Chapter 84: Air and Book of Rules

The first light of dawn slipped across the windowsill, stirring Lira awake. Fluffy stretched lazily at the foot of the bed while she quietly gathered her space bag satchel, full with notes and half-formed ideas from the night before.

As she stepped into the cool morning air, the Academy grounds were hushed, with only a few early risers crossing the courtyard. Her feet carried her toward the grove, but her mind was far ahead of her body.

What if the combinations weren’t random at all? she thought, clutching the small pouch of herbs she had prepared. What if each potion had its own rhythm, like the fairies do when they hum their songs?

The path between the trees felt alive with expectation. She remembered the way the vials had shimmered in Therin’s hands, the quiet pride she felt when Grandmaster Elion’s gaze softened with approval. But beneath that pride was a determination stronger than ever, this wasn’t just about proving herself. It was about uncovering something hidden, something waiting in the silence between earth and air.

By the time she reached the grove, the sun had broken free of the horizon, casting golden threads across the grass. Lira knelt by her worktable, set out her ingredients, and whispered to herself,

"Today, I’ll listen more closely."

Renkai and Thalanir trailed after her but kept their distance, settling beneath the ancient tree whose roots curved like resting dragons across the moss. From the shade, they watched without interrupting, knowing well enough that when Lira’s mind was set, nothing should disturb her.

The grove itself seemed to welcome her. The worktable shimmered with morning dew as if it had polished itself overnight. Fresh plants lay ready, their leaves still cool with the night’s breath, and neat rows of vials waited like clear canvases.

Lira drew in a deep breath, her heart lighter than it had been in days. This is what I live for, she thought, arranging the herbs, separating the airy seeds from the earth-heavy roots.

Her eyes shone with a sudden spark of mischief and curiosity.

"What if," she whispered to herself, almost afraid of the boldness of the idea, "I could make a potion to make me float?"

She touched a seedling of sky-bloom, its petals so pale they were nearly transparent, and felt a thrill course through her fingertips. The thought lingered in her chest like a challenge from the fairies themselves.

From beneath the tree, Thalanir raised a brow, hearing her murmur, but said nothing. Renkai only smirked faintly. They both knew, when she dreamed, boundaries began to bend.

Lira crushed the sky-bloom petals carefully, adding them to a vial already shimmering with distilled moonwater. A faint silver mist curled upward, feather-light and cool against her skin.

"Air and light," she murmured, sprinkling in pollen from a windvine pod. The liquid shifted from clear to a pale blue, tiny bubbles rising as if it already longed to escape gravity. Her heart raced, this might work.

She lifted the vial to her lips and sipped just a drop.

At first, nothing. Then her stomach fluttered, like wings beating inside her ribs. The grass beneath her feet seemed to loosen its hold. Slowly, impossibly, her toes rose from the ground, just the width of a hand.

She gasped and laughed at the same time, grabbing at the edge of her table to steady herself.

"I did it! Almost!"

But the triumph lasted only a breath. The potion surged too quickly, and she felt herself drifting sideways, bumping against a branch that scattered leaves over her hair. The effect faded as suddenly as it came, dropping her back onto the soft moss with a muffled thud.

From under the tree, Renkai chuckled.

"Not bad for a first flight," he called, his eyes bright with pride.

Thalanir’s expression softened, though he tried to hide his smile. "Next time, perhaps add a root to anchor the body. Lightness alone is chaos."

Lira sat up, brushing leaves from her hair, cheeks glowing with excitement more than embarrassment. She had floated, even if only for a heartbeat. That single moment was enough to ignite her determination.

As the warmth of her laughter faded, a colder thought slipped in.

If she could weave elements into potions... then the possibilities were endless. A vial of flame to kindle in the palm of her hand, a draught of water-breath to walk beneath the river, an elixir of earth to lend unshakable strength.

Her fingers traced the rim of the blue-stained glass. The power was tempting, too tempting.

But power drawn from the elements was not harmless. She had felt it in her own bones: the sudden lift, the loss of control, the way the potion turned wild the moment her balance wavered. A stronger mixture could break a body as easily as it could buoy it.

