For someone whose inventions had turned a city's economy on its head, you'd think I'd feel more in control of my life.
Instead, I was sitting cross-legged on the polished stone floor of my workshop, a donut-shaped meditation circle glowing softly beneath me, trying not to sneeze as a single speck of dust tickled my nose. A sneeze would break the mana rhythm, and after four hours of slow, deliberate breathing, that would be a cosmic-level insult.
It was all in the name of expanding my mana pool, of course. My personal quest had reached obsession-level intensity, and the Haarnadel Talisman was only the beginning.
But it wasn't enough.
"You're forcing it," Tolan said, standing over me with a cup of something hot and judgemental. "Mana isn't a sponge; you can't just soak yourself and hope to swell up."
I cracked one eye open. "Thanks for the wisdom, Sensei."
"I am your sensei, remember?" He sat down beside me with a groan. "You've grown past meditation. What you need is a biological anchor—something integrated."
"Like... like a mana well?" I perked up.
He shook his head. "Not exactly. Think smaller. Cellular saturation. A bridge between your natural flow and your body's ability to retain and cycle mana."
I stared into the glowing runes for a long time.
A bridge, huh?
It took three weeks of failed prototypes, sleepless nights, and at least one minor explosion that fused a pair of my socks into the ceiling, but I finally cracked the design: the Mana Resonance Choker.
I called it "The Collar" for short, and immediately regretted that branding decision after Leo heard it.
"You're making fashion statements now, are we?" he smirked, twirling a feathered quill between his fingers. "A bold move, Lady Elara."
"It's not fashion, it's a technological leap forward in magical biology," I huffed, holding up the thin, rune-etched band of flexible metal.
"Sure it is," Mira chimed in, already reaching for a matching outfit. "But it would go really well with that lavender dress—"
"I. Am. Not. Accessorizing!"
The Choker wasn't just a vanity item. Forged from mana-conductive silver alloy, inlaid with regenerative sigils and a spiral lattice of Elf- and Dwarf-inspired runes, it bonded to my mana signature upon first activation. Most importantly, it was built to grow.
Literally.
Using a series of adaptive runes that Tolan had shown me—alongside some deeply experimental augmentation of my own—it was able to gently expand with my body as I aged. That meant no need to replace or resize it. It was permanent.
And it worked in harmony with the Haarnadel.
Worn together, the two items formed a feedback loop: the Haarnadel would stimulate mana pathways, while the Choker would reinforce them and distribute the excess into long-term mana saturation. In essence, I was planting a magical vineyard and laying the irrigation pipes at the same time.
I could feel the results almost instantly.
Mana flowed more smoothly through my veins, with less strain. Complex runes became easier to maintain. I even caught myself idly reshaping light crystals for fun—something that would've given me migraines before.
I was getting stronger. Slowly. Steadily.
Too steadily, perhaps. Because time didn't wait.
The year I turned fourteen was the year everything changed.
Not because of a new invention. Not because of a world-shaking discovery. But because the twins—Leo and Mira—were leaving.
They'd always been the constants in my new life. Annoying, infuriating, supportive, and absurdly loyal constants.
It started with Leo.
He received an official invitation from the Royal Guard Academy in the capital. His mock training matches had caught the attention of a traveling recruiter, who'd apparently been scouting local talent.
Leo had played it cool, of course. "A knight's life isn't that glamorous," he told me while dramatically packing his things into a trunk. "But someone has to uphold justice and look good doing it."
I punched his arm.
Mira's opportunity came a few weeks later. A high-end merchant friend of Tolan's was setting up a boutique in the capital and needed someone charming, fashionable, and fluent in four languages.
Mira, in other words.
She screamed when the letter arrived. Literally screamed. Then hugged me so tightly I nearly dropped a mana crystal.
"You'll visit, right?" she whispered later that night, lying beside me in the grass.
"If I get the time," I muttered, blinking away starlight—and something else.
"We'll see each other again," Leo promised. "In two years. Exactly two."
"Why two years?" I asked.
They didn't answer.
Just smiled.
And then they were gone.
The house felt empty. Even the chickens seemed quieter. I found myself drifting between projects, my usually frantic work pace slowed.
I missed their laughter. Their teasing. Their presence.
But in their absence, I had space to breathe.
To grow.
I wore the Choker and Haarnadel every day. My mana pool expanded gradually, like a sapling unfurling its roots into fertile ground. Meditation became smoother. Rune design more elegant.
I still didn't know why the twins had said two years.
But I was determined to be ready for whatever came next.
Even if it involved lavender dresses.
To be continued...