“My ability was confused with Red Frost,” I explain, watching his expression for a reaction.

Henrik nods slightly, his face thoughtful but unreadable. Taking a deep breath, I follow up with a demonstration. Summoning the Red Water, I show him its unique properties—shaping it, heating it, and manipulating it with precision. As I outline its abilities and limitations, he continues nodding, his focus unwavering.

When I finish, Henrik crosses his arms. “I have no clue what homeomorphic means,” he says dryly, “but you look like you’ve got a handle on it, lad.” Then, turning to Laura, his tone shifts slightly. “You, however, have no clue what you’re doing.”

“I know,” she answers meekly, her voice barely audible. Then, with a sudden spark of determination, she straightens her back and lifts her chin. “But I want to get better.”

“I’m no Red Frost user,” Henrik begins, his tone measured but firm, “but I’ve seen how it looks in action. Every mage—whether they wield Red Frost or Blue Flame—has their strengths and weaknesses. You, lass, have an abundance of raw power, but what you lack is control.”

“So how do I improve?” Laura pleads, her voice trembling. “How can I stop being so dangerous?”

Henrik leans slightly forward, his eyes narrowing with seriousness. “Before you develop your skills, you need to change your attitude. You lack confidence, and worse—you’re afraid of yourself.”

“I have every reason to be afraid!” she snaps back, her voice rising with defiance, her fear and frustration bleeding into every word.

“It’s a cycle,” Henrik says, his voice steady but firm. “The more you’re afraid, the more you manifest your fears. Break the cycle—how you do it is up to you.”

“She took initiative. That’s a good start, right?” I interject, trying to defend Laura.

Henrik’s gaze flicks to me, his expression unwavering. “It’s an act, lad. She’s doing this for you,” he replies bluntly, his tone cutting but calm. Then, as if the words carried no weight, he turns around and heads inside, leaving the air between us heavy with tension. Naturally, we go after him.

“What do you mean?” I ask, confusion evident in my voice.

Henrik doesn’t look at me, his focus seemingly fixed elsewhere. “This is between you two,” he says curtly. “Figure it out among yourselves.”

And with that, Henrik closes the door, leaving the two of us alone outside. Laura stands still, her head bowed, her eyes hidden from view. The silence between us feels heavy, and from her reaction, it’s clear that Henrik’s words hold some truth.

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“You’re forcing yourself... for me?” I ask softly, my voice tinged with uncertainty.

“I want to protect you. That’s the only reason I want to learn to control it,” she says, her voice steady and clear.

Her conviction resonates with me, but Henrik’s earlier words linger in my mind. What’s his issue with her? Wanting to protect others is noble, isn’t it? Or is he confusing confidence with arrogance? Maybe being an ass really is a requirement for being a mage.

I glance at her, her resolve evident in the way she holds herself. I wish to protect her too—she’s my friend.

He said we needed to figure it out ourselves. Is this just a communication issue? Or is there something she’s not telling me? And how does he see these things anyway? I don’t get it.

Her hand clings to the corner of my shirt, her grip tightening. There’s a desperation in the way she holds on, and then it hits me. I think I know what the problem is.

“I’m heading inside to talk. You should go train by yourself in the clearing. I need to talk to Henrik about something,” I say, turning toward the door.

“Let’s go together. What if I mess up again?” she pleads, her voice tinged with anxiety.

“You’ll be fine,” I reply firmly, heading inside before she can retort.

I bend down and peer through the tiny peephole, waiting until she leaves. She lingers for a moment, hesitation clear in her body language, before finally walking away.

“I think I understand now,” I say, turning to Henrik. He’s reclined on his bed, a well-worn book in hand, his attention seemingly absorbed by the pages.

“She’s too dependent on me,” I continue.

“And what are you going to do about it?” he asks, his tone as neutral as ever, his eyes not lifting from the book.

“I can’t push her away—that would be cruel,” I say, pacing a little. “Maybe she needs to find a friend. Someone from Kundor. A fellow girl to talk about… whatever girls talk about.”

Henrik chuckles softly, finally glancing up from his book. “Then go tell her that, not me.”

“That would defeat the point. She has to figure it out herself,” I sigh, slumping into the chair at the table. Rubbing my eyes, I add, “She’s been alone her whole life. Then I showed up, and for the first time, she took action. We escaped the cathedral, and eventually, we ended up here with you. Back there, she was active, confident. She took initiative. I can’t help but wonder… what changed?”

What was different then compared to now? She spent the majority of her life in the cathedral. She was shunned, yes, but Laura never mentioned anyone outright bullying her. Most of our communication back then was through letters, so I can’t be sure how much of her true self came through in her writing.

The only real difference is… me. Back then, she took charge. She pushed herself to act, to make decisions. But now, it feels like I’ve taken over that role and she’s just tagging along.

“So… do I do something, or not?” I ask, my voice laced with desperation. I’m practically pleading for an answer.

“She’s broken,” Henrik replies flatly, his tone unyielding. “That much is clear. Perhaps so much so that there’s no hope of fixing her.”

“I refuse to accept that,” I snap back, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Wounds heal, don’t they?”

“If they’re deep enough, they become scars,” Henrik says, leaning forward slightly, his voice quieter but no less firm. “And what you do with scars is up to you. You either hide them, or you embrace them.”

The faint sound of hooves reaches our ears from the outside, rhythmic and steady, growing louder with each passing second. The thundering beat crescendos, rattling the quiet, and then it gradually goes silent. Someone just rode past us at full speed, vanishing as quickly as they came.