The wind howled across the floating arena.
Arbor stood at the far edge, chest rising and falling as they tried to catch their breath. The stone beneath their feet hummed faintly with old magic—runes barely visible beneath the creeping moss.
Across from them, Freya stood motionless at the arena's center, her hand raised to the sky.
Dark clouds swirled above, forming a tight spiral of red-tinged storm. Thunder growled. Sparks danced across Freya's fingertips, painting her in flickers of crimson light.
"You're never going to be ready to join the Legion," she shouted, "if all you can do is dodge!"
A bolt of red lightning cracked down—missing Arbor by inches.
"Try using some of the training I've taught you!"
Arbor rolled sideways across the stone, gritting their teeth. Today was... not it.
Normally Freya started with drills, breathing exercises, a few magic forms. Something gentle.
Today? She skipped straight to smiting.
Arbor ducked behind a vine-covered pillar and shouted back, "Aren't you worried you're going to kill your most favorite student, Freya?"
Freya didn't miss a beat. She looked around the empty arena, then called out flatly, "They don't seem to be here, Arbor."
Arbor stuck their head out from behind the stone with a slow blink and the saddest expression they could manage.
"Ouch," they said softly.
CRACK.
The red lightning struck.
Pain flared through their shoulder and side. Arbor cried out, falling to one knee as the energy rippled through their nerves, hair standing on end. Smoke curled off their sleeve.
"Don't get careless," Freya barked. "Games on the field gets people killed."
But Arbor wasn't listening.
Their eyes had gone wide and ears flickered—not from pain, but from fear.
The air had shifted.
Above them, the false moon pulsed once. Then again.
As Freya raised her hand for another strike, the mana around her flickered, warped—then collapsed inward.
The red lightning arched toward Arbor—but it never landed.
The moment before impact, the false moon flared. A ripple of magic burst downward from its glowing surface, pulling all the ambient energy toward itself like a great inhale. Freya's lightning fractured, splintered into sparks, and vanished midair.
Silence.
The hum of the arena faded. The glow from the moon dimmed, like a snuffed ember.
Freya stumbled, her hand falling. She looked down at her palm, confused.
Arbor sat stunned on the stone floor, their breath caught in their throat.
"…What… was that?"
Freya lowered her hand slowly, her eyes locked on the dimmed moon above. She was quiet for a moment.
Then she smirked.
"Well," she said, "seems I really was about to kill you with that one."
Arbor blinked. "What?!"
Freya's grin widened like she found that fact mildly amusing.
"This place—what we call the training ground—it used to be a proper arena," she explained, casually brushing soot from her sleeve. "They held tournaments up here, back when the Legion actually cared about style. The moon?" She jabbed a thumb skyward. "It's an old mana-hungry rock. Built to stop lethal spells. It'll snatch a deathblow right out of the air, absorb it, and force non-lethal ones to just knock people around instead."
She gestured to the stone beneath their feet. "Force magic layering underneath all this. Kept things flashy, not fatal."
Arbor glanced up at the looming moon, then around at the arena. The place was a mess. Cracks spiderwebbed across the stonework. Moss had swallowed half the carvings. Some of the runes had faded entirely. It was like the arena was being held together by memory more than magic.
"Yeah…" Arbor muttered. "Looks like it's been falling apart for years."
Freya gave a nonchalant shrug. "The capital moved the real fights ages ago. This place was abandoned. So, I claimed it."
She glanced down at Arbor, her expression just a bit sheepish. "Guess I might've been going a bit too hard this time."
Arbor stared at her.
"Oh really, you think so?!"
Freya just grinned.
Freya dropped onto one of the arena's cracked stone benches with a heavy sigh. "Anyway," she said, waving a hand like nothing life-threatening had just happened, "let's get back to the actual lesson."
Arbor, still rubbing their arm, shot her a flat look. "Realistically? That first shot shouldn't have hurt like that," Freya added, not bothering to hide the judgment in her tone.
