The next morning, before setting off on their journey, Lyra approached Eviris."Evi, tell me, are you interested in guilds?"
Eviris turned her head, her gaze calm and analytical."Guilds? You already mentioned that they are groups of mages with a certain hierarchy and responsibilities."
"That's right… Although I didn't quite explain it well, you noticed correctly, hehe," Lyra said, blushing slightly but quickly smiling. "If you ever need a place to go, or if you want to learn more about magic, our guild 'Sky Compass' will always welcome you. Our base in the Wind Harbor isn't hard to find, and they're always glad to see new faces, especially someone like you!"
"But I haven't really shown anything outstanding. My mana is weak, and so is my physical strength."
Kairon, who had come up to say goodbye, smirked."Not everyone can dodge a charging rhino in the forest. And you probably just awakened your magic recently — it's normal to have such a small mana pool. You don't have to accept our invitation if you don't want to. The elder is quite perceptive and probably knows magic too — he can help you."
"Alright…" Eviris nodded slowly, her gaze flickering over Lyra's hand as if trying to catch something."Tell me, how do you use your flame?"
Lyra blinked in surprise, but immediately understood the girl's interest."Flame? That's elemental magic, Evi! Every mage has their own affinity. I have fire, Kairon is a knight subclass, and Finn uses long-range wind attacks."
"Show me your magic again," Eviris requested, her curiosity almost tangible despite the absence of bright emotions.
"Oh! Okay," Lyra beamed, delighted by the attention. An elemental circle quickly formed before her, and bright red, swirling flames instantly ignited on her palms, casting warm glows onto their faces.
Meanwhile, Eviris fully immersed herself in observation. Her mind, like a complex machine, tried to understand the structure of magic, its swirling flow, and transformation into flame. She felt the energy coursing through Lyra's body, forming and bursting outward. When she tried to create flames herself, only faint, shimmering blue flickers appeared on her hands, dozens of times weaker than Lyra's intensity. But her flames were different: instead of the usual red, they matched the color of Eviris's hair — a vivid, bright blue.
"Blue flame?" Kairon, who had been watching them, raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Honestly, I've never seen anything like that before."
As Lyra and Eviris cautiously brought their palms closer, Lyra's more intense red flame instantly overwhelmed the faint blue flickers of Eviris's fire, as if swallowing them whole. Aside from its unusual color, Eviris's flame was still unremarkable—barely producing any noticeable warmth.
"Well, that's good," Lyra said, furrowing her brow slightly but quickly smiling again. "We're leaving in half an hour. Come say goodbye to the group."
Half an hour later, Eviris and the elder saw off the group of mages standing at the edge of the village. The morning sun was rising, painting the sky with soft pink and golden hues.
"Tell me, Evi, you're interested in magic, aren't you?" the elder asked gently and unhurriedly.
"Yes..." she replied without hesitation, her tone steady. "But I have little mana."
The old man smiled encouragingly, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It's not as serious a problem as you think. The earlier a mage awakens their power, the more years they have to reach their peak. I will give you basic training in mana control and physical development. Work on these, and when you're ready to leave our village, I hope you will visit me from time to time."
"Thank you, Elder," Eviris said, her lips curving into a faint smile for the first time during her stay here.
Uncle Roug chuckled quietly. "You can call me Uncle Roug. Elder sounds too formal for me."
"All right, Uncle Roug," Eviris repeated, and the new form of address sounded surprisingly natural on her lips.
Time in the village flowed differently than in the forest wilderness where Eviris had spent her first days. Now, with a name and a semblance of a home, each day was filled with new observations and learning. Uncle Roug was not only a perceptive old man but also an experienced, though modest, mage. He kept his craft secret from most villagers but shared his knowledge generously and patiently with Eviris.
First and foremost, Uncle Roug focused on the basics. Every morning began with simple physical exercises. Though Eviris's body looked fragile, she quickly demonstrated remarkable endurance and a rapid ability to recover—traits unusual for a human child. She ran along the edge of the forest, practiced flexibility and strength exercises, and pulled herself up on low tree branches. Her movements were precise, but she still lacked speed and explosive power. She repeated each exercise with absolute concentration, trying to understand its physiological purpose rather than merely imitating the motions.
After physical training came the most important part—mana practice. Uncle Roug taught Eviris to feel the flows of mana in the air, the earth, and living beings. He explained that mana was not just energy; it was life itself, surrounding them.
"Imagine, Eviris," he said, sitting on a small stone by a stream while she listened intently, ignoring everything else around her, "that mana around us is like a river. It flows everywhere, and every mage is like a vessel. The more you learn to let this river flow through you, the more you can use it. Your uniqueness is that you are not just a vessel—you are... you are like the river itself, but in miniature."
