Adom's fingers traced four distinct patterns in the air simultaneously, each hand splitting its work between two separate spell matrices. White energy flowed in controlled streams, never crossing, never mingling where it shouldn't. Four spells, four completely different effects, all being woven at the exact same moment.

And he wasn't even breaking a sweat.

[Shatter Shield] formed in front of the corrupted bear charging toward them—a pale hexagonal barrier designed to fragment upon impact.

[Wind Step] gathered at his feet, ready to propel him thirty yards in any direction the instant he needed to move.

[Frost Lance] collected above his left shoulder, ice crystals condensing from the moisture in the air.

[Heat Sense] spread outward in an invisible dome, tracking the movements of everything warm-blooded within fifty yards.

Four spells. At once. Without confusion or degradation.

This wasn't just impressive. It was impossible.

The Academy's Fundamentals of Spell Weaving textbook devoted an entire chapter to the limitations of human cognition. "The binding constraint on simultaneous weaving isn't mana capacity but mental bandwidth," Master Thorne had explained during Adom's first year. "Each spell requires complete visualization of structure, precise intent, and controlled mana flow. Divide your attention and you divide your effectiveness—usually catastrophically."

The human brain simply wasn't wired to process multiple complex magical structures simultaneously. It was like trying to solve four crystal lattice equations while also tracking how each solution affected the others. Most mages—even talented ones—could only handle a single spell at a time.

Double-weaving was rare enough to be remarkable. In the entire history of the Academy, only a handful of human mages had mastered it reliably. The current Archmage was the only known human who could consistently double-weave without exhausting himself.

Triple-weaving was the stuff of legends among humans. Something theoretically possible but practically unattainable.

And quadruple-weaving? Unheard of. Even among elves, it took centuries of practice to achieve. Their extended lifespans and differently structured minds gave them advantages humans couldn't match. An elven mage might reach quadruple-weaving by their fourth century—if they were exceptionally gifted and dedicated.

Yet here was Adom, doing it after a few days.

The corrupted bear crashed into his [Shatter Shield]. The barrier exploded exactly as designed, driving crystalline fragments into the creature's flesh. It roared in pain and fury, blood matting its unnaturally dark fur.

Without breaking concentration, Adom triggered [Wind Step], vanishing from where he stood and reappearing behind a massive oak. The [Frost Lance] above his shoulder tracked with him perfectly, maintaining its position relative to his body. He launched it with a flick of his fingers, sending the spear of ice hurtling toward a second corrupted creature emerging from the underbrush.

All while [Heat Sense] continued to feed him information about three more hostiles circling their position.

"Law, behind you!" Zuni called from a nearby branch where he'd taken refuge.

Adom didn't even turn. He simply processed the information from [Heat Sense], registered the approaching threat, and shifted his [Shatter Shield] to intercept a wolf-like creature with too many legs as it leaped at his back.

Four spells. Perfectly maintained. And it felt... natural. Hard to do, but natural.

This shouldn't be possible, Adom thought, a thrill running through him despite the danger.

His entire life, he'd been limited to single spells. Even after decades of practice in his previous timeline, double-weaving had remained challenging—something he could manage for brief periods under ideal conditions.

The corruption had spread further into the forest than they'd anticipated. What had started as a serene journey had quickly turned dangerous once they'd passed an invisible boundary. The animals here were wrong—twisted by dark magic that warped not just their bodies but their minds.

Cyrel fought nearby, her curved blade flashing as she danced between two bear-sized creatures. Behind her, Kianthras manifested partially, sending gusts of sharp wind to keep the corrupted beasts off-balance.

Adom dispatched the wolf-thing with a precisely timed detonation of [Shatter Shield], then reached out with his druidic senses toward the remaining corrupted animals. What he felt made him wince—pain, confusion, rage, all unnaturally amplified and twisted into a relentless hunger.

"They're being controlled!" he called to Cyrel. "Something is forcing them to attack!"

Cyrel nodded sharply, adjusting her stance to focus more on defensive maneuvers. She shouted something back, gesturing toward the mountains with her free hand.

