"Now, cast that Spark spell you have, and watch closely as the mana applies your will to reality," Carrix said.

Oliver looked at her, then looked down at his hand, focusing upon the Spark cell in his system spreadsheet and willing it to come into existence. At the moment he triggered the spell, a line of mana shot down from his spine into his arm and reached the end of his hand. Departing his palm, it branched into smaller threads, which in turn branched into still smaller ones, splitting fractally until they were too fine to distinguish and appeared as a small cloud, even to his enhanced sight.

The previous rate of mana flow he'd used when experimenting with it last, 0.1 mana-days/s, was still in effect, so almost instantaneously a flame guttered into existence right in the center of the cloud of mana tendrils, hovering above the palm of his hand.

"Non-somatic casting," said Carrix, sounding impressed. "Good. That's one habit we don't have to knock out of you. There may be some virtue to your system yet."

He allowed it the flame to burn there for a moment, feeling the heat licking his palm.

After a moment the pain from the heat became too intense and he was forced to allow it to go out, even though he still had more mana left.

"Now, what did you see?"

"Mana threads leaving my hand, ending right above my palm and branching out to form a fine cloud, from which the fire appeared."

"Good. That is an adequate description. The mana tendrils serve as conduits through which the elemental transmutation takes place, altering reality at the smallest level to convince the element of air existing there that it really ought to be fire."

"I see," he said.

"Good. Now, any questions yet?"

"Yes, several. Let's circle back really quickly, sorry, I just have something that I've been wondering since you transferred your mana to me. How do I get more mana? You just gave me nearly as much mana as it would take me half a year to collect in my current state."

"It's difficult to increase your mana pull. Time-consuming, expensive, painful—pick any two."

His heart sank, but something didn't add up. "So, how did you do it?"

"Mine was… intensive. And time-consuming." An echo of distant pain mingled with pride colored her words. "I basked in the mana of a natural mana well for a year. The pull of the mana well drew more flow from the mana sea in my vicinity, and—"

"Sorry, the mana sea?" Oliver broke in.

"The mana sea. It's the place where mana comes from, another facet of existence. It is a place of pure potential, mana alone, and separated by ours by a barrier, a barrier very difficult to pierce."

"So, what—" asked Oliver, getting up and beginning to pace. "The places—tears—where the barrier are broken are how mana can leak through from this other plane into ours?"

"Precisely, though I would describe the holes in the barrier more as cracks than tears. The barrier is… brittle. At times."

"So the only way to increase the flow of mana from the mana sea into this world is to… increase the size of crack."

She nodded. "Yes. Through violence."

"Gotcha. So, how can I manage that?"

"I just told you. You can't. If it was easy, we wouldn't need mana slaves, and the Empire wouldn't be forced to expand so fast."

"Mana slaves?"

She arched an eyebrow. "Where did they find you? Rhetorical question. Mana slaves are people whose wills have been annihilated and are sustained on the generosity of the Empire for the sole purpose of generating mana."

Something of his feelings must have shown on his face, because she continued on quickly. "A certain revulsion is natural, but have a care in sharing it with those who may be sympathizers of the Empire, lest you find yourself joining the slaves. Many are quick to report seditionists."

He realized he was gritting his teeth and wheeled away, facing a wall as he fought to control his feelings, jaw muscle working. The scene he'd watched shortly after arriving in this place, the villagers and the captain's talk of tithe, the collection of slaves, all of it took on a whole new, darker cast. If that had been possible.

"These people," he said slowly, "whose wills have been annihilated? Can they be restored?"

"It is a living death," she said quietly, coming to stand beside him. "But, in theory, it can be undone."

"In theory?"

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"It's not something the Empire countenances research on. They prefer to keep knowledge of the methods they use to a minimum. But," she said cautiously, glancing around, "there are theories."

When first he'd learned of the Empire he'd pictured the Roman Empire whose evil was constrained to massively wasteful parties, lavish lifestyles, and coliseums. Or maybe the Empire from Star Wars, tyrannical yet distant overlords painted as evil through violent incompetence and the cartoonish destruction of planets.

But this, mana tax and slavery and imperial expansion via murder, this was a pervasive and personal evil woven into the very fabric of this the society.

"What do they spend the mana on?" he asked.

"War. Public infrastructure. Communications networks, food production, and the like. But mostly, conquest."

He shook his head and opened his mouth to say more, but she cut him off. "Any more questions pertaining to today's lesson?" she asked loudly.

"I—" he paused, but forced himself to go on. "Yes. So, we humans are the cracks in this barrier?"

"Well, ah, no," she said. "It's a matter of some debate. Many races and creatures have magic. Humans, elves, fae, and the like. Every sapient race and some sentient ones as well. Some say intelligence itself is the means by which the wall between is broken, but I prefer a simpler explanation; will. Mana is potential and will is the realization of potential."

