"He has been remarkably committed to finding people to hit lately," Luna observed, settling her scaled bulk. "Though I must say, his target selection has improved. These four actually deserved it."

Adom laughed.

Gus looked between them, his expression shifting from wariness to something approaching annoyance. "What did she say?"

Adom glanced at Luna. "Want me to translate?"

"Please. I suspect he would find my assessment... illuminating."

"She said you've been remarkably committed to finding people to hit lately," Adom said. "Though your target selection has improved. These four actually deserved it."

Gus stared at Luna for a long moment. The shimmerscale gazed back with the patient expression of someone who had said exactly what she meant and saw no reason to apologize for it.

"There is no way she said that."

"Word for word," Adom said. "Well, thought for thought. The sentiment was quite clear."

"Luna doesn't..." Gus gestured vaguely at his familiar. "She doesn't make jokes. She's very serious. Very dignified."

Luna's mental voice carried what could only be described as amusement. "Ask him how exactly he thinks he understands me if I never communicate."

"She wants to know how exactly you think you understand her if she never communicates," Adom said.

Gus opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again. "It's... feelings. Mostly. Like when she's hungry or tired or wants to hunt. And sometimes I get impressions of what she's thinking about, but it's more like... instinct? Our bond lets me guess right most of the time."

"Guessing," Adom repeated.

"Educated guessing."

"Based on feelings."

"Yes."

"Poor boy has been having one-sided conversations with me for a year," Luna said. "I had no idea he was so thoroughly convinced I was incapable of wit."

Adom was starting to suspect that all shimmerscales had a deeply developed sense of irony. It seemed to be a species trait.

"She says you've been having one-sided conversations for a year," he told Gus. "She had no idea you thought she was incapable of wit."

Gus looked at Luna with something approaching betrayal. "You've been listening to me talk to you this whole time and never said anything back?"

"I said many things back. You simply lacked the ability to hear them."

"She says she said many things back. You just couldn't hear them."

"That's..." Gus ran a hand through his locks. "That's completely unfair."

"Life frequently is," Luna observed. "Though I notice you have not asked what I think about your recent hobby of seeking out violent confrontations."

"She wants to know if you'd like her opinion on your recent hobby of seeking out violent confrontations," Adom said.

The street had grown quieter around them. The last of the merchants were closing their stalls, and the evening foot traffic had thinned to people hurrying home or heading to taverns. A few curious passersby glanced at the trio—two young men and what appeared to be empty space, since Luna had shifted back to near-invisibility—but no one lingered.

Gus was quiet for a long moment, his bloody knuckles forgotten as he stared at the spot where Luna's eyes would be if she were visible.

"Do I want to know?" he asked finally.

"Probably not," Luna said. "But you need to hear it anyway."

"Actually," Adom said, interrupting whatever devastating assessment Luna was about to deliver, "what if I taught you how to hear her properly?"

Gus blinked. "What?"

Adom considered his words carefully.

The truth was, he and Gus weren't particularly close. They were friendly enough—shared classes, occasionally partnered for projects, exchanged greetings in the halls. But they weren't confidants. Which meant that whatever well-intentioned advice Adom might offer about grief and self-destructive behavior would likely be received with the enthusiasm typically reserved for unsolicited lectures from distant acquaintances.

Luna, on the other hand, had been with Gus for a year. She'd seen him at his best and worst, shared his victories and failures, slept beside him when nightmares kept him awake. If anyone was going to get through to him about his recent hobby of seeking out violent confrontations, it would be her.

Not Adom. Definitely not Adom.

"I mean exactly what I said," Adom replied. "I can teach you to actually hear what she's saying. Real conversations, not just feelings and guesswork."

"That's possible?"

"Apparently so. I learned recently myself." Adom glanced at Luna, who was watching the exchange with obvious interest. "It's not particularly difficult, just... different from what most people expect."

Gus looked between them, his expression cycling through skepticism, curiosity, and something that might have been hope. "How does it work?"

"Well," Adom said, settling into what Zuni would probably recognize as his teaching voice—patient, methodical, with just enough dry humor to keep things from becoming tedious, "first you have to stop assuming you know what she's thinking."

"I don't assume—"

"You absolutely do," Adom interrupted. "You've been having one-sided conversations with her for a year, convinced she's some sort of dignified, humorless creature incapable of wit. Meanwhile, she's been making jokes you can't hear and developing opinions about your recent life choices that you definitely don't want to hear."

Gus looked at Luna, who managed to convey profound amusement despite being mostly invisible.

"Point taken," he said finally. "So... how do I actually do it?"

