“Again,” Corbin said, his voice maddeningly calm. He didn't even look up from his damn book.

  I, however, collapsed onto my ass in the sand, panting heavily. My arms and legs felt like lead weights had been sewn into my muscles. I flopped backward onto the ground, staring up at the darkening sky, my chest heaving like a bellows.

  “Br… break… I… I need… a break…” I gasped out between breaths. I felt completely drained, like every last spark of energy had been squeezed out of me. That tingling mana-thing? Gone. Just empty. A hollow ache radiated through my chest.

  Corbin finally snapped his book shut with a sigh. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking mildly annoyed at the interruption.

  “There’s only one way to expand your mana reserves, kid,” he stated, shrugging nonchalantly. “Same as building muscle. You gotta push your limits, empty the tank, let it refill slightly larger. Over and over and over again.”

  I let out a heavy groan, pressing my face against the cool sand. Gods, I was already sick of this, and I had to do it for four whole years?

  “Corbin,” I asked, once my breathing started to even out slightly, still lying on my back. “How does mana actually work? Where does it come from? How do we… get it inside us?”

  Basic questions, maybe, but important ones if I was going to avoid killing myself.

  Silence followed. Hearing no answer, I propped myself up on my elbows and looked over. Corbin stared back with a peculiar expression, mixing surprise and disbelief.

  “Honestly?” he said finally, scratching his head. “No bloody idea.”

  What? He’s the House Mage!

  “Look,” he continued thoughtfully, seeing my incredulous expression. “I think mana is just… sort of… ambient. It’s in the air, the earth, all around us, like sunlight. And people with the aptitude, like us, just passively absorb what we need. Like breathing. Because I sure as hell don’t consciously pull it in, do you?”

  I shook my head slowly. No, it just tingled when used. Passive absorption seemed as good a guess as any.

  I felt a faint tingling return now, a hum beneath my skin as the exhaustion slowly receded. Just sitting here seemed to refill the tank. Okay, maybe this won’t kill me. Cautiously, I sat up fully and held out my hand, palm up.

  Time to try again.

  I focused, picturing water gathering. Tiny droplets condensed from the air, shimmering above my palm, drawn together by my will. They merged, wobbling, until a small, translucent sphere of water floated there. Summoning it was getting noticeably easier.

  Now for the hard part: moving it.

  I tried pushing it forward, away from my hand, using only my will. It wobbled precariously but didn’t budge. Come on, move! I strained harder, focusing intensely, sweat beading on my forehead despite the cool air. Finally, a reaction! The sphere vibrated strangely, ripples distorting its surface, looking like it would collapse.

  “You’re too tense,” Corbin’s voice cut in, startling me slightly. He watched me now, book resting on his lap. “You’re trying to bully the water, force your will on it. Water doesn’t respond well to that. You need to adapt to the element, not fight it."

  I frowned, lowering my hand slightly. The sphere instantly collapsed, splattering onto the sand. “Adapt to the element?” I asked, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean? Should I go jump in a lake to feel more watery?”

  Corbin actually chuckled. He stared thoughtfully up at the pavilion roof, then looked back at me.

  “Think about it. What is water? Dynamic, flowing, flexible, right? Takes the shape of its container. It can be calm or a raging storm. If you try to rigidly force it against its nature, it’s gonna fight you or fall apart. Makes things unnecessarily difficult.” He paused. “Now, if you were using Fire? Then yeah, use that willpower, that anger, that urge to dominate. Fire likes that. Feeds on it. Water needs a gentler touch. More guidance than command. Understand?”

  I nodded slowly. Flowing, dynamic… guide the current. “Okay. Yeah, thanks. That… actually helps.” It was a different perspective.

  I took a few deep breaths, consciously relaxing my shoulders, releasing tension. This really was exhausting, just nudging a small ball of water around. I summoned the sphere again, holding the image steady, feeling the faint mana hum.

  Okay. Don’t push. Guide. I pictured the mana within the sphere gently flowing forward, creating an internal current.

  Slowly, hesitantly at first, then more smoothly, the water sphere drifted forward maybe half a meter from my palm. Yes!

  Okay, now stop. I tried gently halting the flow, picturing the current calming. Stopping smoothly was harder than starting. The sphere wobbled violently, lost cohesion, and splat. Water dripped from my hand onto the sand.

  I sighed, staring at my damp palm. Progress, but still clumsy.

  “Again,” Corbin said immediately, his voice relentless.

  My eye twitched. Seriously? I flopped back onto the sand again with a loud groan of pure exasperation. This was going to be a very long year indeed.

  Several hours later, the sun hung low, casting long shadows across the training ground. Most trainees had left; only the rhythmic thud of a lone archer’s arrows hitting targets broke the quiet.

  I sat cross-legged on the sand, sweat having dried on my skin, feeling tired but not utterly drained like before. A shimmering water sphere, fist-sized, hovered steadily before me. Slowly, deliberately, I made it drift left, right, then loop upwards before bringing it back to hover.

  Corbin lowered his book slowly, his expression unreadable as he watched. I instinctively stopped, letting the water collapse.

