Shoshana Ch. 05

Dak sat down at the table across from Shoshana, the books settling softly between them as if drawn by invisible strings. He reached for the top volume--the same one they had studied over the last few evenings: Theories of Magic.

"Today," he said, his tone measured, "we are going to move past the first page." He tapped the thick leather cover lightly with one fingertip. "We've only read the first line so far. We've discussed it at length as well. That was by design. It is a very important lesson to learn. And without that, the rest of the book could be dangerous. Even you recognized the purpose behind the blank pages that followed.

There was no smile when he said this, not exactly--but the pride in his voice was there. It flickered in his eyes. "Now that you understand that, we can move forward."

He turned the pages carefully until he reached the first full passage of text, then slid the book across the table toward her. "Read," he said simply.

Shoshana, eager to learn, did as she was told. She sat up in her chair as she leaned over the book. "This is it," she thought. "This is what I've been waiting for."

The first few paragraphs were familiar--almost word for word what Dak had explained during their earlier lessons. A careful, deliberate restatement of the price of magic: its weight, its consequences, and its inescapability.

"That makes sense," she mused. "After the initial warning, the next step would naturally be a deeper explanation of what that warning truly means." It was a thoughtful structure. Whoever had written the book hadn't just wanted their words to be read--they wanted them to be absorbed.

She turned the page. The next heading rose from the parchment in a slightly larger script: The Essence of Magic.

Her heart lifted. "Yes." Finally, she was stepping into the real heart of it--what magic truly was. She continued to read.

Magic is not a single force but a multifaceted energy that flows through the very fabric of existence. It is a fundamental part of the world, like gravity or time--both invisible and undeniable. The essence of magic can be understood as the unseen threads that connect all things. It does not just exist; it binds existence together. From the smallest pebble on the ground to the farthest star in the sky, magic is the silent force that unites the vast and the minute, the seen and the unseen.

Some theorists argue that magic is the language of the universe--an ancient dialect that speaks in symbols, energies, and patterns. Just as one can understand the world through logic and reason, so too can a mage learn to understand it through the symbols of magic. However, unlike the rigid rules of logic or mathematics, magic is fluid, open to interpretation, and malleable in the hands of those who know how to listen to its language. To speak magic is to speak the very tongue of creation.

Shoshana paused, eyes still resting on the page as her mind drifted--turning the words over, tasting their meaning. The very language of creation. It sounded poetic, almost lofty. But the longer she sat with it, the more literal it began to feel.

"If magic connects everything... if it binds and shapes reality itself... then to learn magic isn't just to learn spells. It's learning to speak to the world. To negotiate with it. To command it, maybe?

Her fingers brushed the parchment absently, mind turning faster now. She glanced up. Dak hadn't moved. He sat still across from her, watching as always--not intrusively, but attentively. Studying her.

For a moment, she wondered if he was trying to read her thoughts--but she quickly dismissed the idea. No, not tonight. She could still smell the ashes of the forge, feel the warmth of it all around her. Her defenses were holding strong, as they had all day. If he'd tried to get through, he would have found only that, the rhythmic pounding of metal, the memory of sweat and glowing coals. The echo of a hammer on steel. A wall of flame and will.

Whatever his talents, they hadn't breached her defenses.

That realization brought a small, private smirk to her lips. She was getting better at this. He hadn't praised her yet for it, but the silence told her what she needed to know. He was waiting. Testing her.

She parted her lips, finally ready to speak--but Dak raised his hand first.

"Stick with that chapter," he said. "Read the rest of it tonight. Tomorrow, you can tell me what you think--and ask whatever questions you have." His voice was calm, measured, final. The lesson, at least for tonight, was over.

Shoshana looked back down at Theories of Magic, scanning ahead. The chapter on essence appeared to be at least ten pages long and densely written. Her fingers hovered at the edge of the parchment, though she didn't turn it yet.

When she looked up again, Dak was already rising from his seat. Without another word, he crossed the room and ascended the stairs. The library shimmered faintly behind him, the spell that formed it still clinging to the air like smoke from a snuffed candle.

Her shoulders slumped with a quiet sigh. The lessons always ended sooner than she hoped. While she could not deny how much she was learning, she wanted more; she craved it. She felt like she was ready for it.

"He said they would start slow," she reminded herself. "Ease into the work. Build a foundation." But that foundation had been laid, hadn't it? Her body had begun to adjust to the brutal rooftop drills, and her mind felt sharper than ever--alive with magic's quiet pull.

She cast a glance toward the staircase, half-expecting him to call down a last word, explaining how she needed to be more patient. But the room remained silent. It was just her now. Her and the book.

And even if Dak had somehow been listening in--still watching her--he would hear nothing new. Her defenses were still holding strong. Her thoughts were her own again.

With a deep breath, both steadying and excited, she turned back to the book, "So be it," she thought. "Let's see what the rest of this chapter has to say."

She turned the page, eyes drawn into the next passage as if the words themselves carried weight.

But magic is not a language in the traditional sense; it is far more complex. It is a system of communication between all things, a means by which the world expresses itself. The wind does not speak in words, yet it howls with purpose. The trees do not whisper in syllables, yet their leaves sway in rhythm with the seasons. And the stars--those distant beacons of light--do not utter names or sounds, but their movements trace the oldest patterns of existence.

When a mage speaks a spell or gestures toward the heavens, they are not simply issuing a command. They are tapping into this deep, primordial language, reaching into the very heart of creation itself. They are not creating magic from nothing; they are merely speaking the words that already exist in the universe, words that have been there since the beginning of all things.

She sat with that for a long time, reading and rereading the lines, letting them sink deeper into her understanding. The room was still--quiet but not empty. It felt full of something larger than her, larger than Dak, larger even than the magic they studied. She kept reading.

The words blurred softly, from one page to the next, each paragraph unfolding new truths, ancient theories, and glimpses of how magic shaped the world beneath, around, and within her. Time slipped past unnoticed.

Eventually, the soft flicker of candlelight had burned low enough that she noticed the time. Her body reminded her that it had indeed been a long day, good, but long.

She closed the book gently, treating it with the care it deserved. She wasn't finished with it--not yet--but her mind was full, her thoughts buzzing in ways she didn't yet have words for. The kind of tiredness she felt wasn't from rooftop drills or long hours in the forest. This was deeper. Not exhaustion, not exactly--just... full.

She rose from the chair and walked quietly up the stairs to her room, the book tucked beneath her arm like a secret worth keeping. The library dissolved behind her, no longer needed for the night. Stone swallowed the shelves as the tower returned to its normal shape once more.

When she stepped into her room, the door sealed quietly behind her, the sound no more than a sigh. She placed the book on the small table beside her bed and began to disrobe, only now beginning to truly feel all the aches and pains of the day settling into her body. Even so, as she lay on the bed, she felt relaxed. Her aches and stresses melted away as she let the cool air of the night settle over her naked body like a comforting blanket.