"I believe she's saying the source lies ahead," Zuni translated from his perch. "Presumably this charming witch we're all so eager to meet."

Adom maintained his four spells, adjusting each one with subtle tweaks that should have required his full attention. The white energy flowing through him made it all feel intuitive, like extensions of his own body.

He studied the corrupted bear as it recovered from the [Frost Lance], noticing thin strands of sickly purple energy connecting it to something in the direction of the mountains.

"It's like puppet strings," he said. "If we can sever the connection..."

He allowed [Shatter Shield] to dissipate while maintaining the other three spells. In its place, he began weaving a fourth defensive barrier to give them a moment's breathing room.

"We can't beat them all," Adom called to Cyrel. "There are too many, and something's controlling them!"

Cyrel glanced back at the corrupted animals regrouping for another attack. She shouted something to Kianthras, who responded by fully manifesting for the first time since they'd entered the forest. The wind elemental surged forward, creating a swirling barrier that separated them from the corrupted beasts.

"Come!" Cyrel called—the first word she'd spoken that Adom actually understood. She was already running, her staff extended before her, casting a faint blue light that cut through the gloom of the forest.

Adom released all but [Heat Sense] and [Wind Step], then raced after her. Zuni leaped from the tree as he passed, landing neatly on his shoulder.

Cyrel's hand shot out and grabbed Adom's wrist. Before he could react, she shouted something that sounded like a command to Kianthras. The elemental swirled around them, condensing into a tight funnel.

"What are you—" Adom's question turned into a startled yelp as they were suddenly launched skyward, air pressure pinning him against Cyrel as the ground fell away beneath them at alarming speed.

"Oh dear," Zuni exclaimed, clinging desperately to Adom's collar. "A bit of warning might have been customary!"

The forest shrank below them, becoming a green carpet stretched across the landscape. The mountain range loomed ahead, much closer now, jagged peaks cutting into the blue sky. Kianthras had formed a protective bubble of calm air around them while propelling them forward at a speed no human could possibly achieve on foot.

Cyrel pointed toward a specific peak—one with an unusual flat-topped summit. She shouted something over the wind.

"I believe that's our destination," Zuni interpreted, his voice slightly strained as he maintained his grip. "Though I must say, I prefer more terrestrial modes of transportation."

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Adom's stomach lurched as they banked sharply, changing direction. He maintained [Heat Sense], keeping track of their surroundings despite the disorientation of sudden flight. Thanks to the spell, he noticed the approaching threats before he saw them.

"We've got company," he warned, pointing to their right.

Six shapes approached rapidly, silhouetted against the clouds. Harpies—the same kind they'd encountered before. Their human-like torsos and bird-like lower halves were unmistakable, as were the wicked talons extended toward the travelers.

"I'm starting to think your witch doesn't like visitors," Adom said to Cyrel, already weaving [Frost Lance] while maintaining [Heat Sense]. His hands traced the patterns with, white energy coalescing into a deadly spear of ice.

The lead harpy screeched, diving toward them with impressive speed. Adom launched his spell directly into its path. The lance caught it mid-dive, impaling it through the chest. The creature's screech cut off abruptly as it plummeted toward the ground far below.

Two more harpies attacked from opposite sides.

Kianthras expanded the air barrier outward in a sharp burst, catching one and sending it tumbling away. The other managed to breach the barrier, talons extended toward Cyrel's face.

Adom abandoned spell-weaving and did the simplest thing he could think of—he punched it. His fist connected with force, knocking the harpy back out of their protective bubble. It recovered quickly, wings beating furiously as it prepared for another pass.

Cyrel pulled something from her belt—a small, curved knife that gleamed with unnatural brightness. She flicked it toward the approaching harpies, and the blade elongated mid-flight, turning into a bright arc that sliced through two of them before returning to her hand like a boomerang.

The final harpy, perhaps recognizing its disadvantage, turned to flee. Kianthras didn't give it the chance. The elemental extended a tendril of concentrated wind that caught the creature and compressed around it, crushing it with terrifying efficiency.

Cyrel shouted something to the elemental. Their trajectory shifted, angling downward toward a clearing near the base of the mountain. The descent was even more stomach-churning than the ascent, with Kianthras spinning them in a controlled fall that made the world blur around them.

