Freya rested her hand on her hip, watching the caramel-colored crystal swirl gently at the top of the staff.
"Well, now that that worked," she said, "I guess we'll need to get you a staff of your own eventually."
She paused, then added with a pointed look, "But until then, you can use this one. Just—don't use it without me around."
Arbor tilted their head. "Why not?"
Freya shrugged, her expression unreadable. "Because I still don't understand why your mana control's so strange. And if something goes wrong again, I'd rather be there to stop it."
She stepped back, motioning to the center of the arena. "For now, let's just stick to basics."
Arbor nodded. "Got it."
Truthfully, they couldn't deny it—the feeling of control was… exciting.
For the majority of their time with Freya, Arbor's days had been filled with general training—combat basics, reading, basic math, and a few entry-level sciences tied to alchemy and rune theory.
They sucked at alchemy. No getting around it. Explosions, wrong ingredients, potions turning black when they should've turned green—classic disaster student.
Math? Even worse. Numbers slipped through their brain like water through a cracked jar.
Combat was… mixed. Hand-to-hand? Hopeless. Weapon training? Almost always ended in bruises. But dodging? Dodging was different.
Arbor had an uncanny knack for sensing danger. Their ears would twitch just before an attack, like a built-in magic detection spell. The rest came down to animal instinct—quick reactions, fast footwork, sharp reflexes.
Freya called it a natural sensitivity—said only a rare few had it.
So… that was cool.
Reading was another strong point. It had become one of Arbor's favorite pastimes early on—one of the only quiet ways to pass the time without setting something on fire. And rune work? That clicked almost immediately.
Of the two non-mage magic disciplines—alchemy and runecraft—runes were the less chaotic for Arbor. Alchemy relied on ratios, formulas, mixtures… math. But runes? Runes were more intuitive. Living somewhere magic flowed naturally helped, too.
Draw the rune, place it in a charged space, align it properly—and you could channel magic from the land itself. Using your own mana was possible, but the process was trickier and more dangerous. That's why precision mattered.
The only downside?
There were over four thousand runes.
Each with specific meanings. Specific functions. And if you mixed them up? Deadly consequences.
Still, as long as you knew how to read and follow instructions—runes were simple. Delicate, but simple.
Only in the past month had Arbor even started practicing with their own mana.
Freya paced a slow circle around the arena, arms folded behind her back, her voice turning into that familiar lecture tone.
"So, as you should know—if you actually read the notes I gave you—there are tiers to the magic we use."
Arbor blinked. "…There were notes?"
Freya shot them a glare. "There are nine tiers. Tier One is basic stuff—summoning a flame, light healing, moving small objects. Beginner-level magic. Easy on mana, light on control."
She continued, her hooves clicking against the stone.
"As you move up, things get harder. More rewarding, but more complex. Most people don't get past Tier Four."
Arbor raised a brow. "Why not?"
"Because that's the point where mana cost and control start to stack. The spells become real work. Like the lightning cloud I used on you? That's Tier Four."
"Oh," Arbor muttered, rubbing their arm subconsciously.
Freya nodded. "Tier Four's where you get your battlefield spells. Decent healing, beast summoning, wide-range elemental stuff. Anything past that… gets tricky."
She paused, glancing at Arbor.
"Tier seven is what most would call the limit. Unless you're blessed by a god—or something close to it—you don't go further."
Arbor blinked slowly. "What kind of spells are we talking?"
"Mass Teleportation. Weather-wide storms. Reality shaping. Stretching your lifespan." Freya shrugged. "Stuff that bends the rules. Even we Atherians don't bother much—most of us already live for hundreds of years, if you know the methods."
She gave a small wave. "Anything beyond that is divine-level nonsense. Not something I'm wasting breath on explaining unless you actually make it there."
Arbor sat quiet for a moment.
Hundreds of years.
They hadn't really thought about their age since waking up in the forest. Their body looked somewhere between sixteen and eighteen… but beyond that? Nothing. No clue.
They looked at Freya.
