Fire blasted across the surface of my shield, up, over, and around it in a blinding crimson river. I could feel its heat even through dual layers of magical protection and sensed the burning, Mist-tier mana carried in each flickering tongue that danced past my face.

I ducked and twisted my right arm, angling the shield projected from my vambrace to deflect the flames off to my side. The force was enough to push me nearly off balance, and only experience let me hold myself upright. Well, that and a healthy infusion of mana to keep my body strong.

Though I could not see my opponent, I could sense him. He stood at the epicenter of the flames, maybe twenty feet away. It was far enough that he might consider himself safe for most mages.

And that was his mistake.

I pulled mana from my core, streaming it to my legs and into my third spell. Force Step, or rather my half-finished new version, burst to life. The world blurred around me as I shot forward, my right arm upraised as I blasted through the river of fire and out the other side.

As the flames fell away, I saw my opponent. He was maybe three years my senior, with dark hair and a haughty demeanor with barely masked shock and disgust warring on his face. As I understood it, he had come to Colkirk to avoid the bitter winter of his home. Part of me wondered if he regretted that choice now.

The fire mage backpedaled, sweeping one arm low and casting a thin tongue of flames just above the ground. I jumped over it, and he threw his other hand forward to launch another blast at my chest. My shield and armor combined likely could handle the attack, but there was another thing I wanted to try.

I reached out, and my mana flowed through my body and into the air. It molded and twisted under my will, shaping into a hand-like shape around his arm, visible but thin enough that he might miss it for a moment.

With one sharp tug, I pulled his arm to the side. I underestimated the amount of mana I needed, and he managed to resist it, but not enough. The edge of his flame spell clipped my shoulder, and I felt my reserves dip as my armor repaired the sudden damage, but a moment later, I landed just steps away from him.

The man bared his teeth and pulled his arm free of my telekinetic hold, but I closed the last of the gap between us and lay the edge of my swordstaff against his neck.

He froze, his mana following suit as he felt the cold steel against bare flesh. We held that position for a few seconds until I felt his core settle, after which I pulled back. I took a few steps away, then bowed my head low.

"Thank you for the duel, my lord," I said as I straightened up, flashing a polite and appropriately tired smile.

He glared in response, blowing out a low breath between clenched teeth as he reached down to his hip. One hand tore the pouch hanging there free, and he practically threw it in my face before turning and stalking off. Our audience, a group of at least ten other mages ranging from their late teens to early twenties, muttered and spoke amongst themselves. Two broke away to follow the fire mage, but the rest remained standing and drinking nearby.

I paused in the center of the dirt square, waiting for what I knew would happen, and after a few seconds, one of the mages stepped out of the crowd. Her chin was upturned, contempt flared in her eyes, and arrogance dripped off her.

"I challenge you to a—"

"I accept," I replied, rolling my shoulder as I walked to the far end of the dueling ring, "Whenever you feel ready, my lady."

There were a few Fogs in the crowd that I would have surrendered against, but she was not one of them. She was a Mist, and a middling one at that, with poorly controlled wind mana flooding from her body and the faintest slur on her words that spoke to one too many drinks.

Even with my core half-empty, I doubted she would do much to hone my skills further, but beggars could not be choosers. And I was a lot closer to a beggar these days than I would like to think.

It took me three minutes to tear past the wind mage's unfocused blasts and gusts. I could have done it in two, but I decided to make a show of struggling against her for the audience's benefit. Another stepped forward, but I declined their challenge before they said it. My core was too empty, and my body too drained.

Besides, I was already running late.

***

I found Wallace waiting for me by the waterfront, having secured a table with two chairs on a deck overlooking the sun-kissed lake. The sounds of lutes, lyres, and singing swam through the air, and I could smell meat roasting from one of the nearby restaurants.

The man saw me coming and waved one hand with a lazy smile before returning his gaze to the sunset. I settled into my chair with a sigh, leaning backward as I stretched. Cat leaped onto the table a second later, licking one paw while staring at my begrudging ally.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"You're late," Wallace remarked, pointedly picking up his glass and holding it away from the feline. I hoped he was drinking something non-alcoholic, as we still had training to finish, but I doubted he had been so considerate.

"I know," I said, "More people came to challenge me today."

"Yeah, I've been meaning to ask. You sure that's a good idea? I mean, nobles don't take kindly to insults, and last I checked, kicking their kids around isn't a compliment."

"I do not track them down," I responded, "They seek me out and challenge me. Besides, I do not win every duel."

"Just most of them," Wallace countered.

I did not bother replying, mostly because he was right. While I did not, and could not, best every noble that challenged me, I won more often than not. My ego would love to claim it was thanks to skill, but the truth was it came down to several factors.

First, most nobles were too traditional. They fought like mages, and all mages shared the same weaknesses. They could not fight in close quarters. Their magic failed when put under pressure, as their panic left them unable to focus. In short, they failed when I excelled. I might not match them on an open battlefield but we fought in a small dueling ring.

Second, the truly skilled and powerful nobles did not know who I was, did not care, or felt I was too weak to battle honorably. Most of my challenges came from Hazes and Mists, with the odd Fog and even a single, particularly shameless Cloud. When I did fight someone worth a candle, I struggled and, on several occasions, lost.

But what truly followed me was a growing reputation.