The forge memory was still kindling behind her eyes, a low pulsing warmth ready to protect her if needed. But tonight, her last thoughts before drifting off to sleep were not of steel or heat. They were not of Nin, or seduction.

She thought of wind speaking without words. Stars that wrote meaning without sound. And of magic that had waited, patiently, since the beginning of time.

Sleep came to her quickly, and for once, her dreams were quiet.

The next morning found her on the rooftop as usual. With her newfound mental armor firmly in place, the training went smoother than ever--though she knew better than to get comfortable. It was only a matter of time before Dak threw something new at her, raising the stakes as he always did.

Surprisingly, after their rooftop session, she only needed a small snack to recover her strength--a quiet but undeniable sign of progress. Then it was off to the forest once more: business as usual. She struck multiple targets with both dagger and bow, her movements sharper, her instincts quicker. Now and then, she felt a subtle tug at the edges of her mind--Dak testing her shields, perhaps--but she held steady.

Her skills were improving. That much was certain. And for the first time, Dak seemed to agree. At the end of the session, he informed her that from now on, they would only train in the forest once a week--just enough to keep her edge. Her evening lessons, he told her, would now begin immediately after rooftop training.

Instead of heading into town as she often did, Shana decided to spend her free time studying Theories of Magic. With her lessons shifting, she could feel something coming--some kind of turning point--and she wanted to be ready. She had a growing suspicion that very soon, Dak would begin teaching her to wield magic more deliberately, beyond just shielding her thoughts or resisting mental attacks.

The idea thrilled her. And terrified her.

Real magic. Not just theory or passive defense, but actual spellwork. The kind of magic that changed things. The kind that might demand more than just energy or rest. She thought back to their earlier lessons--about the price of magic, the balance of things, and the danger of shortcuts. "Am I ready for that?" The answer wasn't clear. But she knew she wanted to be. And she had to trust that Dak would not teach her something he did not believe she was ready to learn.

Evening fell, and with it came the now-familiar transformation of the common room. Shoshana sat at the table, and the stone walls shimmered, giving way to polished oak and high shelves brimming with books. Tomes unfurled themselves across the long central table like birds settling onto a branch. Dak was already seated at the far end, waiting.

She took her usual seat across from him, placing Theories of Magic in front of her.

"Well?" he asked, without preamble. "What are your thoughts on the chapter?"

Shoshana straightened as she looked at the book's cover. "It's not just about casting spells. Magic is... a language. But not like ours. It's how the world--nature communicates with itself, how everything connects. When a mage casts a spell, they're not creating something new. They are using the language that's already written into the world."

Dak gave a small nod of approval. Subtle but unmistakable. "Go on."

"It made me think about why magic has a cost," she continued. "If you are drawing on something that is so deeply a part of existence, then of course there is going to be tension. Of course, it takes something. You are shifting the balance--changing the story mid-sentence."

A flicker of something passed through his eyes--respect perhaps. Or quiet satisfaction.

"And your questions?" he prompted.

Shoshana didn't hesitate. "If magic is already a part of everything, why can't everyone use it? Is it a bloodline thing? Talent? Or just... paying attention?"

Dak leaned back, thoughtfully. "Some of it is blood, yes--though that is rare. Talent plays a role as well. But the real answer is in perception. Most people never notice the threads of magic. They move through the world blind to the things around them. Magic-users typically are not born knowing how to use magic. They are just born more... awake."

He gestured toward her lightly. "I told you once that I suspected you could wield magic because of your Elven heritage. That isn't strictly because of your blood, not exactly. No, it is because Elves tend to be more aware of things. More attuned to nature. They see things that others do not. And that is the real key."

Shoshana nodded slowly, mulling that over in her mind. "If the world is already full of magic," she said after a moment, "then why do spells need gestures? Words? Isn't intent enough?"

"Yes and no." He answered cryptically. "Intent is the flame. But words and gestures are the flint and steel. They bring the flame to life. Intent is also the wind; it gives the fire direction. Otherwise, you have fire with no hearth."

She went quiet again, her thoughts racing. Then, carefully, she asked her next question. "Is it possible... to see the threads? Like, perceive magic the way we perceive light or sound?"

The faintest of smiles flashed across Dak's face. "That is the work of a lifetime, but yes."

Shoshana continued from there, questions coming more easily--about boundaries of magic, the difference between spellwork and innate power, the idea of listening to a language without sound. And finally, when she dared, she asked when she might learn to cast her first real spell.

Dak answered most with his usual patience, and a few with riddles. But eventually, as he always did, he grew silent. His eyes drifted half-closed, and he raised his hand in the air, signaling that the lesson had come to an end. Whether she liked it or not. With a quiet sigh, Shoshana closed the book, the weight of it somehow heavier in her hands now.

Up in her room, moments later, she lay on the cool sheets of her bed, the night air teasing her bare skin with gentle chills that raced across her arms and chest. She exhaled slowly, eyes tracing the ceiling as silence settled around her--only the rustle of the bedding keeping her company. Tonight's lesson hadn't just deepened her understanding; it had marked a shift. She wasn't quite sure what had changed yet, but she felt it--like a tremor beneath still water, something waiting just out of reach.

She pulled the blanket up over her legs, not for warmth, but for the comfort of weight, the faint pressure anchoring her against the swirl of thoughts. "Where will this path lead me?" she wondered. "And how far am I willing to follow it?"

Sleep didn't claim her all at once--but when it did, it came quietly, threaded with anticipation.

And then her eyes opened. She was no longer in her room.

Mist clung to the air, thick and silvery, swirling at her ankles. Moonlight poured from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Before her, stretched a shallow pool, the water barely grazing her feet as she stepped forward. Behind her, the fog bellowed like clouds. Up ahead, she saw what looked like an altar. And behind it, a figure.

Her breath caught. She recognized that figure--Aaos, her god, her desire. The embodiment of everything her journey had been about, and everything it was becoming.

His voice rolled through her like thunder wrapped in velvet. "Come to me, child." The words resonated in her bones, deep and certain. She obeyed.

Her ankles were being wrapped in the soothing embrace of the warming water as she moved closer to her destiny. She felt it then--the power of the place, the heaviness in the air, the weightless pull of him. Aaos shifted before her, his form fluid and primal, god and statue and shadow all at once. But his presence--his pleasure--was undeniable. It curled in her belly, in her chest, tightening with every step until her breath came fast and her skin flushed with heat.

When she reached him, he touched her--one broad hand resting on her chest, just between her breasts. The pressure was firm, as if he were claiming her as his own. Not in any sort of cruel way, but claiming her nonetheless. She shivered beneath it, her nipples tightening, blood rushing to her skin. She wasn't afraid. She felt seen, recognized.

"Your soul burns with desire," he said, voice like smoke. "With hunger. Let it."

Her mouth parted, a soft exhale escaping her. She had burned--for him, within him, because of him--since the day she had knelt before that door in the catacombs, since her fingers first moved over her own flesh that day.