Eviris nodded with focus, her gaze steady and her mind fully absorbed in his words. She sat with her eyes closed, trying to visualize the invisible currents, feeling them with her skin and then with every cell of her unusual body. At first, it was difficult. Her own mana reserves remained extremely low, barely enough to create a tiny blue flicker on her palm that quickly faded. But she did not despair. Her learning method was purely analytical: she dissected Uncle Roug's words, compared them with her own sensations, and experimented again and again. She kept a strict mental record of every failed attempt and every fleeting feeling, using that data to build more accurate hypotheses about the nature of mana.
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. Nearly four years had passed since Eviris arrived in the village. The nine-year-old girl found in the forest had grown into what appeared to be a twelve-year-old. Visually, she had changed little—only her limbs had lengthened slightly, and her movements had acquired a catlike grace, almost silent. But the changes inside her were far deeper and more significant.
Eviris made incredible progress in magic, but no less important was her huge leap in understanding the world around her and basic human relationships. Thanks to Uncle Roug's patient mentorship, answering all her countless, sometimes unexpected questions, and her constant observation of the villagers, she began to decipher the complex palette of emotions. She learned to recognize the subtle shades of voice, facial expressions, and nonverbal signals that had once been meaningless noise. She understood what care, gratitude, sadness, and joy were—not experiencing them fully, but comprehending their significance to people, reading them, and even mimicking appropriate responses when necessary for interaction. If someone was sad, Eviris might silently bring them a warm herbal tea or simply sit nearby, offering her presence. If someone was happy, she could smile briefly in response, understanding that it strengthened positive interaction. She learned to hold conversations, answer questions, and participate in simple, everyday matters, which made her not just accepted but loved by the villagers. To them, she was "Eviris, the Elder's girl," a part of their small community.
Her desire to repay the kindness shown to her was tireless. Eviris saw how hard the people who had given her shelter and a name worked. Every morning, long before the sun's rays touched the rooftops, she went around the houses offering help. With her incredible endurance and precise mana control, she could tirelessly carry heavy buckets of water from the well, split huge logs into neat firewood, or assist in the garden, where invisible flows of mana accelerated the growth of young shoots or helped harvest the crops with astonishing speed. While fishing in the stream, her delicate sense of mana allowed her to literally "feel" the fish underwater, guiding them into the nets with incredible accuracy. Her help was not just useful—it was efficient and nearly silent, which amazed the villagers. Initially wary and even somewhat afraid of her unusual eyes and blue hair, they now fully trusted her, seeing her quiet but sincere care.
Eviris's magical progress was no less, and perhaps even more, remarkable. If her mana had once been only a drop of dew, now her reserves could be compared to a small half-liter bucket, or even the amount possessed by a skilled B-rank mage. This was the result of thousands of hours of meditation, exercises, and constant analysis. Her blue flame, once only faintly flickering, now burst forth from her palms as a powerful but controlled stream, capable not only of brightly lighting a room but also of burning through a thick tree trunk or melting small stones. She learned to shape it into various forms—from a sharp, cutting thread to a dense protective shield, and even to hurl small but swift fireballs capable of piercing a target. Her control over the energy became so precise that she could silently manipulate small objects at a distance, moving them with invisible flows of mana with jeweler-like accuracy, or even form the thinnest mana threads capable of holding a fallen item.
Uncle Roug, watching her progress, could only shake his head in amazement, realizing that his pupil exceeded even his boldest expectations. He knew her advancement was not just fast, but abnormal, unprecedented. What took other mages years of basic training and awakening power, Eviris mastered in months, sometimes weeks. He understood that her "small mana reserves" were only a temporary phenomenon against the backdrop of her incredible efficiency. Her true strength lay not in raw volume, but in absolute control, the deepest understanding of the very essence of mana, and phenomenal adaptability. He knew that soon this small village would be too small for her, and that her path lay far beyond.
Another six months passed. Life in the village continued its steady, calm rhythm. Eviris, long since an integral part of the community, continued her training under Uncle Roug's careful guidance. Her blue flame grew stronger, taking on new forms and methods of use, while her physical training allowed her to move with a grace not typical for her young age. She helped the villagers with even greater efficiency; her presence became an unobtrusive but reliable support for all. Uncle Roug, seeing her remarkable progress, increasingly looked at her with a thoughtful sadness, understanding that this world would soon demand more from her than a peaceful life in the village.
And his fears were justified.
One night, as the village had fallen into a deep sleep, the peaceful calm was shattered by piercing screams and thunderous noise. Columns of black smoke rose into the air. Wooden houses, quickly ignited by dark magic, illuminated the night with a blood-red glow. Dark mages, clad in grim robes, appeared from the forest like shadows and began a merciless attack. Their magic was crude and destructive, smashing buildings and throwing the resisting villagers aside, who, being ordinary people, could only try to flee.
