This was the first birthday gift I ever got that wasn’t stolen.

  Weird feeling.

  It was a wooden sword—nothing fancy. But the second I held it, I knew it wasn’t some flimsy toy-store knockoff. The grip fit my hand like it had been waiting for me. Not too heavy, not too light. Just… right. The wood wasn’t that pale, fresh-cut color either. It was dark. Deep. When I tapped it, it didn’t make that hollow drum sound. Just a dull thud—and pain. My nail throbbed like it was telling me, Yeah, this thing’s real.

  “Don’t go breakin’ your arms swingin’ that stick around, Gawn,” Randall muttered, ruffling my hair. “You push too hard, I’m takin’ it away. You hear me?”

  His hand was rough. Callused. But steady in that way that said he’d always be there.

  I nodded. Of course I nodded. That’s what kids do, right? You nod, you smile, I say Sure, I’ll be careful, while my bones are already aching from the trainings.

  I meant the nod. Sort of. But I was lying. Again.

  And yeah, I hated it.

  I hated how easy it was now—lying to someone who’d actually given a damn. But it was for a good reason, I told myself. Maybe the only good reason I had left.

  Randall didn’t press. Just let me swing the wooden sword once, watched with that squint, then turned and walked off—leaving me alone in the clearing with Ricusoss.

  “Tch.” Ricusoss dusted off his fur. “I guess we’re back to magic training.”

  He jumped up with that smug, theatrical ease he always had. “Try not to embarrass yourself this time, yeah?” he added.

  Ricusoss didn’t say a word until Randall’s silhouette finally dissolved into the daylight haze. Only then did he flick his paw toward the edge of the field..

  I followed, grass brushing my ankles as we made our way toward a patch of uneven ground. Half-rock, half-green. We stopped near the edge of a cliff that wasn’t exactly high, but just enough to make you think twice. One wrong step and you'd tumble into a painting like nature was flexing just to spite you. Greens, endless greens, stretching so far I felt dizzy just looking. Way out there, past the hills, you could just make out the ghost of Mithket’s skyline.

  And the wind—hell, the wind bit. Not in a way that hurt, but in a way that reminded you you were alive. My skin prickled. Not from fear. Just from... being here. Being out here. How many times had I felt this in my past life?

  Rarely.

  “Alright, pay attention,” Ricusoss snapped. His eyes narrowed. “You remember what leylines are, right?”

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  I nodded. Of course I did.

  Leylines—mana, laced through the world but they are invisible. But if you’re powerful enough—you can actually see them.

  “Good.” He flicked his tail. “Now sit your ass down and close your eyes. Breathe slow. The more you focus, the more it pulls. That’s how you attune to the leyline.”

  He paused, eyeing me.“Even a fool like you can handle that much.”

  A leyline hums beneath your skin if you’re still enough to feel it. Sounds simple, right? Close your eyes, breathe deep, become one with the universe or whatever crap the cat says.

  Except it wasn’t simple. It was hell.

  The birds wouldn’t shut up. The wind kept playing tag with my hair. And my brain—my traitor brain—decided now was the perfect time to picture Ricusoss vaulting over a rock and stabbing me in the face. Repeatedly.

  So, yeah. Inner peace? Not exactly happening.

  Still, I tried. I really tried. Inhale. Exhale. Gentle, one by one, I shoved the thoughts aside. The twitch in my jaw. The itch in my spine. The awareness that I was sitting in dirt pretending to be magical.

  And then—

  “That’s it,” Ricusoss muttered behind me. “Now don’t start drifting off like an idiot—focus.”

  I snapped my eyes open and glared at the horizon.

  “Seriously?” I said, teeth clenched. “You wait until I’m almost there to start yapping?”

  He grunted, unapologetic.

  Reset. Again.

  I’d lost count around attempt forty. Maybe it was sixty. Maybe a hundred. The point is, I stopped counting when my sanity started unraveling.

  Somewhere in the middle of the wind beating my face raw and the birds screaming, I finally went quiet. Not Zen quiet—broken quiet. The kind where your brain just gives up and leaves you alone in the wreckage.

  That’s when it happened.

  Everything went still. The wind cut out. The birds vanished. Ricusoss shut his smug little trap. For once, the world stopped heckling me—and in that rare silence, I saw it.

  The leyline.

  Not clearly. Not in high-def or crystal visions or whatever the training scrolls promised. No, it was... vague. Shadowy. My brain felt like it had been microwaved. My ass was numb, my spine hated me, and I was officially hallucinating smoke veins in the dark.

  They weren’t even normal smoke. They had form—wisps with structure, like veins made of fog, twisting through the dark. Floating and pulsing.

  And my brilliant, spiritual reaction?

  What the actual hell am I supposed to do with this?

  “Damn, damn, damn,” I muttered, snapping my eyes open. I felt... weirdly proud. Also dizzy. And, yeah, kind of like I’d peed a little. Emotionally, I mean.

  I blinked a few times, braced myself, then glanced over at Ricusoss. “Okay. I did the thing. Now what? Am I supposed to chant something or what?”

  His ears twitched, unimpressed. “Are you seriously that dense?”

  I stared. “Did... Did you want me to punch you?”

  “You didn’t think to ask that before,” he said. “All you had to do was listen. Relax. Let go. It’s not sorcery.”

  “Oh my bad,” I snapped. “I guess I missed the part where floating fog veins were self-explanatory.”

  He rolled his eyes—yes, cats can do that—and flicked his tail as if I was beneath him. Which, fine, technically I was.

  No chanting, idiot,” he said, tail flicking. “You had a spiritual awakening. People like you don’t need fancy words—you just do it. Consider yourself lucky... even if you look hopeless.”

  I stared at him.

  He stared back.

  I thought about throwing a rock at him. Just a small one..

  I exhaled. “Cool. So... what the hell am I supposed to do next?”

  Ricusoss stared at me. “You can see the leyline, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then think,” he said. “Elemental magic—fire, water, earth, wind, lightning. Pick one. Visualize it in your hand.”

  He flicked his tail. “But first,” he added, “feel the leyline again. Let it hit you. When it does, raise your hand. Picture the element forming. And if you manage to actually pull it off...”

  He paused.

  “I might say something nice. Might.”

  I moved my wooden sword off to the side, just in case. Optimism or delusion—at this point, who could tell the difference?

  Fire. I started there. Closed my eyes, focused on the pulsing thread of the leyline in the dark. Tried to conjure flames dancing in my palm, a glowing ring of heat and power.

  Nothing.

  Just numb fingers and a growing sense of embarrassment. Ricusoss didn’t say a word. Which was somehow worse than mockery. I could feel the silence judging me.

  So I switched.

  Water.

  I breathed slower this time. Calmer. Dropped the pressure. Let the leyline wash over me. Visualized droplets forming, suspended in air, light catching their edges—

  “Open your eyes,” Ricusoss said.

  I blinked. Looked down.

  Sweat. My hand was trembling, slick and shaking.

  “Well, would you look at that,” he said, tail flicking as he eyed my outstretched hand. “Congratulations. You’ve unlocked your first spell—sweat magic. Truly a legendary art.”

  He clapped. Slowly. With his paws.

  “Terrifying.”

  Damnit.