His hand began to slide down her body--slow, deliberate. She became aware then of her nudity. There was no shame, only readiness. His touch left heat in its wake, but not surface heat--this seeped inward, igniting a slow-burning flame in her belly, in her pussy, in her heart. Her knees trembled.

She blinked--and the world shifted.

She found herself lying atop the altar, cool stone beneath her spine. Aaos stood over her like a storm poised to break. Her legs parted without command. Her breath came in shallow gasps. She reached for him without even realising it.

"This is where I belong," she thought. "At his altar. Open. Waiting. His."

He lowered over her, and her body arched up to meet him. "With every touch," he said, "every offering of flesh in my name, you call to me. Even when you do not know it. You call to me."

His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her legs wider. One slid between them, finding her slick and already soaked with want. She moaned--soft, needy, immediate. His fingers moved slowly, coaxing her open, stroking her clit until her hips began to rock, chasing more. The other hand found its way up to her breast, cupping it, kneading the soft skin as his thumb flicked over the nipple, pulling a sharp gasp from her lips.

"I always know," she gasped, shaking in pleasure. "I search for you. I yearn for you. You are my--" Her words broke off as his mouth met hers.

The kiss devoured her, full and hot, his tongue pushing into her mouth and tangling with hers. Her lips bruised with need. She kissed him back with everything she had, hands clawing at his powerful arms, nails scraping down his skin. Her legs fell open wider still, begging for him, welcoming him in.

He obliged, entering her at last.

Her back arched, her breath caught in her throat.

He filled her in a single stroke, deep and sure. There was no gentleness in it, but no violence either. Just certainty. She was his, and he was her god. This was not dominance. This was divinity.

He began to move, slow and strong. Each thrust drove her closer to the edge, and she met him stroke for stroke, her body rising off the stone to meet his, like the tide rising to the moon. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper, harder. Every sound she made was a prayer. Every breath a sacrifice.

The power built between them, physically, yes, but it was more than that, too. With each movement, she felt something ancient stirring within her. Her magic, his magic. The line blurred. He thrust harder. Faster, hips snapping against hers, the slap of flesh echoing through the mist. She cried out again and again, her voice raw, body trembling.

It wasn't just pleasure she was feeling. It was a transformation.

Her climax began at her core, radiating outward like a wildfire, burning through her in waves so strong her fingers clawed at the altar. Her cry rang out like thunder in the heavens, not just loud, but vast, echoing across the realm, shaking the clouds around them. Aaos groaned above her, thrusting deep one last time--and with that final surge, he came inside her, a burst of power pouring into her, through her.

The world around them cracked. She shattered. She became light. For a heartbeat--or forever--Shana was fire. She was rebirth. Her body felt like a conduit of raw pleasure and divine force, a bridge between flesh and godhood. She wasn't just being fucked. She was being forged.

Aaos leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. "You will come to me again." And then he was gone. Darkness formed around the corners of her vision, gentle this time. A soft descent.

"This was not worship," she thought, as sleep wrapped its fingers around her again. "This was the answer to worship."

Shana woke in her bed sometime later, breath shallow, skin damp, heart still fluttering in her chest. Her hand rose to her breastbone, to the place where he had touched her. The mark was gone--but the heat remained.

And then, in the hush of dawn, his voice echoed within her one final time.

"You will burn. You will come to me. And you will rise."

She sat there for a long moment, wondering what it meant, before she stretched and slowly climbed out of bed.

Shana did not forget that dream, not the words, not the power, not the way her body still hummed with something otherworldly for days after. If it had only been a fantasy, it was the most vivid she'd ever known. But deep down, she believed it had been more than that. She didn't understand what Aaos's promise truly meant, not yet. But she kept those words nestled in the back of her mind like a glowing ember waiting to be stoked back to life.

And life, as it does, moved forward.

The days became weeks. The weeks, months.

In the time since that night, Shana had grown strong. Sharper in body and steadier in magic. Her lessons had deepened. Her training now included more than just mental shielding and rooftop duels. Dak had begun teaching her real spells. With Elaris' Touch, she could knit shallow wounds closed. Thyra's Spark was a fire spell, a flickering flame that danced across her fingers. And Aelith's Lift, her first taste of true manipulation, was a levitation spell, allowing her to lift things, with nothing but her will and a whispered word.

But perhaps her favorite change over the last few months was the newfound freedom she had earned. Dak, ever watchful and rarely generous, had finally loosened his restrictions. As her mastery deepened--both with her weapons and her spells--so did his trust. Once her daily lessons were complete, she was free to come and go as she pleased. The only condition was that she must return by sunrise, rested and ready for her morning training. Beyond that, he made no demands, asked no questions.

Naturally, Shana had spent nearly an entire week with Nin after that liberty was first granted. She slept in Nin's bed, worked at her side, and let herself rediscover the rhythm of life beyond the tower's walls. The nights were long as well, often filled with sex, drink, laughter, and even occasionally company beyond just the two of them. A few of those tangled evenings blurred into mornings, a tangle of limbs and whispered names--sometimes hers, sometimes others'. It wasn't always just Nin, though she was always a part of it. The experiences were vibrant, indulgent, and ever in keeping with the tenets of Aaos. Still, no matter how far her nights wandered, dawn always brought her back--back to the rooftop, where Dak waited without judgement, silent and steady as the sun.

As she was heading into town on this particular afternoon, having finished her lessons for the day, she wondered what, or who, she might be doing tonight. She knew that Nin was not available today. Nin had told her a few days ago that she was going out of town for a week or two, gathering supplies and delivering a few completed projects.

The Wandering Dagger was already buzzing with life when Shana slipped through the door, the scent of roasted meat and spilled ale wrapping around her like an old coat. She moved through the crowd with the casual confidence of someone who knew exactly who she was, and what she wanted--though she hadn't quite decided on the latter just yet.

She took a seat at the bar, one elbow resting lightly on the wood as she ordered her drink. "Something sharp," she said with a lazy smile. The barkeep poured without question. She took a sip, felt it burn warm down her throat, and let her gaze wander around the tavern like a prowling cat.

She wasn't just here for a drink. Tonight, she was hunting for some fun.

That's when she saw her--dancing near the hearth.

It was the same woman from months ago. Brown hair flowing like smoke in the firelight, body moving with deliberate, sultry grace. She wore the same loose silks that clung to her in just the right places, each step of her feet rippling through her hips and shoulders with a practiced flow. She was confident, sensual, stunning--and once again, surrounded by men who didn't deserve her.

There were five of them tonight, slouched around the edges of her space like wolves who thought they were clever. They whistled and called out to her between swigs of their ale, offering drunken compliments and letting their hands drift a little too close when they thought no one was watching. The dancer was smiling still, spinning out of reach, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. Her movements were tighter now, the performance forced.

Shana rolled her eyes and finished her drink. "Boys," she muttered to herself. "Nothing but a bunch of boys."

She raised her hand casually, covering the subtle motion with a flick of her wrist as if brushing hair from her face. Her fingers tingled with magic as she whispered under her breath, casting not one but five little tricks in rapid succession.

