The school is working very well, and the village has been accepting the change better than I expected. One curious consequence is that many of the women who used to spend their entire days chasing after children now finally have free time. Because of that, they've grown closer, finding moments to talk, share stories, and even simply walk together.
My mother was one of the first to get involved. She ended up making a new friend, and soon those occasional trips into the forest to gather herbs turned into a small, steady group. These days, it's usually my mother, Gertrudes, and Marian—Sloan's wife.
I remembered her from the book — and the tragic fate that awaited her in that story. I don't know if that will still happen here. A long time ago, I stopped letting myself be chained by that kind of concern. I do the best I can with what stands before me. I can prepare, anticipate risks, but I refuse to live bound to a future that may never exist.
Besides, the Sloan I know now is different from the one described in the original story. He isn't exactly warm, but he doesn't carry the deep resentment or the extreme fear that consumed him in the accounts I read.
Marian, on the other hand, has shown great interest in potions. For now, my mother keeps her occupied with simple infusions — mixtures that require no magic, only patience and attention. Even so, she keeps insisting more and more on the idea of integrating Marian into our study group.
That matter is temporarily on hold while we sound out Sloan. Since Marian has a family, it wouldn't be wise to involve only her and keep secrets. That could easily breed suspicion — Sloan might interpret everything as betrayal.
Gertrudes also suggested another possible addition: Horst the blacksmith, along with his family. They are highly respected in the village, and even if they don't decide to join us, simply gaining their acceptance would already be a significant advantage.
For now, we're only considering the idea, but it wouldn't be a bad thing. With Brom calmer and the school running smoothly, I can finally turn my attention back to magic.
Now I can focus again on my research. I want to explore that peculiar sensation I perceive within the natural elements of this world — as if there were something beyond mere matter. Do they possess some form of consciousness? And if they do, what would that truly mean? More importantly, what would be the best way to interact with them?
It's almost like studying a completely new system. It reminds me of Avatar — not the movie about blue aliens on another planet, but the story of elemental benders. The difference is that there, the elements themselves weren't conscious; people simply had a spiritual connection to them. Here… the feeling is different. It's as if the elements themselves are somehow observing in return.
I decided to begin with earth; it seemed the most suitable element for me. To improve my chances, I went to the Spine Mountains, since they are the most obvious manifestation of that element. My idea was simple: to verify whether proximity to massive rock formations would intensify that strange sensation I've been noticing.
I found a place that seemed appropriate — almost no vegetation, just exposed rock and dry soil. I sat on a stone and began in the most basic way possible: no spell, only tracing the earth rune and starting a simple shaping.
The sensation came again.
This time, I tried to reach it with my mind… and I succeeded.
In the next instant, I was flooded.
Images, emotions, impressions — all at once, without order, without any comprehensible form. It was as if countless ancient memories were being poured directly into my consciousness. My head felt like it was splitting apart under the pressure. The pain was immediate and brutal.
It felt like hours.
But in reality, no more than three seconds passed before the connection snapped.
I don't know how long I was unconscious. When I woke, I was lying on the ground, drenched in sweat, my head throbbing as if it were still being crushed.
At least one thing was clear: I was lucky to have started with earth.
A chill runs down my spine when I imagine what would have happened if I had tried wind first… or, worse, fire.
If even earth — static, silent, and patient — nearly destroyed my mind in a few seconds… I'd rather not imagine what the other elements might have tried to show me.
Looking at the sun, I realize it has already passed midday. It's better to stop for now — perhaps try to understand what I managed to gain from that brief connection and plan more carefully.
I was too reckless.
I should have started by testing reactions, not attempting direct contact.
I decide to leave it for another day. I need to rest and organize my thoughts.
I choose to walk back. My head is still pounding, and perhaps the cold air of early winter will help ease it a bit. Besides, I don't want to show up at home in this condition.
As I walk, I keep reflecting on the elements — how to stabilize a connection, how to avoid another overload like that one.
My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a distant scream coming from the direction of the waterfalls.
I sprint immediately toward it.
When I arrive, I see a figure falling.
I recognize Marian.
The distance is far too great to reach her physically. In a fraction of a second, I assess the situation: she isn't falling onto the rocks, but toward the pool of water below. That calculation happens almost instinctively, the result of constant meditation training that strengthened my mind.
First, I use wind to slow her descent. Trying to stop her completely would only cause more harm; I need to reduce the impact, not eliminate it.
I do this while running toward where she will land.
I arrive moments after she hits the water.
Without hesitation, I manipulate the water, redirecting the current to prevent it from dragging her beneath the waterfall — where the force could smash her body against submerged rocks.
I manage to pull her out.
She's unconscious — I don't know whether from the impact or the shock.
I perform a quick magical examination: nothing broken, no internal injuries. Just a bruise on her back from the impact with the water.
Relieved, I decide to wait for her to wake.
It wouldn't be wise to show up carrying an unconscious woman; knowing Sloan, he would panic — or worse.
I light a small fire to warm her and keep watch.
It doesn't take long before I notice signs that she's waking.
When her eyes finally open, I speak calmly:
"You had quite a scare, didn't you?"
She sits up abruptly and looks around in confusion until her eyes find mine.
I see fear in them.
"How…? What happened?"
I sigh inwardly.
One of my biggest concerns was that she might have seen something… but, judging by her reaction, that doesn't seem to be the case.