Trials of Control and Preparation

The training room buzzed with magical energy as Eogan, Lorcan, Neala, and Leanan worked on their elemental magic control. The walls bore scorch marks, and the air smelled faintly of ozone. Leanan flitted about, her translucent wings shimmering as she guided Neala through basic fire magic exercises.

"Focus, Neala," Leanan urged, her tiny voice sharp with authority. "You have to control the flame, not let it control you."

Neala, perched on Lorcan's shoulder, gave a nervous chirp and attempted to summon a tiny ember. A flicker of orange light appeared in her tiny claws, only to sputter out a moment later. Her next attempt, however, was far more dramatic. The ember surged into a fireball, blasting outwards and setting a stack of wooden practice dummies ablaze.

"Ack! Neala!" Lorcan yelped, patting frantically at the edges of his cloak that had caught fire.

Eogan laughed, though he quickly stepped in to help douse the flames with a gust of wind. "She's got spirit, I'll give her that."

Leanan sighed, pinching the bridge of her tiny nose. "That's not what I meant by focus!"

The chaos was far from over. As Neala attempted to reignite her ember with Leanan's guidance, a stray burst of flame arced through the air, finding its unfortunate target: Daric, the noble bully, who happened to be passing by the open doorway. One moment, he was smugly fixing his hair in a hand mirror; the next, his head was a flaming beacon.

"MY HAIR!" Daric shrieked, bolting down the hallway with his arms flailing.

Leanan and Neala froze, their eyes wide with terror. "Hide!" Leanan hissed, zipping into Eogan's pocket. Neala followed suit, scrambling into Lorcan's singed cloak as Professor Faelan entered the room.

Faelan's sharp gaze swept over the charred remains of the dummies, the scorch marks on the walls, and the students standing suspiciously still. "Eogan. Lorcan," he said, his tone cool and cutting. "What in the world happened here?"

Eogan scratched the back of his neck. "Uh, just practicing, Professor."

Faelan's eyes narrowed. "Practicing? It looks more like a battlefield. Sit. Both of you."

The two boys obeyed, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Faelan crossed his arms. "Eogan, your reliance on instinct will get you in trouble. Magic isn't about feeling your way through it. It requires discipline, structure, and control."

"I've always used instinct," Eogan shot back, frustration lacing his words. "Runes feel clunky and impractical. They slow everything down."

Faelan's gaze hardened. "That may have worked when you were a fey lord, but you're human now. Your body can't handle raw fey magic the way it used to. If you don't adapt, you'll lose control again. And next time, the consequences might be irreversible."

Lorcan nodded in agreement. "He's right, Eogan. Baby steps. You can't skip ahead to what you used to know. We'll figure it out together, but you've got to trust the process."

Eogan sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Fine. I'll try it your way. But it still feels wrong."

Faelan gave a curt nod, his stern expression softening slightly. "Good. Now, let's continue."

Faelan began their lesson with a series of grounding exercises. He instructed Eogan and Lorcan to sit in a meditative pose, hands resting on their knees. "Close your eyes," he said, his tone firm but calm. "Breathe deeply and focus on the mana flowing within you. Feel its rhythm, its pulse. Magic begins with understanding your own energy."

Eogan closed his eyes, trying to push past the frustration that lingered from their earlier exchange. He inhaled slowly, focusing on the faint hum of mana coursing through his body. The sensation was familiar but faint, like trying to grasp the memory of a dream.

"Now," Faelan continued, "channel your mana into a single point. Visualize it gathering in your palm."

Lorcan raised his hand tentatively, his brow furrowed in concentration. A faint, flickering light appeared above his palm, wavering like a candle in the wind. Eogan, meanwhile, struggled to condense his mana. The energy was there, but it felt wild and uncooperative, slipping through his mental grasp like sand.

"Focus, Eogan," Faelan said sharply. "You're trying to force it. Mana isn't something you can bend to your will. It's a flow. Work with it, not against it."

Gritting his teeth, Eogan tried again, this time softening his approach. Instead of commanding the mana, he guided it gently, coaxing it to follow his intent. A faint orb of wind formed above his hand, spinning slowly before dissipating.

"Better," Faelan said, his tone grudgingly approving. "But it's still unstable. Practice this daily. Control starts with the basics."