Wrinkles edged the corners of her eyes, and her hands looked worn, calloused from years of work. But her posture was sharp, her gaze sharper.
"How old are you?" Arbor asked.
Freya stopped mid-step and slowly turned her head.
She pointed a finger at them.
ZAP.
A small shock jolted through Arbor's shoulder.
"Wha—?! OW! What was that for?!"
"You never ask a woman her age, Arbor."
Arbor sat up straight, face twisted in pure shock. "How was I supposed to know that?!"
"Now you do." She smirked. "But if you must know… I've lived for over a century. Still decently young by our people's standards."
Arbor fell quiet again.
The idea of living even twenty more years felt like a lot—too much. The thought of living for centuries was borderline overwhelming.
They blinked, looked away, and quietly shoved that idea to the back of their mind.
Freya stretched her arms overhead and cracked her knuckles.
"Alright. Since you seem to have a stable mana stream—for now—let's lean into your affinity for earth magic."
She knelt and drew a quick diagram into the dust with her finger, outlining a spellform with a single rune in the center.
"Tier One earth manipulation," she said. "It's simple. You're not creating anything new, just reshaping what's already there."
Arbor tilted their head. "Like making a hole?"
"Exactly. Or a spike. Or a ripple." Freya pointed to the arena floor. "Normally, we'd start with the ground—but this platform's laced with old warding runes and support glyphs. The whole thing is saturated with magic, and I don't need you accidentally undoing gravity."
She glanced at Arbor's pouch.
"So—grab one of your weird little rocks. Use that instead."
Arbor scoffed. "Weird? These are highly curated specimens."
They rummaged through their pouch and picked out a stone—rough, reddish, and slightly speckled with white flecks. Arbor held it in their palm, frowning in concentration.
"Now," Freya said, stepping back, "don't force it. Just breathe, focus on the mana inside you, and guide it into the stone. Feel the stone. Let your magic talk to it. Then imagine a change—something small. A dent, a twist, a ridge. Shape it."
Arbor exhaled, holding the rock in both hands.
Their eyes narrowed.
They reached inward, letting their mana flow through the staff and into their arms. They pictured the stone bending, softening slightly like heated clay. A small ridge curving along the surface, nothing wild.
The crystal at the top of the staff shimmered—caramel light pooling toward Arbor's hands.
The rock began to shift.
It pulsed once, then slowly formed a small spiral groove, curling like a snail shell along one side.
Arbor blinked, holding it up. "Whoa."
Freya raised a brow. "Not bad. A bit wobbly, but it worked."
Arbor turned the rock in their hands, inspecting it with a satisfied grin. "Gonna be honest—I thought it was gonna explode."
"Still might. Don't get cocky."
Freya turned toward Arbor, an expectant hand held out.
"Give me one of your rocks," she said.
Arbor immediately clutched their pouch protectively. "Why?"
"I need an example," Freya said, smiling a little too innocently.
Arbor frowned. "You're gonna do something weird to it, aren't you?"
Freya raised a brow, unamused.
Arbor sighed dramatically, fishing out a speckled gray-and-green stone and placing it reluctantly into Freya's hand. "Be nice to it."
Freya gave a noncommittal grunt and, without hesitation, poured a quick surge of mana into the rock. A flicker of red lightning crackled along her fingers, engulfing the stone.
In a flash, the once-rough rock reshaped itself.
Where once was a bumpy, imperfect stone now stood a perfect, sharp cone. Spiraled ridges wrapped around it like a carved drill.
Arbor blinked, impressed, and clapped without thinking.
Then Freya casually tossed the newly-formed spike high into the air.
Arbor opened their mouth to protest—Wait, wait, wait—!
But it was too late.
As the rock fell, Freya lifted a finger, and a focused bolt of red lightning shot out, hitting the spike dead-on.
BOOM.
The sound echoed through the arena like a cannon blast, and the spike shot across the clearing, vanishing into the distant woods at a terrifying speed.
Arbor stared, mouth slightly open, ears flattened against their head.
Part shocked. Part terrified.
Mostly just… sad.
