For the rest of the day the courtyard turned into a slow, dusty rhythm of kneeling, breathing, and coaxing the ground. The sun crept overhead, throwing long shadows off the broken small constructions.

Viola worked furiously at first, copying every cue Ludger had given her. She managed small mounds now, sometimes a ripple, but her mana ran out fast. Each time her flow sputtered, she had to sit back, palms on her knees, cheeks flushed with irritation. “Again?” she muttered, wiping sweat from her forehead. “I barely did anything.”

Ludger only shrugged and kept practicing, a thin smirk tugging at his mouth. His spiritual core let him keep going longer, the ground’s pulse slowly becoming easier to catch. He didn’t brag about it, but every time Viola sat out another break her scowl deepened.

By mid-afternoon, dust clung to their hair and clothes. Small ridges and half-collapsed mounds dotted the training area, a quiet testament to their progress. Luna stood off to the side, arms folded, watching everything with a faint, unreadable expression, her eyes flicking between Ludger’s smooth movements and Viola’s frustrated pacing.

Gaius didn’t intervene much. He just stood with his arms crossed, jaw working, letting them grind it out.

By the time the sun dipped westward the courtyard was littered with half-formed ridges and collapsed mounds, and both kids were coated in dust. Viola rubbed her arms, still scowling at her own uneven lumps. Ludger sat cross-legged, eyes half closed, feeling the weight of the ground thrum under his palms.

Gaius finally uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, boots grinding into the dirt. “Enough of the little piles,” he growled. “If you want to actually learn this craft, you need a goal you can measure.”

He jabbed a thick finger at the space between them. “Your next drill is simple: build a tower of earth as tall as you are. No wider than your own body. Straight up, stable. No blobs, no pillars thicker than a tree trunk. You get it to your height and keep it standing for ten breaths. That’s the exercise.”

Viola blinked. “As tall as us? But—”

Gaius cut her off with a look. “You’ll learn balance, reinforcement, and control all at once. This isn’t about making walls; it’s about shaping your mana into something that can hold its own weight. You master this and everything else gets easier.”

Ludger dusted off his hands and stood. “A tower, huh? Sounds like a good way to blow through mana.”

“Exactly.” Gaius’s mouth twitched like the shadow of a smile. “You’ll find out how much you have, how to pace yourself, and how to make the ground work for you instead of the other way around. Now—” he stepped back, folding his arms again— “get to it.”

Viola squared her shoulders, excitement creeping back despite her fatigue. “Fine. A tower.” She dropped to her knees, already closing her eyes.

Ludger crouched beside her, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “Guess we’re building sand castles now,” he muttered, setting his palms to the soil.

By late afternoon the training yard looked like a battlefield of miniature towers—some cracked, some slumped, a few still standing stubbornly. Viola had managed to coax a narrow column of earth up past her knees, but each time it wobbled and toppled before reaching her waist. Ludger, meanwhile, already had a neat, waist-high tower packed tight enough to stand on.

She dropped to the ground with a huff, brushing sweat and dust from her face. “Ugh. Why does yours look like an actual tower and mine’s just…a lump?”

Ludger smoothed his palm over his own pillar, letting it sink back into the ground. “Because you’re trying to beat me at a game I already started playing many years ago,” he said dryly. “Different starting lines.”

Viola glared, cheeks red. “I’m not trying to— I just—” She cut herself off, fists clenched.

He tilted his head. “Do you even want to be a mage?”

She blinked. “What?”

“If not,” he said evenly, “then getting angry over a training drill is a waste of time. You’re not here to win a contest. You’re here to learn something you can use.”

Her mouth opened, then closed. The burn in her cheeks faded a little.

“Instead of trying to surpass me,” Ludger continued, voice calm but firm, “start thinking how this magic could actually help you. Reinforce your weapons. Anchor your footing. Pin something big down so you can hit its core. That bigger iron elemental we fought? This would’ve been perfect for that.”

Viola let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Right… using it, not just copying you.”

“Exactly.” He crouched beside her, pressing his palms to the soil again. “Think of it as another blade in your kit. Doesn’t matter who’s taller today; what matters is whether you can use it when it counts.”

She stared at the dirt for a moment, then gave a small nod, the edge in her shoulders easing. “Okay. Another blade in my kit.”

Ludger smirked faintly. “That’s better. Now, try again—slower this time.”

From the edge of the yard, Gaius watched with arms folded, a flicker of approval hidden deep behind his scowl.

Viola realized that her hotheadedness, the thing that drove her attacks and bursts of speed, felt like oil poured on water here. The ground wouldn’t move for her because she was trying to wrestle it instead of listening.

