I spent several hours painstakingly creating daggers while attempting to bind my "intent" into them. It was a 'test' rather than anything practical, a way to gauge how daunting the task might prove.

  In a word? Extraordinarily.

  Creating a permanent mana-based construct was already tricky enough. Binding an enchantment to an object was even more so, at least to the point where it would be stable and reliable. Doing both at once? It was like trying to sing an aria while juggling a dozen flaming torches blindfolded. Possible, yes, but the sort of thing that would take years at a minimum.

  The sun shone down on me from directly overhead when I finally admitted defeat. Four daggers sat before me, each indistinguishable from one another, and they represented my best efforts after a half-day worth of work. I had attempted to imbue them with my will, focusing on the idea of 'cutting,' and though they had failed, they would serve well for research and testing.

  Almost as importantly, the work led me down another line of thinking.

  I had devised several hypotheses for permanently strengthening my body based on observations of magical creatures and my readings. The foremost of these was simple. Somehow, magical beasts performed a wholly biological version of reinforcement, binding mana to flesh and bone to strengthen and refine their physical forms.

  But what if that was not the case? What if these beings instead mimicked the Everforge's properties naturally? Maybe...maybe that was why past attempts had failed. You needed to not just bind mana to flesh but also imbue it with a degree of will. If you skipped that step, the energy would run rampant, trying to infuse and enhance your body without proper direction.

  It sounded implausible, but maybe that was why we had not puzzled it out yet. How many mages would have looked deeply into physical enhancement, learned healing magic, and had the chance to examine an artifact created by one of the Founders? Not many.

  Or maybe I was jumping to spurious conclusions based on limited information because I wanted to be correct.

  I sighed, shaking my head as I turned my attention to other topics. Creation and physical augmentation were important, but I had plenty more things to work on before the day was done. The question was, which should I focus on?

  My thoughts wandered from spell to spell and skill to skill. I had dozens of half-formed concepts, but many of them would be of little use for years. Sure, I could work on spatial magic, but what good would that do for me now?

  What I needed was something that would integrate into the rest of my skills right away while having plenty of room for long-term growth and development. It did not take me long to settle on force magic.

  I had become halfway decent with the skill, but my uses were limited to crude, brute-force exertions. Useful? Absolutely. But hardly suitable for my ultimate goals.

  Ideally, I would integrate perfect force magic, creating a multi-faceted tool that could crush bones or pluck the wings from a fly with equal ease. One day, I might even fly using nothing more than pure, shaped Aether.

  But for now, I would settle for merging it with the rest of my magic. I had already taken what I could and used it to improve my mobility magic, but what else was plausible in the short term? Where else might telekinesis come in hand?

  Martial combat was an obvious choice. I had a spell to protect myself, a spell to dodge and reposition, and a spell to turn myself superhuman. It stood to reason that improving my offense was the next option.

  What might haft strikes or parries look like with the addition of telekinetic blasts and shoves? I could use them to shatter bones, knock aside guards, and break blades in half. Simple. Functional. Effective.

  Dull.

  I could do better.

  My eyes landed on the daggers sitting in the grass nearby, and an idea came to me. I reached over, plucking one of the weapons from the ground and turning it over in my fingers. It was short, only the length of my handle from pommel to tip, with a strangely flat, uniform color. If I did not know better, I might think it was a single, carved piece of opaque green glass.

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  However, it only appeared like glass. This material was denser, tougher, and remarkably heavy considering its size, with a razor-sharp edge that could slice through skin and flesh with as much difficulty as parting silk. My testing had found that it was not quite as hard as steel, but I was not interested in it for its durability.

  I reached into my core and withdrew a thin stream of Aether. It flowed down my arm, passed through my skin, and slipped into the dagger's hilt. Had this been a blade made of steel or iron, such a feat would feel like breathing through a damp cloth.

  Instead, the mana flowed like water.

  It felt as if my Aether was moving through nothing. I could tell it was pushing through something simply because the energy was leaving my body. It had to go somewhere, after all. But despite that immutable fact, there was no resistance to the flow. No slowing down. No loss of power or notable, wasteful expenditures.

  I had theorized that solid Aether would have exceptional mana conductivity, but this was beyond my expectations. And that revelation had led me to another, more intriguing possibility.

  What if there was a more efficient way of moving the blade?

  I set down the dagger, then reached out again. However, this was not done with my hand but with my mind and strength of will.