There's no way I'm finding that rock again, they thought miserably. But—with better judgment—they didn't bring it up.
Freya, meanwhile, grinned like she hadn't just committed rock-murder.
"That," she said, "is more or less what you should eventually be able to do."
She crossed her arms, tilting her head proudly. "Earth magic's a great affinity to have. Flexible. Durable. And—" she pointed toward the distant explosion, "you don't have to be a brute to make it powerful."
In the distance, a faint secondary boom echoed through the forest.
Arbor flinched slightly but couldn't help it—a spark of excitement lit in their chest.
The thought of moving and bending the earth to their will… it was honestly really cool.
Still, something didn't add up.
They frowned, looking at Freya. "Wait... but you're, like… lightning or something, right? How did you do that with earth magic?"
Freya's grin widened, pleased by the question.
"Good observation," she said. "While we all have affinities—natural talents—it doesn't mean we're stuck with just one type of magic."
She sat down on a low stone wall, twirling a loose vine between her fingers.
"You can learn other magics. It just doesn't come as easy. Some types, you might never really be compatible with. But others…" She tapped her temple. "It's just a matter of training and burning more mana."
Freya looked at the spot where the rock had disappeared and smirked.
"What I did? Pure lightning manipulation. I broke the rock down at an intense, microscopic scale. Made it brittle. Then used a controlled blast to launch it."
Arbor blinked. "That sounds complicated."
"It is," Freya said casually. "Takes a ton of precision—and even more mana. Most people stick to their core magic and branch out just a little."
She stood, brushing dirt off her wooly legs.
"There are ways to push past your limits," she added with a sly smile. "But that's a lesson for another day."
The moment they relied solely on their own mana, that thing—that pressure, that rejection—always returned. It wasn't constant, but it waited, deep in the flow, like a knot just out of reach.
Their control without the staff still sucked.
But it was improving.
Still, the question lingered, buried deep in their thoughts: What is this thing inside me?
The more they trained, the more certain Arbor became that something in their mana flow didn't belong to them. It wasn't just lack of experience. It was like something foreign had taken root—something that flinched whenever they reached too far.
They'd asked Freya about it once, thinking maybe she knew more than she let on.
Her answer was always the same:
"I found you. That's all."
No details. No memory. No origin.
So many questions piled up in Arbor's head, but they didn't even know where to start. All they knew was this—training was fine. Useful, even. But doing the same thing every day?
It wasn't going to get them closer to any answers.
As the sun began to set, painting the blue trees in amber-gold light, Arbor wiped sweat from their brow, watching the horizon burn.
They turned toward Freya, still panting slightly from the last round.
"So…" Arbor asked, breath catching in their chest. "When do things move on? When do I actually join the Legion?"
Freya paused, blinking in surprise. For once, Arbor had actually asked about the future.
"Well now," she said slowly, a grin tugging at one corner of her mouth, "looks like you're finally taking an interest in what all this training is for."
She leaned on her staff casually. "You asking that actually reminded me of something… but I'll answer your question first."
Freya's expression shifted—subtle, but a bit more formal.
"The Legion works in ranks," she said. "You're currently an Initiate. That means you've either passed or been accepted past the entrance trials and are undergoing training. There are lots of Initiates like you scattered across Eden—some at outposts, some under direct mentorship."
Arbor frowned. "I don't remember taking any kind of test."
Freya snorted. "That's because you didn't."
"…What?"
"I pulled some strings to get you in," she said with zero shame.
Arbor narrowed their eyes. "What does that mean? And how do you just… mess with something like that?"
Their mind flicked back to things they'd read—books about kingdoms, corruption, quiet political decay. Unease stirred in their gut.
Freya, of course, looked entirely unbothered.
"Well," she said, voice taking on a smug lilt, "you're looking at one of the top-ranked members of the Legion."
She delivered the line like Arbor was supposed to be impressed.
They blinked at her. "...Okay?"
Freya's grin faltered slightly.
She sighed and continued, her tone turning more serious. "That puts me in the Elite Legion. Or, if you're feeling dramatic—or religious—they call us the Ethereal Vanguards."