  “Did I do something wrong?” I asked, meeting his intense gaze. My control felt much better, but maybe I was still missing something.

  He tilted his head, eyes narrowed slightly, then looked thoughtfully at the darkening sky before his gaze snapped back to me. “Are you messing with me, Grim?” he asked, his voice quiet but with an odd weight.

  I pointed at myself, bewildered. “Me?! Why would I mess with you?” You're the scary one.

  Corbin leaned forward, drumming his fingers on the table beside him. He licked his lips, his eyes scrutinizing me. “Your progress,” he stated flatly. “Are you hiding your real skill level from me? Or maybe,” his eyes narrowed further, “from the Ainsworths?”

  What? My progress? I frowned, confused. “What do you mean? I don’t understand.”

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  Corbin stared at me, looking almost baffled. “Kid, when we started hours ago, you could barely summon a water sphere the size of a pebble, and making it wiggle was a struggle.” He gestured. “Now? You’re casually making it hover, moving it smoothly, resizing it, making it spin, fly in loops… I even saw you compress it earlier, making it denser before it popped. That’s not just basic manipulation anymore.”

  He paused, running a hand through his short hair.

  “Look, learning basic control isn’t necessarily remarkable itself, not even for your age if they’ve had prior training or a natural knack. But you claimed no real proficiency when we started. If that was true… then learning all this, getting this level of fine control in just a few hours…” He shook his head slowly, looking impressed, even though he was an accomplished mage himself. “That’s damn fast, Grim. Almost unnaturally fast.”

  I scratched my chin thoughtfully. Fast? Is it because of the Blessing? Mana Manipulation: Beginner? Water Magic: Beginner?

  Maybe tell him some version of the truth. Lying to a suspicious mage seemed like a terrible idea.

  “I’m not hiding my skills, Corbin,” I said carefully.

  I explained the last week – waking up near the village, the goblin attack, rescuing Willow, the stay with her family, Orin selling me. I left out the dying-rebirth, the temple, the Blessing, and Ithrak… just the bare facts and recent troubles.

  Corbin listened patiently, expression thoughtful, occasionally nodding. When I finished, he leaned back, looking unconvinced but considering it.

  “So,” he summarized slowly, “you woke up days ago with no memory except your name, dead parents, and cat… got attacked, saved a girl, then her father sold you off?” He sounded slightly incredulous.

  I nodded, adding quietly, “It’s… yeah. Kind of complicated. I know my parents are dead, know Pip’s always been there… but before the forest? Just… blank.”

  Corbin leaned back in his chair, staring at the pavilion roof again, lost in thought. Finally, he sighed. “So you have a shit ton of bad luck, and then you run right into the Bloodhound…” He chuckled darkly. “Kid, you don’t just attract trouble, you practically invite it over, don’t you?”

  I frowned. “Bloodhound? What do you mean?” The name sounded bad.

  Corbin looked at me as if I were dense, then smacked his forehead lightly. “Right. Sorry. Amnesia. Here in Aegis, among nobles and associates… ‘Bloodhound’ is well-known. Infamous.” He leaned forward slightly. “Orin Clayborne – the girl's father? That’s the Bloodhound.”

  My eyes widened slightly. That simple farmer?

  “Ex-adventurer, bounty hunter, general leg-breaker,” Corbin elaborated, tone mixing respect and disdain. “Worked for nobles back in the day. Mostly retrieving runaway ‘servants’ – slaves, inconvenient relatives. Quietly, effectively. But sometimes,” Corbin lowered his voice, “when a noble needed a new, involuntary servant, or someone needed to… disappear… Bloodhound was the call. Made people vanish.” He shrugged. “Hasn’t been active for years, supposedly retired. So maybe you really did just have monumentally bad luck running into him right when Ainsworth needed a pawn.”

  Conflicting emotions washed over me. Sharp anger at Orin – disgusting bastard – for selling me. But then… sadness? Pity? Willow, Jory, Vana… a decent family, despite him. Could I blame them? Did I have the right to be angry, given my situation?

  I sighed heavily, anger fading to weary resignation. Not strong enough for revenge yet. Maybe not heartless enough either. If I were slaving in a mine, maybe I’d feel different. But here? Learning magic? Could be worse. Orin was just a ghost from a blank past.

  The sun was truly setting now, painting the sky orange and purple. My stomach growled loudly, a stark reminder I hadn't eaten since breakfast. I pushed myself up from the sandy ground, stretching aching muscles that protested every movement. Corbin was staring thoughtfully into the distance again, his book resting closed on his lap.

  “Corbin?” I asked, my voice a bit rough from exhaustion.

  “Hm?” He blinked, his sharp green gaze shifting to me.

  “When… when my mana runs out,” I started cautiously, remembering the profound emptiness I’d felt earlier, “it’s like… well, it’s like being scraped hollow inside. But then, just sitting here, I can feel it slowly coming back, that tingling.” I looked at my hand. “You said earlier it’s like a muscle – use it, exhaust it, and it gets stronger. Does it… does it always come back a bit more each time? How much can it actually grow? Is there a limit to how much mana someone can have?”

