I couldn’t spend another minute in that place.
I considered arranging them into a more dignified pose—a burial worthy of those I loved. I had managed a single step into Aurora’s room before I seized up and left. It had been too much. I kept telling myself it was better this way, but I knew deep down that I was just a coward.
I summoned the strands of mana from the tip of my pointer finger. The threads twisted and stretched until they merged into a single eight-inch-long lock. I lowered the cord to the puddle of gasoline at my feet, held the image of what I wanted in my mind, and pressed the intent into the mana.
“Ignite.”
The gasoline burst into flames and tore up the driveway into my house. A flash of light preceded a deep roar as the house erupted into flames. I pulled a second granola bar from my pocket. The part of me that wanted to freak out at the actual magic I had done drowned in the ocean of grief in my chest.
It turned out that mana could do just about anything you wanted it to. All it required was a firm image in your mind, a sufficient supply of mana, and adequate skill. There wasn’t even an alternate energy source, such as a mana pool, like there commonly was in video games. If I wanted to move a box ten feet with my mind, it would take energy from me, similar to how physically moving it with my body would.
Ami said cells created mana just like they created normal energy for the body. However, the ratio of mana produced to food consumed was large. I could move a box dozens of times with my mind before I grew tired.
I summoned the threads to my hand and practiced manipulating them as I watched the flames engulf the house. I had another minute or two before the heat became uncomfortable.
The issue with mana was its strength. Not that mana was weak per se, but its strength paled compared to its efficiency. The rate at which I created mana imposed a hard cap on the weight I could move. If an immovable box were one pound lighter, I’d be able to move it around a dozen times with ease.
The rate also determined how long my threads were. Mana broke down as it existed outside of my cells. The faster I made mana, the farther it would extend before dissipating. Thankfully, heavy use would strengthen my mana production just like a muscle.
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Most mana usage failed due to weak will. Exerting will was distinct from merely thinking or wanting something. The difference between the two mirrored the difference between regular body movements and actively positioning myself to use my full strength.
Neither of those was my primary roadblock though. Skill was. Knowing precisely what I wanted the mana to do was crucial—the crux of getting anything done. With sufficient knowledge and a solid will, I could summon fireballs, turn water into wine, and even fly.
I focused my mind and forced the threads to unravel, expanding from several hundred to several thousand. The threads waved about erratically.
Mana naturally consolidated into threads as it flowed from the body. With a slight application of will, I could combine the threads into a single strand or separate them into many. More or less wasn’t necessarily better though. It all depended on what you were doing and how you were doing it.
Wanted to light something on fire? A single strand was enough.
Wanted to push a box across the floor? Distribute a dozen strands across the sides of the box and apply a steady pressure.
However, splitting or combining strands took a mental toll. Every application of will did. Each command was like solving a strenuous math problem. Skill was realizing that moving the box only took four strands—one at each corner, with the bottom two pushing slightly harder to compensate for drag. Generally speaking, the more instruction used, the greater the efficiency.
This was all theoretical though. Taking the last bite of a granola bar, I placed the wrapper in my palm. With my other hand, I summoned the threads and attempted to lift the wrapper.
On the first several tries, half the strands didn’t make contact and passed right through the wrapper. I reduced the mana to a single finger and eventually raised the wrapper from below. A gust of wind swept the plastic into the fire.
I sighed and wiped the sweat from my forehead. I wasn’t sure if it was from the magical exertion or the raging inferno. I could have brute-forced it—only included the what but not the how in my intent—but I didn’t want to get into that habit. Ami had stressed several times that I’d hit a hard limit if I wasn’t careful. Hitting that wall mid-cast, for lack of a better term, could be catastrophic. Efficacy was essential.
I climbed into the car, drove down the road, and parked. The house burned in my rear-view mirror. Once it became too much, I turned away and removed Aurora from the wrap. The fleshy pink that normally colored her skin had paled significantly since yesterday. I closed my eyes and tried to remember the last time we had fed her.
I when the memory didn’t come to mind. Madi usually took care of feeding her. Newborns usually ate every few hours, and so it couldn’t have been earlier than noon yesterday. Not that a few hours would make the difference anyway.
I only had one more day to figure out how I was going to save her.
Otherwise, she would die.
And I still needed to survive the trials at the same time.
I glanced at the chef knife and mangled basket lid on the passenger seat. My current gear wasn’t going to cut it. I needed new weapons.
I needed to head into town. I already had a spot in mind to get everything I needed. The only issue was the Second Trial. While I had faith in humanity to not instantly become murderous lunatics, it was still dangerous to head toward town before the Second Trial had ended. Risking being unprepared for the Third Trial was better than diving headfirst into the lion’s den.
I tilted the mirrors away from the flames and extended my mana again. I had a few more hours until noon. Might as well make use of them while I waited.
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