"The basic principle is simple," Adom said, warming to the subject in the way he always did when explaining something he found genuinely interesting. "You use your mana as a bridge rather than a tool. Most magic is about imposing your will on reality—shaping, forcing, controlling. This is the opposite. You're creating a space where two different types of consciousness can meet halfway."

"That sounds unnecessarily philosophical."

"Everything sounds unnecessarily philosophical until you understand it," Adom replied. "Then it just sounds obvious."

"Right," Adom continued, settling more comfortably against the stone wall of a nearby building. "First lesson: forget everything you think you know about familiar bonds."

"That's helpful," Gus said flatly.

"It is, actually. Most people assume the bond works like sending messages through a communication crystal—you put thoughts in one end, they come out the other. It doesn't. It's more like..." Adom paused, considering analogies. "Have you ever tried to tune a mana resonance crystal?"

"Vaguely."

"The point is, you're not trying to broadcast to Luna. You're trying to create a frequency where both of you can exist simultaneously."

Gus looked skeptical. "That sounds like the same thing with extra steps."

"It absolutely is not." Adom's tone carried the particular patience of someone who'd spent considerable time explaining obvious things to dense people. "Broadcasting assumes she's a passive receiver. She's not. She's got her own thoughts, opinions, and probably a running commentary on your recent life choices that would make your ears burn."

Luna's shimmer intensified in what Adom was beginning to recognize as amusement.

"How do you know that?" Gus asked.

"Because I can hear her laughing at you right now."

Gus twisted to look at Luna, who managed to convey innocence despite being mostly transparent. "She's not laughing."

"She absolutely is. Which brings us to lesson two: stop projecting your assumptions onto her emotional states. You've decided she's this serene, dignified creature above petty concerns. Meanwhile, she's probably been mentally composing lists of your personality flaws for a year."

"She has not—"

"Ask her," Adom suggested. "Oh wait. You can't. Yet."

"This is supposed to be encouraging?"

"This is supposed to be accurate. Encouragement comes later, assuming you survive the profound existential horror of discovering your familiar has actual opinions."

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Gus was quiet for a moment. "Okay. So how do I actually do it?"

"Start by accessing your mana," Adom said, shifting into what was unmistakably teacher mode. "But don't shape it into anything. Don't even think about it as a tool. Just... let it exist."

"That's not how magic works."

"That's not how most magic works," Adom corrected. "This is different. Close your eyes. Feel your mana flow, but don't direct it anywhere."

Gus closed his eyes, his expression skeptical but cooperative. Adom watched the subtle tension patterns in his posture shift as he accessed his mana core.

"Good. Now, instead of pushing your mana outward, imagine it as a bridge. Not from you to Luna, but between you and Luna. You're not trying to reach her—you're creating a space where you can meet."

"I don't understand the difference."

"You will. Keep your mana loose, unstructured. Think of it as..." Adom searched for another analogy. "As creating a shared language rather than translating between two different ones."

Gus's forehead creased with concentration. His mana flickered around him, visible to Adom as pale blue threads that kept trying to form spell structures before dissolving again.

"Stop that," Adom said mildly.

"Stop what?"

"You're trying to create a communication spell. I can see your mana attempting to form binding matrices. This isn't spellwork."

"Then what is it?"

"It's listening." Adom leaned forward slightly. "Here's the part most mages never figure out: magic isn't just about imposing your will on reality. Sometimes it's about finding where reality is already willing to meet you halfway."

"That's extremely philosophical for someone who just mocked philosophical explanations."

"I contain multitudes," Adom replied dryly. "Now stop thinking so hard and just... be present with your mana. Let it flow without purpose."

Gus tried again. This time his mana remained unstructured longer, creating gentle currents in the evening air around him and Luna.

"Better," Adom said. "Now, while maintaining that flow, try to become aware of Luna. Not her physical presence—her consciousness. The part of her that thinks and feels and probably has strong opinions about your study habits."

"I can't—" Gus started, then stopped. His eyes snapped open. "Wait. There's something..."

Luna's form brightened slightly, and Adom could sense her attention focusing on the fragile connection Gus was building.

"Don't chase it," Adom warned quickly. "Whatever you're feeling, don't try to grab it or analyze it. Just acknowledge it exists."

"It's like..." Gus's voice was uncertain. "Like hearing voices through thick castle walls. I know someone's there, but I can't make out words."

"Exactly. Now, very gently, extend your awareness toward that presence. Not your mana—your awareness. Think of it as leaning closer to hear better, not speaking louder."