Arbor groaned and slowly got up, settling into a sitting position near her, legs crossed. Their arm still tingled from the hit, nerves buzzing like static. "It did hurt, though."
Freya didn't offer sympathy. "Remember the mana exercises we practiced last week?"
"Uh… oh. Yeah." Arbor scratched their head. "What about 'em?"
Freya gave them a look like they'd just asked if water was wet.
"You deserved that strike," she said plainly. "Anyway—the main reason we do those drills is to get your mana flowing consistently. Once it's flowing, your body naturally forms a barrier—like a thin magical shield."
She held out her hand, a faint shimmer of energy forming just above her skin before fading again. "The stronger your control, the stronger the barrier. With practice, it can even dull physical attacks."
Arbor blinked. "So I could've just… not gotten roasted?"
"In theory? Yes."
Freya tilted her head, eye narrowing behind her patch. The rune on it pulsed faintly—just for a second.
"Hm. Your mana pool is oddly large. Bigger than average, even."
Arbor raised a brow.
Before they could say anything, Freya added quickly, "Not bigger than mine, of course."
Arbor grinned. "Oh, I wasn't going to say anything."
"You were thinking about it."
Freya folded her arms, watching Arbor closely.
"Starting off, you'll need to focus on meditation," she said. "It clears your mind and centers your attention on one thing—your mana's flow."
Arbor hesitated.
Magic had always been… difficult. Unstable. Uncooperative. It didn't flow when it should, and when it did, something always went wrong.
But this wasn't something they could avoid forever.
With a quiet sigh, Arbor sat down cross-legged. They rested their hands on their knees and closed their eyes, exhaling slow and long.
Clear the mind. Focus.
They searched inward, past the noise, past the fog, past the self-doubt.
And then—they felt it.
A warmth. Faint, but real.
It stirred in their core and began to move, like a stream trickling through dry stone.
Freya's eye patch glowed faintly as she observed them.
"Huh," she muttered. "That was fast. Not very strong, but… progress." Her expression softened slightly. "Usually, by now, something bad happens."
Almost on cue, something did.
Deep within Arbor, something shifted.
Not the gentle warmth from before—but something else. Something foreign.
It was like their mana had brushed against a wall… or maybe a gate. Solid. Unfamiliar. And it responded.
It pushed back—hard.
Arbor gasped as the flow inside them surged out of control. The warmth turned violent. Their magic spiked, jagged and chaotic, lashing through their body like fire in a dry forest.
Mana disruption.
They knew the feeling all too well.
A burst of unstable energy shot out from their core, shattering their focus. Pain bloomed inside—sharp, fiery, electric. It pulsed through every nerve.
They choked. Blood spilled from their nose, then their mouth. Their hands trembled violently.
Yep, Arbor thought bitterly, that's a mana disruption alright.
Freya was on them in an instant.
"Hold still—don't move!"
She knelt beside them, yanking two small vials from her belt—one blue, one red. Without hesitation, she uncorked them and forced them into Arbor's hands.
"Drink. Both. Now."
Arbor, barely able to hold the glass, tilted their head back and swallowed. The blue potion cooled the burning in their chest. The red dulled the pain in their limbs. Together, the pressure eased, just slightly.
Freya gripped their shoulder firmly, her brows furrowed with worry. "Damn it, Arbor… what was that?
Freya sat back slightly, still eyeing Arbor with concern. "You started so well," she said, shaking her head. "But somehow you lost focus. I thought you'd finally gotten past this whole mana disruption business."
Arbor groaned, wiping the blood from their mouth with the back of their hand. "Yeah, I thought so too."
They winced as another small pulse of pain flickered through their chest. "But this was different. Something was… pushing against me when I tried to focus my mana."
Freya's brow furrowed. "Pushing? That shouldn't be happening. Nothing should be pushing back—you sure you didn't just lose focus again?"
Arbor looked up, eyes narrowed. "I know what I felt. This wasn't like the other times."