One man leaned in to whisper something lewd--and suddenly his mug tipped backward seemingly of its own accord, splashing half a pint of ale down his shirt and up his nose. He sputtered and flailed like a drowning rat.

The second reached for the dancer's hip--only to find his chair snap backward with a sharp crack, toppling him to the floor in a pile of limbs and confusion.

A third opened his mouth to laugh, but a twist of air thrust into his throat mid-chortle. His laugh turned into a high-pitched hiccup--followed by a long, unbroken squeak like a deflating pig bladder.

The fourth attempted to step closer, and instantly slipped on a perfectly dry floor as if someone had pulled a rug from under him. He landed with a thud and a shout.

The fifth, poor soul, was simply struck with a sudden, inexplicable sensation of burning right at the base of his spine. He twisted and turned, trying to reach the spot without being obvious, and ended up gyrating so wildly he drew laughter from the crowd.

The dancer froze mid-step, wide-eyed at the domino collapse of her would-be suitors. Her mouth twitched--trying not to laugh. Shana took that as her cue. She rose from the bar like a storm. The crowd parted for her, as though they sensed something dangerous and delicious was about to unfold.

She stepped right into the dancer's space, offering no explanation, only a hand. The dancer looked at it, then at Shana, hesitation flickering in her eyes, but only for a heartbeat. She accepted the offer.

Shana took her away from the mess of men still writhing on the floor, and pulled her close, and they began to dance together. Not the careful performance of before. Not the teasing sway meant to hold attention, but to keep distance. This was something else entirely.

Shana moved with precision, her hands holding the dancer's hips close, guiding her into a rhythm more primal than polite. The two of them pressed together, curves aligned, heat sparking between silk and skin. The music playing in the tavern seemed to adjust to them--faster, deeper, and a hush fell over the room, caught up in the gravity of the moment. It wasn't lewd, it was artistry.

Shana didn't just touch; she knew where to touch. Her hands slid down the dancer's thighs, around her back, fingers grazing the dip of her spine. She spun her around, dipped her, pulled her close again, never breaking eye contact longer than she had to. Their bodies rolled together like waves, every movement calculated to thrill and command.

The crowd watched in stunned silence, the five discarded men gawking from the sidelines in awkward, damp disarray. One of them muttered something like a curse or a prayer, though what god he might be praying to was anyone's guess.

The dancer's breath came faster now, her eyes locked into Shana's with intensity--no longer surprise, but appreciation. Hunger.

"You are not like them," she whispered into Shana's ear.

Shana chuckled softly. "No, unlike those fools, I know what I am doing."

The dancer laughed, her breath hitching slightly as Shana's thigh slid between hers. "What do I call you?"

"My name is Shoshana Leafspire, but anyone as beautiful as you can just call me Shana."

The dancer grinned, her lips grazing Shana's cheeks as they moved. "I'm Rachel Dewcloud," she purred. "But most people just call me Rae."

Rae. The name suited her--sharp and soft at the same time. Wild and poised. Their hands found each other again, fingers lacing between hips and thighs, mouths nearly touching.

By now, every eye in the tavern was fixed on the two of them. But for Shana and Rae, the room had vanished. There was no audience, no men, no women, no firelight. Just the heat between them.

There was only the dance. But this was more than just a dance. It was a prelude, a silent invitation wrapped in movement, a wordless conversation between two bodies learning each other in real time. Shana and Rae moved as if they had known each other for years, their bodies tuned to the same beat, drawn forward not by music alone, but by something deeper--something molten. Theirs was a choreography born of instinct, one that pulsed with promise and purpose. There was no hesitation in their movements, only hunger, measured and slow at first, like the careful striking of a flint to steel.

Shana's hands moved over Rae's body with reverent certainty, each touch speaking fluently in the language of want. She trailed her fingers along the curve ofRae's back, guiding her into a slow, sensuous turn before pressing close, letting the heat between them build like steam in a sealed kettle. Rae answered with a roll of her hips, a teasing shift of weight that sent a thrill through Shana's limbs. Their bodies brushed, retreated, and collided again. The crowd blurred into insignificance, just faces and noise beyond the charged gravity that had drawn these two women into one another's orbit.

The music changed again, slower now, with a heavy beat. Their pace followed, and with it the nature of the dance transformed. This was no longer a display--it was a ritual. Shana's thigh slid between Rae's once again, and Rae leaned in close, her breath feathering across Shana's collarbone as he fingers played over her waist. Shana responded by slipping her hands lower, palms gliding over the dancer's hips, pulling her in with the ease of someone who knew how to command desire without ever needing to demand it. This was what Shana had seen in Rae the last time she was here--something wild and brazen, but misdirected. The men who had pawed at her didn't understand what they were watching, didn't know what to do with a body like this. But Shana did. She knew exactly how to touch her, how to read her body like a map etched in fire and silk.

The two of them moved as one--fluid, shameless, tangled in a flow that was half music, half heartbeat. Their lips hadn't met yet, but the distance between them crackled with anticipation. With every movement, they carved a shared promise into the space between them. Not yet, but soon. Every roll of the hips, eerie press of the thigh, every teasing brush of fingers was a preview, a whispered prophecy of what was to come.

When the music finally died away, the silence that followed was almost deafening. The tavern, moments ago rowdy and bawdy, had gone still--caught somewhere between envy and awe. Rae stepped back just enough to meet Shana's eyes, her cheeks flushed, her breathing shallow but steady. There was a glint in her eyes now, something playful and sharp.

"That was... quite the introduction," she said, her voice low and rough with amusement.

Shana smiled, knowingly, the same smile she had worn in the forge, in the forest, in the quiet corners of every dark room where she'd been in control. "And we've only just gotten started."

Rae tilted her head, as if weighing something, then extended her hand without a word of hesitation. "Come upstairs with me."

The offer didn't need to be spoken aloud. It was there in the air between them, charged and irrevocable. Shana took her hand, their fingers interlocking with ease, like they had done it a hundred times before.

Without looking back, they made their way to the stairwell, their bodies still humming with the echo of the dance. The room watched them go, the toppled men forgotten, their antics swallowed by the far more compelling performance that had just played out before everyone. Laughter and jeers began to bubble faintly back to life behind them, but they did not care. The crowd had seen what power looked like when it moved with purpose--and pleasure.

The renewed sounds of the tavern slowly faded behind them as they climbed the stairs, swallowed by the hush of the rising floors. No words were exchanged between them; none were needed. Their silence was charged, anticipatory; every step an unspoken agreement between two women who knew how the night would end.

They passed the first floor without pause, ignoring the hallway lined with doors, then the second and third floors as well. It wasn't until they reached the fourth and final floor that Rae finally turned, leading Shana down the narrow corridor to a room at the far end.

"This is me," she said as she reached for the doorknob. "Kruchon, the owner of the tavern, lets me stay here. My dancing brings in customers--helps him line his pockets."