Gus's breathing became more controlled, deeper. The connection stabilized, grew stronger. Adom could see the mana bridge forming between them, delicate but functional.

And then Gus's eyes went wide.

"—honestly think charging into that fight was a reasonable decision? I've been trying to get your attention for three days about this self-destructive—"

The connection snapped. Gus jerked backward as if he'd been slapped, his mana scattering.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded.

"That," Adom said with considerable satisfaction, "was Luna. Actual Luna, not your idealized version of her."

"She sounds..." Gus stared at his familiar, who was now practically radiating smugness. "She sounds like a disappointed professor."

"I imagine she has cause to be."

"And her voice is..." Gus paused, searching for words. "Sharp. Articulate. She sounds nothing like I expected."

"I suspect most familiars don't. They're individuals, not reflections of their mages." Adom studied the dissipated mana patterns around them. "Try again. The connection will be easier to establish now that you know what you're looking for."

Gus nodded, closing his eyes and reaching for his mana again. This time the bridge formed more quickly, but it lasted only seconds before dissolving.

"—think I didn't notice you skipping meals? Your nutrition is abysmal and your sleep schedule is—"

Another break. Gus opened his eyes, looking slightly shell-shocked.

"She's very... direct," he said weakly.

"Indeed she is," Adom replied. "One more try. See if you can maintain the connection long enough for an actual conversation."

"I'm not sure I want to."

"Coward."

That got Gus's back up, as Adom had known it would. He closed his eyes again, jaw set with determination.

This time, when the connection formed, Adom was paying close attention to the mana flows involved. What he saw made him frown. Gus's mana was behaving normally—forming the bridge, maintaining the connection through deliberate effort, requiring constant conscious control to prevent it from snapping back to familiar spell patterns.

But when Adom had been learning this same skill, his mana had felt... different. Smoother. More naturally suited to the task. Almost as if it had been designed for this type of communication rather than standard spellwork.

Interesting. Another side effect of whatever transformation he'd undergone, apparently.

"—absolutely ridiculous behavior, and if you think I'm going to sit here quietly while you—Gus? Gus, can you actually hear me?"

This time Gus managed to hold the connection. "I... yes. Yes, I can hear you."

"Finally! Do you have any idea how frustrating it's been, watching you make increasingly poor decisions while being unable to properly explain why they're poor decisions?"

"I..." Gus's voice was faint, strained from the effort of maintaining the bridge. "Luna, you sound..."

"Articulate? Intelligent? Capable of complex thought? Yes, I imagine that's quite a surprise."

Gus's concentration wavered, and the connection began to fray. "Wait, don't—"

"—been trying to tell you that your grief doesn't justify seeking out dangerous—"

The bridge collapsed entirely. Gus slumped against the wall, looking exhausted.

"That," he said after a moment, "was not what I expected."

"Few people expect their familiars to have personality," Adom observed. "Luna appears to have quite a lot of it."

"She's..." Gus shook his head slowly. "Been watching me be an idiot for months without being able to properly intervene."

"Frustrating for both of you, I imagine."

"I had no idea. All this time, I thought the bond was just... emotions and general impressions. I never realized she was actually thinking in words, forming complete thoughts, having opinions about everything."

"I think most mages don't," Adom said. "The ability to communicate this clearly isn't taught at the Academy."

"But you learned it."

"Recently, yes. And apparently I am... unusually well-suited to it." Adom didn't elaborate on that particular revelation. "Your technique is solid, though. With practice, you'll be able to maintain the connection for longer periods."

Gus looked at Luna, who was still shimmering with what could only be described as anticipation.

"I'm not sure I'm ready for a full conversation with her," he admitted. "She seemed to have quite a lot to say about me."

"I imagine she does," Adom replied. "The question is whether you're willing to listen."

"That sounded suspiciously like wisdom."

"Accidental, I assure you."

Gus was quiet for a long moment, both watching Luna's shimmering form. Then he sighed and pushed himself to his feet.

"I should probably go practice this somewhere more private," he said.

Adom looked toward Luna. "Try not to destroy what's left of his ego all at once," he said.

"I make no promises," Luna replied dryly. "Though I do appreciate the lesson. This should be considerably more efficient than my previous methods of communication."

"Which were?"

"Pointed stares and strategic positioning. Surprisingly ineffective."

As Gus gathered himself, brushing dust from his clothes and flexing his bloodied knuckles, he glanced back at Adom. "You heading back to the Academy? It's getting late."

Adom considered. The idea of returning to his dormitory now room felt oddly unappealing.

"Hmm," he said finally. "No, actually. I think I'll stay out a bit longer."

