Orion rarely found himself stumped.

  Every respected scientist faced challenges from time to time, and a straightforward way to overcome them was to review their previous work for possible mistakes. Most of the time, this was enough to at least provide an idea of where they had gone wrong.

  The problem he was facing, however, wasn’t so easy to solve.

  The Torchlight spell had bloomed to life immediately, barely needing him to elaborate further than λν = c. He just had to add the desired shape to the formula, and a sphere of blinding light formed in his palm, bright enough to force him to turn it off lest he sear his own eyes.

  Successfully producing light had never been in doubt. Orion sincerely doubted there was anyone in this world who knew even a fraction of what he did about the actual physics behind electromagnetic radiation.

  That said, for all his success, what he’d ended up with was not a sphere made of light mana, but a ball of actual light.

  The distinction between the two was subtle, but he remembered how the Magistra could illuminate areas that should have gone untouched by physical light, her explanation about light mana’s unique properties.

  While he had managed to recreate the basic effects of the Torchlight spell—in fact, Orion would go so far as to say that his was superior at illumination—he had missed the point of the exercise, which was to help Initiates become familiar with manipulating light mana.

  Orion, despite his success so far, had not even touched upon elemental affinities, considering them of secondary importance.

  That was fine as long as he stuck to spells that didn’t require it, whose functioning he could entirely mimic by simply describing what he wanted to happen with a formula.

  Aspected mana, it seemed, wasn’t such a simple nut to crack. It granted unique properties to spells that would have otherwise been perfectly understandable, enabling them to perform actions that would require him hundreds of lines of calculations to replicate.

  I need to conduct some experiments. First, to test whether my hunch is correct, and then to see if my method of casting even allows for accessing aspected mana.

  He tapped his quill against his lip, humming as he considered his options. A single success wouldn’t be enough for him to draw exhaustive conclusions; thus, he continued his search for more data.

  First, he needed to repeat the Torchlight spell, focusing on how it came to be.

  He cleared the table of every scrap of parchment and stacked his notes on the side. Fresh sheets lay ready, and a single lamp-crystal glowed faintly in the corner.

  “First,” he murmured, “the basic incantation. No affinity defined, just the regular method I’ve been using.”

  Below it, he wrote: Trial A.

  P stands for λν = c; therefore I = P/(4πr2); LightBall_A = Sphere(I)

  “This is just physics, with P standing in for the relation between wavelength and frequency of the light, spread over surface area 4πr2, forming a sphere.”

  He settled into the posture Eire had taught them, with his shoulders relaxed and palms cupped at chest level.

  Now that he knew the formula would work, just thinking of it was enough. Immediately, a crisp ball of light blossomed in his palms—bright white, perfectly defined, almost like a miniature sun.

  He blinked back tears. “LightBall A,” he jotted, “is made of photons alone. Its radiance is as expected and falls within the standard of a regular light source. No other effects observed.”

  When the ball winked out, no warmth lingered on his skin, nor did the shadows move oddly. Satisfied, he recorded notes on its hue, temperature, and drain.

  Once he was done, he settled back into position. “Secondly,” he said, low and focused, “to force the local affinity into the formula.” He underlined a new heading:

  Trial B: P stands for λν = c; I = P/(4πr2);

  L? = LocalAffinity(μ);

  LightBall_B = Sphere(I) ∪ L?

  I = P/(4πr2) ∪ L?

  "I will add LocalAffinity(μ) as a parameter to pull in ambient light-type mana μ during casting. I could attempt to draw light mana specifically, but it is known to be abundant in the Sanctum, and isolating it would require significantly longer experimentation. This will have to suffice.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He closed his eyes and focused his thoughts on the new formula.

  The air around his palms rippled differently. When the orb appeared, it glowed softly, shining like a warm, silvery-white pearl. Orion held it for a moment and felt a gentle pulse radiate into his fingertips, a buoyancy like the caress of the morning sun.

  He pressed a finger against the edge of the orb, watching it ripple. “LightBall B demonstrates significant deviations from the capabilities of physical light.” A slight warmth filled his chest, as if the exhaustion from a night spent contemplating the potential uses of light as both a tool and a weapon had been alleviated.

  When he dismissed the sphere, the warmth lingered, a pleasant hum behind his ribs.

  “That was definitely a proper ball of light mana. It radiated much less brightness, and in this particular case, I believe my variant of the Torchlight spell is superior. However, its healing property should not be overlooked. Even without a specific purpose, it was sufficient to provide minor relief.”

  For the third trial, he would again discard affinity: pure neutral mana, but this time with a slightly different formula to ensure he wasn’t accidentally latching onto local currents. He wrote:

  Trial C: I = P/(4πr2); ExcludeAffinity(a);

  LightBall C = Sphere(I) - (a)

  "If this is successful, it will show that my casting method varies greatly from others, both in style and impact. I remain unsure about the implications, but I will discover them in time."

  He inhaled deeply.

  I = P/(4πr2) - (a).

  The light materialized without delay, hard, bright, and colder than in the second trial, yet it matched the orb from the first trial in every way. He felt the neutral hum of energy coursing through his veins, but there was no healing afterglow.

