News traveled fast in a small town.
By the time Wei Chen arrived at the temple for his next lesson, everyone was already talking about the stranger.
A Fire mage. In the Western Lands. Staying in the Western Lands.
"My father said he's renting a room at the inn," one of the Water students whispered. "Three silver a week. Can you imagine?"
"I heard he's running from something," another replied. "Why else would a Fire mage come here?"
Wei Chen listened quietly, standing at his usual spot at the edge of the group. Elder Shen hadn't arrived yet, and the other children were buzzing with speculation.
Even Yun Hao looked interested, which was rare. He usually maintained that noble composure, above gossip.
"A Fire mage teaching in Water territory," Yun Hao murmured. "That's... unusual."
Unusual was an understatement.
Fire magic was rare here. Maybe one in a ten mages on the Western Lands had Fire affinity. Most came from the Fire Peaks—volcanic territories across the ocean where dragonborn lived and heat was a way of life.
For one to stay here? To teach here?
Something had driven him away from home.
Elder Shen arrived and the chatter ceased immediately.
The old mage looked different today. Not angry, exactly. Just... tense. Like he'd received news he didn't quite know how to process.
"Sit," he commanded.
They sat.
Elder Shen didn't begin the lesson immediately. Instead, he stood in silence, staff planted firmly on the stone floor, studying each of them with those sharp eyes.
Finally, he spoke. "Some of you have heard rumors. I will address them once, and then we will not discuss this matter during temple lessons again. Understood?"
Nods all around.
"A traveling mage has arrived in town. His name is Feng. He possesses Fire magic at the intermediate level and has offered private instruction to those who can afford it."
One of the students raised their hand. "Elder, is he... dangerous?"
"All mages are dangerous. The question is whether they are disciplined." Elder Shen's expression was unreadable. "Instructor Feng has provided sufficient credentials. He is not a criminal. He is not a threat. He is simply a mage seeking employment."
But the way Elder Shen said it suggested he wasn't entirely convinced.
"Will he teach at the temple?" Yun Hao asked.
"No. His instruction is private. Paid. Those interested may seek him out at the Golden Grain Inn."
Elder Shen tapped his staff once. "Now. Enough gossip. We have work to do."
The lesson proceeded normally, but Wei Chen's mind was elsewhere.
Private instruction. Intermediate Fire magic. Available for hire.
How much?
The question burned brighter than any flame. Temple lessons were free—mandatory for registered mages under twelve. But they were also basic. Foundational. Safe.
Elder Shen taught control. Discipline. Theory.
But he didn't teach combat. Not real combat. Not the kind of magic that made people dangerous.
If this Feng was offering private lessons...
Wei Chen needed to see what that looked like.
After the lesson, Wei Chen didn't go home immediately.
Instead, he made his way to the Golden Grain Inn—a modest two-story building near the market square. The inn's common room was visible through the front windows, and Wei Chen positioned himself across the street, partially hidden behind a vegetable cart.
He waited.
And waited.
Twenty minutes passed before movement caught his eye.
A man emerged from the inn. Mid-thirties, lean and scarred. His left arm bore burn marks that hadn't healed cleanly, and his eyes had the sharp, assessing look of someone accustomed to danger. He wore simple clothes—dark trousers, a worn tunic—but moved with the precision of a trained fighter.
Instructor Feng.
Behind him came a boy Wei Chen recognized. Zhou Ming, son of the town's wealthiest grain merchant. Twelve years old, intermediate Water magic, insufferably smug about both his family's money and his talent.
Zhou carried himself with the confidence of someone who'd never been told "no."
Feng led Zhou to an empty lot behind the inn. Wei Chen followed at a distance, keeping to the shadows—a skill that came naturally now.
The lot was enclosed by a low wooden fence, overgrown with weeds but otherwise clear. Feng stood in the center, arms crossed, waiting for Zhou to join him.
"Ready?" Feng asked.
"Yes, Instructor."
"Show me your Water Blade technique."
