The horizon finally opened up. There, beyond endless ridges of hills and forests, a thin strip of deep blue flashed. The sea. It was so vast that its edge merged with the sky, turning into one endless expanse. We froze in midair, hovering in place.

  “Look, Riza…” I pointed ahead. “That’s real water. Mortals couldn’t drink this cup—even we struggle to grasp its volume.”

  For three minutes we stayed silent, simply absorbing the scale. The wind carried the first faint taste of salt to us. But the sea was still far—deceptively close to the eye, slow to reach in truth.

  “Zen, should we go down?” Riza suddenly suggested. “We’re flying past all the interesting things. The forest below is so alive, and we’re just staring at it from above.”

  Philosophical thoughts… I smirked to myself, but nodded. We descended under the canopy of ancient oaks.

  We walked over soft moss, and an enormous anthill caught our attention. Riza and I—forgetting our status as “great mages”—crouched down and spent a full hour watching their bustle.

  “Let’s build them a little stream,” I suggested, drawing a line in the dirt with my finger.

  “Yes! And here we’ll make a bridge out of bark,” Riza said, enthusiastically placing leaves right beside the legs of ants burdened with loads. “So they won’t have to carry all that weight the long way around.”

  Half an hour later, an entire city had grown around the anthill—canals and logistics included. When Lucida and Elvindor came over, they stared at us in open amazement.

  “It’s strange seeing you like this, Zenhald,” Lucida shook her head. “Right now you look like an ordinary kid playing in the dirt. Come on, ‘architect of anthills.’”

  I stood up slowly, brushing off my hands, while Riza still waved goodbye to the ants.

  “The ability to play is strategy too, Lucida,” I shot back as I caught up with them.

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  On the way, I decided it was time to move on to serious things.

  “Riza, can you feel my mana?” I asked, walking ahead.

  “Yes…” She frowned. “But why is there almost none? It’s like it’s dissolved into the air—hard to catch.”

  “Exactly. Most mages take pride in their surges of power. They crackle, they flare, they broadcast to everyone around: ‘Look how strong I am!’ But really, it’s just a sign of poor control. Unnecessary noise.”

  I lifted my hand, and clouds began to gather over the forest, obediently circling at my will. “See? My mana only increased slightly in volume, even though a trick like this should take mountains of energy. Now—Elvindor. Show her. Fire an electric volley.”

  Elvindor nodded. At once his mana field boiled up—bright, aggressive, snapping with sparks. Riza even squinted against the raging flow. A lightning bolt tore from his fingers and, with a thunderous crack, blew apart an ancient tree.

  “Strong?” I asked Riza.

  “Very! That was terrifying!”

  “Now watch me.” I pointed at another tree. Around the tip of my fingernail, a tiny, almost transparent sphere began to form. Riza leaned forward, peering.

  “I… I don’t see the mana moving, Zen. It’s like it froze.”

  The sphere launched soundlessly and touched the trunk. In the same instant, the tree erupted into furious flame, and the shockwave was so dense it made Riza stagger back a step.

  “No way…” she breathed. “That’s completely different.”

  “Yesterday against the golems, you saw where mana was flowing and knew where the hit would come from. But if an opponent sees only a weak boy who can’t even cast, he won’t prepare. That’s the point: be a quiet whirlpool with devils hiding at the bottom.”

  Riza immediately caught it. “Trick the enemy before the fight even starts!”

  “Exactly. Learn to control your mana flow until it becomes part of your breathing.”

  We stopped for the night. Learning stealth isn’t quick work, and Elvindor and Lucida joined in too.

  “You know, Zenhald,” Elvindor said thoughtfully by the fire, “in hundreds of years I never truly considered hiding mana that deeply. We elves are used to taking pride in our strength.”

  “And me as well,” Lucida added, stirring the coals. “Until now I thought hiding was for the weak—that a true warrior should shine, terrifying the enemy by sheer presence. But your method… it’s more dangerous. Because it turns you into an invisible dagger.”

  I was already half-asleep, leaning against a tree. Through the drowsy haze I saw Riza sitting a little apart, eyes closed. Her mana background—usually uneven and bright—was slowly stabilizing, growing quieter, smoother. She was trying to make the process automatic, like breathing.

  Good girl, little demon… I thought as I finally slipped into sleep. Tomorrow we’ll be even closer to the great water.