It was easy to tell why magic was so difficult for people to grasp: there were hardly any real, tangible instructions given.

The very first entry in the grimoire was the pre-information needed to understand magecraft itself.

‘Mana is no different than one’s own life essence. It’s drained when we’re exhausted, it’s filled when we eat. Just as we burn through energy by tending to a field or swinging a sword, we burn through mana to manifest magic. The incantations are engrained with the true visualization of a spell; they help one to completely imagine that which they wish to manifest. However, it’s possible to bypass the need for words bringing your magic to life. However, that’s something one should focus on much later in their tenure as a mage.’

Still, the knowledge flowed into his mind seamlessly as he glanced over the first page that caught his mind:

“Wind Blast.”

In the peak of spring, with the fresh air coming in through the open window and brushing against his blonde-and-black tufts, it felt like the perfect spell to begin with.

‘Feel the winds around you; whistling the chimes of the world, howling its anger, and jovially dancing in its glee. Against your skin, embrace the brush of its fingertips. Through your lungs, inhale and exhale the life it supplements.’

Reading the page for the piece of magecraft pertaining to the natural element of wind, the description naturally allowed him to feel the air around him in a new sense.

Inhaling and exhaling, he could feel the blood flowing through his veins warm up; against his skin, it felt like an extended sense, spiraling around him.

He stood up, holding the heavy grimoire in his hands as he began to read the incantation for the spell:_.

“Of the world’s weather, I call upon the strength of the wind. Through forests, valleys of fire, snow, and green, it remains ever-moving, free and uncorrupted: Wind Blast!”

Without truly expecting anything to come from his very first attempt at reading the words that anchored the wind spell–FWOOM.

A burst of air propelled outwards from his position, fluttering the light-gray coat he wore and his matching shorts as the blast of wild wind aggressively shook the neighboring bookshelves.

Knocked from the shelves, the books were flung around the room in the brief display of mystical winds, shaking the entirety of the small library.

“–” He looked forward in shock.

“Emilio! Are you okay?!”

Rushing up the stairs, both of his parents were in the library within seconds, but both stopped and looked at the state of the room in disbelief, realizing what caused the mess.

“I-I…uh…”

With such a mess that looked like a mild tornado had swept by, he stammered his words, fearful of the anger that would surely come from his parents.

“Did you…do this?” Julius looked at him.

Gulping, he slowly nodded, still holding the grimoire in his hands.

Julius and Treyna looked at each other silently for a moment as he watched cautiously, not knowing what sort of punishment was coming before–

“That’s amazing!” Julius called out.

“Emilio, you really used magic?!” Treyna happily said.

Before he knew it, he was being smothered by his mother while Julius danced around the room as if he had just told them they were going to be grandparents.

…Huh? He thought.

“I always believed you had it in you! Ha-ha!” Julius told him.

“Our little Emilio is a genius!” Treyna said.

–While it was surprising, he didn’t dislike the reaction garnered from his sudden display of magic as he bashfully chuckled.

Though while his parents were ecstatic, internally–his entire world had just changed.

Magic laid at his fingertips–real, tangible magic.

…That was amazing. I…I want to learn more, he thought.

From then on, he was given full access to the library, and barring a few hours each day set for swordplay with Julius, he delved into the grimoires there day-in and day-out; he practically lived in those books.

Of course, he took the actual practice of spells to the far-reaching fields right behind his home, learning from the mess caused by his initial test.

More than anything, I want to be able to use magic without invocations. Foregoing incantations entirely…that would be perfect, he thought.

Though it was easier said than done.

For hours, he stood there, racking his brain as he clenched his teeth, holding his hand out and trying to command the magic to manifest itself through just the sheer power of his mind.

…Come on…! He thought.

Throughout his body, flowing through him like the blood surging the canals of his veins, the mana inside of him was undoubtedly swirling, ready to be used, but it simply wouldn’t manifest itself.

“–“

He huffed, swearing from the continuous strain of trying to force the spells from his body as the gentle breeze brushed against him, causing the pages in his grimoire to flutter.

“Ah, no–”

As he knelt down to try and return to the page it was opened to, he stopped, looking at the entry it had miraculously opened to.

It was a passage from the author of this particular grimoire, a famous mage known as Torfollum:

”Magic without incantation’…If you ask any aspiring mage, or even veteran mages, accomplished in their own right, this is the most common aspiration shared by them. Since the dawn of magic, it’s felt as if invocations were truly the chains set on our will; binding us not to break free of our weaknesses.

However, I found for myself that the seeming impossibility was just that–’seeming.’ It did not exist. It’s all a matter of perspective; you must stop treating the act of manifesting magic as a divine action, one bestowed by the will of the gods.

Simply…think of it as a tool. As you would use any other tool, you understand its purpose already; a bucket to carry water, a hoe to tend the fields, an ax to tumble trees…You must understand what it is you want from magic.

Intent is everything. Understand the magic you wish to invoke to its deepest element.”

Reading the passage from the wizened mage, he could feel the wisdom peeling off of the weathered parchment, revealing itself to his curious eyes.

He stood up straight, focusing his gaze as he breathed in, taking a new angle to this.

Picture it…the calm of a morning breeze, the roar of a tornado; the tranquility of a still day, and the destruction of a storm…the many forms of wind, both benevolent and malevolent, he thought.

Throughout his body, he imagined the sublime essence traversing his veins to be purified water, filling his body with a refreshing cold as the howls of wind filled his mind as he extended his hand forward.

The winds themselves that brushed his fingertips felt heavier, like a solid breeze tickling his soft hand.

With the complete embodiment of the spell interlaced with his thoughts, he kept his hand forward with his intentions clear: to part the fallen leaves.

Come…Wind Sphere, he thought.