Shana smiled, stepping inside as Rae pushed the door open. The room was surprisingly luxurious for an inn--larger than she expected, with thick rugs and a deep, ornate four-poster bed at its center. Heavy velvet curtains framed the tall windows, filtering the last light of dusk into a soft, muted glow.

"Well," Shana murmured, her voice low and wicked as she turned to Rae, "what do you say we make good use of that generous offer tonight?"

She didn't wait for an answer. She caught Rae's hand in hers and pulled her forward, lips curled into a smile full of promise and mischief, her eyes already dark with hunger.

The moment the door clicked shut behind them, the space between them charged like a drawn bowstring. Shana didn't hesitate. She backed Rae gently against the door, her hands cradling the dancer's hips, thumbs sliding under the silks at her waist.

"You're beautiful," Shana whispered and leaned in--not to kiss her, but to breathe her in. She nuzzled just beneath Rae's ear, letting her lips skim the skin there, smiling when she felt the girl shiver. "And I'm going to show you what it feels like to be with someone who knows what they are doing."

Rae's breath hitched, her hands fluttering for a moment as if unsure where to go, before settling tentatively on Shana's shoulders. "I'm... not sure what to--" she began.

"I know," Shana whispered, pressing a kiss to her neck. "That's why I'm going to take my time."

She slid her hands upward, pushing the silks slowly over Rae's body, revealing inch by inch of warm, soft skin. The fabric pooled on the floor, and Rae stood before her--bare, breathless, and suddenly very aware of how exposed she felt. Shana stepped back a pace and took her in.

Rae was a woman of gentle curves--small, round breasts tipped with dusky nipples, a soft stomach, strong dancer's thighs. Her skin glowed in the golden light of the setting sun bleeding through the curtains. Shana approached slowly, reverently, as if Rae were the altar and she were the worshiper this time.

She dropped to her knees.

Rae's lips parted, her eyes wide. "Shana..."

Shana didn't answer. She kissed the inside of Rae's thigh, then the other, hands gently urging her legs apart. Rae's hands found the doorframe behind her, seeking balance. Shana looked up--her expression soft but steady.

"Let go," she whispered.

And Rae did.

Shana leaned in, her mouth finding the slick heat between Rae's legs with confident ease. She licked slowly at first, tasting her, teasing her, until Rae moaned and her knees trembled. Then Shana gripped her thighs, firm but reassuring, and pressed deeper. Her tongue danced over the bud of Rae's clit, circled it, flicked it with expert rhythm. Rae gasped--then cried out--hips rolling forward in small, helpless waves.

"Oh... Shana... gods.."

Shana smiled against her, the praise a kind of fuel. Her tongue worked in slow, reverent strokes now, occasionally dipping lower to taste the wetness gathering there before returning to that sensitive, swollen spot. Rae writhed, her head tipped back, breath catching in her throat.

And then Shaa stopped.

Rae whimpered at the loss.

Shana rose and kissed her way up Rae's body--belly, ribs, sternum--until their mouths finally met. The kiss was deep and hungry, Shana tasting Rae's arousal on her lips. Rae clung to her, shaking now.

"Bed," Shana said softly. "Lie back. Let me really show you."

Rae obeyed without question. She lay down on the lush covers, hair fanned out around her, legs falling open instinctively. Shana stripped slowly, her movement unhurried, letting Rae watch the reveal--each piece of clothing discarded like a promise fulfilled.

When she climbed onto the bed, she didn't pounce--she crawled over Rae with deliberate grace, every inch of her skin brushing against the girl's as she whispered, "Touch me anywhere. Ask me anything. But tonight? I lead."

Rae nodded, breathless.

Shana kissed her again, then moved down her body, this time pressing her fingers between Rae's thighs. She slid two inside--slowly, carefully--curling them until Rae gasped and clutched the sheets. Her other hand stroked her clit again, this time with firmer, rhythmic pressure. Rae moaned loudly, her hips rising off the bed.

"That's it," Shana whispered. "That's what you needed, isn't it? Someone who knows what this body wants."

"Yes," Rae gasped. "Yes, please--don't stop."

She didn't. She curled her fingers in time with each stroke of her thumb, building Rae's pleasure until she was howling, shaking. And when Rae finally cried out--high and sharp, her entire body tensing--Shana kept going, riding her through it, murmuring soft praises between kisses to her thighs and stomach.

"You're perfect... you're divine... let it happen..."

Rae came again, harder this time--her voice raw, her eyes wild.

Only then did Shana let up, sliding beside her, pulling Rae into her arms as she trembled in the afterglow. She kissed Rae's temple, her shoulder, her hand.

Rae's breath was still unsteady, her chest rising and falling in slow, trembling waves. Her body hummed with the echoes of pleasure, but her eyes--now wide and wild with something new--were locked on Shana's face. Awe. Curiosity. Hunger.

She reached up slowly, fingertips brushing Shana's cheek, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Can I...?"

Shana caught her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. "Yes. You can do anything you want to me," she said softly. "But if you want to learn--if you want to really know how to touch a woman--I'll show you."

Rae's lips parted, a flush blooming in her cheeks. "I want to learn."

Shana rolled onto her back, one arm tucked behind her head, the other guiding Rae gently over her. "Then listen to my body," she said. "Every breath. Every sound. It'll tell you everything you need to know, without saying a word."

Rae leaned in, hesitant at first, placing a kiss just above Shana's heart. Then another, lower. Her lips were soft, unsure, but eager. Shana sighed, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Slower," she whispered. "Linger."

Rae obeyed. She kissed lower, each press of her mouth more confident. Her hands moved over Shana's skin, exploring--first her sides, then her hips, learning the contours of her body. She brushed her lips across a nipple, then took it gently into her mouth, tongue circling, drawing a low moan from Shana's throat.

"Good," Shana gasped. "Keep going."

Rae suckled softly, then moved to the other breast. Her fingers played over Shana's stomach, pressing gently, grounding herself in the sensation of a woman beneath her. She could feel Shana's breath quickening, her body responding. She trailed kisses down her ribs, her navel, lower still.

When she reached Shana's waist, she paused, glancing up.

Shana met her gaze with a slow nod. "Taste me."

Rae lowered herself, her mouth trembling with anticipation. She pressed a kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, and finally let her tongue explore the folds between them.

Shana gasped--soft and encouraging. Her hips lifted, just slightly, guiding Rae's pace.

"Gentle at first," she breathed. "Let it build."

Rae licked carefully, finding the swollen bud, circling it with her tongue. Shana's and slid into her hair, not to control her, but to anchor--to connect. Rae's movements grew bolder, her tongue learning the rhythm of Shana's breath, the shift of her hips, the sounds that spilled from her lips.

"Just like that," Shana moaned. "You're... doing so well..."

Rae moaned softly against her, the sound of praise stirring something deep and primal within her. She pressed in closer, flattening her tongue and stroking more firmly now, letting instinct and desire guide her.

Shana's thighs began to tremble. Her breath coming in ragged waves.