The first rumblings about Duke Estton's former, disgraced advisor-in-training had begun to reach Colkirk a month or so ago. Nobles loved few things more than gossip, and idle, drunk nobles doubly so. The stories varied from person to person, each more preposterous than the last and all unflattering to some extent.

Some claimed I had nearly killed Flynn Sion a year prior, and his father had demanded my exile in recompense for the perceived slight. Others said I had failed in my training and was cast out. The third was that I had graduated early and come to Colkirk to gather new allies for the Duke, with the other stories mere misunderstandings. Yet another story went that I had entered into particular 'entanglements' with one or both twins and fled to avoid their father's wrath.

I hoped the last rumor did not get back to the Esttons or Amelia, but I did not bother correcting any of them. Rumors had a way of gaining strength with every protest, and any denial would ring to some as confirmation. What I could do, and what both Girem and Julian had taught me the value of doing, was to encourage certain parts to outshine the others.

My first duel had been taken half on a whim. I had walked past a group of half-drunk nobles one evening. They were sparring with one another for fun, competition, and a few gold pieces, and it was like the sun breaking through storm clouds. I needed a place to hone my magic in a practical setting, and this would not only do that but earn me some gold and renown along the way.

That victory came easy, and soon, word began to spread of the common-born mage who fought with a swordstaff and emerald armor. Nobles began challenging me, some hoping to test their skills against the unorthodox mage while others sought to bring me low. And, with every fight won, my reputation grew further.

Now, I was known within Colkirk. Not by many, and not by the truly great and powerful, but enough that I was recognized. A part of me enjoyed that renown and learned to use it as a weapon. Nervous and angry mages did not fight smart, after all.

I made sure to lose on occasion, but Wallace was right. My time in Colkirk would have to end soon before the nobility within the city reached the limits of their patience with me. But until then...

"Don't get me wrong," Wallace continued, "I don't care what you do, but if you end up dead, it hurts me too. We have a deal, remember?"

It was refreshing to have such a simple, transactional relationship.

Wallace and I had worked together for weeks, meeting every day for training. I could not figure out his 'looping' trick yet, but watching and copying his other abilities had led me down unusual routes.

My force magic had reached the point of functional but non-practical. Though I could use it in a fight with effort, it was not worth much. I could lift and throw small to mid-sized objects within twenty feet and lift as much as a hundred pounds, provided I had a minute to carefully prepare the spell. Applying it to my weapon would take months, but it was a start.

It had not taken me long to theorize about other possibilities, though. Flight, telekinetic shields, barriers to hold people in place, and restricting breathing or blood flow should all be possible. I might even be able to interfere with the mana within a person's body, given time.

Wallace seemed to get the better of our arrangement, though I was careful not to show him too much. He got the hang of Origin Breathing within a few days and picked up basic Forging techniques just as quickly. In just three weeks, he had managed to close the gap in multiple skills, and I was left awed and jealous in equal parts of his talents.

He might become a true monster if he had two or three years and mana several tiers more dense. But therein lay the grand, unfair truth about magic. For all of his talents, he was also forever limited.

Wallace's core was not just small, like Leon's, but truly pitiful. He might struggle just to reach Fog, and Cloud would take decades of training and a small fortune in specialized resources. Drop was likely a distant dream at best, the sort of barrier he might glimpse at the end of his life but never surmount.

We were not friends. In fact, we had only just reached cordial these last few days, but I could not help but feel some sympathy. I might not share his physical limitations, but I could understand the simmering frustrations of knowing you could do more yet realizing those ambitions might forever be out of reach.

"Finish your drink," I said, gesturing toward him, "Then we can get started."

"Ah, about that," Wallace reached into his pocket, "A woman came by not too long ago looking for you."

"Me?" I asked, trying to hide the surprise and suspicion in my voice.

"Trust me, I was just as surprised," he responded as he pulled out a piece of paper and slid it across the table.

"Why you?"

"Saw us around town, I'd guess," Wallace shrugged as he finished his drink, "I didn't ask."

I picked up the paper and quickly scanned it. Swirling, looping letters danced across the surface, the sort of ostentatious calligraphy a noble might favor with a few splotches that suggested they wrote it in a hurry.

The writer requested that I meet at a nearby restaurant to discuss a business arrangement. They had not left a name and did not sign it with any familial crest, which seemed suspicious. However, what struck me far more were the circumstances behind the message.

I had received such invitations before, but not in a long time and not since I had set off on my own. I was no longer a noble's advisor, nor did I represent a master of the Academy. By all accounts, I was a nobody, known only within Colkirk and only there by a handful of people. So why did this person want to meet?

It felt like a risk, but the truth was I could not ignore the curiosity burning in my chest. If it was a threat, I could lie low for a few weeks or leave Colkirk altogether, and if not, I would regret missing out on an opportunity.

I read the short letter twice, folded the page in half, and slipped it into my pocket. My core was once more half-full, and there was at least an hour until sunset.

"Change of plans," I said, standing and smoothing out the front of my shirt, "It seems I have a meeting to attend. Tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah, sure," Wallace stood and started to walk away, "Good luck."

He wandered off in the other direction, and I watched him go for a few seconds. Then I bowed to let Cat jump onto my shoulders before turning and walking to meet with my mysterious new "friend."