SMASH or PASS

We also stopped at a secondhand equipment stall near the market’s edge. Training weapons, practice targets, used mana crystals. Nothing I needed now. But I filed the location for later. The stall owner was a retired guild member who’d lost three fingers on her left hand.

"This training sword was used by a Silver-rank adventurer for six years before she upgraded. Good balance. The edge is dulled for practice but the weight distribution is combat-accurate." She held it out. "50 silver. Worth three times that new."

"Not today."

"The offer stands. I’m here every day except Restday." She looked at my academy uniform. "Student?"

"First year."

"Good luck. The academy turns out decent fighters if you survive the social politics." She grinned. Missing teeth matched the missing fingers. "The women are worse than the monsters. At least monsters are honest about wanting to fuck you."

Uniforms. The tailor’s shop in the academy’s east wing handled fittings. A woman with measuring tape draped around her neck and pins between her teeth took my measurements.

"Male student?"

"Yeah."

"Third one this term." She noted shoulder width, arm length, chest circumference. "Your build is narrower than standard male pattern. I’ll adjust. Two sets?"

"Two."

"Two gold. Standard pricing. Pick up tomorrow afternoon."

"Do you adjust for everyone?"

"Everyone who doesn’t fit standard. Which is everyone. Nobody fits standard. Standard is a myth invented by people who don’t sew." She pulled a pin from between her teeth. "Next."

Total spent: 15 gold entrance (held for the registrar, paid tomorrow), 3 gold crystal, 2 gold uniforms, 1.2 gold textbooks. Remaining: 3.8 gold. My entire financial cushion was less than what Helena spent on wine.

◇◇◇

Evening. Apartment. Pixia’s first real tutoring session.

The textbooks were on the table. Morne’s Fundamentals was open to Chapter one. Pixia sat on the spine of the book and kicked her legs while she lectured.

"Chapter one. ’Mana as a Resource: The Fundamental Model.’ This is what the academy will teach you for the first six weeks. The tank model. Everyone learns it. Everyone uses it. And for 95% of mages, it’s sufficient."

"But not for me."

"Your tank is a thimble. The tank model is as useful to you as a swimming manual is to a fish. You already live in the water. You need to learn to MOVE in it differently." She walked across the page, her tiny feet leaving no marks on the paper. "The tank model says: you have X amount of mana. You spend Y on a technique. You have X-minus-Y remaining. When the tank empties, rest and refill. Simple. Intuitive. And for you, completely useless."

"Because I don’t have enough to spend."

"Because spending implies surplus. You don’t have surplus. You have subsistence. If mana were food, you’d be on starvation rations while everyone else is eating feasts. The feast model doesn’t apply to someone picking crumbs off a table." She flipped to Chapter seven with her feet, walking across pages. "Chapter seven. Aldric Morne’s real contribution. Everything before this Chapter is the buffet. This Chapter is the survival guide."

She pointed at a passage. "Read this paragraph out loud."

I read: "’In cases of extreme mana deficiency, the practitioner may achieve functional parity with higher-capacity mages through precision channeling techniques that maximize output efficiency per unit of mana expended. The key insight is that mana velocity, not mana volume, determines impact force at the point of contact.’"

"That paragraph," Pixia said, "is the most important sentence in your education. Forget everything else. Burn the other six Chapters to ashes if you have to. THAT is your operating manual."

"Velocity instead of volume?"

"Exactly. The analogy is hydraulics. A garden hose sprays water over a wide area. Low pressure. Fine for watering plants. A pressure washer pushes the same amount of water through a tiny nozzle. Same volume. Vastly higher pressure. The pressure washer cuts through stone." She drew in the air with her finger, leaving traces of faint blue light. A wide circle. "This is a normal mage’s mana projection. Wide beam. High volume. Low pressure per unit area. It hits targets like a wave hitting a beach. Lots of splash, moderate impact."

She drew a second shape. A line thinner than spider silk. "This is what you’re going to learn. A needle. Same total energy. Compressed into a point smaller than your fingertip. The volume is tiny. The pressure is extraordinary."

