I crossed into the magical world before dawn. The air was thick with raw mana, heavier than anything I had felt around the capital, almost suffocating in its density. Every breath pulled it into me, humming along my nerves, twisting through my blood. The forest around me seemed aware, the trees leaning slightly, the undergrowth trembling as if sensing my presence. Even from a distance, mana flowed like rivers beneath the soil, winding and intertwining in ways my senses could just barely perceive.

  I found a clearing, flat and quiet, shielded from wind and stray light. No interruptions, no distractions, just me and the pulse of the world.

  I started slow. Breathing, feeling mana move through me, coaxing it to respond instead of recoil. My body ached. My bones screamed from the last use of Doom. Even a fraction of that strain had left bruises in places I could not see. Pain was a guide, not a barrier. I let small sparks dance along my fingertips, feeling the threads stretch and recoil. The mana did not obey instantly; it demanded attention, patience, and coaxing.

  The first exercise was simple control: draw it, hold it, release it. Ignite a point, extinguish it, push the edge further, always mindful of the feedback. Every misstep sent a ripple of strain across my muscles, a tingle along my spine. It reminded me how fragile the human body could be in contrast to this raw, unrestrained force.

  Once I had a rhythm, I layered on the idea I had been nursing: constant recovery magic. A gentle, persistent flow of restoration, stitching bruises, knitting bones, clearing fatigue as I pulled Doom through me. My body was not immune to the stress, but it could handle more now. At first, the mana lagged, uneven. Parts of my arms healed too fast, burning against me; other parts crawled, refusing to catch up. I adjusted, coaxing flow and balance, merging raw destruction with regeneration. The forest hummed along with me, as though it approved or at least observed with patience.

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  I did not dare assume it worked. My hands hovered, feeling the surge, the energy straining against my limits. "Well… one way to find out if this works," I muttered.

  I shaped Doom in my hands, letting the destructive energy coalesce, humming faintly as it responded to thought and will. Every wound on my body flared, a sharp stab of pain, the reminder that the spell was dangerous, even with recovery supporting me. As the tax of using Doom started touching each spot, the pain vanished the moment the spell met my skin, like a hammer of magic smoothing over a crack in reality. My cuts closed. Bruises faded. Muscles that had screamed in protest stilled. The spell worked, at least enough to start pushing further.

  I practiced moving Doom, shaping it, throwing small arcs, testing its precision. And then it hit me. What if I forced it into a coin, compact and solid, flipping through reality itself? The idea was dangerous. Even now, the spell taxed me. Recovery could hold me together, but not forever. The coin could turn success into near-invincibility for a short window, but failure, I did not want to imagine that.

  I focused. I let threads of reality bend with the shape of Doom, nudging timing, reaction, and trajectory just slightly. My heartbeat raced. Energy surged. The forest trembled faintly. My body strained even with the healing magic keeping it whole. Every movement was calculated, precise, taxing. I could feel the power of this coin trick pushing me beyond limits I had never tested before.

  When it landed in my hands, when I felt the effect, the brief, fleeting clarity, the speed, the strength, I gasped, nearly collapsing, even though the recovery spell held me upright. Every fiber of my body screamed the cost, even as it healed, reminding me that even godlike spells like this were not free.

  I sat back against a tree, chest heaving, sweat and residual blood mingling, but the air was quiet. The forest seemed still, expectant, aware. Every flicker of mana pulsed around me, teasing with potential. Threads of reality quivered beneath my fingers like a puzzle revealing new edges.

  "Well, this is interesting."