Frigga gave him a rare, approving smile. "And yet, you endured. That is why you learn faster than most. But endurance alone is not mastery—you must refine, control, and sustain."
Alex wiped sweat from his brow and tried to catch his breath. "Refine, sustain… yeah, I'm all about the buzzwords."
She ignored the joke. "Rest briefly, then we continue. Today's lesson is layered. You will not only shape, but maintain, redirect, and withstand the weave all in one session."
Alex groaned but followed her instructions. After a short pause, Frigga reactivated the runestones. This time, she added subtle resistance: invisible currents that tugged at the threads, some pulling away sharply, others circling unpredictably.
"Your task," Frigga said, "is to summon a form, anchor it, move it along the spiral, split it, merge it, and finally maintain it while the weave itself fights against you."
Alex's eyes widened. "All… in one go?"
"Exactly. Begin."
He inhaled deeply, letting the threads rise around him. The familiar pull met him, but this time it was chaotic. The sphere he shaped threatened to wobble apart instantly. He clenched his jaw, breathing evenly, and coaxed the threads into a stable shape. The sphere hovered steadily.
"Good," Frigga murmured. "Now guide it through the spiral."
The sphere jerked violently, resisting movement. Alex had to anticipate each tug, adjusting the flow instead of forcing it. Sweat ran down his face, and his arms trembled, but the sphere began to move.
"Split it," Frigga ordered.
He imagined the orb dividing into two, and the threads convulsed violently in protest. Both spheres wobbled and flickered, one almost collapsing, but he held them steady. His arms shook, his chest burned, yet he found the rhythm, letting the weave flow rather than battling it.
"Merge them again. And maintain the form as it resists you," she said calmly.
Alex gritted his teeth. The threads pulled, spun, and tugged at every angle. Shards of light scattered, the lattice pulsing in tension. But slowly, with every breath, he fused the spheres, the glowing mass stabilizing. The form wavered but did not collapse.
Frigga's eyes shone with approval. "You see? Today you have learned not just creation, but control under pressure. Most would falter before even holding one form, let alone splitting and merging under strain."
Alex slumped against the table, wiping his face. "Feels like I've been sparring a dozen storms at once."
Frigga nodded. "Exactly. Seidr is a storm you must learn to dance with, not fight. Tomorrow, we will introduce motion beyond your reach—guiding forms to interact, respond, and resist on their own."
Alex groaned, but there was a spark of excitement in his tired eyes. "So… next level is teaching them to fight themselves?"
Frigga's faint smile confirmed it. "In essence. Today, you survived the storm. Tomorrow, you learn to make the storm work for you."
Alex sank onto a nearby bench, muscles aching, sweat still cooling on his skin. But he couldn't rest completely; the image of the glowing, resisting forms lingered in his mind, like a challenge he had only begun to meet.
"Get some water," Frigga said, her tone gentle but firm. "Then meditate. Your body needs rest, but your mind must continue to learn the flow. Even when you sleep, the weave teaches those who listen."
Alex nodded, reaching for a small waterskin. "Meditate, huh? I get the feeling this is going to be more than just sitting cross-legged and breathing."
Frigga allowed herself a small chuckle. "Seidr is never simple. Close your eyes, feel the threads, but do not force them. Let them move through your mind as naturally as thought. You will wake with understanding you cannot gain by will alone."
He leaned back, exhausted, and closed his eyes, focusing on the faint echo of the threads he had controlled. At first, it felt like chasing shadows, but slowly, patterns began to form—a subtle pulse, a rhythm underlying the chaos. He could sense the tugs and jerks of the weave even when his body rested.
Hours passed in quiet concentration. He barely noticed the sunlight shifting in the chamber, barely felt the fatigue in his limbs. The threads of magic danced through his mind, responding subtly, nudging him to refine his technique.
When he finally opened his eyes, the chamber was quiet, the runestones pulsing faintly as if in acknowledgment. His hands shook slightly, but his chest felt lighter, as though the exertion had left him stronger.
Frigga was watching silently, a hint of a smile on her face. "You have learned much today, Alex. Not only control, but endurance, patience, and the beginnings of instinct. The weave has taught you something beyond power—you can feel it, anticipate it, work with it."
Alex let out a slow breath, a tired grin forming. "Feels… like I've actually got a rhythm with it now. Not just fighting it all the time."
"Good," Frigga said. "Tomorrow, we take the next step. You will create forms that interact, respond, and resist independently. You will guide not one, but multiple manifestations simultaneously. Your endurance and focus will be tested more than today."
Alex groaned softly, but a spark of excitement lit his eyes. "I think… I think I can handle it. Maybe."
Frigga inclined her head slightly, her eyes scanning him with a mixture of appraisal and caution. "Maybe is where all mastery begins, Alex. You doubt, yet you try. That is what separates those who wield the weave from those who are broken by it."
Alex leaned back, letting the fatigue settle into his bones, but the anticipation kept his mind alert. "So… tomorrow I get to make a bunch of orbs dance around and not have them explode on me?"
"Not just dance," Frigga corrected. "They will interact. Push, pull, collide, even resist each other's forms. You will not merely guide them—you will become their conductor. Think of it as… a conversation between threads. You speak, they respond. Misstep, and they speak louder."
Alex let out a low whistle. "Sounds… exhausting."
"It will be," Frigga admitted. "But you are ready. Your body will tire, but your mind—your instinct—must hold fast. Only then will the forms bend as you intend, even when they resist."
He frowned, trying to picture it. "So I'm like a… magical puppeteer?"
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