My brain is overclocking itself again, thinking too far ahead, as always. Slow down, Lucien. You've got time. Not everything is urgent, even if it feels like the clock is ticking.
Focus, Lucien. I give myself a light slap on each cheek, just enough to try rebooting the mess in my head.
I eyed the two volumes, turned to Tina, deadpan. "You know those probably cost more than your grandfather's house, right?"
She shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. "They're just money. Books last."
I bite back a sigh. Classic Tina. She has a way of giving answers that makes you wonder if she's already planned the whole conversation. It's almost annoying how naturally she does it.
Enough of that. Seriously, Tina, could you just once answer me like a normal kid? But no, with her it's always philosophy, economics, or whatever else she's picked up from the adults. I'm too old for this. Or maybe she's just too young to care.
Anyway.
The first book, The Initiate's Guide to Arcane Flow, already smelled of ambition and debt. Its cover was illustrated with a grinning wizard juggling glowing apples. When you opened it, every page was packed with careful diagrams, ink that shimmered ever so slightly in the light, and margin notes warning about 'unstable matrices' and 'safe distances.'
The second book was even thinner but somehow felt heavier, with a cover of deep blue leather stamped with silver. The title, Fundamental Spell Patterns: Tier One Explained, was written in flawless, almost intimidating script. Flipping through, I found that every diagram was printed with mathematical precision, and the margins were filled with warnings about potential "mana reflux," "overdrawn circuits," and, my personal favorite, "eyebrow safety recommendations for novice casters."
It almost feels like being back in school, and I can't help but smile. There's something strangely comforting about learning for the sake of it, just curiosity and ink-stained fingers, no grades, no deadlines. Just the thrill of figuring things out together.
A memory flashes: nights spent scribbling circles with charcoal behind the forge, hands stained, hope fading every time mana fizzled uselessly at my fingertips. Months wasted on guesswork and near-misses. But now, with diagrams and structure, I wasn't stumbling in the dark anymore.
"Thank you," I tell her quietly. "But you really didn't have to use your birthday present on me."
"Why not? I saw you smile," she says, and for a second she almost sounds like a normal kid... almost. Then her eyes narrow with that quiet, Tina-brand determination. I can practically hear the gears turning in her head. "Besides, it's not wasted. Now we can study together." She gives me a look that's equal parts smile and challenge, the kind of smile that says she's already decided I don't get a say in the matter.
Sometimes I forget she's only nine. Then she reminds me. It's unsettling.
We head out into the courtyard and start reading, opening the first book together. But as soon as we open the cover and reach the very first page, a voice interrupts us.
"What are you two up to?" my mother calls, passing by with a wooden bucket brimming with water from the well. She pauses just long enough to catch us in the act, two kids hunched over a suspiciously ornate book.
"We're just reading some stories," I say. Tina nods along, perfectly innocent.
"Good kids. Reading is good for you," she says, and walks off.
I hate lying to her, but let's be real... they already get nervous if I stand too close to the iron swords, let alone something as dangerous as spellbooks. If my parents ever caught me studying magic, they'd probably have a meltdown. Not because they're bad people, far from it. They're just... normal. And magic? Magic is anything but normal. So yeah, better to keep this a secret for now.
I let out a sigh and glance at Tina, who shoots me a sly little grin. We dive back into reading.
My mom even brings us tea, brewed from herbs she picked herself. She's been teaching me a little herbalism; this blend uses pine needles and mint, supposedly good for nerves and memory. Not that I expect miracles. Still, it's perfect: two kids and a stack of magic books, sipping homemade tea in the afternoon light like it's the most natural thing in the world.
It's all so… peaceful. And fragile. I wonder, for a second, how long it will last.
Taking it all in, I just let out a long sigh, staring off into space.
Then comes the reading. The first book is intense, dense, but still manageable, for both me and Tina. Every now and then, she'll ask a question—honestly, her questions help me work things out in my own head. So really, it's a double win.
Summing up the entire book? Easy. Magic is dangerous, complicated, and absolutely worth it.
