the beginning after the end perfect duo

A morning spar

"Okay, so today I have my own plans for training. I've been trying to refine a technique with my sound element," I said, glancing at the glass I'd placed on the table in front of me. The sunlight caught its surface, turning it into a shimmering beacon—a fragile challenge waiting to be met.

"But since you need some practice with water magic, I suppose I should help," I continued gently, meeting Lilia's curious gaze. "You were already able to use your pure mana to enhance your physical abilities, right?"

"Yes, I could do that," she replied, tilting her head slightly, "but how does that help me now?"

"It helps because, fundamentally, you're a Conjurer, not an Augmenter." I leaned back, crossing my arms as I spoke. "Mastering something inherently harder for you—like enhancing yourself—means this next step won't feel insurmountable. Conjuring water shouldn't be too difficult, especially since you can already tap into the gem I made last time. " A small smile tugged at my lips. "Anyway, your training starts now. I'll give you one basic exercise and then let you work on it alone. Understood?"

"Yes, Master Tom," she quipped mockingly, her tone laced with playful sarcasm.

I raised an eyebrow, letting a faint smirk play across my face. "You know, I can cancel this little session if you keep that up."

"Okay, okay, serious this time!" she said quickly, holding up her hands in surrender.

"Good." I nodded approvingly before continuing. "You can already see your mana moving inside your body, flowing through the channels like rivers carving paths through valleys. What I want you to do is guide it outward, pushing it through your veins until it spills beyond your skin. Once you've done that, try to imagine it forming water. Picture it pooling in the air or dripping from your fingertips—it should come naturally, considering you've done it unconsciously before."

She frowned, her brow furrowing as she processed my words. "That's... all you're going to say? No grand speech or anything?"

I chuckled softly, shaking my head. "Nope. Just good luck." My attention shifted back to the glass sitting innocently on the table. "Now, watch closely. I've got my own challenge to tackle."

Turning toward the glass, I closed my eyes briefly, centering myself. Sound was invisible yet omnipresent, a force both delicate and devastating. Like ripples spreading across a pond, every vibration carried potential. I focused intently, attempting to raise the frequency of my sound waves even further. In theory, the glass would shatter when struck by just the right resonance—the sweet spot where harmony became chaos. But executing such precision in practice was no simple feat. Controlling high frequencies required immense focus, almost meditative clarity. Each pulse had to be exact, like threading a needle while blindfolded.

And so I began. Gradually, I increased the frequency of my sound waves, but my focus wavered more often than I cared to admit. Each time my concentration slipped, the process reset itself—a frustrating cycle. The glass sat there stubbornly, unmoved and unimpressed. Not a single vibration coursed through it, no telltale hum signaling progress. My attempts were audible, though; the low-frequency rumbles betrayed how far off I still was. Glass-shattering frequencies were technically within the range of human hearing, yet achieving them felt like chasing a phantom. This internal monologue wasn't helping either—it distracted me as much as anything else. With a frustrated sigh, I forced myself to stop overthinking.

Honestly, if you're reading this expecting some grand narrative or poetic breakthrough, I apologize for disappointing you. You're probably just another lazy reader scrolling aimlessly on the platform anyway.

An hour passed—or maybe longer—filled with relentless repetition. Sweat trickled down my temples, stinging slightly as it reached the corners of my eyes. Lilia's voice grew louder in the background, her excitement bubbling over like boiling water spilling from a pot. That decided it—I couldn't concentrate any longer. It was time to intervene.