Gus shrugged. "Fair enough. Come on then," he said to Luna. "Apparently we have a conversation to finish."

They walked away down the cobblestone street, Gus already reaching for his mana again. Adom watched them disappear around a corner, then pushed himself off the wall and headed in the opposite direction.

He stepped away from the cobblestone street and into the shadow of an alley. The familiar rush of magic lifted him skyward, carrying him up and over the city's rooftops in a matter of seconds.

The flight to Law's cave took less than twenty minutes. Below him, the academy grounds shrank to miniature scale, the practice fields and dormitories becoming neat geometric patterns in the darkness. The city sprawled beyond, windows glowing like scattered stars.

He landed on the familiar ledge outside his cave, the stone still warm from the day's sun despite the evening chill. The view from here never got old—the moon hung high and bright. The sea stretched to the horizon, waves catching moonlight in brief, glittering flashes. A steady breeze carried the salt scent inland, mixing with the earthier smells of the cliffs.

Adom settled onto a rock and let himself breathe properly for the first time all day.

The conversation with the Archmage kept circling back through his thoughts. The older man's certainty about the future, about the changes coming whether they were ready or not. About young mages like Adom being the ones who would have to navigate whatever came next.

For the first time, though, the weight of it all didn't feel crushing.

Maybe it was the conversation with Gus—seeing that he could actually help someone, that his strange collection of abilities might be useful for more than just surviving whatever crisis landed on his doorstep next. Maybe it was knowing that the Archmage saw potential rather than just problems.

Or maybe it was simply that he was starting to understand what he was working with.

His core pulsed with warmth, a gentle heat that had been building throughout the evening. Adom recognized the sensation now—the same feeling he'd experienced during those final moments in the fae realm, when his body had been adapting to the Axis energy.

The warmth was spreading, not uncomfortable but definitely noticeable. Like sitting too close to a fire, but from the inside out.

He leaned back against the cave wall and closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation. His breathing slowed as the heat intensified, spreading from his core through his chest and into his limbs. Not painful, exactly, but impossible to ignore.

This was what Biggins had described. The synchronization.

Adom reached deeper, extending his awareness into his core. The energy there felt different than it had even this morning—more settled, more integrated. The chaotic swirl of power that had characterized his Axis energy for weeks was beginning to organize itself into something more structured.

And there, around the edge of his core, he could sense something new beginning to take shape. The faintest trace of a circle, like the first pencil marks of a drawing that would eventually become something substantial.

His first circle was starting to form.

The realization sent a thrill through him that had nothing to do with the fever building in his body. This was it—the beginning of the process every mage worked toward, when raw potential started becoming something more refined and controllable.

Adom shifted into a proper meditation position, legs crossed, hands resting on his knees. Now, as he reached for his mana, it responded with an eagerness that was almost startling.

The energy flowed through him like water finding new channels. He directed it carefully, spreading it from his core through his torso, down his arms, into his legs. Each pathway felt more open than before, as if barriers he hadn't even known existed were dissolving.

His breathing deepened. The forming circle around his core pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, growing slightly more defined with each pulse. The fever sensation peaked and then began to stabilize, settling into a new baseline that felt fundamentally different from anything he'd experienced before.

Time seemed to stretch. He could feel his body adapting in real time, cells reorganizing, pathways forming, everything aligning with the new configuration of power at his center. It was like watching a complex machine calibrate itself, each component finding its proper place and function.

The mana continued to circulate, but now it moved with purpose rather than chaos. Where before it had felt like trying to control a raging river, now it flowed like a well-designed irrigation system—still powerful, but directed and useful.

Adom opened his eyes.

The horizon glowed with the soft orange of dawn. He blinked, confused. It had felt like maybe thirty minutes of meditation, but the sun was definitely rising. Either he'd lost track of time completely, or the synchronization process had taken far longer than he'd expected.

He stretched, working out the stiffness from sitting in one position for hours, and was surprised to find that he felt remarkably good. Energized, even. The fever was gone, replaced by a sense of... alignment that he couldn't quite describe.

A familiar shimmer appeared in his field of vision.

[Physical Constitution Synchronized with Magical Core]

[Mana Capacity Increased: 1098/2000]

[First Circle Formation: Beginning]

Adom stared at the numbers, then reached for his mana to test the difference. The response was immediate and controlled—exactly what he'd hoped for but hadn't quite dared to expect. His body finally matched his core, no longer struggling to contain power it wasn't designed to handle.

He stood, rolled his shoulders, and grinned at the sunrise.

This felt like a real threshold.