"Shit..."
Icariel cursed under his breath, his jaw tightening like a trap snapping shut. He'd slipped. Words he shouldn't have spoken—too sharp, too soon—had already drawn blood.
Across from him, Aelar didn't look angry. Just quiet. Too quiet. And somehow, that was worse.
"I told you," Aelar began, voice low and even, "I wouldn't interfere. I'd only teach you—as long as it felt right. If you could learn and use it naturally, I had no reason to stop you."
He stepped forward, one bootfall at a time, as if walking the edge of a blade.
"But I've had this feeling from the very beginning—not just now. Since the moment we met."
Icariel tensed. A small ripple in his heartbeat. He looked up, confused. Guarded.
Aelar's eyes never wavered.
"That first day… when Elif and I rushed toward you after the healing light exploded out of the trees—it wasn't just that you looked at us. You looked through us. Not with fear. With calculation. Like your eyes weren't asking who we were—but what we were."
He paused. The air shifted.
"You asked Elif who I was. Faelar. Valandil. And you said our mana felt overwhelming. I thought maybe you had your Spirit Zone active, but it didn't make sense. No exhaustion. No visible toll. You'd just cast a massive healing spell, yet you stood there like nothing happened."
Silence fell for a breath too long.
"I let it go. Thought I was imagining it. Until yesterday. And again this morning… Something about you feels off."
Aelar's eyes narrowed, the green in them pulsing like light behind glass.
"When we sparred… you cast spells. I watched your mana drain—and then refill. Not gradually. Instantly. That's not how recovery works. That's not normal. That's not even elfin."
He exhaled sharply, eyes never leaving Icariel.
"Still, I said nothing. I thought… maybe you were different. But today—" He lowered his voice."—you nearly cast Vital Surge."
The forest seemed to flinch with those words. Even the birds went silent.
"That spell takes decades to master. Elves spend lifetimes trying and still fail. And you—" he knelt beside Icariel, voice thinning to a whisper—"You saw me use it once. Barely conscious. And then you tried to use it yourself."
He placed a hand gently on Icariel's shoulder—heavy, steady, immovable. "Don't misunderstand. I don't teach unless I believe someone can truly learn. I thought it would take time. If you couldn't do it, I had other things to offer. Ways to survive. To fight. To keep breathing."
A pause.
"But, Icariel… I think it's time you tell me the truth."
The boy looked away. Not from guilt. From something darker. From the weight of being known.
"I'm not asking for everything," Aelar added. "But you owe me this: How did you see?"
He leaned in, green eyes boring into the boy like sunlight through a magnifying glass.
"Trust me. If you think I'd walk away over this, you're mistaken. I'd sooner lose my head than take my hand off your shoulder."
Icariel's pupils widened.
"He knows. He's always known."
The voice inside him stirred.
"Who wouldn't? Anyone with a basic grasp of mana could see it—the way your energy moves, the lack of a core or circle. It's all backwards. But for an elf to hold back this long for your sake… that is rare. That is respect."
"So what do I do?" Icariel asked.
"Tell him. But only the truth he's ready for. Give him the White Sense. Nothing more."
"Fine…"
Icariel nodded slowly.
"I'm sorry," he said aloud, voice soft, but not weak.
Aelar blinked. That shift—like a crack in armor.
"I'll trust your words," Icariel added.
He drew a breath. "You call it Spirit Zone. That state where a mage senses mana, sees the world differently, feels the ambient flow and channels it through their body."
He met Aelar's eyes—no fear, just truth.
"I have that. But I don't need to activate it."
He touched his chest lightly, as if afraid the truth might burn through his skin.
"It's always on. I live with it."
Aelar didn't speak. He didn't blink.
"You live with it," he repeated, barely a whisper.
"My vision is… different now. I see mana constantly. I can't return to normal. And I have a range—nineteen meters. The instant someone enters it, I feel them. Not just where they are—but how their mana moves, how their breath disrupts the flow. And as for replenishing..."
He gave a half-smile.
"I just breathe."
