Time did not move the way Vernon expected it to.
In the forest, days weren't measured by clocks or bells, but by the way the light crept across stone, by the dull ache that settled into muscles after long hours of repetition, by hunger returning at familiar intervals. Weeks passed without announcement, folding into one another so quietly that Vernon only noticed them in hindsight - when something that once felt impossible suddenly felt... manageable.
The cave became home in that slow, dangerous way comfort always did.
Each morning, Vernon sat near the entrance where the light was strongest, Alice's notes spread across a flat stone Derek had dragged in for him. At first, the pages might as well been written in another language entirely. Symbols looped into one another. Numbers were scattered between diagrams that resembled arteries more than spell work.
Magic, he learned, was not born from imagination alone.
It was governed by rules that people did not follow, meaning that the average level of mana handling on an average mage was half of what Alice had developed in these notes.
Alice explained, mana responds to pressure the way water does. Too much force and it tears through it's vessel. Too little and it stagnated, turning sluggish and heavy. Alice had written equations describing flow based on mass and density, notes on resistance within mana pathways, annotations warning against sudden exertion.
Vernon began copying the formulas into the dirt with a stick, repeating them until they felt familiar. when Derek noticed, he bought charcoal and bark scraps without comment. Vernon thanked him quietly. He was learning which questions didn't need to be asked.
Understanding came slowly.
It took Vernon nearly a month to truly grasp the first chapter - not memorize it, but understand it. When the realization finally settled, he laughed under his breath, startled by the sound. It had been so long since he'd felt something click into place.
A week later, he found something he had not been looking for.
The technique was tucked between dense research notes and half-finished theories, written in softer ink, the strokes gentler. It didn't have a name however there was an entire page dedicated to names that were scrapped leaving it un-named. The diagrams were simplified compared to the rest of the notes-fewer symbols, fewer lines.
But Vernon felt it immediately.
His chest tightened as he read.
This one wasn't meant to be rushed.
He closed the book and slid it back into his satchel, heart pounding, as if afraid the knowledge itself might notice him hesitating.
Instead of trying it he went down to the lake.
Melian was there, as she often was now-sitting atop a stop that barely broke the surface of the water, feet hovering just above it. Her golden hair drifting lazily despite the still air, eyes reflecting the sky in shades of blue that didn't quite exist.
Vernon approached Melian with the intent of taking his mind of the technique whilst still contemplating it subconsciously.
"Melian," Vernon said with a curious tone. "Do spirits eat?"
Melian turned around and tilted her head. "Some do."
"What do they eat?"
"Feelings, Light, Places, Time." she paused. "I.. like warmth."
Vernon nodded, committing it to memory as if it mattered deeply. "Then.. Do you have a favourite colour?"
She blinked surprised. "Blue and White.. maybe the colour just before sunrise" She stated after a short pause.
"hm.. then what do you do all day?"
Melian smiled mischievously, an unreadable mischievous smile. "Watch."
This answer followed him even long after when she went back deep into the forest.
in contrast Bruce's days were anything but quiet.
His world was defined by strain and repetition. By the sharp bark of Derek's correction and the burn that settled deep into his muscles. He held stances until his legs trembled, learned to breathe through pain rather than against it.
Two minutes.
That was how long Derek demanded now.
Bruce managed it with clenched teeth and shaking arms, sweat dripping from his grow. When Derek finally told him to stop, Bruce would collapse backward into the dirt, chest heaving-then laughing weakly.
"I told you," he said between breaths. "I'd get there."
Derek watched him for a long moment. "You're improving."
Later, as Bruce cleaned his blade near the lake, Derek spoke again, his voice quieter this time.
"I dont know how to guide him."
Bruce looked up. "Vernon?"
Derek nodded. "I can correct your mistakes. i can see your limits." his jaw tightened. "But he's walking a path I've never stepped on. I feel... useless."
Bruce considered that. "He doesn't need you to know everything," he said finally. "Just stay by his side."
That night, Derek opened up Alice's research again.
And found no answers waiting for him.
After days of indecision, Vernon returned to the unnamed technique.
He sat cross-legged in the cave, the world hushed around him. This wasn't about force. it wasn't about control.
It was the first step to clear out his mana pathways.
Alice described mana pathways as roads slowly clogged by residue-stress, illness, fear, inherited imperfections, Over time, this build-up hardened into something viscous, obstructive.
She didn't name it.
Vernon closed his eyes and breathed.
he spent hours breathing trying to feel anything related to what was described by his mother, about 7 hours went by with him breaking his own concentration through focusing on small sounds like birds chirping, water dripping and even his own heartbeat. Though finally after all that time he felt mana and guided it into his body though at first it was uncomfortable and felt as if it was sticking and stopping in parts of his body that felt unnatural.
He guided it gently, coaxing it forward the way one might encourage a child to stand. the first movement through the sticky area was agony. A thick, Sluggish pressure spread through his chest, cold and heavy. His breath hitched.
Then something peeled away.
The sensation was awful-like grime being dragged from deep within him. Dark, sticky residue seeped from his pores, pooling beneath him. Vernon nearly collapsed, gasping.
But he had achieved it, The mana flowed.
Weak. Unsteady.
Alive.
Like a baby's first step.
Bruce held his stance for two minutes again the next morning.
This time, he didn't fall.
That night, Derek sat at the cave entrance, sword resting across his knees, eyes open as the moonlight spilled across the stone. Inside, Vernon slept deeply, Exhaustion weighing him down. Bruce's breathing was steady nearby.
And for the first time in a long while, Derek allowed himself to believe they were moving forward.