Months passed, and my ability to sense mana gradually strengthened. I began to notice that the flow of energy Elana spoke of did not simply surround this world but permeated everything around, absorbed into every being, every petal, every grain of sand.

Every evening, Elana and I would spend time by the fireplace. She would tell stories of the great mages of the past, of nature's magic, and how it was and remains something more than just a power—it was a part of existence itself. These tales captivated me, filling my thoughts about magic with something I had never felt before.

One evening, as rain battered against the windows, Elana invited me to sit by the fire and extended her hand. "Do you want to feel magic?" she asked softly, and I nodded, holding my breath.

She placed my hand on hers and closed her eyes, focusing. I felt a warm, pulsing energy pass through her hand, like an invisible river flowing with an ancient, steady rhythm. It was more than just warmth—it was as if I could feel life itself, in every breath, in every whisper of the air.

"Listen to it," Elana whispered. "Magic is more than just power. It's like a quiet stream that flows within us. Just let it respond."

Closing my eyes, I focused, trying to tune into this inner rhythm. And suddenly, I sensed a faint, almost imperceptible pulse coming from deep within. There was something special in this pulse, something that connected me to the world around me.

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"It's like the world's own music, a sound I couldn't hear before..."

Seeing my surprise, Elana smiled and whispered,

"This is only the beginning. True magic isn't something you can control. It responds when we respect it. Always remember that."

From then on, I tried more and more often to focus on this feeling, seeking mana both around and within myself. Sometimes, when my parents were busy, I would go out to the small clearing behind the house and try to summon a light breeze or warm the air slightly. I realized that these first steps toward understanding magic were little more than a game, but deep down, I felt there was something important behind it all.

One day, alone in the garden, I raised my hand, focusing on fleeting sensations. My breathing slowed, and I felt a gentle movement of air around my palm. It was like a response to my will, not as a tool, but as a harmonious, connecting force that ran through me from head to toe.

"Magic... here, it's something more. Not a means, not a tool. It breathes alongside the world, as something I must become a part of."

Whenever I needed advice, Elana and Roan were always there. Their ease and their understanding that I needed not just lessons but support, amazed me. Often, we'd sit down for dinner, and they'd joke, sharing stories about their adventures in youth and their dreams for the future.

"You know, I was once an adventurer," Roan would say, chuckling. "But what I found in a life with your mother—it's worth more than any treasure. Like this tea, for example. No magic can match its taste when it's made by Elana."

Elana would feign a frown.

"Only if you remember how to brew it properly."

Roan would sigh in jest, raising his hands playfully.

"Don't say so, but I'd rather leave it to you!"

With each such evening, with each of their warm jokes, I began to understand what a real family was—something I had never had before.