She began simply.


    "Mana is the fundamental energy permeating all existence. It exists as white tendrils, flowing invisibly through the air, the ground, and living beings. To the uninitiated, mana cannot be seen—only sensed, a faint instinct, a pull at the edge of perception. However, to those who meet certain criteria, mana is visible, its tendrils dancing through nature like threads of cosmic silk."


    She raised her right hand''s index finger, a slow, deliberate motion, her gaze shifting toward El Ritch.


    "Do you see anything above the finger with your eyes?"


    Revan followed the motion, eyes narrowing slightly. He saw nothing. Just her hand, motionless in the dim candlelight.


    He shook his head.


    Rok-To tilted her head, the movement oddly precise, almost mechanical. A strange shift in her posture, like a marionette contemplating its own strings.


    "That is…"


    "Curious, isn''t it?"


    Aldric cut in smoothly before she could continue, reclining back into his seat with that ever-present air of amusement.


    "What was it you spoke of, witch? That which one must possess to awaken the mind and set foot upon the path of mana?"


    Rok-To opened her mouth, but again, Aldric did not let her finish.


    "Descendants of witch or wizard blood… or—" he glanced at Revan, lips curling, "severe brain injury, huh?"


    His gaze sharpened, settling on Revan with the same look a scholar might give a particularly interesting specimen.


    "I recall, with clarity, striking you upon the head after you first called upon mana," Aldric continued, his voice thick with faux contemplation. He turned toward Rok-To, his expression light, but his words deliberate. "Could it be that, by my own hand, I sealed the very valve that grants him sight into the realm of mana?"


    Revan''s face remained neutral, but inwardly, he sneered.


    ''If this fucker ruined my chance to cast my fireball, I swear on whatever authority El Ritch holds, I will make sure he hangs.''


    "No," Rok-To dismissed flatly.


    She barely even looked at Aldric as she spoke. Instead, she turned to El Ritch, stepping forward until she stood directly before him. Slowly, deliberately, she reached out, placing her rough hand over his own where it rested upon his lap.


    Her skin was calloused, dry, the hand of a woman accustomed to work.


    "You will feel heat for a moment," she murmured. "Please endure it."


    Her fingers tightened, firm but not unkind.


    Revan braced.


    The sensation began at his palm—a prickling warmth, not unpleasant at first, but quickly intensifying. The heat crawled up his arm, spreading outward in slow, deliberate pulses. It traveled through his veins, winding through his torso, his stomach, his legs, then finally his chest, until it reached his head.


    And then—


    He saw.


    Thin, white threads, barely visible yet everywhere. Nigh-infinite strands floating through the air, winding between the shelves, curling around the room like mist caught in a slow breeze.


    Revan inhaled sharply, his eyes darting across the expanse of the library.


    The mana passed through him—through everything—as though he were no more solid than air. He lifted his hand instinctively, attempting to grasp one of the threads, but his fingers slipped straight through it, as though nothing was there at all.


    He frowned.


    Then, something caught his attention. A disturbance in the flow.


    Some of the strands were behaving differently—shifting, diverting course, moving around something as though repelled. Revan followed the anomaly, his gaze tracing the path of the errant threads. His eyes rose, tracking their movements, until finally—


    They led him to Aldric.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    The mana did not pass through him.


    Not the way it passed through Revan, through the furniture, through the very walls. Instead, it moved around him, each thread bending, curving away from his presence entirely. Not drifting, not swirling naturally, but deliberately avoiding him—as though forced aside.


    Aldric tilted his head slightly, watching him with a knowing expression.


    "Do I look special?" he mused, his voice light, almost playful.


    The threads shifted in response, parting fluidly as if to accommodate his very presence.


    He glanced down at Rok-To, watching the mana threads pass through her as they had passed through him. Unlike Aldric, she did not repel them, did not stand apart from the flow. They wove through her body as if she were merely another part of the world''s fabric.


    Then, she let go.


    The sensation of prickling warmth dulled but did not vanish entirely. The remnants of her influence still lingered beneath his skin, like embers refusing to die out.


    "I''ve understood the problem," she said, stepping back toward her chair.


    She did not sit.


    "The mana channels—channels—channels—"


    Revan''s brows furrowed. Something was wrong. The way she spoke—the repetition—her tone. Staggered. Hollow. Like an echo.


    "I-I-I-I—"


    The stutter grew worse, her voice catching as though she were struggling to continue. Then—silence.


    She sat back down, unmoving, eyes locked on him.


    Unblinking.


    Dead still.


