I started again, repeating the same cycle of spells.
A ball of fire.
A lance.
A shield.
An implosion.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The rhythm of my spellcasting became mechanical and robotic. Gather. Shape. Release. Correct. Observe. Repeat. I refined the angle of Fireball until its arc shortened by a fraction. I narrowed Vector Lance until it pierced rather than burned. I thinned Ember Shield until it used less Aether to cover the same defensive surface. I compressed Implosion until the sphere stopped trembling in my palm.
Each spell worked.
Each spell improved.
But none of them opened the door to the next stage.
[COMPREHENSION: 95.5%]
Again.
[COMPREHENSION: 95.7%]
And again.
[COMPREHENSION: 95.8%]
And again.
[COMPREHENSION: 95.8%]
Eventually I started to notice that the number next to comprehension did not change.
I stood there, my hand still raised, staring at the final display.
My arm ached. My breathing was heavy. Heat clung to my skin. The room had grown warmer, the air had become drier. Sweat traced the side of my face, cooling too slowly beneath the dim light.
I was doing everything correctly.
And that was my problem.
Every spell was correct. Every spell was refined, and every ounce of Aether I managed to conjure was adjusted and controlled to make sense.
Yet, it felt like I was polishing the same bit of surface over and over again, making it seem brighter without actually touching the substance that was beneath it.
My fingers curled in annoyance.
"Ignis: Fireball."
The next sphere formed larger than necessary.
And I knew it as soon as I cast it.
But I released it anyway.
It slammed into the target harder than before, exploding in a wide flare that painted the wall in a red-gold light.
[OUTPUT EXCESSIVE]
[USER'S CONTROL VARIANCE RISING]
[COMPREHENSION: 95.8%]
I clicked my tongue.
"Tch. Ignis: Vector Lance."
The lance burned wider than intended. It struck the target off-centre, gouging a burning line across the plate instead of piercing cleanly.
[USER'S CONTROL VARIANCE RISING]
[WASTED OUTPUT INCREASED]
[RECOMMENDATION: REDUCE OUTPUT]
"Yeah. I know."
I cast again, knowing deep down that nothing would change.
This time my Ember Shield flared and fluctuated too violently, spreading farther than needed and grazing part of my shoulder.
[DEFENSIVE STRUCTURE INEFFICIENT]
[RECOMMENDATION: CEASE PRACTICE]
I ignored it.
'Come on. Work. Work. It has to work.'
"Ignis: Implosion."
This time the sphere formed too quickly.
It was too dense.
And too unstable.
I threw it before it could collapse in my hand.
The blazing sphere crashed against the wall chaotically, rather than the target, bursting in a violent flash that made the runes on the training hall walls flare bright white for a split second. Sparks formed and scattered across the floor, resembling an army of fire ants.
[USER CONTROL DEGRADATION DETECTED]
[OUTPUT IS EXCESSIVE]
[RECOMMENDATION REPEATED: CEASE PRACTICE]
"Yeah. Yeah. Very helpful," I muttered. "Thank you for identifying the obvious."
[USER RESPONSE: SLIGHT IRRITATION]
"No. Not slight. Major."
[RECOMMENDATION REPEATED: CEASE PRACTICE]
I almost cast again out of spite.
That was when I stopped and took a deep breath.
Not because I had run out of Aether, or that my body lost its strength, or that my hands could no longer shape the flame I was releasing.
No.
It was because I realised the unpleasant fact that I was no longer practising.
I was casting fire at anything and everything because I was angry.
Like a child throwing a tantrum.
I lowered my hand.
'Sorry, Codex, I didn't mean to take out my frustration on you. It's not your fault that I'm stuck in this rut.'
The hall went quiet except for the faint crackle of cooling stone and the slow pulse of suppression runes settling back into their dim glow.
I walked to the wall and dropped down against it, letting my back rest against the cold stone.
For several moments, I simply breathed.
In.
Out.
Slowly.
The irritation may not have vanished, but it became easier to accept once I stopped feeding it.
"How mature," I murmured to myself. "I'm unable to advance, so I decide to take it out on a wall."
The wall, somehow, looked at me as if unimpressed.
A small flame still flickered above my palm. I had not dismissed it fully. It burned no larger than the size of a coin, wavering faintly over my skin.
'A coin.'
My mind went, annoyingly, to Cyril.
Back in the maze, he had manipulated flame with that impossible casual precision of his, shaping and moving it around with such focus as if the fire were simply another limb to him. It wasn't wasteful. It wasn't loud or flashy. It was controlled in a way that felt effortless.
I looked at the little flame above my palm.
"Fine."
I pinched my fingers slightly, trying to flatten the faint flame into a thin disc.
It stretched.
Wobbled.
Split into two unevenly.
Then collapsed into a pathetic flicker.
I stared at it.
"How the hell did Cyril do this?"
The Codex remained silent.
Probably out of pity.
Or probably out of the need to stay silent in this moment.
I reformed the flame.
This time, I tried again, slower. I flattened it, curved it, attempted to rotate the edge.
The flame bent to one side.
I corrected it.
It bent again.
I corrected it again.
Then it flickered higher, thinning at the base.
I frowned.
"Damn it. It feels like even the universe is mocking me right now."
[OUTCOME: HIGHLY UNLIKELY]
"Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm just deflecting."
Actually, I frowned not because I failed to recreate Cyril's coin trick, but because I finally noticed why.
It wasn't because my technique was poor; it wasn't unstable because I lacked control.
It was because the room was acting on it.
I finally started to notice how the heat in the room rose.
A faint current moved from left to right, so slight I had not noticed it before. The air near the floor was cooler. The space above my palm was warmer. Pressure shifted with every breath I took. Each time the flame bent, I corrected it by force.
Again.
And again.
And again.
I stared at the small flame.
It bent left.
I forced it upright.
It thinned.
I fed more Aether into the base.
It rose.
I suppressed it.
Every movement from the environment created a response, and every response from the flame demanded a correction from me.
The Codex pulsed.
[CASTING REVIEW AVAILABLE]
I leaned my head back against the wall.
"If the review is 'be less stupid, then I'm not interested."
[REPEATED CASTING ERROR IDENTIFIED]
I paused.
Then sighed.
"Fine. Continue."
[PRIMARY INSTABILITY SOURCE: ENVIRONMENTAL RESISTANCE]
[USER RESPONSE: FORCEFUL CORRECTION]
[RESULT: TEMPORARY STABILITY OR LONG-TERM WASTE]
I frowned.
"What do you mean, environmental resistance?"
[CURRENT METHOD: FLAME SHAPE MAINTAINED AGAINST ENVIRONMENT]
[RECOMMENDATION: CEASE STRUCTURED SPELLFORM REPETITION]
[IGNIS COMPREHENSION INCOMPLETE]
[CURRENT ERROR: USER CONTINUES TO FORCE FORM BEFORE UNDERSTANDING FLOW OF SURROUNDINGS]
The flame bent again.
This time, I did not immediately correct it.
It leaned with the air.
Tiny.
Almost insignificant.
But not random.
The room had spoken first.
The flame had answered.
The Codex continued.
[NEW RECOMMENDATION: CAST IGNIS WITHOUT A SPELLFORM]