CHAPTER 43: FIFTEEN NOW!

The amber light of late afternoon filtered through the ancient oaks surrounding Millbrook, casting long shadows across the training grounds where I had spent countless hours over the past two years. Two years since I had last set foot in Erestia’s grand capital, two years since I had made the decision of training with Isadora.

The village had become my sanctuary, though perhaps prison was a more accurate word. I hadn’t ventured beyond its borders once in all that time, confining myself to the familiar cobblestone streets and the rolling meadows that stretched toward the Green Woods. Every dawn brought the same routine: physical conditioning at sunrise, magical theory until noon, practical spellwork until my reserves ran dry, and combat training that left me sprawled in the dirt more often than I cared to admit.

Under Isadora’s relentless tutelage, I had transformed from the cocky boy who thought raw power was enough into something approaching a true mage. Her lessons were merciless, each one designed to strip away my assumptions and rebuild them from the ground up. She had a way of making me question everything—my stance, my breathing, even the way I thought about magic itself.

I had spent years avoiding the very person who would become my greatest teacher. My distrust of women ran deeper, carved into my soul by betrayal and hardened by paranoia. After what happened with Ashley—I had built walls around myself that I thought were impenetrable.

But Isadora had proven me wrong, as she did in most things.

She wasn’t just any woman. There was something otherworldly about her, something that made the air itself seem to bend around her presence. Even now, after countless hours in her company, she remained an enigma wrapped in flowing dark blue silk and hidden behind that infuriating mask. I had tried everything to uncover her secrets—casual questions that weren’t casual at all, elaborate schemes that she saw through before I even began them, even outright bargaining that she would accept with an amused tilt of her head before inevitably winning whatever challenge I proposed.

Still, she was dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with her magical prowess. She saw too much, understood too much.

"Guh!" The grunt escaped my lips as I hit the ground hard, tasting dirt and my own blood where I had bitten my tongue. Pain flared along my ribs where her attack had connected.

Isadora stood exactly where she had been moments before, not even breathing hard. Her mask caught the dying sunlight, giving her an ethereal quality that was both beautiful and terrifying. Even after two years, I had never seen so much as a strand of hair escape that perfect facade she maintained.

"Get control over your spells," she said, approaching.

I pushed myself up on my elbows, spitting dirt from my mouth. "I have control."

"No, you don’t." She stopped just out of arm’s reach, close enough that I could smell the faint lavender scent that always seemed to cling to her robes. "You’re pouring too much magical essence unconsciously. Continue like this, and you’ll kill someone you don’t intend to."

The criticism stung because I knew she was right. Raw power had always been my strength, but it was also my greatest weakness. I approached magic like a sledgehammer when what I needed was a scalpel’s precision.

"Well, against you I don’t have much choice," I replied, pulling myself to my feet and brushing dust from my training clothes. "You don’t exactly hold back."

Isadora’s head tilted slightly—a gesture I had learned to recognize as either amusement or contemplation. Then she moved, and the world seemed to shift around her. One moment she was several feet away, the next she stood directly in front of me, close enough that I could see my reflection in the polished surface of her mask.

I had grown considerably in the past two years. Where once she had towered over me like some mystical guardian, now I looked down at her by several inches. But height meant nothing when facing someone who could manipulate space itself with such casual ease.

"Do you want to learn who I am so badly that you would recklessly release your magic?" She asked.

I couldn’t help but smile. "I think that’s obvious, isn’t it?"

In one fluid motion, I reached for her mask with lightning speed, my hand moving faster than I had ever managed before. For a split second, I thought I might actually succeed. Then Isadora simply wasn’t there anymore, leaving me grasping empty air.

I spun around, already knowing where she would be. Sure enough, she had materialized behind me, but I was ready this time. I leaped sideways, putting distance between us while my mind raced through possible counter-attacks.

"Wind Magic: Gale!"

I raised my hand and felt the familiar rush of elemental power flowing through my channels. The air around us began to swirl, picking up loose dirt and dead leaves as it gained momentum. Within seconds, a powerful gale-force wind struck toward Isadora with enough force to uproot smaller trees.

She countered it effortlessly, her own wind magic neutralizing mine with surgical precision. The two forces met in the middle of the circle, creating a brief whirlwind that dissipated as quickly as it had formed.

"Wind isn’t your strongest element, and yet you keep relying on it," Isadora observed, appearing behind me once again with that unsettling ability to traverse space.

"Well, I don’t like being mediocre at anything," I replied, already pivoting to face her. "It’s not in my nature."

"How arrogant." She chuckled. "But I suppose someone capable of controlling all four elements with such accuracy deserves a measure of arrogance."

Now that was more like it. "I like that way of thinking!"

I surged forward, drawing deeply from my fire affinity. Magical essence flowed through specialized channels I had spent months learning to refine, and flames erupted around my right hand, taking the shape of a blazing sword. The heat was intense enough that the air around it shimmered like a mirage.

"This technique is inspired by my big sister’s magic!" I said, grasping the flame-sword’s hilt and swinging it in a wide arc.

Fire erupted from the blade in a torrent of superheated plasma that could have melted steel. The attack was beautiful in its destructive potential, painting the training circle in shades of orange and crimson that made the approaching dusk seem pale by comparison.

Isadora started to dodge, her form already beginning to blur with motion. Then she glanced over her shoulder at the line of ancient oaks that bordered our practice area, trees that had stood for centuries and housed countless woodland creatures. Her posture shifted, and instead of evading, she raised her hand.

A massive mirror of water materialized in the air, its surface perfectly smooth and reflecting the firelight like polished glass. My flames collided with it in a spectacular display of opposing elements, creating an explosion of steam that billowed around us in thick, white clouds.

