Chapter 5: Weight of Effort

Asterion and Theos were among the first to reach the training yard, a large open space equipped with obstacle courses and sheds filled with tools that the older students used for their physical training. Asterion couldn’t wait to join them one day; the practice sessions looked like so much fun.

For now, their physical training was limited to weapon practice and obstacle courses. It was still enjoyable, though—Asterion loved racing his friends or sparring with wooden swords. He struggled, however, to keep up with Theos, who had already grabbed one of the adult practice swords and swung it effortlessly, as though it weighed nothing.

Asterion couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration. His gravity powers were still useless in a duel; he could barely affect his opponent or himself. His mother had explained that this was because of the magical resistance inherent in every individual—the more mana and power someone possessed, the more difficult it became to influence them. She had assured him that with practice his abilities would grow stronger and adapt, eventually allowing him to overcome this limitation and wield his powers effectively in combat.

With what Mr. Seitz had taught earlier, Asterion now understood that advancing to the next stage was key to improving his powers. However, he realized that his teacher hadn’t explained how one could best progress through the stages or tiers beyond simply practicing. Determined to learn more, he decided he would ask Mr. Seitz after class.

Pulling one of the appropriately sized swords from the racks, Asterion followed Theos as they hurried to their starting positions, both brimming with excitement. Around them, some of the other kids did the same, while others climbed the trees to watch or played tag just outside the yard.

“Are you ready?” Theos asked eagerly, planting his feet in a broad-legged stance.

Asterion lifted his sword, settling into a nimble, crouched stance. He had long since stopped using a shield against Theos; as his friend’s power made it pointless and painful.

“I’m ready!” Asterion called.

Theos grinned and surged forward, closing the gap in an instant. His first swing came in a powerful arc, forcing Asterion to leap back to avoid it. Anticipating the follow-up, Asterion held back, knowing Theos’s recovery time between swings was almost nonexistent.

Instead, Asterion focused on redirecting the heavy blows. His sword clashed against Theos’s, each parry sending reverberations through his arms. His grip tightened as he gritted his teeth, the impact of every swing growing harder to endure.

Asterion could hear the cheers of their friends in the background and tasted the metallic tang of iron in his mouth as he struggled to maintain his grip on the practice sword. Slowly, he began to find a rhythm, reducing the momentum of Theos’s powerful swings and letting them slide off with less pain.

He knew that the way the fight was going, he still didn’t stand a chance. He attempted to add weight to his weapon through his gravity power as he swung, but once again, something wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t the first time he had attempted this, and he didn’t know what or why, but he could feel it—an elusive gap in his understanding, something just beyond his grasp. Before he could dwell on it, a heavy swing from Theos snapped him out of his thoughts, forcing him back once more.

The fight continued until Asterion thought he saw an opening. He managed to neatly deflect one of Theos’s swings and seized the moment, trying to close the gap to land a strike of his own. But Theos recovered too quickly.

The wooden sword struck Asterion’s left shoulder with brutal force, drawing a scream of pain from him. His weapon clattered to the ground as he clutched his shoulder, wincing and fighting to suppress the tears welling in his eyes.

Theos looked at him in shock for a moment before dropping his own oversized wooden sword, “Sorry! Are you okay?”

Asterion knelt on the ground, drawing air through his teeth as he quickly rubbed the tears of pain from his eyes. He could hear some of the other children laughing while others shouted incoherently.

A sudden wash of relief made him look up. Lucia was kneeling beside him, her hands gently resting on his shoulder. A faint green glow emanated from her palms, and the pain rapidly faded away.

“Thank you,” he said, grateful for the quick easing of his pain. It wasn’t the first time she had healed him—or any of the others. She always spectated their fights, jumping in whenever someone got hurt, healing cuts and small bruises with little effort.

Once the pain was completely gone, the glow faded. Asterion smiled at Lucia, meeting her bright green eyes as he looked up.

“No problem,” she replied with an equally bright smile as she stood, brushing the dust from her knees and tucking her blonde hair behind her ears.

Theos approached with a sheepish look. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”

Asterion watched Lucia walk away before shaking his head and turning to Theos. “It’s okay. It was dumb of me to push there.”

Theos hesitated for a moment, shifting his weight nervously as he glanced at Asterion. Then, as if deciding not to dwell on it, he raised his weapon again. It wasn’t the first time Asterion had taken a hard hit during their practice, and Theos’s excitement to continue seemed to outweigh his guilt. “Let’s go again?” Theos asked eagerly.

Eager to try again, he picked up his training blade and returned to his stance. I’m getting closer. I don’t need a power to hit him, Asterion thought, determination flickering in his eyes.

He began circling to Theos’s right, knowing it was harder for his friend to swing on that side due to the awkward angle of his dominant arm. But before he could exploit the weakness, Theos swung with a heavy, powerful arc, forcing Asterion to jump back as the blade displaced the air with its sheer force.

Asterion refused to be discouraged by the display, retaliating with probing stabs and swings whenever he spotted an opening. Each attack, however, was swiftly swatted aside, sending sharp jolts of pain through his hands. He was somewhat thankful for the calluses he had developed—they at least dulled the sting, if only slightly.

Their bout was interrupted by the sharp clap of Mr. Seitz’s hands, echoing like a lesser thunderclap. Asterion hadn’t even noticed his teacher’s arrival. He and the other kids who had been sparring immediately stopped, turning their attention to Mr. Seitz.

“All right, everyone, return the training weapons to the racks and fetch a cushion from the shed. Class resumes in five minutes on the field,” Mr. Seitz announced.

