Trinity of Magic

Zeke sat cross-legged on the stone floor, a dozen droplets of blood suspended in the air before him like rubies caught in amber. Each one pulsed with its own rhythm, maintaining perfect spherical form despite gravity's pull.

"Return," he whispered.

Seven of the twelve droplets wavered, then darted back toward his outstretched palm. They struck his skin and vanished beneath it, rejoining his bloodstream with barely a ripple. The remaining five trembled, fought against his command for a heartbeat, then splattered uselessly against his forearm.

Progress, but not enough.

Zeke wiped the failed attempts away with practiced indifference. Two weeks ago, he couldn't manage even one successful return. Now he could reliably recall over half. The seedling wrapped around his heart pulsed with each attempt, growing more responsive to his Will.

Still, the drain was significant. Each droplet he imbued with the concept of return cost him more mana than a dozen ordinary blood spears. The inefficiency grated at him, but that was the nature of learning. Mastery would come with time—time he wasn't certain he had.