There was one thing that consistently sent shivers down my spine since I arrived in this fantastical realm.

Magic.

A whole magic system existed here, from elemental spells to enchantments that could make your grandma's teapot sing. It was a vast and intricate web that interwove into every nook and cranny of the world. But where there was magic, there had to be mana. Mana, the energy that danced within oneself, the special juice that bent the world to your whims, allowing you to play puppeteer with the elements you were attuned to.

It was utterly enchanting.

My eyes followed the chaotic dance of notes sprawled in front of me. Intuiting everything I knew about the different forms of magic from the novel and the characters who wielded them, it was a wild mess of scribbles, circles, and arrows.

On the side lay "Journey of a Mage Initiate," penned by the renowned fire mage Lucia Conti, a character from the novel who also served as a teacher in the Royal Academy. The book detailed the stages a Mage Initiate embarks upon, extolling the virtues of different magical attributes. Yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was inherently biased. It portrayed Fire magic as the epitome of destruction, all because of its flashy powers.

Burn everything, or you just aren't hard enough. Sounds about right.

My current endeavor involved deciphering the magic system in place – what was considered orthodox and what veered into the uncharted. I diligently marked the characters that demanded my attention, resulting in the scribbled mess before me. What a delightful shitshow.

Now, I knew that Eli in the novel was attuned to Dark magic, a rare form that specialized in indirect combat. Debuffs were the name of the game, and Dark magic was all about hexes. Its practitioners were called Witches, and society usually frowned upon them.

The author's prose on the start of one's journey into the dark magic went a little something like this:

“In the genesis of one's foray into the magical arts, the novice Dark Magic practitioner encounters the realm of Beginner Dark Spells—a humble entree into the intricate system of magical mastery. It is in this initial pursuit that a stark truth becomes evident: dark magic, in its fledgling stages, offers meagre offensive potential. To be succinct, for a practitioner ensnared by creatures of the wilderness, these spells render one little more than a veritable banquet—culinary prospects most unenviable.

The fundamental critique hinges upon the stark insufficiency of these spells in the face of overt danger. Their offensive capacities, or rather their lack thereof, can be likened to wielding a quill against a dragon's fiery breath. Picture, if you will, the novice dark mage armed with the ostensibly formidable [Umbral Tether]—a spell so impotent that, if personified, darkness itself might weep in pity.

The overture of darkness beckons, whispering sweet promises of power and dominion. Yet, the reality is that the Dark Spells are reminiscent of mere shadows attempting to outwit the midday sun. 'Step into the shadows,' the manuals suggest. 'Feel the power of darkness,' they assert. Alas, what transpires is a feeble dance in dimly lit corners, leaving the practitioners yearning for a touch of substance.

To those embarking upon this odyssey into the dark arts, be cognizant of the limitations that accompany Dark Magic. When confronted by formidable adversaries, one may find solace in the wisdom to carry not only the weight of spell books but also a pragmatic repast, for the unfortunate truth looms: in the face of true peril, the novice dark mage risks metamorphosis into an unwitting offering upon the altar of predators.”

This bitch.

Well, she wasn't entirely wrong. Dark magic did come with a glaring downside – it offered little to no offensive power. If you were a dark mage and monsters caught up to you, you were pretty much a walking buffet.

The repertoire of debuffs were mostly area-of-effect, with the caster as the source. Your own spells had a chance of turning against you or, even more unfortunate, your teammates.

Hence, the thrilling part of dark magic training involved building resistance against your own kind of magical misfires. But I had a plan in mind for that.

And so, the magical scavenger hunt commenced as I delved into the passages of the book, determined to gather the knowledge about Dark Magic spells without the author's added pinch of sass.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

After some intellectual gymnastics, my hard-earned notes lay before me:

"The Twilight Veil, a manifestation of intricate shadow manipulation, though not without its merits, elicits contemplation. Its significant mana expenditure warrants consideration, posing a crucial question: does the utility of obstructing both the caster's and adversaries' vision outweigh the cost? A calculated spell, its controllable factors afford adept sorcerers an opportunity for nuanced manipulation, but one cannot ignore the inherent irony in embracing darkness to create a fog of uncertainty. A scholarly pursuit, indeed, though some may argue it leans toward the impractical."