There was a definite mocking edge to her voice when she said the name, as if she'd heard it too many times to take it seriously.
"The Elite Legion is small," she added. "Usually no more than twenty or thirty members at a time. Every single one is hand-picked by Atheria herself."
Arbor stared at Freya for a long moment, letting the name Atheria settle in their mind.
They hadn't learned much about her—not really. Just whispers in books and the occasional offhand remark from Freya. Supposedly, Atheria was the goddess who had created this place—Eden. Some said she had created the entire world.
But Freya had always been... noncommittal about that part.
"There are other gods," she'd said once, with a shrug. "Other domains. Other territories. The world's a lot bigger than it pretends to be."
Even so, Freya had admitted something once—quietly, like it was more belief than fact.
"Of all the gods who walk among mortals," she'd said, "Atheria is the closest to divine. The most powerful."
But anything beyond that? Freya never talked about it. Or maybe… she couldn't.
When Arbor had asked more, Freya only offered a vague answer:
"The origins of the truly immortal tend to get lost in time. Taken in by its march. Scrambled by stories. If you want to know more… get stronger. Get wiser. The answers tend to find people who can survive them."
It stuck with Arbor, that strange blend of faith and detachment. Freya didn't seem particularly religious, even with a goddess who'd allegedly created her. She trained in the name of Atheria, but she didn't preach it.
It was almost like she respected Atheria… but didn't need to worship her.
Arbor leaned back on their hands, smirking. "So what got you picked?"
Freya gave them a long, amused look.
"Well, aren't you curious all of a sudden," she said. "But I'm afraid those stories will have to wait."
She tilted her head, the faintest glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "We're losing daylight. And you haven't even finished getting your first question answered—about how you actually move up in the Legion."
Arbor made a face but didn't argue.
Freya turned more serious, resting her hand on the hilt of the sword strapped at her hip.
"Right now, you're an Initiate. That's step one."
She started counting on her fingers.
"After Initiate comes Warden. Wardens are basically the backbone—guards, patrols, people who deal with local threats and minor political issues. It's a stable job. Good pay. Low risk. Most people stop there."
Arbor's ears perked up. "Pay? I'm supposed to get paid?"
Freya shot them a look.
"You have free housing. Free equipment. Free education. And you're under my custody," she said pointedly. "So I don't want to hear it right now, thanks."
Arbor pouted dramatically but let it go.
Freya continued. "Above Wardens are the Champions. These are the ones who stand out—prove themselves smarter, stronger, faster. They get assigned bigger tasks, work directly under the higher branches of leadership."
She shifted her weight, the sword at her side tapping lightly against her thigh.
"Champions answer to two groups: the Sentinels and the Elite Legion."
Arbor tilted their head. "What's the difference?"
"Sentinels are leaders who haven't been picked for the Elite. They specialize—military commanders, high priesthood, major government heads. Trusted. Respected. But not chosen."
She let that hang for a second longer.
"And the Elite Legion—us—" she said, tapping her sword hilt with two fingers, "answer only to Atheria herself. No one else."
Arbor blinked.
The structure was thicker than they had realized—and somehow, Freya was balanced right at the very top.
No wonder she got away with so much.
Freya rested her hand casually on the hilt of her sword, watching Arbor with a faint smirk.
"Getting from Initiate to Warden is pretty easy," she said. "Every year, there's a written and a battle test for Initiates."
She waved a hand dismissively. "The written test's boring. Just checks your basic education—reading, math, history. Makes sure you're not a complete idiot."
Arbor made a face. That part sounded terrible already.
"But the battle portion," Freya continued, her eyes lighting up, "that's much more interesting. Depends on which capital is hosting it. Sometimes it's a hunt. Sometimes it's a tournament. Sometimes it's something weirder. Changes every year."
She shrugged. "You can't really fail either part. It's just to see how advanced you are and figure out where to put you."
Arbor leaned back, chewing on the information.
Fighting other Initiates was one thing.
But fighting monsters?
