The sky island's central platform lay still, its rune-etched stone scarred from Darius's Storm's Wrath, the air heavy with the fading sting of ozone and scorched mana. Floating boulders hovered quietly, their runes dim, while the fiery rings in the distance flickered weakly, the cliffs' prismatic glow softening as the island's energy settled. Darius lay sprawled, his chest heaving, pain radiating from Ignatus's strike, his training robes—blue wind motifs faded—clinging to his sweat-soaked skin. His Zephyr form had collapsed, his mana drained, the weight of his defeat sinking in. Ignatus stood over him, his youthful-old frame towering, sleek robes with elemental runes glinting faintly in the morning light, his trimmed white beard framing a face both stern and softened. His gray eyes, sharp with centuries of mastery, held a trace of care, his presence commanding yet tempered by concern. Without a word, he knelt beside Darius, his hand glowing with a soft, silvery mana—not elemental, but pure and warm, a simple healing spell radiating from his palm.

The mana flowed gently, like a warm tide washing over Darius's bruised body, mending strained muscles and soothing the ache in his chest. The pain ebbed, his breathing steadying, the island's hum softening to a low pulse as the healing took hold. Ignatus's touch was precise, the silvery light knitting his wounds with quiet efficiency, the air around them carrying a faint warmth, free of the elemental tang of earth or wind. Darius's eyes fluttered open, meeting Ignatus's gaze, the professor's tone shifting to a calm, steady cadence as he helped him to his feet. "You fought hard," Ignatus said, his voice low, the platform's runes flickering faintly as he spoke. "But you held back. You saw me as a teacher, not a threat. That's why you're on the ground." The sky island's energy settled, the boulders drifting slowly, the cliffs' glow dimming, as if echoing his words. Darius steadied himself, his legs shaky but supported by Ignatus's firm grip, the healing mana still tingling in his veins, his mind racing to process the correction's purpose, the island's calm amplifying the weight of the moment.

Ignatus stepped back, his sleek robes swaying, his presence filling the arena as he began his lesson. "In a fight, there are only two outcomes—win or die," he said, his voice carrying the weight of centuries, the island's mana humming in response. "You must embrace the possibility of death, Darius. It's not about fear—it's about pushing your body to adapt, to grow absurdly fast. That's what keeps me in peak condition, even at my age." His gray eyes locked onto Darius, unyielding but warm, the platform steady under his boots. "I saw it in your tournament fights—you went all out, no hesitation. But here, you restrained yourself, thinking of me as a mentor, not an opponent. That won't do." The air stirred, the runes on the cliffs pulsing faintly, the floating boulders shifting as Ignatus's words sank in. "To claim a title like Storm Visionary, you need strength to match its legend. Embrace the thought that you could die at any moment—it'll ignite your instinct to live, to grow." His tone was philosophical yet practical, his centuries of battles woven into his words, the island's energy a quiet backdrop to his intensity.

Darius's heart pounded, Ignatus's words striking deep, resonating with his vow to prevent a dark future and surpass Lucien. The life-or-death mindset felt daunting, but it sparked a fire within him, his ambition to master his magic flaring brighter. Elara's focus from Study of Water flickered in his thoughts, her intensity a subtle push to match Ignatus's expectations, but he centered on the lesson, his resolve hardening. "I'll try my best," he said, his voice steady despite the lingering ache, his training robes catching the island's faint breeze. Ignatus's face softened, his calm side emerging, a rare warmth breaking through his stern demeanor. "I know you will," he said, his tone reassuring, his hand resting briefly on Darius's shoulder, the gesture grounding them both. The island's runes glowed softly, the air humming with a quiet promise, the cliffs' light casting gentle patterns across their faces. Ignatus's faith in him, blended with his strict mentorship, deepened their bond, the sky island's vast expanse a testament to the challenges ahead, Darius's determination burning to meet them.

The central platform stretched wide, its rune-etched stone still warm from their duel, while floating boulders drifted lazily, their faint glow pulsing in rhythm with the mana-charged air. The fiery rings in the distance flickered like distant stars, and the cliffs' prismatic light danced across Darius's training robes, their blue wind motifs catching the morning breeze. His body felt renewed from Ignatus's healing, the ache gone, but his mana reserves lingered low, a quiet reminder of his limits. Ignatus stood tall, his sleek robes with elemental runes shimmering faintly, his youthful-old frame radiating a calm intensity, his gray eyes sharp yet warm. The island's energy seemed to bend to his presence, the air vibrating softly, the boulders' slow drift a silent acknowledgment of his mastery. Darius squared his shoulders, his heart steady, ready to absorb whatever Ignatus would teach next.

