My plan was simple. Break the fingers on my left hand, monitor the results, and learn more about how my healing worked. If things got out of hand, I'd down the rest of the sleeping tonic and hope Mistress Maggie could patch me up without asking too many questions. I started small, grabbing my pinky and wrenching it back into an unnatural angle. The pain hit instantly, sharp and hot, but I managed to grit through it. If nothing else, I figured my pain tolerance was going to be legendary by the time I was done.

The moment the bone snapped, the familiar sensation of that inner channel of energy I'd felt before returned. This time, though, it was thicker. More forceful. I figured it took more energy to mend a break than to fix a puncture wound. The sensation filled me, like liquid light coursing through invisible veins. I focused on it, and to my surprise, I felt a flicker of control. I could regulate it. With effort, I reduced the flow. Nothing obvious happened. It still worked, just slower, I guessed. But when I mentally turned the tap in the opposite direction and pushed the flow harder, the effect was immediate.

There was a rush of warmth, almost pleasure, as the magic surged through me, stronger than anything I'd felt so far. My finger jerked back into alignment with a soft crack, and within seconds, the pain was gone. No swelling, no bruising, nothing but clean, unbroken skin. It was amazing.

There was no magical glow, no shimmering lights, no obvious sign that something supernatural had just occurred. Just me, a broken finger, and a miracle I now knew how to repeat. But when the healing ended, the connection vanished. No lingering sensation, no magical energy humming in my veins. Just emptiness and exhaustion.

Not physical or mental tiredness, exactly. It was something deeper. Like the core of me, wherever the magic lived, had been drained. Not enough to knock me out, but enough that I didn't feel like testing another finger.

Satisfied for now, I decided it was finally time to drink the sleeping tonic. It was a miracle no one had come to check on me already, and I didn't want to stretch my luck. I returned everything to its proper place, got back into bed, and drank the potion. Then I re-shackled myself as best I could. As I lay back, a smile spread across my face.

I drifted into sleep feeling powerful. For the first time in a long while, maybe ever, I felt like I had an edge.

I woke up to hands shaking my body. Instinctively, I tried to bat them away, but the manacles jerked my arms short, reminding me of where I was.

Mistress Maggie's face hovered over me. I had just enough time to process that before her hand came flying at my cheek.

"What were you playing at?" she hissed.

"Ow!" I said reflexively, though it didn't actually hurt.

She loomed over me, eyes narrowed. "Did you think I wouldn't notice things missing, boy? Hm?"

She looked terrifying. Not in a physical sense, because Maggie wasn't exactly built like a soldier, but in that particular way teachers get when they've caught you red-handed and know exactly how stupid you've been. I'd seen that look in her classroom more than once, usually followed by a stern lecture or a personal essay on why I was an idiot.

"Sorry," I said, trying to make my voice small. "I got bored."

"Not good enough," she snapped. Then her voice lowered to a near whisper. "You're in prison, Brandon. And more importantly," she leaned in closer, "you have magic. You need to start understanding the kind of risks you're playing with. The consequences are not just bad. They're fatal."

"I know, I know," I said quickly. "I just… I wanted to test it. The healing. I wanted to understand it."

She fixed me with a stare. "What exactly do you mean by 'test'?"

I hesitated. "Well… I, uh, broke my thumb. Might've done something to my wrist too. Not sure. Then I broke my pinky, and stabbed myself with a needle. Just a small one."

I raised my hands to show her, wiggling my fingers. "But look! All healed. Not a mark."

"You. Are. A. Fool," she growled.

I shrank back instinctively.

"What if it hadn't worked? What if you'd passed out, bled out, or worse, what if you had gotten caught?" Her voice was sharp with fear more than anger now. "You don't understand how serious this is. If they take you downstairs… that's it. You're gone. You'll be nothing but a husk hooked up to wires, drained of every drop of mana until there's nothing left but a body."

"I'm sorry," I said again, meaning it this time.

She scoffed and looked away for a second, gathering herself. "I'm not angry because you broke a finger, Brandon. I'm angry because I care. I don't want to see one of my students dragged into that pit. I've seen the people in there. I've treated them. And I can't watch that happen to you." Her voice softened. "I don't think I could take it."

I swallowed hard, guilt weighing on me more than the shackles ever could.

There was a haunted look in Mistress Maggie's eyes, and I was reminded of what she'd said the day before about the mages locked away beneath the prison. Whatever horrors she'd witnessed down there had left a mark, and now that mark stared back at me, etched into her expression. I felt a pang of guilt for making her worry, for being reckless enough that she'd even had to consider the possibility of me ending up in that same dark place.

Before, it had all felt distant. Abstract. Like something happening to other people. People I'd never meet, whose stories I'd never know. But now? Now I had powers. Now it was real. This wasn't some far-off nightmare. It was something that could happen to me. And that changed everything.

I couldn't afford to be reckless about using my powers. Mistress Maggie was right that I'd been careless. Stealing from a locked room and hiding it under my bed like it was some brilliant plan? I was lucky it was her who found it, and not someone else.

"I promise I'll do better," I said, voice earnest. "I got caught up in the excitement of discovering my magic, and the boredom of being strapped to a bed alone. But you're right. I need to be smarter. I do need to learn my limits. And I'm lucky you're the one here. If I don't figure out how to control the healing, it's going to become a real problem."

