"Like I said before," the voice continued, calm and steady in Icariel's mind, "special elemental spells like lightning… they can never be recreated or mastered more than once."
The boy listened quietly, his steps slow, the forest wet and quiet around him.
"You remember how you tested flame spells? Mixing golden and blue mana orbs in different ratios to adjust its density, intensity, even temperature. More golden mana made the flame bigger, more destructive. More blue, and it became colder—gentler, even harmless."
There was a brief pause, as if the voice wanted to make sure Icariel followed.
"But spells like lightning don't work like that. They don't bend or adjust to your will after being imprinted. That's the nature of special elements—they aren't flexible. Not unless you've devoted years to studying them, mastering their intricacies in theory and practice."
The voice hardened a little.
"And let's be honest. You don't have the time or the desire to lock yourself away in a room or in some place reading about the essence of magic."
Icariel didn't reply.
"In simpler terms: you had one chance to imprint a lightning spell. One chance. That's why I told you not to mess up. Because if you failed, that would've been it—no second tries, no do-overs."
"And you didn't just succeed… you accidentally created something unprecedented."
The voice dropped lower, weightier.
"And that's also why I told you not to use it again."
"You've been using spells for weeks now. You understand the difference. When you first mix elemental mana in the air to form a spell, it's at its weakest—a beginner's draft. But once a spell is properly imprinted and fueled by internal mana, its power multiplies."
Icariel's damaged hand throbbed as the voice continued.
"And yet, that white lightning—the one you used—was already so monstrous the first time you cast it. That was it at its weakest."
A shiver passed through him.
"So imagine what happens… when you use that spell again, this time with the full weight of your own mana fueling it."
Silence followed, broken only by the crunch of Icariel's boots on the damp earth.
He walked slowly toward the cave, hand throbbing, vision still reeling with flashes of that blinding white light.
The voice stayed quiet for a moment longer, then said, softer now:
"Knowing you, I'm sure you won't even think about using it again. It'll be like that spell never existed. Like it was erased from your mind."
Then, after a long pause:
"But I have one last question for you, Icariel."
The boy stopped at the entrance to the cave, shoulders tense, breath cold in the air.
"Will you really give up on training?"
There was a silence.
Icariel stepped inside, the dark swallowing him.
"...Yes," he said.
Then, after a few moments:
"For today."
A small smile tugged at his lips.
It was true—he had nearly killed himself trying to learn that spell. And he hated that. Hated how close he'd come to the end just to grasp something he didn't fully understand.
But… hearing the voice tell him he had done something unprecedented—something that should've left him dead—and yet, here he was, still breathing, still standing…
It made him feel something. Maybe it was pride.
Icariel stepped deeper into the cave, his body aching, but his mind oddly clear. He knelt down beside the pile of things he'd taken from the fallen Groon house—his supplies.
"First, I should treat this arm," he muttered to himself, eyes narrowing at the cuts and burns that still pulsed with dull pain.
"I'm glad I took these," he added, pulling out a roll of bandages and a pouch of natural medicine.
He applied the balm carefully, the sting almost a comfort now, then wrapped his hand and forearm in tight, even layers of cloth. It wasn't pretty, but it would hold.
"It's done," he said, flexing his fingers just a little to test it. "Should be fine. Healing."
He sat there for a moment, eyes blinking slow from exhaustion. His body still trembled slightly, and the weight of what he'd survived hadn't left him.
"Now… I need to hunt. Eat. And sleep." He exhaled slowly. "I'm really tired."
It was still midday. The storm had cleared, the clouds retreating, and sunlight poured gently through the trees—the aftermath of a disaster born from his own hands.
Icariel glanced toward the cave entrance, then spoke again, this time toward the presence in his head.
"Does that sound good to you?"
The voice answered, quiet and calm as always"As you wish."
And so, Icariel stood, stretched the tension from his limbs, and stepped outside once more—off to hunt, to fill his stomach.
To live.
The next day, he woke up early—the sun barely peeking above the horizon.
The air was sharp and cold, thick with the smell of damp bark and moss. A bird cried once, far off.
"I slept early last night… after hunting and eating that deer," he muttered, sitting up and stretching out the lingering aches from yesterday's chaos.
Today, he felt much better. Way better than last night.
As he looked around, something struck him—this was the first time since acquiring White Sense that he had gotten up this early. Back in Mjull village, waking before sunrise was normal. But now, it was different.
And with his enhanced sight, the world looked… alive.Mana drifted gently all around him, and some of it flowed into his body—calm and natural, as it always did now.
"The mana really is denser in the morning," he noted aloud.
"Because it's not disturbed," the voice replied.
"Oh, I see," Icariel nodded. "You should tell me more about that later how it works. I'm really curious."
"Sure," the voice said simply.
"So… what should I do today?" Icariel asked, standing and brushing himself off.
"Originally, I planned that once you acquired the lightning spell, you'd use the remaining time learning it until it felt like part of your own body—just like the others."
Then, the voice added, teasing lightly, "But that's no longer an option, because someone had to mix all the black mana into it."
"It's not like I wanted to," Icariel grumbled under his breath.
"For the remaining time, I want you to use what you've learned—as if you're fighting someone. That was the plan for the final week."
Icariel interrupted, "Or like escaping someone? Not everything's about fighting, especially for me, you know."
"That could work too," the voice agreed.
"Since you've learned spells of fire, water, and wind, you'll get to use them as if you're dealing with a monster… or an rouge human. Like that woman." - The voice was referring to Elektra.
"So what should I use as examples for my opponents?" Icariel asked.
"It's obvious."
"…What?"
"Trees. And stones."
"…Huh?"
"Are you ready?"
"...Yeah, I guess," Icariel replied, forcing a smile onto his face.
Little did the boy know…
These days—this quiet, controlled training—would be the last peaceful moments he'd ever have.
From now on, everything would change.
[End of Chapter 17]