The "three keys" of magic, according to the books, are:
Structure: This is the world of circles, triangles, and runes. Every spell has its own matrix. For Magic Arrow, it's a circle, a triangle inside, a spiral connecting both, each line in just the right place, drawn by hand or with mana. But even the simplest spell can backfire, especially when you're trying to invent something new or modify an existing one; there's even a warning at the bottom of the page: "Do not attempt unsupervised."
Flow: Push mana through the pattern at just the right speed. Too fast, it fizzles, like dumping a bucket of water on a campfire and watching it sputter out in a wet hiss. Too slow, and the whole thing collapses in on itself, no spark, no power, just disappointment. It's kind of like trying to pour honey through a pinhole: if you rush, you make a mess; if you hesitate, nothing happens. You have to find the perfect rhythm, this weird, almost musical pace. It's not just moving mana, but coaxing it, persuading it to flow smoothly, never forcing, never rushing, never lagging behind.
Intent: You must know exactly what you want, down to the last detail—the clearer the mental image, the better it works. It's not enough to just hope something happens; you have to commit, really mean it. When you shape magic, you're putting a piece of your will into the world, your desire, your drive, your stubborn refusal to accept 'no' for an answer. If Structure is the blueprint and Flow is the energy, Intent is the spark of purpose, the part that says: this is what I want, and I won't settle for less. It's not just about moving mana, but owning it, directing it, making it yours. Every spell needs that final push of determination, a vision so vivid it almost feels real, and a will strong enough to make it happen. Without intent, even the best circle and the perfect flow are just empty gestures.
As I read, the words blur for a second, and I remember my first Ki experiments: struggling to bridge life force and mana, learning that willpower mattered even more than technique. "Intent and will," I mutter. How could I be so stupid? All this time, I'd focused on building the perfect magic circle, but never once on the outcome. It's not about the shape itself; it's about what you want that shape to achieve.
For example: if you draw a flawless circle for Magic Arrow and your mind is just thinking 'circle, circle, circle'... nothing happens. Maybe you get a faint tingle or a disappointing little spark. But if you focus with real intent, picture that arrow forming, cutting through the air, hear the hum of energy, feel its weight, imagine the target you want to hit, the force you want it to carry, then shape your mana with that vivid image clear in your mind, that's when real magic happens. The more detailed and determined your intent, the more likely your spell actually works. It's not about the shape, it's about believing in the arrow so hard it feels inevitable.
"Tina, I'm heading back to the forge for a bit," I say, trying to sound casual, like it's just another chore, nothing strange.
"Okay," she says, not even looking up from her book, completely absorbed in the page.
I run back to the forge, the excitement barely contained. Alone at last, I kneel on the familiar dusty floor and focus, drawing my favorite magic circle, the only one I truly know: Magic Arrow. After months of practice, the lines come easy now, each curve and spiral flowing from memory, almost automatic, almost comforting. The act of shaping it is like a private ritual; a moment where the world goes quiet, and it's just me, the circle, and the promise of what might come next.
A sudden wave of paranoia hits me. What if someone walks in? What if my mother catches me kneeling on the floorboards, palms glowing blue? I glance at the door, the window, every shadow.
I push the thought away. I have to try. If I don't, I'll never forgive myself.
When it's finished, I take a deep breath and focus. A magic arrow, pure energy, pure intent, a single, perfect arrow. I hold that thought in my mind, not letting go, just as the circle settles and stabilizes. My heart races. Last time I tried something new with Ki, I almost blacked out. Now, I can feel my mana straining against the edges of the circle, eager to be unleashed.
Then, with a slow exhale, I activate the spell.
The magic circle collapses in a flash of fading light. A tiny magic arrow leaps from my palm, a thin lance of blue-white energy and punches a perfect, smoking hole through the floorboards.
For a moment, all I can do is stare in disbelief. Did I really just do that? Oh, hell.
I glance wildly around. Smoke curls upward. No footsteps. No witnesses.
Yes! Success. I actually did it.
If anyone had been watching, I would have just turned, met their eyes, and said: "Noice."
[Ding]
If the System had a sense of humor, this is where it would chime in: [New Achievement: Property Damage]. Or maybe: 'Congratulations, you've unlocked: Local Menace.'
[Class conditions met. Acquire Common Class: Mage?]
[Decline]
I refuse. Hah! Not today, System. But hey, it's nice to see you again.