Meka and I entered the sand pit in the training area. The space was wide and shallow, ringed by low stone walls that bore the scars of countless prior lessons. Chips and grooves marred the stone where spells had gone wrong or weapons had struck too hard. The sand beneath our feet was pale and fine, churned smooth by boots, hooves, and magic alike, packed down in some places and loose in others. It shifted subtly under our weight, never quite still. Overhead, the training hall’s ceiling rose high enough to let light spill down in broad, dusty beams, illuminating the pit without warming it. The air smelled faintly of grit, old sweat, and lingering magic that never fully faded from places like this.

  Meka paused at the edge of the pit, adjusting her grip on Bunny. The familiar’s leaves rustled softly, reacting to the change in space and sound. She looked from the sand to me, ears tilting forward as she asked, “So what exactly are we going to train?”

  “We are going to train your spontaneity,” I said, stepping farther into the pit and planting my staff in the sand. “Your spells, more precisely. I assume you know some of the basic ones. Everyone learns them almost innately, even if they do not understand why they work. So first, I want to see what you already have. Can you show me your plant growth spell?”

  She glanced around the sand pit, eyes scanning the empty surface. Her ears swiveled slowly as she took it in, then she frowned. “There’s nothing here for me to grow.”

  “Sure there is,” I replied without hesitation. “There is plenty of life here. Plant matter, remnants of growth, things that were once alive. You just need to learn how to find it. The quicker you can do that, the better your control will become.”

  Meka hesitated, then stepped farther into the pit. Her hooves pressed shallow impressions into the sand as she shifted Bunny in her arms and stared downward, as if the answer might suddenly reveal itself. For a moment she looked uncertain, caught between what she could see and what she had been told.

  Then she closed her eyes.

  I felt a quiet spark of approval at that. I had not told her to do it. I had not prompted her or guided her. She had chosen it on her own.

  She listened.

  Not just with her ears, but with her magic. She reached outward, past the surface impressions and the obvious emptiness, and listened for what lingered beneath. She listened to the faint presence of plants, to remnants of growth ground down into dust over months and years. Microscopic fibers. Crushed leaves. Spores so small they might as well have been memories rather than matter. This place was not sterile, no matter how much the guild pretended it was. No place ever truly was.

  Her breathing slowed as she focused, shoulders relaxing as her awareness settled into the sand. I watched the subtle shift in her posture, the way her stance grew more grounded without her realizing it. This was instinct, not training, and that made it all the more valuable.

  She began to chant softly. The words were uneven, not perfectly measured, but they carried intent. The sound was low and earnest, shaped more by feeling than precision. At the end of the chant, she said, clearly and with conviction, “I cast Plant Growth.”

  The sand pit answered.

  At first, the change was subtle enough that someone not watching closely might have missed it. Tiny green shoots broke the surface like pinpricks, barely more than a suggestion of life. Then more followed, spreading outward in uneven patches as the sand shifted and parted. Thorny vines pushed up alongside delicate flowers. Stubby stems and narrow leaves crowded together, mismatched and awkward, competing for the same scant nourishment. Everything was small, stunted by the limited resources available, but it was undeniably alive.

  The pit was no longer empty.

  Meka’s eyes flew open. She stared at the uneven field she had created, disbelief giving way to delight in a matter of seconds. Then she looked at me with that wide, goofy grin that was unmistakably bovine. She jumped in place, hooves thudding into the sand and flattening some of the fragile growth without noticing. “I did it. Did you see that? I did it.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Yes,” I said, allowing myself a small smile. “You did.”

  I let her enjoy the moment for a heartbeat longer, letting the success settle in her bones, before continuing. “Now that all of this is here,” I said, gesturing with my staff at the uneven greenery, “you are going to cast again. But this time, you are not going to invoke anything.”

  She blinked, the excitement faltering just enough to make room for confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “Instead of speaking your magic out loud and commanding a spell the way you normally would,” I explained, “you are going to feed it directly into Bunny. Give him your intention, not your words. Let him do what he will do.”