"I’ve dealt with much more violent flames from your sister," Isadora said matter-of-factly.

That was certainly true. My dear sister existed in an entirely different dimension when it came to fire magic. Where I created flames, she became flame itself, wielding temperatures that could reduce mountains to slag.

"How about this, then?" I raised my hand and flicked it upward with a gesture I had practiced thousands of times.

Water erupted from the ground in a powerful geyser, but this was just the beginning. Water magic had always been my strongest affinity, though most people underestimated its potential. They saw it as defensive, passive, suitable for healing and protection. They had no idea how fundamentally destructive water could be when wielded with true understanding.

As I focused my will, drawing deeper from reserves I had spent two years expanding, the very earth beneath our feet began to crack and dry. The grass withered as I absorbed every molecule of moisture from it, and even the mighty oaks began to droop as their life-giving sap was drawn inexorably toward my spell. The air itself became desert-dry, making each breath feel like inhaling sand.

This was the true power of water magic—not creation, but control. Every living thing depended on water, and someone who could manipulate it absolutely held dominion over life itself.

"Alright, enough, Harold." Isadora’s voice cut through my concentration as her hand closed around my wrist with surprising strength. "That’s becoming dangerous."

The spell collapsed immediately, and blessed moisture returned to the air. I took a shaky breath, only now realizing how far I had pushed myself. The ground around us looked like it belonged in a wasteland, cracked and lifeless, though I knew it would recover given time.

"My apologies," I said, meaning it. Sometimes the intoxication of power made me forget where the line was drawn.

"You possess the most dangerous water magic I’ve ever encountered," Isadora said, and there was something in her tone I couldn’t quite identify. "Do you understand that?"

"Thanks for the compliment." I said.

"Enough for today." She was already moving toward her cottage, her robes flowing behind her like liquid night.

I nodded, suddenly aware of how drained I felt. Three hours of continuous training had pushed me to my limits and beyond. My magical reserves were nearly empty, my muscles ached from repeated impacts with the ground, and I could feel the beginning of what would undoubtedly be a spectacular headache.

"You and your sister both have abnormal stamina," Isadora observed as I fell into step beside her. "Most mages your age would have collapsed an hour ago."

The observation wasn’t entirely complimentary, delivered as it was with the same tone she might use to comment on an interesting but potentially dangerous magical phenomenon.

I crossed my arms behind my head. "I suppose we have our unknown father to thank for that gift."

I sank into the old velvet sofa as I said.

Isadora approached, holding a small ceramic cup with both hands. Steam curled lazily from the rim, carrying with it the earthy, bitter aroma of one of her infamous concoctions.

"Here," she said gently, offering it to me. "This will make you feel better."

I took the cup without hesitation. Her magic teas always tasted like something scraped from the bottom of a forest—but they worked. No potion from a palace apothecary came close to what Isadora brewed with her hands and mind.

The moment the bitter liquid touched my tongue, I winced—but I swallowed it all the same. The warmth rushed into my limbs, pushing away the cold weight of exhaustion that had been clinging to me all day.

"Do you think I’m ready for the Academy in Erestia now?" I asked, leaning back against the cushions, letting my eyes close for a moment.

Isadora didn’t answer right away. She moved across the room. Finally, her voice came—smooth and amused.

"You’re more than ready," she said. "What worries me is whether you’ll know how to hide it."

I opened my eyes. "Really?"

She turned, standing in front of the fire now. The flickering light cast dancing shadows across the porcelain mask that always concealed her face.

"For a fifteen-year-old boy, you’re unnaturally strong. Your reflexes are better than many trained soldiers. You wield magic with precision and restraint, and your fighting style..." She gave a short, amused laugh. "—it’s not from around here. I’d say you’re already far beyond what they expect of first-years."

I smirked, stretching my arms lazily. "As expected of me."

Isadora rolled her eyes and shook her head with a sigh. "One of these days, Harold, you should try modesty."

"Modesty is for the unsure," I replied. "I embrace who I am. That’s the only way I’ll reach the future I want."

She stilled at that—her posture unreadable. Then, without a word, she stepped closer.

Closer.

Suddenly, her face was inches from mine.

And then, slowly, she lifted her hands to her mask.

Time slowed.

She pulled it away.

And I forgot how to breathe.

Silver hair cascaded down her shoulders, catching the firelight like threads of starlight. Her eyes—an otherworldly violet—held a depth I couldn’t begin to name. Her lashes were long, dark, framing a face so striking it seemed to defy explanation. Every feature, from the elegant shape of her nose to the curve of her lips, was otherworldly. Ethereal.

For a moment, I didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

"This," she said with a rare, soft smile, "is your reward. Two years of hard work."

Before I could respond, she slipped the mask back over her face.

"W...wait," I stammered, sitting upright. "That wasn’t long enough!"

"You saw enough, boy."

"I’m not a boy! I’m turning sixteen soon," I said.

"You’re still a boy to me," she said with a chuckle.

I leaned forward. "Have you considered my marriage proposal?"

She gave a tired sigh, as if we’d gone in circles too many times to count. "Countless times. And just as many times, I’ve given you the same answer."

"Well," I said, grinning. "I’m not giving up that easily, Isadora."

She walked past me, heading toward the door. "And that," she said dryly, "is precisely the problem."

She opened the door and waved a hand in the air. "Time for you to go."

I groaned dramatically as I stood, brushing off my coat. "You know, you could at least pretend to be heartbroken when I leave."

"Why would I lie?"

"Cold, cruel witch."

She only laughed and gave me a gentle shove toward the night.

Well one day I will definitely conquer her.