Cyrus practiced casting his flames for several hours, condensing the fire slightly. He thought he wasn't progressing much, but Latriaen's expression told a different story.

His gaze seems to say, 'You shouldn't be improving this quickly.'

The thought made Cyrus consider whether slowing down his progress would be the correct route. It would make him appear more 'normal,' whatever that meant.

But in truth, Cyrus knew he wanted his cake and to eat it, too. His need for strength to pursue his dreams juxtaposed against the need to blend in. Perhaps it will be easier once he leaves Avalorn.

But was it right to lie to my teacher?

"It's time to move." Latriaen's voice broke his thoughts.

The ork dismantled the branches and tossed them at various spots. Then, with a single wave of his palm, the scattered ashes were scattered in the surrounding landscape. And anyone arriving after the fact would find nothing unusual.

After breakfast, the group packed up and began their journey through the dense forest. Only when the group had settled on the path did Latriaen start a new training method. He revealed his scarred and soot-covered palm and conjured an ember no larger than a few millimeters in length.

"In my village… orenda—magic—is trained from smallest spark to greatest blaze. Watch closely and note that I'm using single runes to control the flames."

The next moment, the ember began lazily tracing the major creases of his hand from the tip of his finger to the end of his green palm before returning to his fingers. It looked oddly soothing, like a meditation.

"Now, this is your goal, for now."

The next moment, three more embers were conjured. They lazily followed the path of the first. And at first, it looked pretty easy... That was until it started to build up speed at an incredible pace. But Latriaen didn't stop there. The first ember broke from its rotation before the other followed suit, each heading off on the different paths of his wrinkles. They sped up faster and faster. Despite the ever-increasing speeds, they've never collided with each other or left the Ork's wrinkles.

But then there was a sudden change. With the sound of a thousand sparks, the embers soon blurred into several threads of fire. They swam along the rivers of his palm, singeing off any dirt or grime that stuck to Latriaen's skin.

Meanwhile, Cyrus was left stupefied by the sight. He was forced to occasionally look away as the light seared a highlighted palm into his corneas. And then, with the clutch of his fist, Latriaen crushed the embers, engulfing his hand in flames that soon dissipated.

"If you can't do this, then you're not worthy of being a fire dancer," he said, picking up his spear. "Let's go."

Yet Cyrus remained still, frozen as the image of the four embers seared into his mind. A weak, bitter smile ghosted his lips when he broke from his reverie.

"Baby steps, Cyrus, " he muttered as he looked at his palm.

With Bird perched on his head, Cyrus followed behind his teacher as he wondered about his new training method. It shouldn't be that hard, right? Just practice every day and become a master of pyromancy. And why not practice with all his domains, too?

Oh, how wrong he was.

At first, tracing the ember across his hand and fingers seemed simple. Moreover, it gave Cyrus a good sense of how his runes worked when fine-tuned, as he only used his mana in large, indiscriminate pulses.

In essence, Cyrus activated one rune after another when moving the flame, slowly moving it across his hand at a snail's pace. The great part of this exercise was that it felt like his brain was growing more aware of its individual cells and even able to consciously command them.

But then the trouble began when Cyrus increased his speed. In response, the ember would move faster than his reaction time. Then, with nothing to hold onto, the flame would fly off his hand and threaten to ignite something. It was like juggling... but with a new rotation of hands that appeared out of nowhere.

And now, it was time to try the next step. Just to test it out. Now able to somewhat fine-tune himself, Cyrus channeled his mana and split it into two, powering two fire runes.

Success.

Two embers flickered to life on his palm. Cyrus willed his flames to move across his hand... only for an ember to fly off a second later. He tsked at the sight and tried again and again and again—all ending in failure. It wasn't just double the effort; it was more like three times the trouble, where the slightest mistake meant instant failure.

Yet Cyrus wasn't disappointed by this outcome. Yes, he wasn't some grand master of magic. But more of the path hidden by fog was slowly opening up to him.

If anything, what does this say about him?

An exasperated Cyrus glanced at Latriaen, who was walking ahead. The man could effortlessly control at least four embers at once at a pace so fast that it blurred them into an outline. Just how incredible was his fine-tuning? And what was possible at that level? In any case, Cyrus continued his efforts, occasionally glancing at Latriaen for reassurance that he hadn't suddenly disappeared.

Time passed. For the rest of the journey, Cyrus' attention remained fixed on his exercise. It was both tedious and boring. But in the end, he could push through hours of training to slightly increase the pace of a single ember.

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Progress, no matter how little.

Then, the day drew to a close. The group settled down to set up camp. After absorbing a mana crystal from his pack, Cyrus had been watching his stew bubble and broil. But his attention soon drew toward the fog that wafted beyond the outskirts of the torches of his camp.

Cyrus' brow creased at the sight. Dílis was right. There's definitely something off about the mana out here. A pause. How about a little experiment?

Slowly, Cyrus extended his mana sense into the air and absorbed the ambient mana that hung around him. And then he felt it. His spine tingled as his senses felt something sickly head toward him. It moved like mana, or maybe it was mana, just... darker. Whatever it was, Cyrus immediately stopped and withdrew his mana sense.