Ignatus paced the platform, his boots silent on the stone, his voice low but commanding, cutting through the island's hum. "Your mana reserves are your weakness," he said, his gaze piercing. "You tire too quickly, Darius. Your attacks—Zephyr, Anemoi Shades—they're strong, but they drain you fast. You've relied on mana threading, haven't you?" Darius nodded, his mind flicking to the technique he'd honed, weaving mana efficiently through his body like a taut thread to maximize output with minimal waste. Ignatus's eyes narrowed, the cliffs' runes flaring briefly as he spoke. "Threading's useful—keeps you efficient, lets you fight with small reserves. But it's holding you back. You've learned to survive on scraps, not to grow. To become a Storm Visionary, you need more—raw power, not just control." The air stirred, the boulders shifting slightly, their runes glowing brighter as Ignatus's words sank in. Darius's chest tightened, the truth of his limits exposed, but his ambition surged, eager to break through.

Ignatus stopped, raising a hand, his palm glowing with a faint, silvery mana—not elemental, but pure, unrefined, like a star's light condensed. "Today, you'll learn to use pure mana as a weapon," he said, his tone practical yet edged with a philosopher's weight. "Blasts, blades, raw force—mana unshaped by elements, wielded through will alone. It demands control, but more than that, it demands capacity. You'll expand your reserves, learn to push beyond your limits." The island responded, the platform trembling faintly, the fiery rings sparking, the cliffs' light pulsing in sync with his mana. He gestured, and a small, shimmering orb of mana formed above his hand, crackling with power, the air around it warping with a sharp hum. "This isn't about finesse—it's about output, about forging a wellspring inside you." His words carried the weight of battles fought across centuries, the boulders drifting closer as if drawn to his energy. Darius's eyes widened, the concept thrilling yet daunting, the island's vastness amplifying the lesson's stakes.

Darius's mind raced, Ignatus's words igniting a fire within him. The life-or-death mindset from their earlier talk resonated, its truth sharpening his focus—embracing the edge of survival could push his body to adapt, to grow stronger faster. His vow to prevent a dark future burned bright, a quiet promise to surpass Lucien, to become a force capable of shaping destiny. The thought of Elara's intensity sparked briefly, her unyielding focus a personal push to match Ignatus's expectations, but he anchored himself in the moment, the island's energy fueling his resolve. Using pure mana as a weapon felt like a new frontier, a way to break free from the constraints of his small reserves. He imagined unleashing raw blasts, shaping mana into blades, his Zephyr form weaving through them with untouchable grace, Anemoi Shades amplifying the chaos. The island's hum grew louder, the runes glowing brighter, as if sensing his ambition, the air crackling with potential.

Ignatus lowered his hand, the mana orb dissipating, the air stilling. "Your reserves are like a shallow pool," he said, his voice steady, his eyes locked on Darius. "You've learned to make every drop count, but a Storm Visionary needs an ocean. We'll start simple—form a mana spark, hold it, let it grow. Feel its weight, not its flow." He stepped back, gesturing to the platform, the runes pulsing softly, inviting Darius to try. "This isn't threading—it's building, expanding, pushing your core to hold more." His tone was firm, practical, but laced with encouragement, his faith in Darius evident in his steady gaze. The cliffs' light cast intricate patterns across the platform, the boulders hovering closer, their runes flickering as the island awaited Darius's attempt. His heart pounded, the challenge daunting but exhilarating, the prospect of wielding raw mana as a weapon—a blade, a blast—igniting his ambition. He could feel the island's energy urging him forward, the air humming with a quiet promise of growth.

Darius took a breath, his hands trembling slightly, the faint breeze tugging at his robes. Ignatus's lesson felt like a turning point, a chance to redefine his limits, to forge a stronger foundation for his elemental path. His vow to prevent a dark future pulsed in his chest, the weight of Lucien's shadow a distant but ever-present spur. The island's vastness—its sprawling platforms, fiery rings, rune-lit cliffs—mirrored the scope of his ambition, the mana-charged air a canvas for his potential. Ignatus watched, his sleek robes glinting, his youthful-old frame a pillar of wisdom and strength. "Begin," he said, his voice a quiet command, the runes flaring briefly, the boulders drifting in anticipation. Darius nodded, his resolve hardening, ready to form his first mana spark, to push his reserves beyond their limits.

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