For the first time all day she closed her eyes without clenching them shut. Her palms settled on the soil, her breath even. Her hotheadedness had helped her swing harder, but here it was only noise. Maybe she could learn to quiet it—at least long enough for the ground to answer.

Viola steadied her breathing the way Ludger had shown her — slow, heavy, letting the pulse of the earth creep up into her palms instead of ramming her mana down into it. Her shoulders dropped, her jaw unclenched. The heat in her head bled out into the soil.

This time the ground didn’t resist. A faint shiver ran through the dirt, then a thin column began to rise, trembling but holding. Inch by inch it crept upward until it reached her knee, a narrow, knotted tower of packed earth just like Gaius had ordered — thin, stable, steady.

She stared at it, blinking sweat out of her eyes. The tower swayed but stayed upright. A shaky laugh bubbled out of her before she could stop it. “Finally…”

Then the exhaustion hit. Her mana flow sputtered; her arms felt like lead. The column sagged back into a mound as she pitched sideways onto the dirt, landing on her hip. She lay there, chest heaving, grit sticking to her skin.

Ludger leaned over, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “Not bad,” he said. “First tower’s always the hardest.”

Viola managed a weak grin up at him, too tired to speak.

From the edge of the yard Gaius grunted, arms still crossed but his eyes softer now. “Good. That’s how it starts. Feel it, shape it, then push a little further every day.”

Viola closed her eyes, the image of the tower still in her mind even as her body gave out. For the first time since dawn she felt like she’d actually taken a step instead of just punching the ground.

By the time the sun dipped behind Meira’s rooftops the courtyard was littered with half-collapsed mounds and thin, crooked towers making the place look like a maze where one couldn’t find a spot where their boots wouldn’t get dirty with dust. Viola was sprawled on the ground, sweat-streaked and smiling faintly in her sleep. Ludger sat cross-legged beside her, eyes closed, drawing slow breaths as if to cool his mind. Even Luna, who had stood like a sentry all day, finally leaned against the wall, her gaze softening.

Gaius waved them off with a grunt. “That’s enough for today. Go wash up, eat, sleep. You’ll need it.”

They shuffled inside, leaving the old mage alone in the quiet yard. For a moment he simply stood there, looking at the small dents and ridges they’d made. The earth still felt warm from their mana.

Later, in his narrow room above the empty guild hall, Gaius sat on the edge of his cot and unlaced his boots. His shoulders sagged. He hadn’t cast a single spell today; all he’d done was stand and watch, bark a few instructions, stomp around. Yet he felt drained, like he’d dug a shaft with his bare hands.

Teaching never used to wear me out like this, he thought, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Back then I had ten apprentices at a time. I could shout all day, drink all night, and be fine by morning. He let out a low, rough chuckle. Guess I’m not that man anymore.

Still, as he leaned back against the wall, a small, grudging smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Watching the girl wrestle her own temper into a knee-high tower, seeing the boy break down his craft into lessons like a seasoned instructor — it had been… satisfying. Like glimpsing a younger version of himself from the outside.

He blew out a slow breath, eyes closing. “Brats,” he muttered, but the word carried no heat. Just weariness and a hint of pride.

The bed creaked as he lay down. Outside, the night hummed with the city’s low noise and the earth’s steady pulse. Gaius’s breathing slowed, his mind already wandering to tomorrow’s drills even as sleep pulled him under.

The next morning Gaius woke before dawn, joints stiff but mind clearer than it had been in weeks. He threw on his battered cloak and trudged down the creaking stairs of the guild hall, expecting to have to drag the brats out of bed.

Instead he stepped out into the courtyard and stopped. Both of them were already there.

Viola sat cross-legged on a patch of bare earth, eyes closed, hands resting on her knees. She wasn’t moving or scowling; she was breathing slow and deep, drawing in the cool morning air like she was drinking water. A faint shimmer of mana rippled around her palms, little sparks of mana sinking into the soil. She was meditating, trying to attune herself to the ground’s rhythm before she even started.

A few paces away, Ludger was crouched over a thin column of earth. It rose knee-high, then shin-high, then a little taller, a careful stack of packed soil he was building from scratch. Each time the tower began to tremble he let it crumble, flattened the ground with one smooth motion, and started over. No wasted movement, no flash, just slow, deliberate repetition.

Gaius stood in the doorway, blinking at them both. I didn’t even yell yet, he thought. The morning light caught the dust rising off Ludger’s tower and the faint aura humming around Viola. For a moment the old mage said nothing, just listening to the quiet rhythm of their training.

