Chapter 3: Mana Heart
Five months had passed since the night of the crystals.
At eight months old, Grim could sit up on his own, grab objects, and was beginning to crawl—all normal developmental milestones for an infant. What wasn't normal was how the water in nearby glasses would sometimes ripple when he was upset.
This morning, Sera had placed him on a blanket in the courtyard, where he could watch his father's training routine. The old servant woman believed fresh air was good for babies, and Grim wasn't about to complain. Anything was better than staring at the broken ceiling.
"You're getting slow, old friend," Marcus said, while parrying Rowan's strikes.
The Archmage had extended his visit indefinitely, claiming he needed time away from court politics. Grim suspected he was really here to monitor his development, but he didn't mind. The more he learned about this world's magic system, the better.
Rowan grunted, his sword had a faint blue aura surrounded by the blade. "Not slow. Conservative."
Marcus laughed, side-stepping the attack. He wasn't even using a weapon, just deflecting Rowan's strikes with flicks of his fingers, each movement trailing wisps of red flame.
"I can feel you drawing on all six of your mana hearts," the Archmage said. "Yet you're still holding back. Why?"
Six mana hearts? Grim's interest piqued.
[Mana hearts are the core of a magic user's power in this world,] the voice in his head explained, as if sensing his curiosity. [They form when a person learns to pull mana from their surroundings and pool it together in their core before circulating it through their body.]
"How many does the average person have?" Grim thought back.