The children watched as Mr. Seitz, a cushion tucked under his arm, wandered toward a grassy section of the yard. That part of the field was rarely used except when students rested or played on it.

Asterion hesitated for a moment, half-expecting the teacher to say something more as Mr. Seitz glanced between him and Theos. When nothing came, Asterion exchanged a brief look with his friend, then shrugged and hurried alongside Theos to return the training weapons and grab a cushion before following their teacher toward the field.

They were among the first to reach the field and found Mr. Seitz already sitting cross-legged on a cushion, observing them with a small smile.

He gestured for them to join him. “I can tell the two of you have questions. Go ahead and ask.”

Asterion and Theos placed their cushions a few meters away and sat down. Theos was the first to speak. “Sir, why didn’t you heal your eye?”

Mr. Seitz blinked, seemingly caught off guard by the boldness of the question, before letting out a genial chuckle. “Because this is a physical manifestation,” he explained. “You’re not the first to mistake my Eye of the Storm for a defect. In fact, I’ve used it more than once to my advantage in combat. Misconceptions can be powerful—if your opponent assumes weakness where none exists, you can turn that to your favor. Remember that.”

Theos gasped and leaned in closer, clearly intrigued, and Asterion followed suit. His sharp eyes caught a faint swirl within the milky white of Mr. Seitz’s eye, a detail he hadn’t noticed before.

“How about you, Asterion? What did you want to ask me?” Mr. Seitz inquired.

Asterion realized he had been staring and quickly pulled back, a slight flush creeping across his cheeks. After a moment, he managed to speak. “How can I advance my power other than just practicing?”

Mr. Seitz scratched his beard thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on Asterion before answering. “There are a few ways, but to advance your power, you first need to understand it. Practicing and using your power is, of course, essential—it helps you comprehend it and strengthens its connection to you. But you must also think about your Essencia and the aspects you’ve awakened. Don’t just understand them. Try to feel and embody them.”

Asterion nodded slowly, deep in thought. How could he understand something like stars or gravity? He had a general idea of what they were and how they worked, but he could only recall a few moments where he had truly felt gravity.

“You can also consume treasures or, preferably, refine them through rituals or alchemy to enhance your power, empowering yourself in much the same way practice does,” Mr. Seitz continued. Asterion noticed a flicker of hesitation in his teacher’s expression, as though he were weighing whether to continue. After a brief pause, he relented, perhaps deciding that honesty was better than leaving their curiosity unanswered.

“Another, much more dangerous method is to slay beasts or monsters. When you do, part of their records will be claimed by your soul, strengthening you in the process.” He paused again, his tone shifting to one of stern caution. “But that will have to wait until you’re a few years older.”

Asterion mulled over his teacher's words and didn’t pay much attention to the reactions and questions of the rest of the class, lost in thought about his Essencia. He pictured the night sky as seen from his window, but simply reminiscing about it wouldn’t help him truly understand it.

An idea began to form in his mind, though his musings were cut short when Mr. Seitz’s voice carried across the grassy field.

“All right, one last question,” Mr. Seitz said, scanning the gathered students. “Zena?”

Asterion perked up at the mention of her name, his train of thought interrupted.

“How long does it take for powers to awaken, and how many powers can we get?” Zena asked, her voice tinged with curiosity. “Some of us haven’t awakened any yet, while my sister already has her second. How long does it take?”

Asterion watched as Mr. Seitz’s features softened, his gaze shifting to those who hadn’t yet awakened any powers.

“That’s another excellent question and one I’ll cover more extensively during our lessons,” Mr. Seitz began. He noticed the dismay on some of their faces and continued in a reassuring tone.

“To give you a rough idea, everyone awakens at least one power naturally. Most people awaken three powers over their lifetime, with the first two usually manifesting before their coming of age.”

He paused for a moment, giving the students time to absorb the information, before adding, “The known limit is eight powers, although reaching that level typically requires the use of awakening stones. You don’t need to worry. All of you will awaken your powers in due time, and likely quite soon.”

This seemed to mollify most of the class, and soon, everyone found a spot surrounding Mr. Seitz as he began explaining the process of mana refinement.

“For now, don’t worry too much about using a proper technique,” Mr. Seitz explained, his tone calm and encouraging. “Just focus on trying to sense your mana. Once you get a feel for it, you can start interacting with it—but do not use any of your powers or move from your spot. This is something you need to do with your mind.” He tapped the side of his head for emphasis.

Asterion wore an eager smile, confident that he was already ahead of most of the class. He had long been familiar with sensing mana, both within and outside his body, though he had never actively tried to interact with it beyond using it for his powers.

Closing his eyes, Asterion focused inward, seeking the largest concentration of mana within himself. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to move or interact with it, so he simply willed it to respond, mimicking the way it stirred when he used his power. To his frustration, the mana reacted sluggishly, moving with the thick, clinging resistance of molasses—blocked, stuck, or just unwilling to cooperate.

He pushed harder, his brows drawing tight with focus, his face gradually reddening under the strain. Bit by bit, he managed to coax the mana to shift, dragging it ever so slowly in one direction. The sensation was strange and borderline uncomfortable, like trying to force that same thick molasses through a pipe that was far too narrow and already packed with more of the sticky substance. It crept and squeezed its way through the channels he could sense within him, sluggish and resistant as he forced it along.

All around him, the sounds of strained effort filled the air—labored breaths, frustrated groans, and the occasional gasp of surprise. It was a small comfort to know he wasn’t the only one struggling.

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