I could kill myself of course, but that felt like a mockery of the sacrifice I had just made. If I was going to do that now, I should have left all of our shields up, and let us go out together. No, I should make it count for something.

 

One of Azenum's most frequent teachings was "It is ok to make a mistake, but you need to learn from it. You should never make the same mistake again."

 

Never again. In order for my shields never to fail again, I would need to practice. I would need to train until my mana pool was so deep that my shields could never be broken. I would improve my white magic abilities until I could heal a black smudge back into a person. A person is only dead if there isn't a white mage strong enough to heal them.

 

But where? The idea of someone finding me, asking me questions--Where are Azenum and Izena? Why did you go off to train alone? What happened in the final battle?--I grit my teeth as the radiating acid feeling returned. I had to go somewhere where I wouldn't be found, even by accident.

 

I turned to the west. The ocean invited me beyond the horizon. Sailors were reluctant to leave sight of land--there were worse things than storms and sandbars in the deep oceans--but I was no mere sailor. I was, objectively, a mage of uncommon power. If I went far enough out to sea, surely I would eventually find an island where I would never be found. My resolve steeled, my fists clenched, I took a deep breath and turned my sight inward toward my mana pool.

 

Even heavily depleted as I was from the battle, only Izena could match the amount of mana that--

 

Oscanion's attack is a crashing wave of flames crossed with stinking pus, a disgusting perversion of a flame spell that I'd seen Izena cast many times. The air stinks of soot and ozone and Oscanion's peculiar rot. The flames reach Izena. Her shield is breaking, as is mine--

 

'NO. FOCUS,' I scolded myself. 'Materialization is mana intensive, and you're as exhausted as you've ever been. This is not the time to be sloppy, Menelyn.'

 

I squeeeezed mana out of my extended right hand, in its purest, condensed form. It was more difficult than it would normally be, like forcing a puff of air out after fully exhaling. Being white mana, it looked like liquid white light. The liquid light followed my will, and shaped itself into a small platform, just large enough for me to sit comfortably. To do this much only requires sufficient mana and a little training in manipulation. The next part, making it solidify so that it could support me, is the part that requires real skill. Azenum had insisted that I practice materialization and solidification relentlessly, since the only thing a white mage can do as a "magic" attack is make a glorified stick of solidified white mana and smack enemies with it.

 

I wasn't looking at Azenum when--

 

No. Deep breath.

 

'Alright, now give the mana just the right kind of shock so that it solidifies. Feel the mana pulsing. Time it. Time it...hit the resonance...kzap! Good, now absorb the rebound...kzip! And quickly, damp the aftershock transients...'

 

----

 

"Ohoho," Izena said from behind me. "That's impressive. You've become very skilled, little sister. That level of control is proof of a lot of practice."

 

I squeaked. 'I swear black magic must have cloaking spells that they won't tell me about,' I thought. 'How did she always manage to sneak up on me?'

 

"It's because you're so good at focussing," she explained with a shrug.

 

'Right! And she can read minds too! It's not fair!'

 

"No, I've told you before, I'm just your sister. I know you better than anyone," she giggled, then continued her previous thought. "Your ability to focus on a single task is an asset, but be careful it doesn't turn into bad situational awareness. Or worse, obsession."

 

"I-. I can make it solid consistently now, an-and quickly," I stuttered out. While I was timid and bad with praise by default, I was far from the only person who felt flustered speaking to Izena. She was just so...cool. Now 16, she was a worldwide celebrity.

 

"So I see! Say, I've always wanted to try a mana-sword fight, but you're the only mage who has a deep enough mana pool to make a good one." In a single motion, she summoned her own pure black light-eating equivalent of the glowing white blade I was holding. "Aside from me. Want to spar?"

 

...So cool.

 

"Isn't it!? Sure, there's not much practical value, especially for a black mage, but still," she said, raising her sword and waving it a bit.

 

"Not the sword, you," I corrected, raising my own.

 

It was nice to make her blush for a change.

 

"You're a celebrity too, you know," she countered.

 

"..."

 

I was so proud to be her sister.

 

----

 

"Huuuuuh," I exhaled. Well, my platform came out perfectly despite the distraction. Though it was simple to say what I was doing, the Academy would be gasping in awe at that display of mana control, murmuring about prodigies and goddesses. That sparring session had gathered an enormous crowd by the end. After all, it was possibly the world's first mana-sword fight. "A mage is one in a hundred thousand, and you are both one in a hundred thousand among mages, young ladies," one of the senior mages had announced to the room afterward.

 

'And look what I achieved today for all that. Not so omnipotent, am I?'

 

Heaving a sigh and choking back sobs, I took a seat on my very own personal glowy white hover chair platform thing. As I shot off over the ocean, I needed to make a shield to block the wind.

 

'Ah, there they are. There are the tears.'