    Aldric exhaled sharply, his voice losing its usual mockery. "Your doll has expired. Would you now come out of the library, you book-worm?"


    Footsteps.


    Revan turned sharply, looking over his shoulder just in time to see Rok-To stepping out from behind the bookshelves.


    His breath caught.


    The mana threads around her shifted with her this time, responding to her presence, collecting in singular points before dispersing again. She did not simply exist within them—she interacted with them. Moved them. Commanded them.


    Revan snapped his gaze back to the chair.


    The other Rok-To still sat there, frozen. The mana around it behaved differently from the one walking towards them, just like as it had passed through him, through the bookshelves, walls—treating it as something lifeless, not a true part of the world.


    "How—" The question spilled from his lips before he could stop it.


    The real Rok-To circled the sitting arrangement, her steps slow, deliberate. Her gaze flicked between him and her duplicate, unimpressed by his shock. When she reached the chair, she did not sit immediately. Instead, she turned to her other self.


    "If I had not poured my mana into the boy," she mused, staring at the lifeless copy, "she would have worked for another five minutes." A sigh. "Irritating."


    Revan could only stare.


    "What… is that?"


    She smiled at last, a knowing curve of her lips, and reached out. With a simple motion, she made the seated Rok-To stand, moving it aside before lowering herself into the chair. The thing obeyed, shifting with mechanical grace, its limbs stiff but controlled.


    "This here is mine own doll, fashioned to stand in my stead wherever I wish it to go."


    ''Holy shit.''


    "Yet know this—it remains but a work in progress." She leaned slightly forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "For now, it falters oft, unable to draw in mana of its own will, much like a body left to starve without food." She exhaled sharply. "But in due time, I shall perfect it."


    Revan''s mind raced.


    It wasn''t magic in the way he had imagined—not fireballs, not lightning, not the flashy spectacle he had read about in stories. It was something more intricate, more methodical. A construct, a living tool, molded by will alone.


    "How does it work?" His voice betrayed his awe. "I am amazed. Truly."


    Rok-To chuckled, the sound richer than before, more human. The shift was noticeable now. This was her true personality—not the cold, mechanical voice of the doll, but something with warmth, wit, and sharpness all its own.


    "That is indeed a work to be amazed by," she admitted, eyes glinting. Then, her voice turned playful. "But flattery won''t get you close, sweet boy~"


    Revan blinked.


    She leaned back, crossing her arms. "You have to be mine student to learn the master''s secrets."


    ''Fuck it. I''ll become one.''


    Before he could respond, Aldric clapped once, sharp and deliberate. "Sweet chat, both of you," he chimed, the usual mirth returning to his voice. "Unfortunately, he cannot be a witch''s student. He is a noble, and Lord Otto will definitely not let it happen." He leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. "He is to either go to the Academy and be a Conjurer now, or become a bureaucrat. But—"


    Aldric''s gaze shifted to Revan, his smirk curling just slightly.


    "Seeing how you are crazed about all of this, I believe the Academy of Conjurers at the Capital is what you will for, yes?"


    Revan exhaled through his nose.


    ''Talk about reading people through their fucking eyes. If Aldric had been a woman, I might have just fallen in love with the bastard at least three times by now. Too bad.''


    He sighed. Then, reluctantly, he nodded.


    Aldric shrugged, turning his attention back to Rok-To. "Well, that is indeed unfortunate. I had put my offer though."


    Rok-To''s smile did not fade.


    She stood, her movements graceful, fluid. The doll moved with her, mirroring her pace as she stepped away.


    "Wait, she won''t teach me?" Revan asked, startled.


    Aldric sighed. "Of course she won''t." He tilted his head, gesturing vaguely with his hand. "She gave you an offer. You couldn''t take it because—well—situations. Too bad."


    Then, he stood as well, following after her.


    "Young Lord, you may return to your chambers," he said over his shoulder. "I will have a talk with your father as he decides the next course of action."


    They disappeared behind the bookshelves, their voices carrying just faintly enough for Revan to catch snippets of conversation.


    "—that desperate to take a noble from anywhere—"


    "—had specialty like you—"


    Revan clenched his jaw, looking down, frustration simmering beneath his skin.


    ''Damn it.''


    He did not know much about witches, did not know much about Rok-To, but something in his gut told him—instinctually—that she was important.


    And now he had lost his chance.


    ''My fucking luck sucks.''


    Now he had to learn magic from a Conjurer.


    A proper Conjurer.


    One with a pole shoved so far up their ass about how rich they were that he''d have to listen to their drivel for months. El Ritch''s memories about them, haunted him.


    Damn it.