Corrin slapped his hand against Wyn’s cheek. “Wakey wakey!” His friend was passed out on the deck of the skiff again. After the second time it had stopped being worrying, and Corrin had started having fun with it.

“He’ll stir naturally,” Nereus sighed, his breath misting against the cool morning air.. “There’s no need for such childish behavior.”

Corrin slapped him twice more anyway, earning a snort from Tor, who was leaning over the side of the ship, the bulwark to be specific, a word Corrin hadn’t known until two days prior.

As expected, Wyn’s eyes fluttered open, his hand drifting to his reddened cheek. “Damn, what did—” he caught Corrin’s grin and groaned, but there was laughter in it. “Spirits… What is wrong with you?” He started to prop himself up with his arm, struggling into a sitting position.

His arm lashed out and his palm caught Corrin’s face with a resounding smack. Corrin fell back against the deck with a yelp.

Wyn laughed unabashedly now. “Payback! Dumbass.”

“I didn’t hit you that hard!”

Ignoring them, Tor asked the important question. “Any luck?”

Wyn’s laughter died and he closed his eyes in focus. After only a few moments though he shook his head. “Nope, I thought I had it, but it’s gone now. I’m getting closer though, I can feel it.”

Tor rubbed his face, then breathed into his hands before rubbing them together. “Well, progress is progress.”

“Are you sure we can’t do a second one?” Wyn stretched his neck from side to side as he got back to his feet. He’d seemed more relaxed after the first day. Corrin was fairly sure he’d made some sort of breakthrough, even if they were both being a bit cagey about their training. Still, there was no doubt in Corrin’s mind that part of it was his friend being happy to settle back into a routine again—it was Wyn’s specialty after all.

“It’s not worth risking a second one,” Tor replied. “This process puts a lot of strain on your soul. Yours seems a bit more resilient than most, and it recovers quickly, but it wouldn’t be very healthy to stretch it much further. We’ll keep it at once per day for now.”

Wyn nodded. “I understand, thank you sir.”

Tor waved him off. “That’s just our deal, don’t worry about it.” He glanced at Nereus who wasn’t paying any attention. “You two headed off then?”

The mage perked up from the book he was reading, clapping the pages together and tucking it into a satchel at his side. “At last! Why you drag me out to this each morning I cannot fathom. Let us go then Wyn, there is much to do. Have you mastered the circle I showed you yet?” He continued speaking as he began to walk away.

Wyn got to his feet and followed, waving at Corrin. “See you later, good luck!” He turned back to the mage. “I think so sir, but I don’t see how it’s supposed to help me in a battle…”

Their voices trailed off as they left, leaving only Corrin and the spirit knight on the ship. This was the routine that had developed over the several days they’d been in Estin. Wake up, attempt to unlock Wyn’s mana sensitivity, then split up into their individual training. For Corrin, that meant following Tor’s instructions until The Grass Sentinels arrived. Then he’d spar and channel until the sun set.

Tor’s training was simple and repetitive. Practice mantling until he reached a ‘satisfactory level’. In that sense, his presence wasn’t really necessary, but he liked to direct the practice directly it seemed, and after Corrin had let out enough aura, the commands began.

“Right hand,” Tor instructed.

Corrin obeyed, letting his mantle flow down onto his hand. It took almost two seconds before he’d gathered enough of the power, spinning it from his hand halfway to his elbow.

“Left,” the knight said.

Corrin took a sharp breath, concentrating. The mana responded, thrashing against his mental command, but his will was steel. It broke, and coursed across his shoulders like rushing water, until it reached his other arm where it began to spin again—hungry, impatient.

Tor scratched his beard, watching intently. He remained silent as Corrin let the power flow.

Three days of practice had done wonders for Corrin’s control—he could move a fair amount around his body with the right amount of concentration, and could even keep an arm coated in battle to use as a sort of shield. While the mana still leaked away from him, the rate had fallen greatly.

The commands continued, one after another, forcing Corrin to defend each part of his body with the swirling black and white power. With each shift of the mantle, the strain grew a bit greater, and soon Corrin was shaking with exertion.

Come on you bastard, keep them coming.

Both days prior, he’d collapsed before Tor stopped giving commands, but he was determined to push through. Tor began to speed up, the shifts coming more rapidly. His eyes stung from sweat as he pushed harder.

