"Professor Wyn! Professor Wyn!" The dark haired scruffy young boy shouts as he ascends the long spiral staircase leading to the top room of the northern school tower. With a great thud, the mahogany door to the stone chamber slowly swings open, revealing the boy sitting on the floor rubbing a red mark on his forehead.

A young blonde woman, who can be no older than 30 and wearing a white dress blankly stares at him, her face void of any emotion. "Ow" the boy says before standing up and running forward once more while trying to catch his breath. "Professor, I want to learn to use magic! But Headmaster Xia says I'm not capable, that I have no mana control" he quickly announces loud enough to spook the various birds quietly keeping to themselves about the chamber.

"Grantham, first off, hello, how are you? Second, you don't learn to use magic, you just do it. Third, everyone is capable of magic, but not everyone can use it" she replies softly, as she returns to sorting graded papers into stacks on one of her several desks. "I don't understand… Almost everyone in this school can use magic" he replies, still gasping for breath.

She shakes her head and sighs briefly. "What everyone is doing here at school isn't magic. What they are doing is science. Technology. Please don’t confuse the two, I have enough students and teachers who do that." He takes a deep breath and pulls out his small branch of a wand. “My friends can cast fireballs with their wands, my teachers can create firestorms with their words. How is that not magic” he asks in frustration pointing the stick at her.

Wyn sets the remaining papers down on the desk beside her multiple stacks and looks at him as if trying to decide whether it was worth it or not.

From another table she picks up two small objects: one flint and one steel. And with a single quick strike above a torch, an ember forms and dances a glow as it descends upon it. She picks up the torch and gives it a gentle blow from her velvet lips, and quickly a flame emerges fierce but contained. She turns around and faces Grantham, the torch in her left hand. In her right, a bright entrancing flame emerges above her palm and hovers effortlessly.

"Grantham, can you tell me what the difference is between these flames" she asks. He points at her right hand and states proudly, “obviously that one was made with magic.” She nods, “Correct, but you are only seeing half of the picture. I used tools to create this flame didn’t I?” She holds up the torch higher than her other hand. Grantham rolls his eyes, “well, yeah.” Wyn narrows her eyes at him, causing him to look away and place his hand on the back of his neck. “I mean, yes.”

She douses the torch in a nearby water filled vase and the fire in her palm dissipates just as quickly. She strolls across the room, and sits on her old wooden chair, which creaks even under her light weight. “Using a wand or staff, a ‘magic circle’ or incantation, is no different than me creating that flame with the flint and steel, or any other instruments I could use to make a flame.

“There are laws that govern our world. Laws that dictate how all things behave and interact with one another. You can’t create something from nothing after all. Magic breaks those laws. Magic breaks the fabric of our world in order to come into being. Every time magic is used, the world around it gets torn- sometimes slightly and sometimes heavily.”

Grantham stands there, his hand now firmly on his chin as he stares at the floor. “So… How is what you do different from everyone else here at school? I mean, it appears to be the same to me.” Wyn continues to smile and picks up a wand and shows it to him, “you have used a hammer before, correct?”

He nods slowly, “y-yes?”

“Think of this as a hammer then. To use it properly, you need to have nails, and something to be nailed into. When magic breaks the fabric of the world, the fabric never fully reforms afterward. Bits and pieces are left floating and invisible, untouchable. This is the Mana everyone uses. It is Mana that allows everyone else to mimic what magic truly does, no matter what tools are used to make it happen. Mana are the nails to your hammer.”

Grantham looks more confused than ever as his eyes dart rapidly up and down his wand. “I still don’t get it… How can I do what you do? I know I have what it takes, and even if I don’t, I will work even harder until I do.” Wyn takes a quick sip of her tea beside her before setting it back down on the tea plate. “Magic comes from Intent, not Will.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Intent?” he asks, flustered. This rabbit hole keeps getting deeper and his face is surely showing it.

“Your conscious mind may be firm and resolved to do anything you set yourself to. That is your Will. But when it comes to magic, if your unconscious mind disagrees, you might as well be running in place. Intent is all about the unconscious mind and what it wants. Magic manifests when your unconscious mind exerts itself when the conscious mind desires to maintain control. And very few people can achieve that.

Grantham lets out a deep defeated sigh and begins to pace around the room. “This makes no sense,” he mumbles to himself. “Then, how do I do that? How do I make Intent?” He kicks the floor as his frustration compounds.

“Here, have a seat. Let me tell you a tale” she begins, brushing the wrinkles out of her dress as she sits there patiently. Grantham glances toward a nearby empty chair and quickly sits and stares. “This goes back about seven hundred years ago, with a young fisherman's daughter in a small coastal city. She had no magic power to speak of, nor did she care to. Her favorite thing in life was singing to her little brother.

“Day or night, during their chores and during their baths. During their meals and when she put him to bed. The song was her way of showing her depthless love for her family, but most of all her brother. It is said she had the voice of an angel. Eventually a bandit army passed through the city on their way to destroy a minor kingdom that had taken root in a neighboring valley. The city was ravaged. Torture, rape, murder, everything that came from a hostile army in a defenseless community.

“The young girl, kneeling in a puddle of blood upon a rooftop as she held her brother’s lifeless body tight in her arms, began to sing between her cries. She sang a song of pain. A song of woe. A song of death. With the same musical chanting she had used upon her brother's birth, she now used to beg for death, to be reunited with her innocent brother. It was her Perish Song. And when she finished the song, the most powerful magic ever known was unleashed that day as everything living for miles around, just dropped dead. The people in the city, the birds in the air, the fishes in the waters, the plants and animals. Everything. They had the life stripped away from them in an instant. All of them, except for the girl.

“Her deepest desire was for death. Her own of course, but it doesn’t really matter. Her Intent, through her pain and through her song, didn’t only tear the fabric of the world, it shattered it. Her Intent was etched in the world forever. Were anyone to learn the words and sing her Perish Song, they too would unleash the same death and destruction wrought hundreds of years ago.” Wyn takes a breath and another sip of her tea.

“Wait, if I knew the words to her song, I could use it” he asks, both curiously and horrifically. “Yes,” she replies softly. “Woah. So wait… If everyone else isn’t actually doing magic, what are they doing exactly?”

“Intent manifests the magic, which in turn tears the fabric of the world. The mana left behind by the magic is like an echo of the Intent. With the Intent etched into the fabric of the world, anyone who knows how to manipulate mana can reproduce the effect of the Intent so long as they understand what the Intent was. Sages who spend their entire lives researching new magics are actually searching for Intents lost in the world. They just don’t know it. And they wouldn’t believe it even if they did.”

Grantham hides his face in his hands, his breathing now steady but heavy with sighs. “So, because I can’t manipulate mana, I can’t do… not magic…”

Professor Wyn smiles, “if it really means that much to you, then I’d suggest taking a trip. In the Hedelis desert, there is a large stone ruin almost completely consumed by the sands. If you can find the ruins and live there for six months, you will come back with more mana control than anyone attending this school, including the headmaster. It is one of the most potent mana springs known to exist.”

Grantham looks up slowly, a weary smile forcing its way upon his face.