Eviris burst out of Uncle Roug's cottage, her blue hair flying in the wind from the glare of the fires. Her gaze was steady, but in her movements there was something new—a determination. She instantly assessed the situation: an organized assault, overwhelming numerical and magical superiority. There were no fewer than a dozen dark mages; their auras felt like dirty, aggressive masses.
"Run, Eviris!" — came the thunderous voice behind her. Uncle Roug stepped out of the house, and his usually stooped figure suddenly straightened as if shedding an invisible burden of years. Several streams of light burst from his hands, striking the nearest dark mages, throwing them back and causing them to howl in pain.
The aura surrounding Uncle Roug changed sharply. It was no longer soft and warm—it became a raging storm, untamed and ancient. The wrinkles on his face deepened, but a cold, calculating gleam appeared in his eyes—the gaze of an A-rank mage. This was a power Eviris had only encountered in her theoretical projections, never so close, never so real.
"Elder?!" — one of the dark mages hissed, his face twisted with fury and recognition. "You're alive?! I thought we finished you long ago!"
Uncle Roug did not answer. His hands danced in the air, and around him whirled a vortex of pure, radiant magical current, repelling the attackers and forming an impenetrable barrier.
"Eviris, listen to me!" — his voice was firm as steel, and strangely young. "You must lead the survivors! Head to the old pass—it's safe there!"
At that moment, as if obeying an invisible signal, several of the dark mages broke away from the fight and rushed toward the fleeing villagers—women and children among them.
"No!" — the word tore from Eviris's throat. She couldn't let it happen. For the first time in her life, she was moved not by logic alone, but by something deeper—an instinct to protect. She thrust her hands forward, and two concentrated beams of blue flame burst from her palms. They weren't as powerful as Uncle Roug's magic, but their speed and precision sent the attackers reeling, interrupting their assault in a flash of shock and pain.
The leader of the dark mages—a tall man beneath a hood—stepped forward. He had only observed until now."Roug the Gleaming... I never thought I'd see you again. But this is just a petty village. I won't let you save it."
Roug looked at Eviris. A fleeting pride passed across his face before his expression hardened once more."Go, Eviris. I'll hold them back!"
She looked into his face—tired, yet unshakable—and understood. She had no choice but to obey. Taking a deep breath, she turned and ran toward the frightened villagers, guiding them toward the hidden escape at the rear of the village while behind her, the battlefield roared. The massive storm of mana Uncle Roug summoned tore into the dark mages like a living bolt of lightning.
The night was merciless. While Roug held the dark mages at bay, Eviris led the survivors through the forest toward the old pass. It was a desperate flight. From time to time, lesser foes emerged from the shadows—those who had slipped past Roug's defense to hunt the unarmed. But Eviris remained vigilant. She didn't lead from the front—she weaved at the rear of the group like a silent blue phantom, denying the enemy the element of surprise. Her pinpoint blasts of blue flame were swift and unyielding. Her fire either incinerated the assailants entirely, leaving blackened hollows in their place, or struck with surgical precision at their vital points, rendering them helpless in an instant. There was no emotion in her movement, no hesitation—only cold, calculated efficiency.
But soon, another problem emerged. Not all the villagers had the same endurance. The elderly and the children began to falter—struggling for breath from the relentless pace, the stress, the smoke in their lungs. Their steps slowed; their faces turned pale. Eviris noticed. Her sharp eyes scanned their worn faces, fixing on a problem her logic had yet to solve.
At last, they reached a small, still-standing village not far away. Startled and fearful locals rushed out to meet them. But seeing the weakened state of the several dozen survivors that Eviris had led, they acted quickly. Local healers and herbalists immediately began triaging the wounded: some were taken straight to aid stations, others were tended to where they stood.
The blue-haired girl moved among them like an untiring spirit. She used her magic to warm the frozen, to swiftly brew herbal tonics, to ease pain. She fetched water, adjusted blankets, and simply sat beside those in shock—offering her silent presence, which she had learned could be just as vital as action. Yet, despite all her calm and care, a faint but profound sorrow flickered in her eyes whenever she let herself remember what had been lost.
Of the more than a hundred villagers who once made up her home, far fewer than a third survived. Every face she saw now was a reminder of the many she would never see again. And Uncle Roug… thoughts of him were like hot coals pressed into her chest. She hadn't seen him fall. She hadn't heard his final cry. But she felt it—the way his brilliant, roaring aura had suddenly and irrevocably vanished above the burning village. It was as if a part of herself had been torn away. She knew he had given his life to save them—to give her the chance to lead them out. And that knowledge pressed down on her like a weight she had never known before.