They touched down with surprising gentleness, Kianthras gradually dissipating the wind funnel until they stood firmly on solid ground again. Adom took a moment to steady himself, fighting the lingering sensation that the world was still spinning.

Cyrel was breathing hard, her shoulders rising and falling with each breath. She straightened, pointing toward a narrow path that wound up the mountainside.

"That way," she managed in heavily accented common speech. "Hurry."

Adom turned to look where she indicated, then froze, eyes widening.

"What is that?" he whispered.

Hanging from the cliff face above the path was a massive structure that resembled nothing so much as a chrysalis—a cocoon at least twenty feet long and nearly as wide, glistening with an oily sheen in the afternoon light. It pulsed slowly, as if breathing, the surface rippling in rhythmic waves.

Cyrel spun around, following his gaze. She cursed in her own language, her hand flying to the hilt of her blade. Kianthras reacted immediately, gathering into a tighter form and launching toward the chrysalis.

The elemental whipped into a ferocious tornado, engulfing the massive cocoon. Debris tore away from the mountainside as Kianthras intensified, the air howling with destructive force.

Adom instinctively activated [Flow Perception].

Through the whirling debris and chaos of the tornado, he caught a flash of pale light from inside the chrysalis—a glow that pulsed once, twice, then concentrated into a focused beam.

"Get down!" he shouted, already weaving [Barrier Shield]. The white structure of magical energy formed just in time to intercept the beam as it shot from the center of the tornado.

The impact sent him staggering backward, but the shield held. The beam dissipated against it, scattering into harmless motes of light.

Kianthras's tornado suddenly collapsed, the elemental thrown backward as if struck by an immense force. The wind entity tumbled through the air before reforming some distance away, visibly diminished.

Where the chrysalis had been, a figure now hovered—a woman, or something woman-shaped. Her skin was alabaster pale, her limbs impossibly long. Great translucent wings extended from her back, iridescent like a butterfly's but with patterns that hurt the eyes if observed too long. With eyes that contained no whites or pupils—just solid, reflective black.

"How rude," she said. "I was in the middle of a quite delightful metamorphosis."

She drifted downward, touching the ground with bare feet. Her movements were too fluid, as if her bones weren't quite solid. In her hand, she held what appeared to be a small crystal orb that pulsed with purple light.

Kianthras surged forward again, but the woman casually raised the orb. A pulse of energy shot out, wrapping around the elemental like a net. Kianthras struggled against the restraint, its form wavering.

"No, no," the woman chided. "Stay put, little storm. Adults are talking."

Cyrel stepped forward, blade raised, shouting something in her language. The woman looked at her with mild interest.

"Oh, hello child. It has been a while." She turned to Adom, her black eyes reflecting his image like dark mirrors. "And you've brought me a guest. How thoughtful."

"Who are you?" Adom asked, maintaining his shield while trying to weave [Frost Lance] simultaneously.

"You may call me Visariel." She tilted her head, studying him.

Zuni peeked out from behind Adom's collar, curiosity apparently overcoming caution. "Would you happen to be the witch?"

Visariel's attention shifted to the quillick, her lips curving into a smile. "How adorable. A pet that speaks."

"I am no one's pet," Zuni replied stiffly.

"Of course not." Her tone made it clear she didn't believe him. She returned her attention to Adom. "I'm rather cross about you killing my little toys, you know. Those forest creatures took such effort to improve."

"Improve?" Adom's grip on his spells tightened. "You corrupted them."

"Enhanced," Visariel corrected. "They were so limited before. So bound by their nature." She gestured with her free hand, and the orb pulsed again, tightening its grip on Kianthras. The elemental's form flickered dangerously.

"Stop that," Adom demanded. "You're hurting it."

"That's rather the point." Visariel's smile never wavered. "Now, shall we discuss what brings my master's runaway daughter and a young human mage to my doorstep? Or should I simply kill you both and extract the information afterward?"

"Your master's daughter?" Adom repeated, looking at Cyrel. "What do you mean?"

Cyrel's stance shifted, her grip on her blade tightening.