  Orion registered the trial’s details before pulling back to observe the results.

  Trial A and Trial C were nearly indistinguishable, while Trial B stood out.

  So I was correct. My method of casting doesn’t involve mana affinities. I need to actively include them in the formula to cast an aspected spell properly.

  The implications were numerous. Beyond what it meant for his practice with light spells, he would always need to consider the environment if he wanted to cast aspected magic.

  Unless I simulate the effects without needing the specific mana to be present. Eire implied that it was possible, but I wouldn’t know where to start.

  More importantly, it disproved the prevailing notion that the mana hanging in the atmosphere was the only available source for casting.

  Without even intending to, Orion had tapped into something else.

  Already, a dozen ideas about what that something could be flitted through his mind. He wondered whether the mana field he was starting to believe existed had different layers or if he alone had a deeper connection with the System, created either by the phenomenon that had initially brought him here or through his use of science as the foundation for his spells.

  It makes sense that the System reacts differently to an extremely specific prompt than to something that could only vaguely be called a description. I certainly wouldn’t know how to make a vague prayer happen.

  Orion sank back in his chair, temporarily dismissing the metaphysical speculations. There would be time to delve deeper into them later.

  What mattered now was that the experiment confirmed his hypothesis: unless he explicitly called upon the local light-mana variable, his scientific “incantations” stripped away any elemental affinity and drew only raw, unaspected energy.

  “Casting without Local Affinity produces pure light. Casting with Local Affinity draws on elemental mana and creates a true light mana spell.”

  He frowned. Why did his formulas exclude affinity by default? He tapped his quill, considering the System’s logic: his method fed truth, the physics of light, directly into what he believed to be the true origin of magic, bypassing filters such as chants and prayers that normally weighed spells down with elemental “metadata.”

  In effect, his approach talked straight to the System’s kernel, drawing raw mana but never adding the affinity flag unless he deliberately programmed it in.

  Bypassing the local node, he fetched pure neutral mana. But that meant that to access elemental branches, he needed to first pass through the local mana field.

  Orion felt his lips twist. His approach had the benefit of providing significantly more control than regular spells. It was also overall better, given the sheer scale of his scientific knowledge.

  But it did have one glaring issue. Where a spell’s chant usually included the elemental “flavor” of the magic it wanted to cause, his bare equations meant that he had to backtrack to do so.

  “I wonder if I actually need to rely on local affinity to cast a specific element. It works now because drawing upon light mana is instinctive in a place like the Sanctum, but I will likely need to identify a variable to specify each element if I don’t want my formulas to become increasingly inefficient.”

  Sure, he’d managed to cast magic with his method so far, but now he knew that it had only been possible because it didn’t require a specific type of mana to work.

  If I don’t want to get stuck in a box, only dealing with unaspected spells, I need to expand.

  But that just meant he needed to find a way to access the “hidden” affinities. His second formula worked well now, but what would happen if he used it in Silverpeak? Would the light it emitted weaken, as expected for regular magic?

  Or would it produce completely unpredictable results, given the different mixtures of affinities in the air?

  I need to find a way to isolate specific types of mana.

  Fortunately, Orion had never encountered a question he wasn’t eager to solve. If anything, this new challenge only heightened his excitement.

  It would have been boring if magic had simply been about replicating what I see into a formula. This could actually be interesting.

  A sudden rap at the door jolted him. “Young man,” the librarian’s crisp voice carried through the wood. “The library cannot serve as your private testing ground. You must vacate immediately if you intend to continue experimenting with magic.” The door swung open, and she stepped inside, arms crossed and eyes narrowing at the swirl of scattered parchments and ink splotches.

  Orion wiped a smear from his cheek. “I’m almost done—”

  Her gaze flicked over the organized stacks of notes and the many calculations laid out before her, as he struggled to express the abstract concept of elemental affinity using a sequence of symbols that could fit into an equation.

  Simply adding a placeholder didn’t help when he couldn’t grasp its true meaning, as he could everything else in his formulas. That was an offhand effort, but he was relieved to discover it wasn’t sufficient to solve the first genuine challenge he encountered in this new life.

  Her serious demeanor briefly changed to show surprise mixed with disapproval. “It’s past your reservation time,” she remarked in a low voice. "Trying out new spells, even basic ones, near these tomes risks damaging them. Come along now.”

  Orion rose, sighing in defeat. I am tired, and I’m not making progress. Maybe I should rest before I continue working on this.

  Once he’d gathered most of his stuff, he made to grab the books, but she stopped him, “I’ll put them back in their place.”

  He smiled tentatively to thank her, but she didn’t react, merely waiting until he was ready to go.

  She guided him through the quiet stacks, where each granite pillar stood tall like a sentinel. Outside the study room, she snapped her fingers, causing the books to neatly gather into bundles and follow her in the air, revealing that Set’s spell was not as extraordinary as he had believed.

  At the door, she nodded once, only slightly warmer than before. Then, without another word, she let the bundles settle on a cart and closed the library’s ornate doors behind her.

  “She really didn’t like me.” He muttered before shrugging and walking away.

  The opinion of one librarian didn't matter.