Nox Sillon (6)

The ember at his fingertips flickered weakly before dissolving into the crisp morning air, its fragile glow snuffed out like a dying breath.

Wisps of residual heat curled upward, only to be carried away by the gentle breeze, leaving behind nothing but the faintest trace of warmth on his skin.

Nox slowly lowered his hand, his fingers twitching slightly as if grasping at the lingering sensation of power slipping through his grasp.

His crimson eyes darkened with thought, narrowing as he replayed the moment in his mind, analyzing every detail—the way the ember had formed, the fleeting heat it carried, and the inexplicable way it had dissipated before it could fully take shape.

This time, it was different.

Subtle, almost imperceptible, yet undeniably distinct.

He had not bent the mana to his will, had not forced it into existence through sheer command.

Instead, he had let it flow—untouched, unshaped, free.

And for the briefest of moments, it had answered.

Not enough. Not yet.

But it was progress.

Yeni watched him intently, her expression composed yet unyielding.

She recognized that look—the sharp convergence of calculation and hesitation, the rare moment when Nox's rigid logic faltered against something elusive, something that refused to yield to mere analysis.

"Better,"

She repeated, her voice steady, neither praise nor rebuke, but a simple acknowledgment of progress.

Nox remained silent, his mind already unraveling the moment, dissecting every nuance of the attempt.

He retraced the sensation—the way the mana had moved, the subtle shift in control, the almost imperceptible difference in his approach.

The core principles had not changed.

Mana was still a force to be shaped, a structure to be built with precision and intent.

But perhaps… perhaps she was right.

Perhaps he had been looking at it the wrong way all along.

A river, not a machine.

A current, not an equation.

The realization grated against him.

It was imprecise, unquantifiable—irritating.

"Flow,"

He murmured, the word foreign on his tongue, as if testing its weight for the first time.

"An abstract concept. Immeasurable."

And yet, the mana had responded.

"Immeasurable?"

Yeni echoed the word with a slight tilt of her head, one brow arching in quiet challenge.

"Master Nox, your entire life is built on immeasurable things—honor, duty, expectation. And yet, here you stand, trying to measure magic as if it were mere weights on a scale."

Her gaze remained steady, unwavering, as if daring him to refute her words.

His jaw tightened.

"Because precision is necessary."

"Precision has its place,"

Yeni conceded, stepping forward, her tone neither harsh nor yielding.

"But magic is not bound by your definitions. It is not an opponent to be outthought, nor an equation to be solved."

She lifted her hand, palm open to the air.

The mana answered her without hesitation, gathering at her fingertips like liquid light.

It shimmered—warm, effortless—pulsing with quiet life before dissolving back into nothingness.

No force.

No strain.

Only flow.

"Magic is something you converse with,"

She continued.

"Not something you conquer."

Nox's fingers curled slightly.

The very notion grated against him.

Conversation implied understanding, a give-and-take—an acceptance of uncertainty.

But he had never conversed with anything in his life.

He commanded.

He calculated.

He executed.

That was how he survived.

That was how he was raised.

The silence between them settled, stretching long enough for the wind to weave through the trees, carrying with it the scent of earth and morning frost.

The chill bit at his skin, grounding him in the moment, yet his mind remained elsewhere, tangled in the contradiction of what he knew and what she had just told him.

Finally, he exhaled, slow and measured.

"This… rhythm,"

He said, each word carefully chosen, as if shaping something fragile between his teeth.

"How do I understand it?"

Yeni smiled, not mockingly, not indulgently, but with the quiet certainty of someone who had already found the answer.

"You listen."

That was it.

No explanation, no instruction, no formula to follow.

Just listen.

Feel.

A vague answer. A frustrating answer.

But she did not elaborate.

She did not need to.

Nox turned away, his gaze settling on the wooden training dummy.

He had faced it countless times, striking it with perfect form, perfect control.

He knew its grain, the way his blows rebounded off its surface, the exact force needed to make it creak but not splinter.

It was predictable, measurable—just like everything else he had built his life upon.

Yet now, as he raised his hand, something felt different.

His body remained disciplined, every muscle honed by relentless training. But his mind… his mind had shifted.

Not to command. Not to force.

To listen.

The mana stirred beneath his skin, hesitant, uncertain.

Not the rigid calculation of formulas.

Not the forced structure of arcane matrices.

Just movement.

Just a pulse.

Flow.

A flicker.

A spark.

It did not last. It was weak, faint, unsteady.

But it was there.

Yeni let out a quiet breath, watching the ember fade.

"You will learn,"

She said, almost to herself.

"You always do."

*****

The estate was waking.

Servants moved through the halls in quiet efficiency, tending to their morning tasks.

The air carried the scent of fresh bread and damp earth, the remnants of dawn's lingering chill still clinging to the stones.

And in the great hall, a visitor waited.

A nobleman, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a high-collared coat embroidered with silver filigree.

His expression was one of tempered patience, but his eyes—dark and keen—held something sharper.

He drummed his fingers against the armrest of his chair, gaze flicking toward the entrance.

"A long morning,"

He mused aloud.

A servant nearby bowed his head respectfully.

"Master Nox is engaged in his training, Lord Darius. Shall I send for him?"

Darius Windsor.

A name that carried weight.

A man whose presence alone could shift the tides of conversation in the noble courts.

He smiled faintly, though it did not reach his eyes.

"No need. I will see him myself."

He rose, his heavy boots echoing against the polished floors.

It had been some time since he had last seen the boy.

And he was eager to see if the rumors were true.

*****

Nox flexed his fingers absently, still processing the sensation.

His mana had responded differently this time, though it was far from reliable.

The concept of 'flow' was difficult to internalize—he understood structure, not fluidity.

But even so…

It was progress.

Before he could attempt another cast, the sound of approaching footsteps pulled his attention.

A servant, slightly out of breath, bowed deeply.

"Master Nox, Lord Darius Windsor has arrived."

Yeni stilled beside him.

Nox's expression did not change, but a shadow passed behind his eyes.

Darius Windsor. His uncle. His father's brother.

And one of the most influential men in the noble court.

Slowly, Nox lowered his hand.

The training session was over.