"I don't understand," said Oliver.

"Few do. It is of no matter. If all of the questions you have are so abstract and academic, let us move on."

"I was going to ask one more question," said Oliver. "The mana, it went down my arm and out of my hand. Must mana travel to the location where it is to create its effect?"

"Ah, now that is an interesting question," she said, a hint of approval in her voice. "Mana itself must be present at the location where its effect is created, yes. But it needn't necessarily travel there. Observe."

She raised her hand and Oliver thought she was preparing to cast a spell. Then he realized she was merely pointing. He focused on the wall where she was pointing, saw a small section of the stone wall begin to smoke, a teal-tinged spot of mana welling up there.

He looked at her hand and saw mana flowing down through her arm, a line thicker and darker than his had been. It reached the end of her hand and simply disappeared.

"Do you see it?" she asked, gesturing.

"Yes. The mana, it's disappearing at the end of your hand, and reappearing at the place that it's effecting."

She dropped her hand. "Correct. Of course, mana jumping—the process of moving mana across an intervening space—is fairly inefficient, and costs increase with the amount of mana being transported and the distance it is to be transported. Much of the mana you might pour into such a spell is lost through the process. Also, you typically must have line of sight to the place the mana is to reach. But it's the only way some effects are possible, especially mind magic, when your mana must bypass or overwhelm the subject's aura."

"I see," he said.

"Moving on to the next part of this lesson," she said. "I want you to create a mana tendril yourself."

"How?"

"You must do it without the aid of a spellform," she suggested. "Simply envision a tendril of mana moving down the length of your arm and extending into the air above it."

He did so, and nothing happened. He knew it was possible though, since she was suggesting it, and focused. He looked down to see if he could find the origin of the mana, couldn't see anything.

"I can't see where my mana is coming from," he said, "is there a mirror I can use to see if I can find where it's originating so that I can extrude it?"

"Extrude it?" she asked, curious. "I'm not sure I understanding the meaning of the word."

"I'm imagining it like I might one of my CAD designs," he explained. "I need to find an existing point in space that I can draw out from, a point where the mana already is that I can tug it out."

"I see," she said, ignoring the incongruous reference to CAD. Apparently she didn't like admitting she didn't know something. "Don't imagine pushing it out. Imagine pulling it. From your mind. And don't worry about modeling it against the contours of your arm. It will flow down the natural channel."

He did so, imagining the mana somewhere in his head being tugged downwards and out towards his fingertip. There was an odd sensation of mental pressure that hadn't been there before, and then as he looked down a tendril of pure mana came into view, descending down torso through where he imagined his spine to be and slowly going through his arm.

He held up his arm, rotating it in wonder, and as he did so he lost his focus on the tendril. It snapped back like a rubber band, instantly slipping from his focus.

"Good. Try again," she said, "and don't lose focus."

He did, holding his arm still as he drew forth the tendril. It was thick, but very light, perhaps the width of his pinky and barely visible against the yellow backdrop of the mana emanating from the house and the courtyard around them.

"Good, keep going," she said.

He fought to draw the tendril to his hand, and after a moment, succeeded. It came to rest in his palm, quivering slightly there like a rubber band under tension.

"I can't, keep, it," he managed, forcing the words out from a place of extreme concentration. The mana wanted to slip away, out of his grasp.

"Difficult, isn't it?" she said, then suddenly gave him a shove on the shoulder. The mana escaped his mental grasp and snapped back. He glared at her, temper flaring, then mastered himself.

"Don't touch me," he snapped, knocking her hand away as it she was retracting it.

"Cast Spark again," she said.

After a moment, he looked away from her and did so. The magic welled out of him. This time, after having tried the process manually, he was watching closely as the mana sped down his arm and out the palm of his hand, branching out into successively finer and finer mana threads until they became so fine that they appeared to be nothing more than a cloud.

He raised the spell up to eye level, admiring the flame as it flickered. It was beginning to burn the palm of his hand, so he mentally flicked down the mana flow rate to 0.05 mana-days/second and watched as the flame stabilized at about half the size, perhaps the size of a lighter flame, hovering an inch above his palm.

"Impressive control," she noted. "Your mana output is exceptionally stable."

Just then, Tiro burst into the courtyard from the direction of the front door.

"Carrix, you have to go. They're onto Oliver's trail."

She glanced at Oliver, hesitated for a moment. "Practice drawing out the mana manually. It's the first step to creating your own spells. I'll be back when I can."

"They have a mana hound," Tiro said. "We need to get you out of here so we can focus on cleanup. We'll contact you about payment later. For now, get home."

Madame Carrix nodded at him and left at a swift stride, brushing past Tiro, who came up to Oliver as she left. "We need to get you inside. Follow me. Quickly."

Behind him, Arlo burst into the courtyard from the same direction, raising his hand and muttering something as Oliver was hustled inside.