"Fingers... use your fingers," she gasped. "Two of them..."

Re obeyed, sliding her fingers inside slowly, feeling the slick, tight heat of her. Shana's whole body arched, her head thrown back against the pillow.

Rae found her rhythm again--tongue and fingers moving in tandem, guided by Shana's gasps, her moans, the tremble in her muscles. And then Shana's body tensed, her cries rising into a sharp crescendo as her climax crashed through her.

She came with Rae's name on her lips--guttural, raw, sacred.

When it passed, Rae pulled back slowly, eyes wide with wonder. Shana reached for her, pulled her into a slow, deep kiss. She tasted herself on Rae's lips and smiled against her.

"You're a natural," she whispered, when she finally broke the kiss. "Aaos would be proud."

Rae blushed deeply, burying her face against Shana's neck. "I've... I've never done anything like that."

Shana held her close, fingers stroking lazy circles across her back. "You just did," she said. "And you were perfect."

They lay tangled in the warmth of the afterglow, bodies soft and sated, the room filled only with the sound of their breath and the hush of twilight beyond the velvet curtains.

For a while, they said nothing. Just shared the rhythm of slowing breath, the glow of warmth still pulsing faintly beneath skin, the quiet certainty of two bodies that had chosen to speak without words. Shana traced a fingertip down the curve of Rae's spine, her other hand resting just below the swell of her hip.

Rae shifted slightly, her cheek still against Shana's collarbone. Her voice came low and hesitant, muffled slightly by skin and sleepiness. "You said... Aaos would be proud." She lifted her head slowly, eyes searching Shana's for clarity. "Is that... your god?"

Shana smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair from Rae's cheek. "He is," she said. "The god of pleasure. Of desire. Of liberation through joy, through surrender." Her voice softened with something close to reverence. "I follow him. I worship him."

Rae blinked, intrigued more than surprised. "Worship... like in a temple?"

"No," Shana said with a quiet laugh. "Not a temple. At least, not in the way most think of it." She gestured toward her body, and then to Rae's. "This is Aaos' temple. My worship happens in moments like this. In sweat and skin and breath. In freedom. In truth. He doesn't demand kneeling--unless you want to. He doesn't want blind obedience. Just honesty. Passion. Connection."

Rae was quiet for a moment, her fingers absently tracing circles around Shana's nipples. "He sounds... different from the gods I grew up hearing about. Stern cold. Judging."

Shana turned, cupping Rae's face in her hand. "Aaos doesn't judge what brings you joy, only that you embrace it fully. That you don't lie to yourself about what you want. That you don't chain yourself out of fear or shame."

Rae swallowed, her voice smaller now. "That sounds... beautiful. And terrifying."

Shana leaned in and kissed her forehead--tender, lingering. "That's what truth always is." She sat up, baring her body without restraint, unashamed. "Aaos is all about pleasure. And joy. There is no shame in seeking it," she proclaimed as she stretched with practiced ease.

"You're already well on your way yourself. Do you feel shame when you're dancing in front of everyone down in the tavern?" A smile spread across her lips as she recalled the sight of Rae dancing earlier. "The way you dress, the way your body sways?"

"No," Rae whispered, her expression softening with realization. "No, I don't particularly love when drunk men try to grab at me, but I'm certainly not ashamed of myself. I'm proud of my body and my abilities."

Shana grinned. "Good. You should be. You are a beautiful woman, Rae. And Aaos wants you to be proud of the gift of beauty you have. The way you dance down there--provocatively, lewdly, suggestively--it brings pleasure to everyone watching, just as Aaos would want."

She leaned in slightly, her tone lowering with playful promise. "All you lack is the pursuit of your own pleasure. And I can help you there."

Rae leaned back and laughed, the sound rich and unguarded. "Well, I'm certainly not going to complain about that." She reached out, her fingers trailing lightly down the length of Shana's back, the contact drawing a soft shiver from her.

"Will you spend the night?"

Shana turned without hesitation, her lips finding Rae's in a deep, lingering kiss. "Of course I will," she whispered against her mouth. "If you think that was the end of our explorations for the night, then you've still got a great deal to learn."

She rolled smoothly on top of Rae, her hair falling like a silken curtain between them as the kiss deepened once more--and then sank into the pleasure of each other's bodies once more. The action went deep into the night before they both collapsed from exhaustion.

Aaos, Shana was sure, would be smiling down on them tonight.

Sunlight was just beginning to filter through the velvet curtains when Shana stirred. Rae still slept beside her, one arm draped across the bed, her breathing soft and even. For a moment, Shana simply watched her--admiring the curve of her body, the peace in her expression.

But time, as always, pressed onward.

Quietly, Shana slipped out of bed and began gathering her clothes. She moved with practiced care, ensuring that she didn't wake Rae. Once dressed, she found a scrap of parchment on the bedside table and scribbled a short note in her precise, elegant script.

You are a gift, Rae Dewcloud.

Thank you for sharing your night with me.

I have duties this morning, but I will find you again--soon.

--Shana Leafspire.

She folded the note and tucked it just beneath Rae's hand, then leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her shoulder.

And with that, she slipped quietly from the room, heading back toward the tower--her body still warm, her thoughts already drifting to the rooftop, and whatever new challenge awaited her there.

On the rooftop, Dak was already waiting. Shoshana wasn't late--he was simply ready, as always. She stepped into her usual position across from him, posture steady, breath controlled. Her mental barriers were already in place; they remained up nearly all the time now. She could feel the familiar pressure probing at the edges of her mind. He never gave her time to settle in--his attacks always came the moment she arrived. And they had only grown stronger.

Recently, he had started conjuring targets for her to attack using the spells she'd learned--small, focused exercises in precision and speed. But there was never any telling when he might introduce something new. Dak never explained what was coming. He only observed, measured, adjusted. He said it prepared her for real life. Life did not tell you what it would throw at you before it happened; it simply threw it at you.

He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, legs spread shoulder width apart--calm, composed, unreadable. But even in his stillness, she felt the first psychic strike. It slid like a dagger toward her mind, sharp and relentless. Her defenses caught it and held firm. She didn't flinch.

Two targets shimmered into being, floating in the air on either side of him. Without hesitation, Shana whispered, "Kyrethril arkanis," the words to Thyra's Spark--a spell she'd practiced countless times now--and two daggers of flame burned to life in her hands. With practiced precision, she flung them toward the hovering forms.

But just as her flames were about to strike the targets, a wall of water erupted in front of them.

"That's new."

She had half a second to react. Reflect took over. "Veyrithis ulora!" she shouted--the incantation for Aelith's Lift. Her levitation spell surged forward, aiming to raise the water wall out of the way. But she was a heartbeat too slow. Her spell collided with a barrier--and instead of saving her fire daggers, it scattered both spells in a burst of evaporating steam.

She exhaled sharply and made a mental note: Expect interference. Perhaps misdirection.

The targets began to shift. She conjured another pair of fire daggers, but just as she raised her hands, she saw it--a ball of flame, much larger than her daggers, arcing towards her from Dak's side.