  She looked down at Bunny in her arms. The familiar’s acorn eyes met hers, curious and alert. Then she looked back up at me. There was uncertainty there, but no fear. “Okay,” she said, after a brief pause.

  I watched her carefully as she adjusted her grip on her familiar. Honestly, I could not have asked for a better apprentice. Meka was willing to try what I asked of her, even when she did not fully understand it. There was curiosity in her, certainly, but there was also trust. She did not hesitate once she committed.

  That trust was a blade with two edges, and I was keenly aware of it. I had no intention of taking advantage of it. I intended to teach her how to keep that trust without letting it blind her to her own responsibility.

  “Take your time,” I added quietly. “Listen again. This time, you are not alone.”

  She drew in a slow breath and closed her eyes once more. Her mana pushed outward, not in a structured weave, but in a gentle, unfocused surge. There was effort there, but no shape, no guiding thought behind it yet.

  I watched Bunny instead, because that was always where the truth showed itself. I knew what she was doing by watching Bunny.

  The familiar lifted its head, leaves rustling in an uncertain twitch as its body shifted. Branches flexed as if searching for something that was missing. It accepted the mana readily, drinking it in without resistance, but without direction or purpose. Bunny was reacting to the power rather than shaping it, confused but compliant.

  That told me everything I needed to know.

  “It only works if it understands what you are trying to do,” I said, keeping my voice even. “If you give it nothing but power, it will simply eat it. You are wasting your time if you do not give it meaning.”

  Meka did not answer. She remained where she was, shoulders tense, continuing to push more and more mana into Bunny. The flow was steady and unbroken, a simple act of effort without thought behind it. Bunny reacted almost immediately. Its leaves shivered, branches drawing inward as if bracing. There was only so much the little familiar could hold at once.

  That was the moment I had been waiting for.

  I stepped in close behind her and brought the tip of my staff down against the back of her head, sharp enough to shatter her focus without causing harm. The instant her concentration broke, Bunny released the gathered magic in a wild surge, the energy spilling outward in an unshaped burst driven by the only sensation left to it: pain.

  I had already placed myself safely behind her. I had learned long ago how these things tended to end, and I had no interest in being caught in the blast.

  Meka staggered and spun on me, one hand flying up to rub the spot I had struck. “What was that for?” she demanded.

  “Did you hear what I said?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said, clearly offended. “You said to give Bunny my mana and then he would do something.”

  I tapped her on the head again, lighter this time. “Ow. Why would you do that?”

  “Because you did not listen,” I said. “You gave him your mana, but you gave him nothing else. You must give him your intention as well. What you want the magic to become. Bunny can shape what you give him, but he cannot invent the shape on his own.

  “This is free-formed casting. It does not require spoken spells. It does not require you to be the one who completes the weave. Bunny is the one doing the actual casting.”

  She listened now, fully, ears angled forward and eyes fixed on me.

  “What you were doing was feeding him power without direction,” I continued. “If you had continued, you would have run yourself dry, and he would have released it all at once. So yes, I had to bonk you.”

  She rubbed the spot between her horns and looked at me, ears flicking back as she said, “That wasn’t very nice.”

  “Meka,” I replied evenly, “did you hear what I said? You could have dropped right there. Would you rather I bonk you, or would you rather collapse in the middle of a fight because you burned yourself empty?”

  She froze, eyes widening as the implication sank in. After a moment, she nodded slowly. “The bonk,” she said.

  I was exaggerating, but only a little.

  Nothing catastrophic would have happened. She would have run herself dry, lost consciousness, and been helpless for however long it took her body to recover. There was no dramatic backlash waiting at the end of that path. No bursting flesh. No melted bones.

  That kind of mistake does not kill you in a training hall.

  It kills you in combat.

  Fear has its uses, but discipline is better. What she needed was not terror of her own magic, but respect for its limits. A sharp correction now would save her from learning that lesson when the ground was hostile and someone else was deciding whether she lived.

  She straightened, rubbing between her horns, attention fully back on me.