During the first two weeks, I dove into learning about mana using the first three books Lis had given me. I tackled three runes at a time and then continued reading about mana. The first book covered a lot of what I’d already figured out through my experiments: sensing the surrounding mana, channeling awareness into objects to detect the mana, and recognizing that mana had its own color or flavor.
From this book, I picked up that mana has both an aspect and an element. They’re not the same thing, and it can have both. Elements are the natural things—more than just the four basic ones Lis had mentioned—and aspects are the various actions mana can perform. It was confusing at first because fire, for instance, has the element of fire but can also have aspects like “heating,” “consumption,” or “changing the state of matter.” It took me a while to grasp the difference since, initially, they seemed the same and felt identical when I examined the mana. But with practice and intense focus, I eventually distinguished between them now and then.
In the second book, I delved into the practical uses of mana. It explained that mana gains both an aspect and an element based on the magician’s intent when casting a spell. You could layer these elements to create complex spells or use mana as a tool. At first, the author’s elaborate and flowery language made these concepts hard to grasp, but bit by bit, I unraveled them based on my experiences.
When I harvested the mukar, the mana didn’t have any clear aspect or element, yet I could still use it for a specific purpose. I realized why the system didn’t recognize my harvesting as a spell—it wasn’t a spell. I was using my mana like a tool—free mana manipulation, as it was called in the book.
The book also provided fantastic exercises for practicing adding aspects or elements to mana. Adding elements was relatively easy for me, but aspects were trickier. I was familiar with the “flavor” of the four major elements—fire, earth, air, and water—so adding their colors to mana was straightforward. Adding aspects, however, required intention. I had some experience with this from my healing spells, but the exercises in the book demanded a finer touch, which I struggled with. It wasn’t as simple as saying, “I want to cut something.” Instead, it required a composition of aspects like “sharpness,” “transition through matter,” and “separation,” all harmoniously balanced to avoid canceling each other out. I realized that my medical knowledge helped me create spells with intention, and I likely applied the right aspects subconsciously.
The third book focused on working with mana—balancing mana levels, cleansing it of aspects or elements for rituals, locating areas with higher mana for rituals, and predicting where dungeons or mana portals might appear.
It also covered techniques to drain an area of all mana, creating what the book called a “dead zone.” This gave me an idea: if I mastered these techniques and created a total “dead zone,” I could use any technology there. No mana meant no tech issues. I bookmarked this for future practice. Currently, I had other priorities, so I couldn’t dedicate time to mastering the complex and involved techniques.
This book introduced me to “Mana Vents.” It described how the world has these vents through which mana rises from the core to the surface. I recalled something similar from Earth books, called Ley Lines, though the descriptions differed. In the fantasy books, it was a network spanning the world, while this book described them like vents leading from the world’s core. Regardless, the topic was fascinating.
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All three books about mana had exercises to actually practice what the book taught. Some were simple, like sitting with your eyes closed and feeling the surrounding mana. Others were more complex, such as focusing on manipulating a small ball of mana to change its color or flavor, which helped refine one’s ability to distinguish between different mana elements and aspects. One particularly intricate exercise involved creating a stable mana construct and then gradually introducing various aspects—like heating, cooling, or sharpness—while maintaining balance and cohesion. This helped build skills in managing multiple aspects simultaneously without them interfering with each other. Another advanced practice was the formation of mana patterns or symbols in the air, which required precise control and understanding of how different aspects and elements interacted. These exercises aimed to enhance one’s mana manipulation skills and deepen the understanding of how to effectively harness and utilize mana for various magical applications.
Once I finished the mana books, I moved on to rituals. The shift was jarring. While the mana books were rich with flowery descriptions and philosophical musings about existence, the ritual books were technical—detailed rules, precise measurements, diagrams for creating mana channels to connect runes or magic scripts, and other technical specifics. It felt like studying electronics or computer hardware engineering. Precision was key.
The first book covered the basics of rituals, including how to build one by working backward from the desired outcome through precise steps until you reached the starting point.
The second book contained diagrams and drawings of various ritual structures and their uses. There were basic structures like rings (either separate or overlapping up to 30 percent), cubes built from magic script and mana, or stars with four to seven points. Both books were highly technical, and the learning process was a far cry from the first set.
My daily routine became a cycle of breakfast, learning three runes, studying a chapter from the rituals book, mana exercises, sketching or outlining steps to ensure understanding, revisiting the chapter to clarify or remember details, lunch, learning three more runes, more mana exercises, more sketching or outlining, a new chapter, additional mana exercises, dinner, reviewing ritual material, more mana exercises, and finally, sleep.
It took me three weeks to get through these two books, and I still didn’t feel like I’d mastered the subject. It was too technical. I realized I couldn’t learn them by heart—you needed to understand the basics and use the books as regular references when crafting a ritual. With time, everything would stick. For now, it was overwhelming.
I started reading the book about familiars, which mostly echoed what Lis had briefly summarized. It had more details on awakening animals, a lengthy discussion on the pros and cons of different familiars, and other insights. The most exciting revelation was that, with time, mana beasts might develop magical abilities. This magic could be elemental, if the beast or its master had an inclination in that direction, or take other forms. For example, there was a story about a snow wolf that developed an ice attack, alongside magic to sharpen its teeth and a sonic attack to stun its prey. The subject was absolutely fascinating.
After five weeks, I felt ready to start the ritual. Lis would be back soon, so I didn’t want to delay. I took a day off to clear my mind and rest mentally. I played with Rue, played my guitar, cooked, took a long, hot bath, and relaxed.
Tomorrow, it was ritual time.