They sat up straighter, their voice gaining edge despite the pain. "The problem with me used to be control—I couldn't suppress my mana like you taught, so it just kept leaking out. Hurting me. But I've got a handle on that now."
They paused. "This wasn't just me messing up. It felt like… something else. Like a rejection. Like something didn't want me accessing my own mana."
Freya's expression shifted, her usual steel softening into genuine concern.
"That's… really strange," she muttered.
She leaned closer, inspecting Arbor's eyes, face, and hands, mana pulsing softly under her fingers as she searched for signs of residue or corruption.
"Have you been in any strange places recently?" she asked.
"Just here and my den," Arbor replied. "Though let's be real… this whole place is weird if you think about it."
Freya gave them a long, unamused look.
"Alright," she continued, "have you met anyone unusual? Made any deals?"
"Nope. Learned my lesson," Arbor said, nodding solemnly.
"…What?"
Arbor grinned weakly. "From you. You basically drafted me into your goddess's personal militia."
Freya sighed, visibly annoyed. "You're impossible."
"Accurate."
"Okay—any rituals? Magic ceremonies? Unusual gatherings in the woods?"
"Freya, you know I don't do anything when I'm not with you. I go home. I nap. Sometimes I shape rocks. That's it."
Freya sat back, rubbing her temples.
"I just needed to make sure this wasn't witchcraft-related. It's harder to fix that kind of mess."
"So," Arbor said, looking hopeful. "You know what's wrong with me?"
Freya looked at them flatly. "Nope."
Freya stood, brushing dust off her coat as her eye patch shimmered faintly.
"I do have an idea for something that might help," she said, her tone suddenly more serious.
Before Arbor could ask, the air beside them crackled.
A loud crack tore through the space just beside Freya—a flash of clouds and red lightning ripping a jagged hole in the air itself. The sky didn't ripple above them. The arena did. Like reality folded in on itself.
From within the storm-like portal, Freya reached in.
She moved her hand slowly, carefully, as if feeling through water. Then she grasped something and yanked it out in one smooth motion.
It was a staff.
Sleek and sharp, forged from black metal that shimmered like obsidian. At the top, cradled in twisted, curling prongs, sat a clear crystal—glassy and colorless like frozen light.
Arbor blinked. "Okay, what was that?"
Freya rested the base of the staff on the ground, the crystal humming faintly with magic.
"That," she said, "was a weapons gate. Most magical creatures—anyone trained enough in spellwork—can eventually open one."
She tapped the air with two fingers, and the portal crackled shut behind her with a soft snap.
"It's… sort of like a gateway to the soul," she continued. "Some say it draws from your core. Others think it taps into your affinity or your future potential. The shape and feel of it change based on your magic specialization."
Arbor raised a brow. "Sounds like a fancy personality quiz."
Freya ignored the comment. "That's something we can explore later. For now, just try channeling your mana into the staff."
Arbor took the staff, fingers wrapping carefully around the smooth, cool metal. It vibrated softly in their hand, the way a held breath might. For a moment, they hesitated—nervous, remembering the pain from before.
But… they exhaled.
Focused.
This time, the mana flowed.
No resistance. No wall. No rejection. Just a steady stream, small but smooth.
The crystal at the top of the staff shimmered—then slowly shifted in color. Pale caramel light filled its center, swirling gently like soft sand caught in a breeze.
Arbor stared at it.
"…Huh."
Freya watched closely. "Looks like your affinity's stabilizing. Earth, most likely. That caramel tone tends to show up in grounded magic—stone shaping, terrain sensing, maybe even construct casting if you're lucky."
Arbor blinked again, still watching the glow. "It… doesn't hurt."
"Not bad," Freya said with a proud little smile. "You're finally channeling without burning a hole through yourself."
Arbor held up the staff, watching the light swirl.
They couldn't feel the full size of their mana anymore—like the staff narrowed it, compressed it into a thread. But it was steady.
Stable.
And for the first time in a while… that felt good.