"Gods!" she cursed to herself. "He's attacking me with magic now?"

Instinct took over once more. She dove to the side, the fireball tearing through the air where she had just been standing. As she twisted mid-roll, she hurled her daggers toward the now-moving targets, eyes scanning for any new tricks.

Then she noticed it--the fireball was returning. It curved like a living thing, homing in on her.

She reacted quickly. A wall of air formed before her--dense, reinforced, immovable. The fireball collided with it in a deafening crash of heat and pressure, splashing across the invisible wall like a wave against a stone.

The wall held. But the momentary distraction cost her. Her daggers veered off-course and missed the targets entirely.

The rest of the session continued in the same relentless fashion--attack after attack, distraction layered upon distraction. It was chaotic, grueling, and deeply taxing on her mind. Every spell cast felt heavier than the last, but at least her mental defences held. Barely it seemed, but they held. By the end, Shoshana was utterly spent. Her body ached, and her thoughts moved like they were wading through mud.

When Dak finally raised his hand--his silent signal that the lesson had ended--she collapsed to her knees, breathing hard. Her legs trembled beneath her, too weary to hold her weight.

He crossed the space between them with calm, deliberate steps and stood over her, silent for a moment before speaking. "You did well," he said, his voice even but sincere.

She didn't feel like she had. Her chest still rose and fell with ragged breaths, and every fiber of her being screamed exhaustion. But his words landed with weight. They steadied her--fed something inside her that craved his approval.

"I would not have tested you like this," he continued, offering her a hand, "if I did not believe you could handle it."

She took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet.

"And you handled it very well," he added more firmly. "Do not mistake exhaustion for failure. Today's lesson was never about hitting the targets."

She blinked, confused. "It wasn't?"

"No," he said simply. "Your rooftop sessions never are. They are about training your mind--strengthening the part of you that wields the magic, not just the body that channels it. Today's lesson was about focus. About expanding your capacity to manage more than one magical thread at a time. Casting, shielding, reacting--all while under pressure. You're learning how to maintain layered spells and divided attention. That is what true mastery requires."

Shana's brow furrowed as she processed this. He was right. The targets, the fireballs, the moving elements--they had all been distractions, meant to stretch her limits, not test her aim. She hadn't thought of it that way, but it made perfect sense. "Why does everything have to be a damned riddle with him?" she thought to herself.

And more importantly, his praise meant something. Dak rarely gave it freely, so when he did, it held real value.

Despite her fatigue, she straightened a little, her breathing beginning to slow. She might not have hit the targets, but she had learned. She had grown. And for now, that was enough.

Dak helped her to the door--as she was still unsteady on her feet--and guided her through it, steadying her as they descended the steps into the common room. Waiting for them at the long oak table was a spread of food, simple but plentiful. Shoshana could smell roasted vegetables, thick slices of fresh bread, and a stew of some kind.

She let her weight sink into the seat, grateful for the support. Every muscle in her body throbbed, her mind still buzzing with the echoes of the attacks.

Dak turned to leave but paused at the base of the stairs. "We'll begin your magic lesson after you've recovered," he said. "And then a short forest session as well."

She sighed--not in protest, but in acknowledgement. There was no rest in Dak's tower, only progress.

As she picked up a thick cut of meat--unsure what animal it had come from, though she no longer questioned such things--she wondered if she would even have the energy to return to town tonight. She tore a bite from it with her teeth and chewed slowly, sinking deeper into the chair with a weary sigh. Her body ached in that way that only magic and exertion could bring, and though the smell of warm food was already beginning to revive her, the thought of another journey made her limbs feel heavier still.

She wanted to see Rae again. Leaving so early that morning, with Rae still asleep, had left a sour taste in her mouth--not from guilt exactly, but something adjacent to it. It had felt hasty, unfinished. Almost cheap. That wasn't what she wanted their connection to be.

Still, she knew how the day would unfold. The food would help, yes--it always did--but with another training session in the forest still to come, she would be sore and spent by nightfall. No matter how strong she had become, forest drills after this morning's rooftop session were going to leave her drained. And even now, with the comfort of meat settling in her stomach, she could already feel the tension coiled in her shoulders, the dull ache behind her eyes.

She ate for a while, letting the warmth of the food spread throughout her body as energy returned in slow waves. By the time her plate was nearly empty, and she could no longer convince herself to take another bite, Dak reentered the room. Without a word, the space around them shifted--the stone giving way to the familiar trappings of their magical library. Shelves emerged from the walls, books unfurled across the table, and a quiet crackle of fire began in the hearth that had not been there just moments ago. It was clear: he had been monitoring her and knew precisely when she was ready.

Dak took his usual seat across from her, calm and composed. A shallow basin of water now sat in the center of the table--new, but clearly intentional. The scent of parchment and ink filled the air as Shoshana straightened in her seat, alert once again.

"You did well on the roof today," Dak began, reiterating his praise from earlier with a steady look. "So today, I'm going to teach you a new spell. It's the one I used earlier--Caelen's Tide. It's a bit different from what we've worked with so far."

Shoshana raised an eyebrow, intrigued. The only spell he had used earlier that she didn't know was when he created the wall of water. She looked up at him in excitement. "You mean, the water spell?"

Dak nodded. "Yes. Water is just as important as fire in a mage's training. It's not about control, but flow. Caelen's Tide is about guiding, not forcing."

He gestured toward the basin in front of them. The water was still, waiting. "Water is ever-shifting. Never the same twice. To use this spell, you must understand its rhythm--its ebb and flow. You don't command the tide. You move with it."

Shoshana leaned closer, eyes fixed on the surface. "So, it's not like fire? I can't just make it do what I want?"

"Exactly," Dak said, leaning back, "With fire, you create it, you control it. Ut with water, it's about connection, not domination. You do not create the water. The words Seryth osilan aren't an order. They're an invitation. You are asking the water to move--to trust you enough to follow."

He stood and swept his hand gently above the basin. The water stirred, trembling as though it felt the change in the air.

"Watch closely," he said.

As usual, he spoke no incantation; he simply looked at the water. His fingers hovered inches above the surface. The water rippled, then rose slowly--arching into a soft curl before collapsing with a quiet splash.

"I guide it," he said calmly. "I do not command it." Then he stepped aside.

Shoshana hesitated. But Dak gave a nod--patient, reassuring.

"Close your eyes. Picture the ocean. The tide. The way it breathes. Don't control it. That is impossible. Instead, listen to it."

She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. Her hands hovered above the water. She pictured the shore, waves washing in, pulling back. The ocean breathing.

"Seryth osilan," she whispered.

A shiver passed across the surface. A ripple. Then slowly, hesitantly, the water lifted--no more than a few inches, but it held for a heartbeat.

"Good," Dak said, his voice warm. "You are starting to feel the connection. The more you listen, the more it will respond." He leaned forward, growing serious. "And when you are ready, you won't need the basin. This spell isn't limited to what is in front of you."