Tor crossed his arms, leaning in with a glimmer of interest—the first he’d shown in days. “Chest.”

That was new, Corrin hadn’t made it this far, but he’d done it before. His chest was harder than his arms. Spinning was his solution to ash mana’s tendency towards movement, and his arms provided a natural rotation point, but he couldn’t mantle enough to spin aura around his upper torso. The solution he’d come up with was a bit inelegant, but effective. Instead of using his arms, he imagined a point right at his sternum, and spun the aura around it instead. He grit his teeth, his chest clenched as he held it tight as he could. It leaked a bit more than it did around his arms, and the extra focus and tight rotation required made it much harder, but it worked.

Testingly, the knight formed a small stone from aura, and tossed it at Corrin’s chest. It was a light toss, but when it hit the concentration of ash mana it deflected off, clattering onto the deck where it hissed and steamed, and one side of the stone was scorched. The amount of mana dipped just a tad, hardly noticeable.

Tor glanced down at the stone, then nodded approvingly. “Nasty shit, ash mana. Not bad though, release.”

Corrin let out a gasp of air and the mana dispersed into the rest of his mantle. It didn’t leak away immediately anymore. In fact most stayed, but it was less concentrated, spreading around his whole body like a thin mist as it slowly shook whatever vestiges of control his soul still held over it.

“Ash mana is fast,” the knight mumbled to himself. “Not like wind or lightning, but still.”

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“That’s fast? It takes almost two whole seconds to move it from one arm to the other. How is that supposed to be useful in a fight?”

“You’re still new. For someone who only learned how to mantle a few days ago, it’s plenty fast. Your mantle is always slower than your channels, that’s just the nature of having them, but with that speed, I’d bet your channels are almost instant.”

With a nod, Corrin gathered his aura into his hand internally. As expected, it obeyed almost immediately, the pressure in his channels increasing a bit.

“Just like how your channels work, if you condense less aura in your mantle, your response will be quicker. So you can move a bulk of aura over time, or feed a stream to the spot you want until it grows. Either way, the more you want, the longer it takes.”

Corrin grabbed a tiny amount of mana, moving it around his mantle. It was easy, and the bead of ash flew across his body much faster.

Tor took a hand and slapped it down on Corrin’s shoulder, almost buckling him. “That’s important, so don’t forget it.” He stood and brushed off his pants. They weren’t dirty, the deck of the ship was clean, Corrin was beginning to suspect there was an enchantment at play, because he’d never actually seen anyone clean it.

He’d noticed symbols which ringed the whole ship, hidden below the bulwark’s lip and only visible from below. They seemed etched into the wood and then painted in white, but he had no idea what they actually did, and wasn’t really bothered to ask.

“Well you’re ready enough to move on to the next stage of your training.” Tor reached to his belt and pulled off a wooden sword, tossing it to the ground in front of Corrin. “Try mantling around that.”

“What?” Corrin checked Tor’s face. He had to be kidding right? But the knight seemed dead serious.

Tor didn’t move, he just stood, watching silently, a look of expectation etched on his harsh face.

Corrin grabbed the wooden sword, turning it over in his hand a few times before breathing more aura into his mantle. He gathered it in his hand and pushed, urging it to climb up the blade.

To his surprise, his aura began to stretch, thin black tendrils grasping the wood as it crawled, inch by inch up the side. It made it up to the guard and slowed further, hitting its limit. He pushed harder, his soul straining as he shoved it as hard as he could. It reached up a bit further, just past the guard, little by little…

His concentration collapsed and the mana fled. All the strength drained out of his hand, and the sword fell out of his fingers which had grown numb.

Damn it…

“Good enough for your first try,” Tor grunted. “This is tough, but it’s absolutely necessary if you want to get stronger. Pushing mana out of your mantle into a technique of some kind is the only way you’ll ever be able to hurt somebody like me.”

“A spirit knight?”

“A channeler of any real skill. Be they an adventurer, spirit knight, or just a Nladian soldier. It doesn’t really matter. If they can mantle, you’ll need this to be effective. If you can do that…” He pulled a dagger off his belt and threw it at a nearby stone spire. The dagger shot through the air fast enough that Corrin could hardly track it before crashing against one of the stone spires. Instead of the dagger shattering on impact though, it was the rock which gave first as a crack appeared on the smooth surface where the knife struck.

