That night was the first decent night's rest I had in weeks. I had a chance to rest and relax, barely but more than my trip north had allowed. The following day, I woke with dulled annoyance and strengthened resolve.

At its heart, my trip north was a failure. My successes came down to luck and the machinations of others, not my talent, hard work, or skill. I had been pulled around and thrown onto the mercy of others, having to hope that they would not simply crush me.

If I had been stronger, things would have been different. I could have forced Markov's hand or defeated Flynn outright. If I had the power and status of a noble, I could have avoided this entire idiotic mess.

If.

When I walked into the main space of my dormitory, it felt wanting and uncomfortable. After a week in a cave bouncing between sleep, training, and experimentation, my placid room felt wasteful and useless.

I examined the table and desk, the couches and chairs, the half-filled bookshelf, and the paltry space between each piece of furniture. The room was perfect for quiet nights studying or spending time with friends, but those sounded like wasted time to my ears.

All students could personalize their rooms, adding or removing pieces as they saw fit. Most hung familial crests, tapestries, and trophies to impress guests, honor long-dead ancestors, or appeal to their sensibilities. I had avoided that in the past but now decided against that choice.

It took me four hours of walking, asking questions, waiting, moving, removing, and making adjustments until I finished. But when I was done, my room had changed entirely.

I had removed and replaced every piece of furniture, creating a space entirely designed for training and studying. Bookshelves lined the wall to my left, with enough space to hold hundreds of tomes. Several desks sat to my right, with drawers to hold various samples.

Lastly, I lined up workbenches at the far end and pushed them against the windows to form a continuous surface. My enchanted equipment sat there, too damaged to safely use but too valuable to discard.

There was also a locked trunk in the corner keyed to my Academy bracelet, where I stored several vials from the Aether pool and an old notebook. It was a decoy, and I had hidden the samples of that magical creature, along with the rest of my magical waters, in another trunk under my bed. The monster's corpse was still in my bathtub until I figured out a way to move and store it safely, and I had to rely on Amelia's gift for hygiene until then.

The rest of my room was empty, with enough space to practice spear and shield techniques, spellcasting, and calisthenics without fear of knocking anything over. It might not be a comfortable space to entertain company anymore, but it felt more comfortable than ever.

With my work done, I turned my attention to greater concerns. For all my failures in Aresford, I found several things worth considering. I made strange discoveries, started down multiple paths for my spellcasting, and had leads in expanding my skill set.

Magic was a journey with infinite paths, but I had a limited lifespan. I wanted to learn everything, but it was best to set my sights lower for now. Progress came from purposeful aims, not wandering from interest to interest.

First, what kind of mage would I be? And second, how would I get there? Different mages had different opinions, but it all came down to the dichotomy between specialists and generalists. Specialists fought in groups and had the safety of power and efficiency, while generalists were versatile, adapting to changing circumstances and challenges.

The last few weeks had taught me that I could not be a specialist. I had lived thanks to a blend of abilities that let me defeat that monster and turn its infection into fuel for growth. My combination of spells let me rival Flynn, even though he fought with one metaphorical hand behind his back.

More than that, relying upon my magic rather than others would let me regain some self-reliance and independence. I did not want to be controlled by the whims of others, and the best way to avoid that was to ensure I had no weak points to exploit.

I needed a flexible, versatile style. I already favored close to mid-range combat, and my three existing spells centered around that goal. I had the faintest idea to turn that mana pulse trick into a fourth spell, but my fifth possible spell was one I had already decided upon months earlier.

So, the only thing to do was to start on it.

----

Direct physical augmentation is a magical field often forgotten. Most Ferren mages feel it is undignified and crude, redirecting focus away from the true heights of magic in favor of barbarism. And this is true to an extent. No sword or strength of arms can match the fantastic might of a dozen war mages casting fireball and lightning bolt spells in concert.

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However, there may come a time when pure strength, speed, and agility are the difference between life and death. The true mark of a mage is preparing for such occasions, and I have come to regard augmentation magic as a valuable tool worth studying, if not mastering.

To begin, focus inward on your mana. Pull it from your core, lead it through each channel, and let it radiate into your flesh and blood. It is crucial that the flow remain consistent, as sudden surges may cause severe injury or death. Additionally, remember...

I reread the section yet again, searching for anything I might have missed the first ten times. Though the book was only forty pages long, I studied it like a lost scroll from the Founders themselves.

When I first arrived at the Academy, it had not taken long to discover spells to strengthen myself temporarily. I dismissed them at the time as too demanding and dangerous, but my explorations in the north forced me to reevaluate. What could Flynn do to stop me if I had crushing physical strength and blinding speed?

It had taken me several hours to track down books on the topic, and I returned with only a single thin tome for all that work. It was not a spellbook but a series of directed mana exercises designed to improve internal control for later enhancement spellcraft. Once mastered, these would form the bedrock to use and master true enhancement magic.

However, that led me to a new problem. There was no enhancement magic for Aether. The field was already sparse, and my element was too rare for anyone to bother. If I wanted one, I would need to build it from scratch using hard work, experimentation, and refinement.

On the one hand, the task was daunting. It would likely be an order of magnitude harder than my Force Step, with the added risk of severe injury or death. Crafting a spell to enhance my body was the sort of thing even most adepts would never try.