The wind stilled. The world held its breath.
Aelar leaned back, his hand falling from Icariel's shoulder like a seal breaking.
"That explains everything. The spells. The regeneration. Your instinct with Vital Surge."
He rubbed his chin, eyes turning inward. "So last night… you weren't just watching. You were reading me. Following the path of the mana inside my body. Replicating it."
His voice dropped to a murmur. "I'm one hundred and twenty years old."
He looked back at Icariel—serious now. Almost reverent.
"I've never seen this before. Not in elves. Not in humans. Maybe pieces of it, scattered across centuries—but never the whole."
He shook his head. "It's not Spirit Zone. It's something else. So how did you get it?"
Icariel paused, then answered with the quiet calm of someone confessing to a crime.
"I took all the mana in my body. Every drop. And I forced it into my brain. Into my eyes. Until they broke. Until it activated."
Aelar stared.
"He's not lying," the elf thought. "Not a single word."
"So it's not something you channel," Aelar said slowly. "It's something you became."
Icariel didn't speak. He didn't need to.
"I believe you. And your secret..." Aelar nodded once. "...is safe with me."
"Thanks," Icariel murmured.
A beat passed.
"…Now what?"
Aelar's lips curled into a slow, satisfied grin. "Now?"
He rose, stretching, cracking his neck. "Now the real training starts."
He grinned wider, arms crossing. "You're the kind of student I've always dreamed of."
Icariel groaned. "Why does that sound like a threat…"
Aelar laughed. "It is."
His tone shifted again—sharp, instructive.
"You made a mistake when you tried to imitate my healing. Do you know what it was?"
"What mistake?"
"You let go of your desire. Or rather—mana didn't accept your desire fully."
"Why?"
"Because you tried to use all of it."
Icariel stiffened. "All of it…?"
"Even if you try again, it'll fail," Aelar explained. "Using mana and sacrificing it are not the same. Your body resists death, even in fragments. It won't let you drain yourself completely."
He pointed at Icariel's chest. "Your instincts pulled back. You didn't fail—the spell did."
Icariel stayed still. The lesson burrowing deeper than flesh.
"So what's the solution?"
"You still use your full-body mana—but limit it. Channel it slowly, through every cell. Preserve a fragment. Even one drop will keep the body from resisting."
He paused. Then smiled.
"Master that, and you'll use Vital Surge like a second heartbeat."
Icariel nodded. "Alright. Let's start again."
And so the day bled forward. Hours of sparring, chanting, wounds that screamed, and attempts that almost—but never quite—broke the barrier.
Until finally—
Baam.
Icariel collapsed, body trembling, lungs dragging night air into burning ribs.
"Another day, still didn't succeed…" he muttered, staring up at the stars—sharp things, cold and uncaring, like gods who'd lost interest.
Aelar stood nearby, branch in hand, breathing steady. "But you're close. You really do have a talent for healing."
"Don't say that until I master it."
Silence.
Then Icariel asked silently, "Hey, Voice… What do you call someone you learn from?"
"A teacher."
Icariel blinked. Looked at Aelar.
"…Teacher," he said aloud.
Aelar turned, surprised. "Oh? That's the first time you've called me that."
Icariel smiled faintly. "For giving me your time. Calling me a student. I should return the favor."
Aelar chuckled. "I like that."
He stretched.
"That's all for today. But tomorrow's going to hurt."
He turned to leave.
Then—
"Stay."
The voice again.
"Can you go ahead, teacher?" Icariel asked. "I want to stay a little longer. Organize my thoughts."
"Fine," Aelar said, waving without turning."But heal your cuts yourself. I'm not your nursemaid anymore."
Icariel nodded, sitting on the grass. The forest wrapped around him like a slow exhale. Stars blinked above—watching. Waiting.
Then the voice returned.
"You're close to mastering the ultimate healing technique. Prepare."
"For what?" Icariel asked silently.
The voice whispered, colder than wind.
"The next level."
"Superhuman awakening."
[END OF CHAPTER 35]