Their mind flashed back to dodging Freya's lightning strikes, to feeling their bones rattle under the force of her magic. The thought of facing creatures like her—even if she said it was "basic"—was honestly terrifying.
They hadn't really met anyone else here. Freya had been their whole world since waking up. Books filled in the gaps, but even those could only teach so much.
Arbor swallowed. "Erm… they're not gonna be monsters like you, right?"
Freya barked out a laugh.
"Oh, of course not," she said, grinning wide. "You're all just getting into fighting and magic. Some might be more advanced than others, but no one should be past Tier Four or so."
Arbor exhaled slowly, part relief, part lingering dread.
Tier Four still sounded a lot higher than they were.
Freya dusted her hands off and gave Arbor a sly smile.
"But onto what I actually wanted to tell you," she said.
Arbor tilted their head, suspicious.
"You'll be meeting your team tomorrow."
Arbor blinked. "Team?"
"Yep," Freya said, entirely too pleased with herself. "It was supposed to be a surprise—because I enjoy bothering you—but since you've been so engaged with my lesson today, I figured you deserved a heads-up."
Arbor stared at her. The word team echoed in their head.
"What do you mean, team?"
A creeping, overwhelming mix of fear and curiosity rose up inside them.
For as long as Arbor could remember, it had been just them and Freya.
No other voices. No other faces.
The thought of meeting someone new—let alone being forced to work with them—hit like a punch to the gut. Their heart beat faster, ears twitching nervously. A thousand half-formed questions spun through their mind. What if they hated them? What if they were better? Smarter? Stronger? What if Arbor didn't belong at all?
They shifted where they sat, tail curling close around their legs like a shield.
Freya, of course, looked completely unbothered.
"Yeah, there's two of them," she said lightly. "I'll leave your mind to wander about what they're like. But they'll be your training partners. You'll take your tests together. Might even become lifelong friends—depending on how things go."
She said it so casually, like Arbor's entire world wasn't about to tilt sideways.
"In order to rank up," Freya added, "you'll need to show some teamwork. Trust. Collaboration."
Arbor swallowed thickly.
"They're around your age, too. Or…" Freya tapped her chin, smirking, "at least, what we think your age is."
Arbor didn't respond right away.
Freya looked down at Arbor, taking in the way their ears had drooped slightly, their whole body curling inward, tense and worried.
She sighed softly.
"Hmm. Arbor…" she said, voice gentler than usual. "It'll be fine."
She scratched the back of her head, a little awkwardly. "My sense of humor can be… off. I guess."
Arbor peeked up at her, still looking unconvinced.
"But seriously—you'll be fine. I chose these two myself. Personally. Nothing to stress about."
Freya crouched down to Arbor's level, resting her forearms on her knees, meeting their eyes.
"I know you can be a bit adverse to change. You cling to what's familiar—and that's not a bad thing. It's kept you alive." She smiled faintly. "But being in the Legion? You'll grow out of that. You'll have to."
She reached out and ruffled Arbor's hair lightly, ignoring their half-hearted swat.
"Having other people your age around? It'll help you adapt. To the changes that'll come with getting stronger, rising through the ranks."
Her voice grew a little quieter. Warmer.
"I see a lot of potential in you, Arbor. More than you see in yourself. More than others might recognize right now."
Freya stood again, brushing dust from her coat.
"You've grown a lot in just a year or two. I'm proud of you. Truly."
She pointed a finger at them—not to shock them this time, but to emphasize the words.
"So don't let your anxieties chain you down, alright? You're going to be great. You just have to let yourself become it."
Arbor sat there, stunned into silence, feeling something unfamiliar stirring behind their ribs.
Confidence.
Freya dusted off her hands and offered Arbor a hand up.
"Well, anyway, let's get you home," she said, lifting them easily onto their feet. "Training's over—and tomorrow's going to be a big day for you."
She looked up at the sun, watching as it faded behind the towering blue trees, mist curling at the edges of the clearing.
Arbor followed her gaze, feeling a strange, restless energy stir inside them.