[Yes,] Serena said, the telepathic word definitive.
One of the male assessors, a middle-aged hunter with a scar bisecting his eyebrow, let out a long, slow breath. "Good. Thought you were gonna keep going all morning. Also, what was with the cat?"
"..."
Salih closed his eyes for a second, a muscle in his jaw ticking. "There appears to have been a miscommunication," he said, his voice strained with the effort of patience. "The demonstration was for you to show your core combat skills, then indicate you were finished."
The misunderstanding crashed over Serena. They hadn't been waiting for more; they'd been waiting for her to stop. The heat that flooded her face was so intense she was surprised the ice bouquet didn't melt in her hands. She dissolved it into a puff of mist, staring at the ground. "Oh."
A short, practical discussion followed among the assessors. It was unanimous: she had met and exceeded any reasonable expectation for control and power application.
"Salih mentioned you could fly as well?" Marta stated, more than asked.
"It seems so," Salih confirmed, his tone dry.
The scarred hunter shrugged. "Figures, with that level of fine manipulation. Could be damn useful for scouting."
All eyes turned to Serena, expectant.
Getting the hint, she focused. Her feet lifted a few inches from the packed earth. [I can achieve significant altitude and speed,] she offered.
"Show us a practical range," Marta instructed.
Salih was silent, watching intently.
Serena rose smoothly to about fifty meters—high enough for a clear vantage, low enough to remain a discrete speck against the sky. She flew a quick, wide circuit of the training yard at what she estimated was the speed of a sprinting horse, then descended, landing softly. A reasonable, utilitarian demonstration.
The assessors nodded, their approval clear and reserved. "You have the skill level of a mage in their prime," the scarred hunter noted. "Not far behind from our resident genius here." He clapped Salih on the shoulder.
Salih, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, was stiff. The other hunters noticed.
"What's the matter, Salih?" a woman with intricate braids teased. "Didn't know you were the type to get jealous."
"I am not jealous," he snapped, pushing his glasses up with a sharp gesture. "I observed something... technically aberrant about her methodology. That's all."
Serena's flush of pride cooled. 'Aberrant?'
"What's wrong with it?" Marta asked, practical.
"Without going into arcane theory," Salih said, his gaze fixed on Serena as if she were a faulty equation, "the flight spell she 'instinctively' learned is... unorthodox. Inefficient. It's like watching someone run a complex manufactory by hand-cranking every individual gear. It's triggering."
He explained, his voice shifting into lecture mode despite his clear annoyance. "Standard flight is a single, sustained transmutation—a layer of highly specific mana saturating the body, maintained passively by the core. Transmute, then sustain. What you are doing is a continuous, manual, whole-body manipulation. You are consciously holding every aspect of your magic aloft, every second. Most mages, even after a lifetime of study, couldn't manage the raw mental computation required to do that, let alone make it look that smooth."
He seemed genuinely, professionally baffled. He finally shook his head. "Let's just... chalk it up to you being a transmigrator. And perhaps a prodigy."
'... I'm not a prodigy,' Serena thought privately. 'I have a cheat sheet written in blood and tyranny.' But she said nothing.
"Regardless," Marta interjected, bringing the conversation back. "She's hired." She produced a rolled parchment from her coat. "This is a standard contractor's agreement. Outlines expectations, compensation for confirmed bear kills, and basic legal protections for all parties. Sign here."
Serena took the offered quill. She briefly wondered about the legal system of this world, but the trust she felt for these people overrode her caution. Besides, she could probably run away pretty easily if needed. She signed.
After the assessors dispersed, Serena stood awkwardly in the now-bustling yard, waiting for Salih. She wanted to ask about the flight spell, and still expected an aura suppression lesson.
A teenage hunter with bright ginger hair—the same girl who'd been part of the group yesterday—approached. "What're you loitering for? Waiting for a formal invitation to train?"
[No. Nothing,] Serena sent.
"Training grounds are open eight to five," the girl said, jerking her thumb at the equipment. "You're free to use 'em. I, for one," she added, a spark of challenge in her eyes, "want to see you practice."
Serena, unsure how to handle blunt teenage curiosity, simply replied, [Oh.]
Finally, Salih strode over. "Follow me—too many people here." He turned and walked out without checking if she complied, with her waving a quick goodbye to the ginger.
She hurried after him as he led her to an open field. When they stopped, he glared at her. "Your flight method," he said, the annoyance bubbling over now that they were alone. "It's an affront to magical efficiency. Watching it is physically painful. I will give you a proper spell matrix blueprint later. Seeing you brute-force it again might push me over the edge."
"..."
Having vented, he took a deep, calming breath of the cold air. "First, aura suppression. It's essentially the opposite of projecting your presence, if you know how to do that. Enhance your sight. You pull your active mana field tight against your core, containing its emissions."
He demonstrated after casting a simple fireball spell. His own subtle, scholarly aura—a feeling of focused intelligence and latent power—seemed to vanish, making him appear momentarily as mundane as an average human from Earth.
Over the course of a couple minutes, he guided her through the process. It was a subtle, internal tightening, a conscious reversal of the passive broadcast her body had maintained after every spell. To Serena, the sensation was unmistakably, bizarrely familiar. It felt like... holding in a bodily function. A specific, lower-digestive-tract urgency she hadn't experienced in this new body.
[I see,] she sent, thoughtful. [It's like
clenching. Internally. To contain the pressure.]
Salih stared at her, his professional mage demeanor fracturing. "What?"
[You know. The feeling of needing to
pass gas, but deliberately holding it in. The internal tension. It's a similar muscular-energetic containment.]
Salih's face went utterly blank, then he simply turned on his heel and began walking briskly back toward town. "The lesson is concluded!" he called over his shoulder, his voice strangled. "Practice that! Do not describe it to anyone! Ever!"
Serena watched him go, mildly perplexed.
She focused inward, practicing the 'clench.' Her aura began to shrink, folding neatly back into the vast, silent vault of her core. It was, she decided, a surprisingly simple fix. She just wouldn't mention the analogy again.