Next, Faelan introduced an exercise in precision. He conjured a series of small, floating targets—orbs of light that drifted lazily through the air. "Your task is to hit the targets with a basic elemental spell. Eogan, you'll use wind. Lorcan, fire. Focus on accuracy, not power."

Lorcan hesitated, glancing at Neala, who peeked out from his cloak. "I'm not sure I'm ready for fire magic," he admitted.

"Then start small," Faelan replied. "Even the smallest flame can hit its mark if aimed correctly."

Lorcan nodded and took aim. A small spark formed at his fingertips, sputtering before shooting toward one of the orbs. It missed, veering off to the side and fizzling out harmlessly.

"Keep trying," Faelan encouraged. "Precision comes with repetition."

Eogan, meanwhile, focused on summoning a gust of wind strong enough to nudge the orbs without scattering them. His first attempt sent a powerful blast through the room, knocking several targets into the walls. Faelan sighed, rubbing his temples. "Too much force, Eogan. Control the strength of the spell."

By the end of the session, both boys were visibly exhausted but had made incremental progress. Lorcan managed to hit a target with a small flame, earning an approving nod from Faelan. Eogan, after numerous attempts, succeeded in directing a precise gust of wind to gently push an orb.

"You're improving," Faelan said, his tone less harsh. "But there's still much work to be done. Magic isn't mastered overnight."

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After dinner, Eogan, Lorcan, and Prince Lirien gathered in the training courtyard for mock duels. The cool night air carried the faint scent of jasmine from the nearby gardens, but Eogan barely noticed. His thoughts kept drifting to the dream and the ominous warning of an attack on the school.

"Ready?" Lirien called, twirling his spear with practiced ease. His movements were fluid and precise, a testament to his noble upbringing.

Eogan tightened his grip on the sword, its weight feeling awkward in his hands. "As I'll ever be."

Lorcan stood off to the side, a bow in hand. He nocked an arrow and drew the string back, his arms trembling slightly. "Let's do this," he said, though his voice lacked confidence.

The first duel was between Eogan and Lirien. Eogan's attacks were clumsy and easily deflected by Lirien's spear. Lirien, ever the patient teacher, offered advice between strikes.

"Keep your stance balanced. Don't grip the hilt too tightly. Let the sword move with you."

"Easier said than done," Eogan muttered, stumbling as he parried another strike.

By the end of their bout, Eogan was winded but slightly more confident. "You're improving," Lirien said with an encouraging smile. "Just keep at it."

Next, it was Lorcan's turn. He raised the bow, his hands shaking as he aimed. The arrow flew… straight into the ground a foot in front of him.

Lirien stifled a laugh. "Try again. Relax your shoulders this time."

Lorcan nodded, taking a deep breath before drawing another arrow. This time, it plummeted downward, nearly hitting his own foot. "I'm terrible at this," he groaned.

"No one's great when they start," Lirien said, clapping him on the back. "You'll get there."

As they continued practicing, Eogan's mind drifted back to the dream. He remembered the shadowy creatures in the vision and the ominous warning that lingered like a weight on his chest. He couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out.

The practice stretched on, with Lirien demonstrating advanced spear techniques while Eogan and Lorcan struggled to master their respective weapons. Despite their frustration, Lirien remained patient, offering tips and encouragement.

"You're both better than you think," Lirien said, spinning his spear effortlessly. "It's about consistency. The more you practice, the more natural it'll feel."

Eogan gritted his teeth as he blocked another imaginary strike, his movements clunky but deliberate. "Easy for you to say. You've probably been training since you could walk."

"True," Lirien admitted with a grin. "But even I was a disaster when I first started. It's all part of the process."

When Lirien finally asked why Eogan was so insistent on practicing tonight, Eogan responded briefly but heavily.

"Because we might not have much time," he said, his voice low and serious.

Lirien and Lorcan exchanged uneasy glances, sensing the gravity of his words. Neither pressed him further, but the tension lingered in the cool night air.

As the night wore on, the three began to tire, their movements slowing. Eogan's sword felt less awkward in his hands, though he still struggled with the weight and balance. Lorcan managed to fire a few arrows that hit the target, earning a cheer from Lirien.

"See? Progress," Lirien said with a smile.

Eogan forced a smile in return, but his thoughts remained troubled. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on his shoulders. Whatever was coming, he knew they had to be ready.