Shoshana opened her eyes, intrigued, her hands still hovering above the basin. "What do you mean?"

Dak's expression remained calm. "Eventually, you'll be able to listen and hear. And you'll find that there is water everywhere. Then, you'll be able to draw from the moisture in the very air around you. Even in a dry room, there is water all around. With enough training, you'll be able to shape it--mist, rain, currents. But that level of control begins here." He tapped the rim of the basin. "Master this, and the rest will follow."

She nodded slowly, the potential of the spell settling over her like a cloak.

"I can pull water out of the air?" she repeated, half in awe.

"In time," Dak said with a faint smile. "But first, we focus on what's within reach. Connection before control. Presence before power."

Shoshana nodded. For the next hour, she attempted to coax the water from the basin. The result: a puddle of water spreading across the table and around the basin. Still, she felt like she was getting the hang of it. With more practice, she was certain she'd get there.

When the lesson ended, Dak raised his hand and, with effortless grace, waved it across the table. The spilled water immediately responded--rising and flowing back into the basin in a single elegant motion. With another subtle wave, moisture began to seep from the wood itself, as though being wrung out of a saturated cloth drop by drop. The water coalesced into a hovering sphere, then dropped neatly into the basin, restoring it to its original level.

Shoshana couldn't hold back any longer. She had waited patiently for the right moment, but curiosity finally overcame her restraint. "Every spell you've taught me has an incantation," she blurted out, louder than she intended. "How is it that you can perform them all without uttering a single word?"

She recoiled slightly when he snapped his fingers, fearing she'd pushed too far. But when she saw the basin of water vanish without a trace, she realized the snap wasn't aimed at her--it had been yet another silent spell. Which, if anything, only frustrated her further.

Dak turned toward her, waving a hand in a casual, almost dismissive gesture. As the room began to return to its ordinary look, he finally answered her.

"That will come with time," he said calmly. "You must first master the spoken form of each spell before you can attempt non-verbal casting." He paused, then added, "You forget--I have been doing this a very long time. I mastered these spells before you were born... before your father was born."

Shoshana was left staring at him as he walked away. Not only had she learned that in time she would be able to cast spells as he did--without words--but for the first time, she had been given a hint about his past. And it was a startling one. She had always known he was older. There had been moments when he seemed older than any man should be. But to have mastered spells before her father was even born? That was something else entirely.

How old was he? And how could he be that old and still look the way he did?

That was a question for another time, she decided. For now, she needed to focus. Her forest session was next, and if the other two sessions today were any indication, Dak was likely to throw something new at her there as well.

Shoshana went up to her room and changed quickly. She had found that forest sessions demanded something looser--clothing that flowed with her movements. It had taken time to find the right combination, but eventually, she'd assembled the perfect ensemble. It had become like a second skin to her--a quiet tribute to Aaos.

A sleeveless tunic of supple green leather, dyed with crushed pine needles, formed the foundation. It clung to her upper body just enough to suggest the shape beneath, yet hung looser below the ribs to allow a full range of motion. A deep V-cut at the front tastefully revealed her assets while providing ventilation during long, heated sessions. She especially appreciated that it left exposed the place where Aaos had once claimed her.

Beneath that, a thin silk underlayer wrapped around her torso and arms. The seamstress who sold it to her had claimed it was enchanted to resist tearing. Her pants, snug at the hips and thighs, were cut from the dark hide of a magical beast whose name she couldn't even pronounce. They laced up the sides for easy adjustments and airflow, and the slits along her legs offered tantalizing glimpses of her toned, athletic muscles as she moved--enticing, but still functional. Every flash of bare skin was an offering to Aaos, made without shame.

Small leather straps lined her outer thighs, securing her daggers within easy reach. She could draw them with barely a shift in her stance. Her boots were soft-soled, quiet with each step, sturdy enough to protect her feet but supple enough to feel the forest floor beneath her.

Over it all, she wore a hooded cloak of dark silk and linen. It fell in fluid waves down her back, cut high at the front, and parted in the rear to free her legs when she moved. With every step, it billowed like wind across her skin.

It wasn't just a training outfit--it was armor. It was infused with intent, a balance of strength and seduction. When she wore it, she wasn't just prepared for training; she was ready for anything.

She felt seen.

She bounded down the stairs, bow in hand, and strode out into the forest, ready for whatever the session might bring. The moment she stepped into the clearing, she felt the tug of a mental assault press against her defences. She welcomed it. That wall in her mind held firm.

Several targets floated above the ground at varying distances--but before she could draw her first arrow, a ball of fire was already hurtling toward her.

"Gods," she cursed in her head, ducking instinctively. Dak had never used fire magic during the forest sessions before. And there were at least three times as many targets as usual. Still, she had to assume that if he was escalating the challenge, it meant he believed she could handle it. That alone bolstered her confidence.

She drew an arrow and loosed it at the nearest target, knowing it would pass straight through the path of the fireball. A small pond sat just a few feet away--she remembered it well. She wasn't sure she could do what she had planned. It was a brand new spell, but she had to try. "Seryth osilan!" she shouted, conjuring the image of water wrapping around her arrow. At the same time, she ducked into a roll and loosed a dagger at another nearby target.

A line of water moved from the pond toward the arrow, shimmered, but failed to form around it in time. The flame consumed the arrow.

"No matter," she told herself. "The water moved. That's something at least."

She drew another arrow and let it fly, two more daggers following in quick succession. Another fireball was forming in the distance. This time, she had more time--and a new idea. "Seryth osilan," she intoned again, focusing on forming not a shield, but an arrow of water itself.

She drew back her bowstring, and the arrow slowly formed between her fingers, hovering and fluid, yet solid enough to hold. "Please hold," she whispered. "Please."

She let go, and let it fly.

The arrow of water met the fireball mid-air. A blast of steam filled the clearing with a loud hiss. She jumped to her feet, triumphant, a wild smile on her lips--

--only to be struck in the gut by a sudden wall of air.

She hit the ground hard, pinned for several heartbeats before the pressure released. When she opened her eyes, Dak was standing over her.

"Never celebrate a small victory before you've won the battle," he said, extending a hand to help her up. "But that was quick thinking. Very well done."

She took his hand and stood, brushing leaves and dirt from her tunic. She knew immediately she had let her guard drop. That was her mistake, and she wouldn't make it again. But still... she'd formed an arrow from water. An hour ago, she could barely make the surface ripple. She was proud of that.

"I know, Master. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"Still," Dak continued," to create a fully formed water arrow so quickly? That is impressive. Especially considering how much you struggled with the spell earlier today." He smirked slightly. "There's hope for you yet, little one."

With a final wave of his hand, all the targets vanished. "That will be all for today," he said. "You did well."

Shoshana exhaled, a deep, relieved breath. It had been difficult--more than she'd anticipated--but not as exhausting as she had feared. As she dusted herself off and started walking back toward the tower, a grin slowly spread across her face.

Maybe she'd have the energy to go to town tonight after all.