On the other, most adepts would never try to make such a spell. The idea of accomplishing something a real mage could not feel enthralling. More importantly, it would give me an edge that I doubted many first-years could equal.

I started my first test sitting on the ground, legs underneath me, as I took long, steady breaths. It took several minutes to coax Aether from my core. I moved slowly, letting it flow along my arms and hands, past my neck, and down my legs and feet. I felt it pulse through my channels, resonate in my flesh and bones, and ripple along my blood.

Slowly, I stood, maintaining the flow as I got my feet underneath me. I rose, knees straightening-

The mana broke apart, and I staggered before falling to the floor. Aether flooded throughout my channels, and I winced out of habit before letting out a sigh when my body remained pain-free.

When I confirmed I was uninjured, I tried and failed again. Over and over, I tested the mana exercise, and each time, I got a little farther. The flow was easy to fall into while sitting, but the moment I tried to move, it broke apart. By the twentieth attempt, I could stand without losing the flow, but that took nearly a minute, and it still frayed the instant I tried to take a step.

I was rereading the book, trying to find any other hints of wisdom, when there was a knock on my door. It sounded heavy, and I did not have to think for long about who it was before standing and making my way to the door.

Sigmund practically shoved me to one side as he barged in. The older man froze several steps into my room, his head visibly turning as he surveyed the space.

"You changed your room, eh?" Sig remarked as he glanced around, "Not bad. Did the same myself, though I had more training dummies."

"Why training dummies?"

Sig shrugged, "Used to get sick of studying. Target practice helped break it up."

I nodded before replying, "Nice to see you again, sir."

"Sig," he corrected, "Nice to see you too, kid. I'd ask how was your break, but I've already heard."

Sig had turned to me with a stern expression, and I sighed before nodding, "And you are here to reprimand me?"

"Maybe. Explain what happened, and I'll decide then."

"I assumed Master Julian would've told you already."

"Julian's not the best source. He loves to twist things in his favor. I want your side of it," Sig replied as he folded his arms across his chest.

I had not expected the response and paused briefly before retelling my time in Aresford. It was the second time in as many days, and took a fraction as long. Part of that was because I knew what to omit, but the bulk was because Sig did not interrupt to ask questions like Julian had.

As I spoke, Sig's face and demeanor shifted. Initially, he appeared stern, but his features soon became a scowl. His eyebrows lowered, his mouth thinned, and his posture turned tense.

When I finished, Sig did not speak at first. I could see him take a few deep breaths as he turned and walked to the far end of my room. It took nearly a minute for him to gather himself enough to speak.

"What were you thinking?"

"I needed to get stronger and had a way to do it," I replied, "I did not intend to betray Master Julian's trust, fail his test, or endanger-"

"Vayne, I don't give a shit about Julian's tests and plans and whatever else he's got going on. He's got a hundred backups, and I guarantee he wasn't as vulnerable as he pretended. What I care about is my student throwing his life away."

"I-"

"You almost died," Sig said, "You get that, right? And you only lived because you got lucky, and that Sion brat has more honor than you could've expected. But do you think you can count on that?"

My patience, already worn and frayed from my encounter with Julian and failures, broke. "Of course, I recognize that. I realize that I nearly died and that only luck and mercy saved me. I understand that others control my life, and I am a servant more than anything. I know how close I came to dying. Do you think I'm blind?!"

I was yelling by the end, waving my arms as I shouted. It was closer to a tantrum than anything, and I realized when I finished that Sig was staring at me with raised eyebrows. I closed my eyes, took a few deep breaths, and forced mana through my lungs.

Slowly, the heat in my chest bled away, and when it had cooled entirely, I opened my eyes again, "I apologize for raising my voice. It was improper and-"

"You never yelled at me before," Sig interrupted.

"No, and I will not again. It was-"

"It's good," Sig cut in again, "Shows you care, at least."

I tried to reply, but could not think of what to say. Sig snorted, shook his head, and continued, "Look, kid. You're my student. Annoying, reckless, and borderline suicidal, but still mine. Last thing I want is for you to die."

"Believe it or not, I want to avoid that too."

"Good. Then I want you to make me a promise. No more dangerous stunts."

It was a promise I could not make. While I did not intend to risk my life quite so frivolously, magic was still dangerous, and my intentions were doubly so. If I wanted to surpass my previous self, I had no choice.

But I also did not want to lie to Sigmund. He was gruff, often demanding, but never needlessly cruel.

So, I shook my head, "I cannot."

"Vayne," Sig said sternly, "I won't watch you kill yourself."

"I understand."

"I'll stop training you."

"If that is what you feel you need to do."

Sig stared at me, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I need to be."

"Be what?"

I shrugged, "Better."

"And you think risking your life is the way to do it?"

"Of course not, but I might not always have a choice."

Sig did not respond at first. He stared at me, seeming to consider how best to respond. Finally, he grunted and marched over to my desk. I wondered if he was examining my weapons, but instead, he picked up one of my journals and flipped it open before tearing out a blank page.

"Come to this place in the city tomorrow," Sig said as he wrote on the page, "I'll expect you by early afternoon."

Sigmund stomped up to me and shoved the paper into my chest. Then, without another word, he practically stormed out of my room, leaving me alone to wonder what he had planned.