"How do I compress it?"

"The technique is called channel narrowing. Instead of pushing mana outward through your natural pathways, you force it INWARD first. Compress it. Squeeze the flow until the channel is as narrow as you can sustain. Then release it through the compressed channel." She hopped from the book to my hand. "Hold your palm flat."

I did.

"Now push mana out. Standard method. Wide, unfocused."

I pushed. A faint shimmer appeared above my palm. Broad. Diffuse. The output that made examiners wince.

"Good. That’s your natural projection. Garbage volume, garbage spread. Now, instead of pushing OUT, pull the flow INWARD. Imagine squeezing a tube of paste from the middle. Force the mana toward the center of your palm before releasing it."

I tried. The sensation was immediate and uncomfortable. Compression required forcing mana through a pathway it didn’t want to travel. Like bending a finger backward. Possible. Painful. Unnatural.

The shimmer tightened. A thread appeared, wavering, thin. It reached about four inches before the compression collapsed and the thread dissolved.

"Better. You felt the resistance?"

"Like squeezing something that pushes back."

"That’s your channel walls. Your mana pathways have a natural diameter. Compression forces them narrower. They resist because the body’s default is wide projection. The resistance weakens with practice. After a week, the compression will feel natural. After a month, you’ll compress automatically." She flew back to the book. "Again. Narrower this time."

Second attempt. I compressed harder. The thread was thinner. More defined. It reached six inches. Brighter than the first attempt. Denser.

"See the brightness? That’s concentrated mana. Same total volume. Higher energy per unit. Again."

Third attempt. Focus on compression. Nothing else. The thread appeared: thinner than a hair, blue-white, sharp. It reached six inches and touched the nightstand.

A mark appeared on the wood. Not a crack. A puncture. Smaller than a pinprick. Three millimeters deep.

Pixia flew to the nightstand and examined the hole. She stuck her tiny head inside it.

"Three millimeters into hardwood." She pulled her head out. Her expression was the closest thing to awe I’d seen on a fairy’s face. "For comparison: a standard First Rank mana projection against hardwood produces surface scoring. Scratches. Maybe a millimeter of surface damage if the mage is talented. You just punched three millimeters THROUGH the material with total mana output that registers as ’barely above zero.’"

"How?"

"Physics. Force equals mass times acceleration. Pressure equals force divided by area. Your force is tiny. Your area is also tiny. Tiny divided by tiny equals... respectable." She grinned. "The academy teaches projection as ’push hard, push wide.’ Like trying to break a wall by throwing your body at it. You’re going to project as ’push precise, push deep.’ Like pushing a needle through cloth. Different technique. Comparable result. The wall-breakers will never understand what you’re doing because they’ve never needed to."

"Is there a ceiling?"

"On the needle technique? In theory, no. The narrower the channel, the higher the pressure, the deeper the penetration. In practice, your body’s mana pathways have a minimum sustainable diameter. Compress beyond that and the channel collapses. Or worse, ruptures. Don’t do that."

"What happens if it ruptures?"

"Internal mana burns. Nerve damage. Permanent pathway scarring that reduces your already pathetic capacity further." She gave me a serious look. Tiny, serious face. "The needle is powerful. It’s also dangerous for the user in ways that wide projection isn’t. Respect the technique or it will hurt you."

We practiced for three more hours. By midnight, I could produce a consistent thread that reached twelve inches. The puncture marks in the nightstand formed a cluster of tiny holes. My nightstand was turning into evidence of unsanctioned mana experimentation.

Fenra watched the entire session from the bed. Ears forward. Eyes tracking the mana thread with predator focus. When the thread first hit the nightstand, her tail moved. One wag. Small. Involuntary. She stopped it immediately.

At midnight, I dismissed Pixia to the windowsill and lay down. Fenra was on her side. The gap was still there. Half an inch.

"Goodnight."

Her ear twitched. Another wag. Suppressed. There.