Zhou nodded. He raised his hand, and water condensed from the air—a neat trick that Wei Chen had seen Yun Hao perform once. The water coalesced into a thin, sharp edge hovering above Zhou's palm.
It was... fine. Competent. The kind of technique Elder Shen would approve of.
Feng's expression didn't change. "Again. Faster."
Zhou repeated the technique. Slightly quicker this time, but not much.
"Again."
The third time, Zhou managed it in maybe three seconds. He looked pleased with himself.
Feng was not impressed.
"You're thinking too much," Feng said flatly. "Water Blade isn't a technique you perform. It's a reflex. If you need three seconds to create it, you're dead before it forms."
Zhou's confidence wavered. "Elder Shen said—"
"Elder Shen teaches you not to hurt people. That's fine. That's his job." Feng stepped forward. "I teach you how."
He raised his own hand. Fire ignited instantly—no buildup, no hesitation. Just a sudden, violent burst of flame that shaped itself into a blade identical in form to Zhou's water construct.
But where Zhou's blade was clean and controlled, Feng's was savage. It flickered and crackled, hungry, barely restrained.
"Speed," Feng said. "Precision. Intent. These matter more than power. A weak technique executed perfectly will beat a strong technique executed poorly."
He extinguished the flame. "Now. Again. And this time, mean it."
Wei Chen watched from his hiding spot, transfixed.
This wasn't theory. This wasn't control for its own sake.
This was application. Purpose. The kind of magic that actually mattered in the real world.
For the next hour, Feng drilled Zhou relentlessly. Water Blade. Water Shield. Water Whip. Each technique repeated dozens of times until Zhou was sweating and gasping.
And every time Zhou slowed, Feng pushed harder.
"You think your enemies will wait for you to catch your breath? You think they'll give you time to prepare? Magic is a weapon. Treat it like one."
Zhou collapsed after the fifteenth Water Whip, hands shaking from exhaustion.
Feng allowed him a two-minute rest. Then they continued.
By the end, Zhou could barely stand. But his Water Blade formed in under a second now, and his movements had lost that hesitant, performative quality.
He looked like someone who could actually fight.
When the session ended, Feng walked Zhou back toward the inn. Wei Chen heard fragments of their conversation as they passed.
"...three times a week. Five silver per session. Your father already paid for the first month..."
Five silver per session. Three times a week.
Wei Chen did the math quickly. Sixty silver per month. Almost two gold for three months of training.
His family earned maybe two gold per year. His father worked every day, dawn to dusk, shaping clay into pots and bowls that sold for copper coins.
Two gold.
It might as well have been two hundred.
Wei Chen stayed hidden until both Feng and Zhou were gone. Then he stepped out onto the empty lot, staring at the scorch marks on the ground where Feng's flames had touched.
Real training. Combat magic. The kind of instruction that made a difference.
And it cost almost two gold.
Wei Chen clenched his fists. The shadow quartz in his pocket felt heavier suddenly, a reminder of Merchant Liu's words.
Magic is valuable. Darkness magic especially so.
Temple lessons were free. But they taught survival, not victory.
If Wei Chen wanted to be more than just "controlled," if he wanted to be dangerous, he needed instruction like Feng's.
Which meant he needed money.
Seven gold. Impossible now. But not forever.
Wei Chen looked at the scorch marks again, at the evidence of real power, and made a decision.
He'd find a way. Somehow.
Because this—this—was what separated the weak from the strong.
Not talent. Not even magic.
Resources.
And Wei Chen would get them. No matter what it took.
That evening, Wei Chen lay in bed, thinking.
Elder Shen taught theory. Feng taught application. Liu taught economics.
Three teachers. Three different paths.
And all of them required something Wei Chen didn't have yet: money, connections, or strength.
But he could get those things. He just needed to be smart. Patient. Strategic.
The shadow quartz rested on his bedside table, glinting faintly in the moonlight.
A gift from Liu. An investment. A promise of future value.
Wei Chen picked it up, feeling its cool, resonant weight.
I'm valuable, Liu had said. Act like it.
All right then.
Tomorrow, he'd start acting like it.