The ease with which he did it seemed almost disrespectful to the towering monoliths which had withstood centuries of weathering. Power enough to shatter stone with hardly any effort at all, the thought was frightening, and Corrin wanted it.

“... then you’ll be able to turn anything into a weapon.” Tor finished.

“That seems like a bit of an unfair comparison,” Corrin said weakly.

“You’re right. Your aspect is far more destructive than mine. Now, take a quick break while you recover. I’ll be right back.”

The knight left, and returned some ten minutes later with a large log, thicker than Corrin’s leg and tall enough to reach his chest. Where Tor had gotten it in the sea of endless grass, he had no idea, but it didn’t seem abnormal besides that.

“What’s that for?”

Tor held the log vertically with one hand, so that its bottom pole was just above the ground. He placed his other palm atop it, eyes closed in concentration. His hand began to glow, dripping with thick, golden earth aura.

Corrin’s eyes grew wide as he realized he wasn’t channeling to them. The aura Tor was gathering was thick enough it was visible to the naked eye, as his had been on the night he’d first received his powers.

The aura dripped to the ground like syrup and began to harden, forming around the bottom of the log into a large chunk of stone, four feet across and up to Corrin’s knees.

The light dimmed, and Tor let go, taking a breath as he stepped back. The wooden pole had been firmly secured, grasped by the stone, and it stuck out a good three feet above.

“Your next task is to cut through this pole,” he said simply.

Corrin blinked. He reached for the sword at his hip.

“With the wooden sword.”

“What? That’s impossible!” Corrin complained. “It’s not even sharp! Aura or not how can I—”

“I’m telling you it’s possible.” The knight said firmly. “I could do it, and your aura is far better for the task than mine is.”

“But—”

Tor held up a hand, silencing him. “You want to be a spirit knight? You want to attend the academy? This is what it takes. Don’t complain to me. Get it done.”

Corrin set his jaw, meeting the older man’s eyes. He couldn’t be a bit nicer about it? Fine, if Tor wanted Corrin to break something, then he’d do it.

His grip tightened around the hilt and he brought his arm back.

He swung at the pole, mustering all the force he could, shoving aura into his arms. Power flooded his limbs, freezing and burning all at once. He didn’t expect to cut the log, but shattering the waster would feel good, and he had another.

Except it didn’t shatter, instead bouncing off the pole and sending a stinging shock up his arms.

“Gah!” He dropped the blade and shook his arms out. “The hell is that sword made out of?”

Tor chuckled. “Yeah how about you finish step one first? Hit it with your aura, not the wood. And don’t try to cheat by using your steel blade. Mana doesn’t gather well in the presence of iron, and this wood is sturdy. Your normal sword will only make it harder to cut, not easier. Steel is for losers and foot soldiers. It’s not for the strong. Which do you want to be?”

Stupid question.

Corrin reached down and picked up the sword he’d dropped. He inspected it a bit more carefully in his hand, it was a darker brown than his own waster, which he was certain would’ve at least cracked if he’d swung it so hard. He hadn’t paid attention at first, but the waster Tor gave him was notably stronger.

He looked back at the wooden pole in front of him. It was different from either, a gray wood rather than brown. Where did it come from? There were a few trees on the island that he’d seen, but their wood was reddish, a feature shared with most of the buildings constructed from them.

I’m second guessing the damn wood. Corrin pressed his fingers against his eyes. He was officially losing it, feeling the strain of three days of non-stop training. Sparring was fine, but channeling was just mind-numbing. Perhaps he needed some sort of break after all. But not yet.

It can wait a little longer.

He took a deep breath to calm himself, letting the power begin to fill him once again. With it came a familiar rush as his limbs tingled pleasantly. His mana was running low, drained faster by mantling than anything else, and he still couldn’t bring in more while he used it. One breath after the next, he slowly refilled his reserves. In and out, until finally it was full again.

He opened his eyes once more, letting mana trickle into his mantle where it began to gather in his hand.

Tor had been silent, waiting. But now he nodded, an approving smile on his lips. “Good answer.”

Again.