Sorry for the repeated words, the premium rules rules for updating the mistakes in misarranged chapters are strict.
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He worked without needing to think, each movement guided by deeply ingrained memory. The hovering silver flames dimmed as he adjusted the temperature through a subtle weave of magic, a small gesture of his hand causing runes etched along the forge's frame to shift, reacting to his will.
The enchanted conduits pulsed in time with his breathing, syncing perfectly with his presence.
The boy was seamless.
His teacher watched silently, arms crossed, yet her mind raced as she observed. Pyris was still young, yet he commanded this space as though it bent around him, as though the forge itself acknowledged his mastery.
She had taught him these techniques—but he had long since surpassed her expectations in execution.