It's almost as if it wants me to absorb it, Cyrus mused. But so long as he stuck to mana crystals, then he should be fine, right?

Chirp!

Bird alighted on his shoulder. The little canary regarded him with a silent expectation as if urging him to 'do the thing.'

Cyrus blinked. Ah. He placed down his mana crystal and cupped his hand.

"Hurry up," he said, inviting Bird to settle himself.

The bird obliged, gracefully gliding into his palms and nestling comfortably.

"So, what should I talk about this time?"Cyrus directed his question to Bird. "Last time, I spoke of Greuceanu, who was able to find the sun and the moon. Maybe a creature feature?"

He glanced at Latriaen. The man was lounging against a nearby stump... one he made himself with a single slice of his sharp spear. And, of course, he was disinterested in Cyrus' musings.

However, Bird was excited. With a flutter of its wings, it began to hop around on Cyrus' hands, eliciting a chuckle from the latter. Maybe Dílis was correct that these little guys were as smart as children.

In any case, Cyrus had a story to tell. He looked around for inspiration before settling on the swirling fog.

What monster lurks in the depths of a mist-shrouded forest? Ah, I've got one. Cyrus grinned at Bird and began his tale. "Legend has it that deep within misty forests and tranquil ponds dwell creatures known as the Keiju. They're these tiny, little winged people that would hide at the slightest sign of a human presence."

Bird remained still, transfixed. One couldn't tell it was alive save for the occasional flutter of its wings.

"But don't let their shyness fool you." Cyrus smiled at Bird. "They're little troublemakers who always strike when opportunity arises—"

"—It sounds like you're describing the Nankiwiigan," Latriaen's gaze flickered open.

Wait. What?

Cyrus reacted quickly. "There are small winged humanoids around Avalorn?" The idea thrilled him.

If there was a chance to encounter such beings... A shiver ran up his spine. What kind of people would they be? What would be their culture?! And at the very least, Cyrus wanted to take a picture of them.

"Not that I ever witnessed." Latriaen shook his head. "However, there are tales and ancient records of the Nankiwiigan. They were said to knock fishermen off their boats or rip their nets whenever they went to the lake." His expression shifted to something pensive. "I think you people call them... fae or fairies?"

The fae and fairies... The millennia-long stories from his homeworld. How could Cyrus resist?

"And you've seen these… Nankiwiigan yourself?"

Latriaen shook his head. "My people haven't laid eyes in many a generation. They've become little more than tales spun for the weja—children." He shrugged before closing his eyes. "It wouldn't be surprising if they all vanished once the awanip appeared."

"Awanip?"

"The fog."

Cyrus became quiet. It was a sobering thought: An entire culture, a people, forever gone now that the fog had arrived. Would it have been a slow, arduous process, or was it like the flicker of candlelight?

However, Cyrus pondered the fog folk. If Latriaen and his people could endure, why not others? It could be a matter of where they are rather than where they were. The thought lifted his spirit.

With the silence came dinner. Cyrus settled Bird, inspected the steaming broth, and poured some for himself to enjoy. At least, he tried to. There was something else swimming in his thoughts from the conversation, and it compelled Cyrus to keep a watchful eye on the master mage.

Just ask.

"Teacher, is... is it okay to ask about your people?"

"No."

A round of silence settled between them. But Cyrus simply shrugged and began blowing onto his bowl to temper the heat. There was no reason to dwell on such matters. He'll simply add them to the ever-growing list of topics to research. With his mind cleared of the topic, it drifted around before settling on someone.

How is Lilie faring? In truth, Cyrus hadn't spared her much thought despite it being weeks since they last met. He assumed she was fine and carried on with his affairs. But now? She might be dead.

No, that couldn't be. Cyrus could still remember the confidence Team Breeze emitted. They should be okay... right? But on the other hand...

"I should find out how Wayfarers allocate missions once I return," he murmured between bites.

Dinner was soon finished, and it was time to rest. The following day unfolded much like its predecessors, with Cyrus dedicating the early hours to refining his flame control.

However, Latriaen frowned at the sight of Cyrus' progress. It was too fast. There was no doubt that Cyrus was a greenhorn, given that his mana shaping was terrible. But why was he quickly making so much progress when he had only recently begun shaping? At this rate, it will only be a few weeks until Cyrus can form stable shapes.

Such a thing was uncommon, rare even, but not impossible. But with a single glance, Latriaen knew that the boy before him was... odd, to say the least. Nevertheless, he remained silent. Latriaen was paid to teach the boy and not to ask unimportant questions.

Forward, they journeyed deeper into the south. As the three drew closer to the mountains, there was a noticeable shift in the landscape. The dark green that dominated the pine forest gradually gave way to a gray-white sea of slender birch trees that nearly melded with the ghostly haze that clung to them like cobwebs.

With feet crunching on layers and layers of dead leaves, Cyrus' nerves remained wound up despite knowing that a master mage was leading the way.

Snap

"Something doesn't feel right," Cyrus unconsciously muttered, stopping as he stepped on a twig.

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