He blew out a breath and stepped down onto the flagstones. “Hnh,” he muttered to himself. “Maybe they don’t need me to wake them up after all…”

Three days later the courtyard no longer looked like a training ground; it looked like the ruins of a tiny city. Dozens of narrow columns dotted the packed dirt where towers had risen and crumbled, the earth scarred from constant reshaping.

By now Ludger’s movements were smooth, his breathing steady. He planted his palms, sank his mana once, and in a single push a column of earth rose straight up to his full height. No wobble, no cracks — a clean, narrow tower as solid as cut stone. He stepped back, dusting off his hands, and the column stayed standing like a sentinel.

A few paces away, Viola crouched over her own patch, sweat dripping from her hair. She could get hers to waist height now, the shape steadier than before but still drinking her mana like a thirsty beast. When the flow finally sputtered out, the tower wobbled, and she kicked it in frustration. It toppled with a soft thud, spraying dust across her boots.

From the edge of the yard Gaius barked a laugh, arms folded. “Hah! The girl’s the same as her grandfather.” He shook his head, the sound low and fond. “Lord Torvares used to do the same thing when something didn’t go the way he wanted..”

Viola scowled, cheeks flushed, but there was a flicker of a grin under her breathless glare. “Maybe it runs in the blood,” she muttered.

Ludger smirked faintly, glancing at his own flawless tower. “At least she’s consistent,” he said dryly, brushing grit off his palms before resetting for another round.

Gaius kept laughing under his breath. Watching the two of them grind away at his exercises, he felt the same tired satisfaction as before — but now it was laced with a quiet anticipation for how far they might push this craft.

By the fourth morning the courtyard was already warm when Gaius called a halt. Viola was hunched over another half-finished tower, panting, sweat dripping off her chin. Ludger stood beside his own flawless column, watching her struggle with a mixture of patience and faint amusement.

“Alright, girl,” Gaius barked, stepping forward. “That’s enough.”

Viola blinked up at him, still breathing hard. “But I haven’t—”

“You’ve done plenty.” He waved her off. “From now on you only build that tower once a day. One clean rep, not ten. Just to keep the skill sharp. The rest of the time you’re going to work on something more useful.”

She wiped her brow, frowning. “More useful?”

“Instead of wasting your mana all day on dirt piles, start tuning the affinity of your mana into your sword when you use Weapon Enhancing,” Gaius said. “Same principle as earth manipulation. Anchor the weight of the ground into the steel. That’s where it’ll count.”

To punctuate it he held up his scarred fist. A faint brown aura coiled around his knuckles like smoke. “Watch carefully.”

He drew a slow breath, infused his mana until the aura thickened, then punched the empty air in front of him. A thunder-crack burst followed, a compressed gust of wind exploding outward. Dust and grit flew in a straight line for tens of meters, rolling like a wave across the yard.

Even Ludger’s eyes went wide. He’d known the old man was strong, but he hadn’t expected that. “That…” he murmured, “…wasn’t just earth magic.”

Gaius lowered his hand, the aura fading, and gave a thin, wolfish grin. “There’s a reason they used to call me Gaius Stonefist,” he said. “I didn’t get that name for no good reason.”

Viola stared at his fist, cheeks still flushed from exertion but eyes bright with excitement. “I… want to learn that.”

Gaius snorted. “One step at a time. Get your mana into the blade first. If you can’t handle that, you’ll break your own arm trying what I just did.” He looked at Ludger. “That goes for you too, kid. No shortcuts.”

Ludger nodded once, still watching the line of scoured earth where the blast had gone. In that moment he understood that “Stonefist” wasn’t just an old man’s nickname — it was a warning about what mastery looked like.

Gaius let the last grains of dust settle before lowering his fist. The brown aura around his knuckles faded, leaving only calloused skin and old scars. For a heartbeat he looked every inch the legend they called Stonefist.

Then he straightened and a sharp twinge shot up his spine. “Ghh—” He froze, grimacing as his back locked for a second. Slowly he rolled his shoulders, but the ache didn’t go away.

Viola blinked. “Are you… okay?”

Gaius exhaled through his nose and waved her off with the same hand he’d just punched the air with. “Fine. Just… too old for this nonsense.” He gave a rough, humorless chuckle and kneaded his lower back with one broad hand. “Haven’t thrown one of those in months. Now I remember why.”

Even Ludger smirked faintly at the sight. The legendary Stonefist, hissing through his teeth like any other old man after a bad stretch.

Gaius caught their looks and scowled. “Don’t get cocky. You try that before you’re ready and you’ll end up in worse shape than me.” He straightened with a grunt and stamped his boot. “Alright, enough gawking. Back to practice.”

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