The waterfall at the edge of Corin's estate was a constant, rhythmic roar that should have been soothing, but to Tara, it was merely the background noise of his growing irritation.

  Under the sprawling shade of an ancient, silver-leafed oak, Elder Corin was currently snoring. It wasn't even a dignified, "wise master" snore; it was a rhythmic, wheezing whistle that sounded like a tired tea kettle. His hat was pulled low over his eyes.

  "The key is precision, Tara," Elder Corin had told him three days ago, right before leaning back against the trunk and checking out of reality. "Mana isn't just a hammer. Sometimes, it needs to be a needle. See those sticks? Use them."

  He had tossed two sticks onto the grass. One was about the thickness of a pencil—the 'Thin One.' The other was as thick as a bamboo stick—the 'Thick One.'

  The task was simple, yet maddening. Tara needed to use his mana to carve a hole through a head-sized boulder. The hole had to be wide enough for the Thin One to slide through with zero resistance, but narrow enough that the Thick One would get stuck.

  It sounded easy. It was not.

  Tara had split himself. Several pyramid-form clones hovered over the lawn, each fixed on a boulder. One clone in wolf form paced the edge of the training ground—its only job was to set rocks. Fetch from the pile, roll them into place, step back. The pyramid clones pulsed with low, frustrated amber light.

  *Okay. Let's try a focused Energy Blast.*

  One of the clones concentrated, localizing the power of his Energy Blast into a singular, needle-thin point on one of his vertices. He didn't move; he simply let the intensity build internally and then snapped it forward.

  The boulder exploded.

  Shards of granite rained across the lawn. The clone's facets dimmed in surprise. The wolf clone was already trotting over with a replacement. *Okay. Too much.*

  They tried again. And again. The wolf clone kept setting rocks. Each time the pyramid clones dialed back the output, but the Energy Blast was designed for destruction, not surgical precision. Boulders burst apart. Cracked in half. Sprayed gravel. The feedback from the stone's density kept splashing the energy back, turning focused intent into blunt force.

  *Useless. How many rocks have we blasted? Maybe a million.*

  The clones looked over at Elder Corin. The old man let out a particularly loud snort and scratched his beard in his sleep.

  *Hey! Master Nappin'! A pointer? Maybe a hint about how to localize the compression? Anything?*

  Corin didn't even flinch. A butterfly landed on the tip of his nose. He didn't move.

  *Is he even alive? Is this some kind of master-level meditation, or did he just have a very heavy lunch?*

  Tara turned back to the rocks. A pile of failed boulders lay behind them—burst apart, reduced to gravel and sharp fragments.

  The problem was the feedback. Every time the clones tried to focus their mana into a cutting edge, the density of the stone caused the energy to splash back. The Energy Blast was designed for destruction, not surgical precision. To make it a drill, they had to hold the energy in a state of constant, vibrating tension.

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  The mana wanted to expand; it wanted to flow. Constantly forcing it into a microscopic point was exhausting.

  *Needle, not a hammer.*

  One of the clones closed—or rather, dimmed—his sensory facets. He stopped looking at the exterior of the rock and started feeling the vibrations. The waterfall. The grass. Corin's tea-kettle snoring. The wolf clone set a new boulder before him: a smooth, river-washed grey stone.

  He didn't use a standard Energy Blast. Instead, he tried to mimic the way the waterfall carved the cliffside. Not a single, violent impact, but a constant, high-pressure stream. He compressed his mana until his edges hummed, then released a thread of energy so thin it was almost invisible.

  He felt the rock resist. He felt the grain of the granite. The thread tried to widen, to escape. He squeezed harder.

  *SQUEEZE.*

  A thin, clean line of blue light pierced the stone. There was no explosion, no puff of dust—just a soft hiss of vaporized minerals. He held the thread for a breath, then cut it.

  He hovered over the stone, his facets pulsing a cautious green. *Finally. A hole.*

  The wolf clone padded over, picked up the Thin One in its jaws, and slid it through. Perfect fit. It dropped the stick and grabbed the Thick One. That slid through too. The hole was too big for both.

  *Of course.* The pyramid clones pulsed a collective, grumpy orange. *We finally stop exploding rocks and we drill a tunnel instead of a hole.*

  *Maybe we can find another stick that does not fit. I wonder if Master Nappin' will realise. Best not to test him.*

  The wolf clone went back to setting rocks.

  ---

  They tried again. And again. More explosions. More near-misses. The wolf clone kept the boulders coming. Hours bled away.

  Then—a second clean pierce. A thin line of blue light, no explosion, no dust. Another hole.

  One of the pyramid clones hovered over it, facets pulsing a cautious green. *This one. This one has to be right.* The wolf clone was already trotting toward the sticks—

  Wind whooshed. A shadow swept across the lawn.

  Lady Seraphina reined in her mount at the edge of the estate—wings folding, a great pale creature still heaving from the flight. She swung down from the saddle before it had fully stopped, her robes flying, and strode toward the oak tree.

  "Master Corin!" Her voice cut through the waterfall. "Master! Wake up!"

  Corin jerked upright, hat askew, blinking into the sudden daylight. "What—? Seraphina? What in the—"

  "There is trouble," Seraphina said with a sense of urgency.

  ********* Chapter end *********