So basically,

Twilight Veil:

* [Highly mana intensive] [AOE]

* Description: Conjures a veil of shadowy fog. Plays hide-and-seek with vision (including the caster, because, why not? Classic dark magic shit).

* Controllable factors: Density of fog; Area of fog.

* Mastery Level: Directly proportional to your ability to not get lost in your own fog.

And,

“The Fatigue Hex, a paradigm of low-intensity debilitation, resonates with subtlety. Its accessible mana requirements align with its intended purpose—to induce mild fatigue in a targeted subject. The inclusion of additional effects, notably the potential for gastrointestinal discomfort, introduces an element of levity that, while unconventional, echoes the idiosyncrasies inherent in dark magic. Controllable factors facilitate tailored applications, allowing for nuanced adjustments in both intensity and duration.”

Fatigue Hex:

* [Low mana intensive] [Single target]

* Description: Sends out an invitation for a chill session, inducing mild fatigue in the target, leaving them slightly less enthusiastic about life.

* Additional effects: Might throw in a touch of nausea and an upset stomach. Can result in a sudden urge for a bathroom sprint. Now I get why they call it dark magic.

* Controllable factors: Intensity of the spell; Prolonged effects(?).

* Mastery Level: Determines whether it's a light nap inducer or a full-blown "I need a bathroom ASAP" situation.

“As we navigate the intricacies of dark magic, let us acknowledge the uncharted territories some may find themselves wandering. To those who have been, with fervour, embraced by the dark mana, rest assured—there is a silver lining to every seemingly lacklustre spell cast.

For those attuned with the dark mana, your future may not unfold on the grand stage of masterful spellcasting. Instead, consider a distinguished career as a mana reservoir for your more adept associates. A noble role, indeed, as you stand on the sidelines, graciously offering the vital fuel that empowers the truly impactful incantations.”

I couldn't help but cringe.

Could she sound any more derogatory? (Oh, she most certainly could.) I was starting to suspect someone subjected her to a particularly potent Fatigue Hex, and she had an unfortunate encounter with her own product. I used to love her character in the novel—the sassy professor trope. She was an arsehole. A lovable arsehole. But now that I was attuned with dark magic, I might need to reconsider her character.

With a grand total of four spells (though the book only generously included matrices for two), I couldn't shake off the feeling of unfair treatment. Fire magic got over sixteen spells, each with detailed matrices and explanations. Totally not biased, right?

Anyways, with that done, I closed the book and decided to practice the art of feeling my mana. I had been following the instructions from another book for over a week now, whenever I had the time. But without an instructor, it was hard. I could feel the energy flowing through my veins—the manual said to start from the fingertips, trace it to the source, then back to my fingertips. Because that's where I'd be forming the spells.

The crux of this training revolved around allowing my fingertips to draw mana directly from the source, acquainting myself with the path as mana flowed through, and broadening my understanding. It's a bit challenging to put into words, but I felt like I was doing a decent job.

As for the source itself, I think I finally got a sense of what my soul felt like. At least I thought it was my soul.

Those switches I flipped when using my blessing—they felt like a sphere. The switches were the skills, and I could feel them. On the opposite side, there were inscriptions—permanent, unchangeable. I couldn't turn them off; they were the perks.

If my soul were a spherical planet made up of switches and inscriptions, then mana was the dense atmosphere enveloping it—a source of magic in its purest form.

Mana, huh? I had never felt it before. Here, though, it was a whole new experience. A ...zesty sensation, like little currents wriggling through my skin—kind of like a bunch of hyperactive worms doing the cha-cha. Oddly enough, it wasn't uncomfortable at all. In fact, it was downright intriguing.

Now, the tedious task of tracing which channel lead to the fingertips began—an ordeal that, believe me, involved a lot of trial and error. I managed to find it thrice, only to lose it again because there was no clear distinction. The only guide was the feeling you get while tracing the mana from fingertips to the soul.

Supposedly, once this feeling became as natural as breathing, I'd have mastered it, and my spellcasting efficiency would skyrocket.

Well, I guess it was fair, as the manual clearly mentioned that sometimes it would take over six months to perfect the art of feeling one's mana for spellcasting. So, I wasn't disheartened. I was confident I would master it soon enough. Positive thoughts!

My concentration wavered as the faint echoes of footsteps disrupted the tranquillity of the family study.