  Corbin tilted his head, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, perhaps at the thoughtfulness of the question from someone so new to all this. He scratched his chin again, considering.

  "Sharp question, kid," he said after a moment. "Yeah, in principle, that's the gist of it. The more you use your mana, push yourself to your limits and then recover, the larger your personal 'well' of mana can become. Your control and how efficiently you use it will improve dramatically too, which is often more important than raw quantity."

  He leaned forward a bit, resting his elbows on his knees.

  "But as for how much it can grow? Everyone has natural affinities, and likely natural limits too. Some folks are born with what feels like a deep ocean of power inside them, others start with barely a puddle. Training," he tapped his temple, "and consistent effort can definitely deepen that puddle, maybe even turn it into a small pond or a respectable lake. You learn to draw it up faster, use it without waste."

  He gave a characteristic shrug, a hint of his usual weariness with abstract theory creeping in.

  "But can you turn a teacup into an endless sea just by trying hard? Probably not. There are mages who spend their whole lives studying the precise nature of mana, where it ultimately comes from, what dictates a person's innate capacity… and they fill libraries with theories but have damn few concrete answers." He sighed quietly, a puff of air. "The truth is, for practical purposes, you work with what you've got and try to make it better. How far your reserves can expand? Only time and a hell of a lot more training will tell."

  He explained it calmly, but with that familiar undercurrent of 'results matter more than theories.'

  I nodded slowly, absorbing that. So, practice made a difference, improved efficiency, and could increase my reserves, but there were likely inherent limits. Like physical strength, I guess. Some people are just naturally stronger, but everyone can get better with training. A deeper puddle is still better than an empty cup. It was… a somewhat hopeful thought, but also a daunting one. Another mystery about how this all worked, and how I fit into it.

  We lapsed into silence for a moment, staring out into the growing dusk, the only sounds the distant chirp of crickets and the soft rustle of leaves in the evening breeze.

  The quiet was broken by approaching footsteps on the gravel path – light, measured steps. We both turned as a figure stepped through the gateway.

  Lady Ainsworth?!

  I immediately straightened and bowed hastily. Corbin merely lifted a hand in casual greeting. Lady Ainsworth walked gracefully towards us, expression calm, eyes sharp. She stopped nearby, gaze shifting between us.

  “Corbin,” she addressed him directly, voice quiet but clear. “Your assessment? What do you think of Grim?”

  Corbin paused. He slowly closed his book, placed it on the table. Stood leisurely, stretching. “Good question, My Lady,” he said finally, tone thoughtful. He glanced at me, then her. “Based on today? Either Grim is a surprisingly accomplished liar… or he possesses immense, perhaps terrifying, raw talent.”

  Lady Ainsworth’s eyebrows rose slightly. She looked at me, then him. “A liar? Explain yourself, Corbin.”

  Before Corbin could answer, I spoke, maybe stupidly. “Lady Ainsworth,” I started, bowing my head again. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn. Sir Crownfield thinks… my progress today was too fast. That maybe I hid skills I already had.” I took a breath. “Truthfully, My Lady… I can't say which it is – talent or unconscious hiding. As I told Sir Crownfiled, I woke up days ago in a forest. Only remembering my name, dead parents, and Pip.”

  I looked directly at her, trying to convey sincerity. “Could I use magic before I lost my memories? Did I have training my body remembers? I honestly don’t know. It feels new, but… the progress was fast today. I swear I don’t intend to deceive anyone. Especially not you, My Lady, after you saved Pip’s life and gave me this chance.” I finished, slightly breathless, bowing again.

  Both looked slightly taken aback, but maybe satisfied? Perplexed, definitely.

  Corbin sighed heavily, rubbing his temples, then looked directly at Lady Ainsworth, expression deadly serious.

  “If he’s telling the truth, My Lady,” Corbin said gravely, “about the amnesia and this being his first real attempt… then Victor should either arrange an unfortunate ‘accident’ soon… or start treating this boy with a hell of a lot more respect and caution.”

  Lady Ainsworth frowned, clearly startled by Corbin’s bluntness. “Explain, Corbin. Why such extremes?”

  “Because,” Corbin stated flatly, gesturing at me, “if Grim progresses at today's rate, even half… in ten, twenty years, he’ll be significantly more powerful than me. Maybe one of the most powerful in a generation.” He paused. “You might not have grasped it, My Lady, but that spontaneous Gravity Magic burst? It caught me off guard, yes, but the raw power… almost overwhelmed me. And I’m your House Mage.”

  He turned slightly towards me but spoke to her. “My advice? Treat Grim well. Keep him loyal. Nurture that talent. Because one way or another, he will be a force. You’ll want that force on your side.”

  He finished, turning more fully, giving me a quick, hidden wink.

  What the...? Is he playing some game? Using my supposed potential?

  Lady Ainsworth didn’t respond immediately. Just looked at me, expression thoughtful, perhaps calculating. Expectant. Waiting for my reaction.

  I swallowed. Great, no pressure.

  I sighed inwardly. “Let me just focus on surviving the tournament first.”

  If I even make it that far.