  Typical telekinesis involved wrapping an object in a 'skin' of mana. You could then move that skin and, as a result, lift or carry the object so long as you could maintain a steady flow of power. It was a useful party trick, and most mages learned at least the basics, but the vast majority tended to stick to their natural affinities.

  If I was right, I was about to follow in their footsteps.

  The blade was physical, yes, but it was still mana. My mana, specifically. I could sense it was changed, locked into a solid form rather than flowing as it was wont to do, but that did not alter its innate nature. It was the energy of my spirit, and it would bend to my will.

  I focused on the Aether that thought it was a dagger and commanded it to rise. And, without a hint of trouble, the construct rose from the ground.

  Slowly, it lifted up to come to a stop at head height. I had expected it to bob as if in water, but it simply hovered there, shifting a little as my focus waxed and wanned but remaining effectively still with almost no drain on my core.

  Fascinating.

  I glanced over to a nearby tree, then flicked my hand towards it as I willed the blade to move. It followed my command again, flashing across the short clearing to sink into the bark. The hilt quivered at the impact, and I paused for only a heartbeat before ripping it free from the trunk with another brief flex of my mind.

  The hilt smacked into my hand, and I could not help but smile. Mana was ever-so-slowly bleeding out of it, but it was barely noticeable. I suspected it would maintain stability for the better part of a week at least, if not longer.

  So, I could control this solid mana as easily as I could my unformed Aether, the material was itself near-perfectly conductive, and I could in theory imbue it with my intent to form an enchantment. What could I do if I combined all three? Plenty, but what could I do now?

  I could perfect my Mana Edge.

  The enchantment had served me well months ago, allowing me to carve through defenses far more easily than an ordinary blade might allow. Simon and I had worked on various improved versions, but even the best had retained three key shortcomings. They took too much mana, were too difficult to control, and tended to destroy whatever material I used as the medium.

  However, if I combined a few distinct tricks, I could sidestep all those flaws. My core had grown large enough to handle the drain with less issue. Wallace's looping technique and my consistent practice honed my control and would further reduce waste. Lastly, this solid Aether should more than be up to the task of channeling my mana.

  I felt a shiver run down my back and realized that this was what I truly enjoyed. This feeling of seeing problems, puzzling out a solution, and working towards them to perfect my magic thrilled me far more than anything else. There were no rivals, political intrigue, or assassins to worry about. Just my magic and how I might master it.

  "Best get to it, then," I muttered as I retrieved my notebook and began tracing out the best version of Mana Edge that Simon had designed.

  ---

  Weeks passed as we moved north. We would travel by night and rest during the day, always avoiding settlements and roads as much as possible. Every time we stopped, I practiced my various skills, trying to pursue a half-dozen projects at once.

  Progress was quick, and I made strides with my magic almost daily. It was the first time in months that I could relax and branch out, following whatever project struck me as interesting rather than remaining singularly focused on one talent for survival. That, coupled with the revelations I had made over the past year and my private resolutions, had a catalytic effect.

  I found that the days began blending together. Meals were skipped as I threw myself into conjuring daggers or practicing my spear forms, trying to merge force magic into the strikes. When that grew too easy, I combined the two, running through drills while moving the Aether blade with just my mind.

  Slowly, the separations began to break down. I could guide telekinetic waves with the motions of my spear, using it like an oar might direct water. My conjured blades grew more stable, taking less focus to create with every passing day, and I began experimenting with flowing Aether through them in a facsimile of Mana Edge.

  Yet despite that progress, two things became clear all too soon. First, my progress would slow again, given time. I had plenty to use as inspiration, but magic was not the sort of thing one could puzzle out alone in the forest. At least, not if they wanted to become exceptional. Mages needed new experiences to raise new questions, which would lead them down new paths. Magic was innovation, not stagnation.

  And second, I could not do it alone.

  It was a pleasant fantasy to imagine oneself building a mage tower in some isolated, forgotten part of the world. I often dreamed of spending months alone with nothing more than a mystery to solve and infinite time to do it. But the reality was rarely so clean.

  I still had assassins after me, and I could not handle them without help. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  Those problems demanded solutions, but no easy one came to mind. I had lost all connections with friends as a result of my actions—or inactions, in some cases.

  But I would find one. No matter what it took, I would uncover a solution to my problem.

  And until then, I would wander and study. Changing my fate demanded nothing less from me.

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