Visariel laughed. "Oh my. She didn't tell you? How perfectly amusing." She circled them slowly, wings shimmering. "Little Cyrel here is the Sovereign Metamorph's runaway daughter."

Adom glanced between them, quickly reassessing everything he knew. Cyrel had helped him. The whispers had directed him to her. Whatever her parentage, her actions spoke clearly enough.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" Adom asked, maintaining his shield.

Visariel's features registered surprise. "Well, well. Perhaps you're not as informed as I assumed." She smiled. "The Sovereign Metamorph—or the 'witch,' as you primitive creatures likely call her—has been searching for her wayward child for quite some time."

Cyrel made a sharp sound behind her mask.

"Still pretending you don't remember proper speech?" Visariel tsked. "Thirty-four years away, and you act like you've forgotten everything."

Adom couldn't hide his surprise at that. He looked at Cyrel more carefully. She appeared to be in her early-twenties at most—certainly not old enough to have been away for over three decades.

"Finding you has been quite the challenge," Visariel continued, addressing Cyrel directly now. "But when your new friend here started throwing mana around like festival fireworks, well... you might as well have sent up a signal flare. The Sovereign felt it from leagues away."

The orb in Visariel's hand pulsed again, sending another shock through Kianthras. The elemental's form wavered dangerously.

"I'm sure you're confused," Visariel said to Adom, her tone falsely sympathetic. "Let me enlighten you. This masked creature has been deceiving you. She isn't your ally—she's merely using you as bait or a shield. Why else would she bring you so close to her mother's domain?"

Adom kept his expression neutral, though his mind worked quickly. The butterfly woman was trying to turn them against each other—a basic but effective tactic when facing multiple opponents. Divide and conquer.

"She's been quite naughty," Visariel continued, her wings fluttering. "Running away just when her mother needed her most. Abandoning her responsibilities, her family, her destiny. And now here she is, playing guide to a human mage as if she were some common forest dweller."

Cyrel didn't respond verbally, but her posture tensed further.

"Your mother misses you," Visariel said with mock tenderness. "The Sovereign has such plans for her only daughter. Such a future awaits, if only she'd stop this childish rebellion."

"Why tell me all this?" Adom asked, deliberately drawing Visariel's attention away from Cyrel.

"Because you deserve to know who you're really traveling with," Visariel smiled. "And because it amuses me to see the truth revealed."

Adom considered the situation. If Cyrel was indeed the witch's daughter, that explained her familiarity with these lands and her opposition to whatever was happening here. It also explained why the whispers had guided him to her—an enemy of his enemy.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice you weaving that second spell beneath your shield?" Visariel suddenly asked, her tone hardening. "You humans are so transparent."

The orb pulsed again, and this time Kianthras made a sound—a high, thin keening like wind through a narrow canyon. The elemental was in pain.

"Stop it," Adom demanded.

"Come with me willingly, both of you, and perhaps I'll release this pitiful creature." Visariel's wings began to shimmer with those hypnotic patterns again. "The Sovereign Metamorph wishes to see her daughter... and to examine you, human. That transformation has piqued her interest considerably."

Adom kept his eyes on Visariel's face, carefully avoiding her wings. He could feel the tension radiating from Cyrel beside him.

"You're trying to turn us against each other," Adom said flatly. "It won't work."

Visariel's smile faltered slightly. "Am I? Or am I simply revealing uncomfortable truths? Ask yourself why she concealed her identity. Ask yourself why she led you here, to the very edge of the Sovereign's domain."

Adom didn't need to ask. The answer was clear enough in Cyrel's actions—in her fighting alongside him, in her protection against the corrupted animals, in the way the forest spirits had recognized and respected her.

Cyrel made a quick hand gesture toward him—three fingers spread, then closed into a fist. He wasn't sure what it meant, but the intent behind it felt clear: be ready.

"The hard way it is, then," Visariel sighed, raising the orb high. Purple light began to intensify within it.

Adom didn't hesitate. He dropped his shield and immediately wove [Wind Step], vanishing from where he stood just as Cyrel lunged forward, her blade aimed directly at Visariel's heart.