If I tell them... she glanced toward the grove where Thalanir and Renkai still lingered, their voices drifting like low wind. They would warn her off, forbid her to try again.

No, this was hers. Her discovery. Her risk.

She corked the vial, tucking it deep into her satchel, pressing it against her chest as if to steady her racing heart.

One day, she promised herself, I’ll perfect it. But until then,it stays with me until it is safe.

With that, she rose and smoothed the moss from her dress, letting the morning air wash over her face. Half a success was still a secret triumph.

She sat under the giant tree, fingers still trembling from the potion’s aftertaste. The question pressed on her mind like a storm: what if someone knew?

Elemental power was not meant to be swallowed, distilled, or hidden inside glass. In every tale the elders told, the elements were boundless - air to breathe, fire to warm, earth to carry, water to sustain, spirit more of a mystery. They were to be honored, not consumed.

If the Order found her experiments, they would call it corruption: the twisting of what was free and infinite into something caged and selfish.

If the scholars of the Tower discovered it, they might try to harness it, push her further, use her craft as weaponry.

And if the wrong hands took it...

She needed to know more.

She closed her eyes. Borders would rise. Rules would be drawn. What once belonged to sky, soil, flame, and sea would be locked behind walls, regulated, rationed.

The thought unsettled her.

She had already crossed a dangerous line: she had shown the elements they could be tamed. Or at least, coaxed.

The air itself seemed to whisper through the leaves:

You cannot bind what was born to roam.

Her chest tightened. She understood. These potions were hers alone. To reveal them would not only endanger herself, but also chain the elements in ways no one yet dared to imagine.

Lira brushed the leaves from her cloak and left the grove behind, the whispers of air still circling faintly in her mind. Saying bye to Renkai and Thalanir, promising she will be back.

The stone path wound back toward the academy, its lanterns glowing warm against the evening haze. She walked quickly, clutching her satchel, as though afraid the strange thoughts would spill out and betray her.

The library loomed at the heart of the grounds, tall windows lit from within. Its doors creaked open under her push, releasing the scent of parchment and ink. Behind the reception desk sat Mandra Inkwell, quill poised above her ledger as always.

The librarian looked up, her sharp eyes narrowing with curiosity.

"Back so soon, Lira?" she asked, her voice calm but edged with that uncanny sense of knowing too much.

Lira hesitated, then stepped closer. "I need... the Book of Rules," she said, her words hushed, as though naming it alone was dangerous.

For a heartbeat, the only sound was the scratching of Mandra’s quill as she set it aside. Then she folded her hands over the desk.

"The Book of Rules is not often requested," she said slowly. "Most students prefer charms or recipes for success, not the boundaries that keep them safe."

Lira’s throat tightened. "But I need to know where the boundaries are."

Mandra studied her a moment longer, then rose from her chair. Her robes rustled softly as she moved toward the shadowed shelves.

"Very well," she said, motioning for Lira to follow. "Come. The rules are not hidden, but neither are they eager to be found."

For a moment Mandra said nothing, only studied her. Then she stepped towards the pilled shelves and gestured down a side aisle. Lira followed, the smell of dust and old vellum rising stronger the deeper they went.

As they walked, Mandra spoke softly, her tone like a teacher testing her pupil.

"Tell me, Lira. Why does a young mage seek boundaries instead of freedom?"

Lira hesitated. "Because... I think something is changing. Inside me. Around me. I need to know if I’m breaking rules without meaning to."

Mandra’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. "Honesty. That’s rare." She paused before a high shelf, running her fingers along the spines until one old leather volume seemed to catch her touch. She pulled it free with surprising ease.

The book was heavy, bound in cracked black hide, a faint shimmer to the letters pressed into its cover. Codex of Accordances, it read. Mandra held it close, her long fingers curled protectively around it, before finally offering it out to Lira.

"This will not give you comfort," she warned. "But it will give you clarity."

Their eyes met, and for the first time Lira thought she saw not just a stern keeper of knowledge, but a flicker of care beneath Mandra’s calm exterior, an unspoken be careful.