

Fighting. The worst fight I’ve ever been in, I got a bloody nose and cried. Brandon was no better, a couple pushing matches on the playground and that one guy at the gas station who shoved him into a truck. I’ve thought about having to fight other humans, everyone has heard about bandits wiping out villages. It’s always been a hypothetical thought. Could I kill someone? I’m sure I could kill a beast, I doubt I would enjoy it though.

Jiran’s thoughts spiraled, dreams of running from masses of ravenous beasts followed. The dreams ended abruptly as the shock of being plunged into a frozen river washed over him. Jiran floundered and spluttered, arms waving in the air, gasping for breath as his frigid brain tried to come to grips with what was happening. An iron grip closed around his arm and the next thing his brain comprehended was dirt racing up to meet his face.

Jiran crashed face-first into the dirt. He tasted blood, his shoulder ached, and Samris was standing over him with a spear in each hand. Looking around with wide eyes, Jiran had no idea where they were. Trees pressed in around him, but details were hard to make out in the darkness of pre-Father’s light.

“Stand,” Came the command from Samris, it was the first time Jiran had ever heard him speak without a whisper. The command reverberated in every part of Jiran’s being. He was on his feet before he even realized he was moving.

One of the spears was tossed in his direction. Finally beginning to comprehend what was happening, Jiran fumbled, barely catching the weapon.

He stared at his hands holding the wooden shaft. It was heavy, the wood coarse under his fingertips. The metal point sharp and intimidating. He could feel the danger inherent in the tool of death.

Samris moved, slowly, incredibly slowly. He crouched, two hands on his spear one in the middle and the other at the rear. A deadly tip pointed at Jirans heart. Like a poisonous razer beetle crawling through syrup, the blade moved toward Jiran.

Jiran moved out of the way, he had plenty of time. He barely even stumbled as he took two steps to the side. Samris completed his thrust as if Jiran had not moved, Then withdrew his spear, still moving incredibly slowly.

“Your turn” Samris spoke again in that same soul-rending voice. Halfway between a command, and the truth of the universe. Once again Jiran started to move before he realized what he was doing. With a laughable imitation of Samris’s stance, Jiran carefully extended his spear toward Samris.

He barely moved, the slightest adjustment to the angle of his torso and the blade passed by him safely. Then Samris assumed the same stance again, once more the spear moved at an incredibly slow speed.

Jiran began to catch on, Samris was showing him every aspect of the lunge, the way his hands changed angle as the weapon extended. How his hips shifted as weight was transferred from back foot to front. How his intimidating golden eyes focused like lasers on Jirans heart. Far too much information for Jiran to absorb in a single thrust.

Jiran did his best to imitate the slight movement Samris had made to dodge. He felt awkward and clumsy despite the strength he had cultivated over the last season. Samris was patient with him as always and at the speed of a glacier melting, they traded thrusts.

Densoon raged around them signaling the only breaks in their exchanges. Yet Samris did not let him sit and rest when the heavy Density pressed down on them. Jiran was forced into the low thrust stance. Samris walked circles around him, smacking him with the butt of his spear wherever corrections were needed.

By the time Second Father met the sky, they traded a thrust every three seconds. When lunchtime came and went with no break, they were down to one second between trades. Jiran’s hands were slippery with blood from blisters that had formed and popped hours ago. His legs and back screamed from holding the low stance for half a day.

When Samris finally stood and signaled the end of their exchanges, Jiran collapsed in a heap on the ground. He felt like every inch of him was rebelling against the reality he found himself in today. He had dodged so many spear thrusts he instinctively expected another to come at him any second. Half conscious on the ground he still held his eyes to the weapon in Samris’s hand.

Samris approached Jiran slowly, kneeling over the boy, he reached out a hand and grasped him firmly on the shoulder. The world shifted, twisted, then flipped. Samris found himself lying in the familiar dirt of the backyard at the manor.

Jiran looked up at Samris’s back with eyes full of admiration. The man had already turned and was walking toward the creek. Jiran tried to stand but failed, so he laid there in the dirt until he could move again. His brain was so exhausted that his normal restless thoughts couldn't be bothered to show up.

When he could move, Jiran cleaned up in the creek. Then headed directly to his room to get changed out of his torn and bloody clothes. Sitting on the table near his bed was a meal with a note.

“Eat slowly!” was all it said.

Jiran ate, did his best to push as much mana into his injury as possible, then passed out in a heap on his bed.