Mana moved like a river beneath his skin now—not a storm, not a flood, but a controlled current. Caelan sat cross-legged by the window, sunlight warming his shoulders, his breathing quiet and measured. As Fen had instructed days ago, he inhaled through his nose and visualized the mana threads in the air—those faint lines that shimmered just past the edge of perception."Pull, but don't force it," Fen had said, "like drawing water through cloth."And so, Caelan pulled.His veins no longer felt like splintered glass. The ache had dulled, replaced by a gentle tension—like his body was finally learning how to hold power without shattering under it. Small victories, he reminded himself. Muscles he hadn't felt in years began to respond. He even caught his reflection in the washbasin earlier that morning—shoulders straighter, jaw tighter, eyes a little less dim.Then came the knock.A solid, respectful three-tap rhythm."My lord," came Gregor's voice from behind the door. "Your teacher has arrived."Caelan opened his eyes. The threads of mana scattered. The moment was gone—but not lost.The courtyard training grounds of House Dorne had once looked like a battlefield to him. Now, they felt... possible.He stepped out onto the stone path, his stride no longer that of a ghost. The sun caught the lines of his face as he moved—still thin, still not quite whole, but with a presence that turned a few heads. Even the guards, once indifferent to the "sickly heir," gave him a moment longer glance before returning to their stances.At the center of the field stood a young man, no older than twenty. Lean, with robes dark as ink and a silver staff at his back, he stood with arms folded, eyes scanning the sky as if waiting for the wind itself to greet him."You must be Caelan," he said as Caelan approached. His voice was calm, measured—like someone who'd read too many books and learned to speak between the lines."And you must be my instructor," Caelan replied, meeting his gaze without flinching.The mage offered a slight bow. "Thorne Aldric. Disciple of Archmage Velra. Apprentice of the Fifth Circle.""Fifth Circle?" Caelan asked, raising a brow. "I thought they'd send someone older.""Age does not measure mastery," Thorne replied simply. "And mastery is not what you need yet. You need foundation."Thorne paused, scanning Caelan with a critical eye. "Tell me, have you practiced any magic before?"Caelan hesitated, then nodded. "No, but I've been using a breathing technique to inhale mana—taught to me by someone." He shifted slightly, unsure how much to reveal. "It's helped me build some control over it."Thorne raised an eyebrow. "A breathing technique, you say?" He examined Caelan with renewed interest. "That seems to have cleared some blockages in your body. It's almost unbelievable... that you were bedridden only a month ago. Your body now emits faint mana. Very faint, but it's there."Caelan felt a flicker of pride. The breathwork had been grueling, but he'd committed to it. "I've done what I can."Thorne smiled faintly, but there was something in his eyes—acknowledgment, maybe even a little respect. "Your body may be frail, Caelan, but it is not weak. And with the right training... it will become something more." He paused, as if measuring the words carefully. "This is why I'm here. To help you reshape what was broken."The young mage's words were gentle but unwavering, like a craftsman regarding a piece of raw stone, ready to sculpt it into something extraordinary.Caelan exhaled deeply, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face and the weight of his decision settling into his bones. This was it. The start of something. Not just for him, but for the world he had yet to conquer.Thorne straightened, his hands clasped behind his back. "Let us begin."The training began not with fire, or lightning, or mana blasts like in the stories—but with sitting. And silence."Magic is thought, given form," Thorne said, tracing a symbol in the dirt with a booted toe. "To cast, you must shape. To shape, you must know. What you know becomes what you control."He handed Caelan a thin slate covered in chalk drawings—simple runes, ancient and common: heat, light, motion, bind."There are Five Pillars of foundational theory," Thorne said.Element—Intention—Source—Direction—Control. "Without them, you have sparks. With them, you have spells."They spent the next hour on theory. Caelan absorbed quickly. His surgeon's mind—trained to understand blood flow, nerve paths, reaction speeds—now mapped out mana circuits with similar logic. Element became like tissue. Intention, like pressure points. Control, like surgical focus.When he tried shaping light with his palm, it fizzled. Thorne didn't scold—only nodded."Failure is a lesson that doesn't forget," he said. "You'll need a hundred such failures to build your First Circle."By dusk, Caelan was exhausted. Not from running, not from swinging a sword—but from thinking so hard it made his bones ache. Yet, his years of relentlessly pushing himself to read every textbook, every article, and fight through each barrier had helped clear his mind.Aldric Thorne, looking impressed, said, "You're truly someone with remarkable willpower, Caelan. I've never seen anyone push through so much, especially this early in their training."Caelan nodded. "I've had to fight through obstacles all my life. This is no different."Thorne smiled faintly. "Tomorrow, we start with the basics—focusing your mana. It will feel like moving a mountain, but you've already shown you have the strength for it."As they watched the last rays of sunlight fade, Caelan noticed a worm wriggling across the dirt path, a small, almost unnoticeable creature. Thorne caught his gaze."Much like that worm, your magic will require patience, time, and a sense of quiet transformation. One day, you'll realize you've grown stronger without even feeling it."Caelan glanced back at Thorne, understanding. "So, this is just the beginning?"Thorne nodded. "Yes. And like the worm turning into a butterfly, you'll break free of your limitations, but only if you keep pushing forward."But he was smiling.He'd spent years fading. Now, he was slowly becoming something more than what he once was.And for the first time since he'd awoken in this unfamiliar world...He was looking forward to tomorrow.