Her stance softened, and she took a small step back, the lines on her face easing just a little. "Well, I'm glad you're starting to see sense. But don't you dare think about stealing from me again, young man. I found your little stash." She fixed me with a knowing glare. "And for the record, hiding things under your bed isn't clever. They do regular searches here. The guards know all the obvious spots."

She made a good point. A decent stash spot was always important, even more so in prison. Especially one full of thieves and suspicious guards. That was something to worry about later though. In the meantime, I still had a chance to stay in the infirmary and take advantage of it. With any luck, I could use that time to push my healing powers further, safely. I doubted I'd get such a good chance again. If I could get Mistress Maggie's help, that would be even better.

"I'll try not to steal from you again," I said, flashing her a sheepish smile. She raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything, so I pressed on. "But… I do want to be extra cheeky and ask for your help."

"Oh?" she said, folding her arms. "Am I not giving you enough already, hm?"

"Of course you are," I said quickly. "I just want to make sure I don't get injured unnecessarily. After all," I added, quoting her favourite line with a grin, "the best way to treat an injury is by not getting injured."

Her glare sharpened at that, but I could see the flicker of amusement behind it.

"And I'm worried that if I don't have your help, I'll end up with a lot more injuries."

"Blackmail," she muttered. "That's what this is. Emotional blackmail. You're using my own lessons against me."

I gave her my most innocent grin. "Just being practical, Mistress. If I'm going to do something foolish anyway, wouldn't it be better if you were here to keep me from going too far?"

She sighed heavily, throwing her hands up in mock defeat. "Fine. If I don't help you, you'll probably end up doing something twice as dumb without me."

"Thank you, Mistress," I said, beaming. "You're the best."

Beneath the stern exterior, Mistress Maggie was a softie. Always had been. She cared about her students in a way few teachers did. Half the scoldings she gave were more about worry than anger. Not like some of the other staff at the academy. Some of them, I was convinced, would've watched me drown with a smile on their face. And not in a passive way. No, it was more like they'd enjoy watching the bubbles rise.

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"We've got a few hours before anyone is likely to interrupt," she said at last. "So. What kind of idiocy do you need help with this time?"

"I need to be able to manage my healing," I replied, serious now. "And to do that, I need to get injured."

She gave me a look so heavy, I felt like it might crush me.

"That's why I need you," I continued. "To make sure I only hurt myself in… safe ways."

"'Safe ways,'" she repeated, her voice flat with disbelief. "In all my years, I've never had someone ask me to help them hurt themselves safely."

"You know I'm right," I said gently. "There's no way I'm going to survive the next thirty years without someone trying to put me in the ground. Eventually, someone's going to beat me half to death, and if my healing reacts too obviously, I'll be caught. I need to control it. Learn to make it look normal."

She closed her eyes and took a long, slow breath but I saw the slight nod. She understood.

This was the only way forward. I had to learn how to manage my magic. I couldn't afford to get caught off-guard, not in here. And with her help, maybe I could do it without ending up crippled.

She released the manacles from my wrists, and I sat up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.

Here we go.

"Before I went to sleep, I figured out how to control the flow of what I assume is mana," I said. "The issue is that it completely shut off when my finger snapped back into place, and I was left feeling exhausted."

Mistress Maggie nodded, as if that was exactly what she expected. "That's a common reaction when someone burns through their mana. How much do you actually know about magic?"

"Bits and pieces. Not a lot, really. I never thought it was something I'd need to worry about."

"I won't pretend to be an expert, but I've picked up a few things over the years—mostly related to the medical side, of course. What you experienced is pretty typical. It's the early sign of what those mages down below go through every single day. If you'd pushed even a little further, you could've done real damage to your gate."

"My gate?" I repeated, not recognising the term.

"That's what they call it in the lower levels. It's the point where your mana enters your body. Every mage has one. If you draw too much, too fast, or for too long, you risk tearing or damaging it. I've had to treat prisoners who became comatose from overstretching their gate. Others become like addicts, chasing that rush by burning through everything they have. I'm told the feeling can be... intensely pleasurable."

That tracked with what I'd felt. The more I increased the flow, the better it had felt almost euphoric. Not addictive for me, not yet anyway, but I could see how someone could fall into that trap.

"That sounds horrific," I said. "If I need to avoid casting when I've run out, I'm going to need to know where that limit is. Is there any way to tell how much mana I've got?"

"They've got machines for that. Down below. Measures the amount of mana in your body and how much is left after a spell. Or after a drain. Helps the guards manage how much they take from the prisoners."

My eyes lit up at that, and she immediately caught it.

"Don't even think about it," she warned. "I'm not going to try and get you one. Those devices are closely monitored. If one went missing, the entire wing would be turned upside down."

That was disappointing, but not surprising. A device like that would be invaluable right now. Maybe, once I was more established, I could figure out how to get my hands on one. They had to be delivered somehow. And if something came in, then something could go out. I'd need to find a way to the lower levels—and more importantly, a way back out.

"Well, if that's off the table," I said with a sigh, "I'll just have to figure out my own way to measure it."

Mistress Maggie tilted her head slightly, considering. "You need a baseline. Like those science experiments at the academy. You need a consistent injury that costs a predictable amount of mana."

"The only one I've really felt clearly so far was snapping my finger." She winced at that. "It was enough of an injury to give me time to sense the flow. That might be the best starting point."

"I've spent forty years helping people avoid injuries," she snapped. "I'm not going to help you create a measurement scale based on how many fingers you've broken."

"But it's the only one that lasted long enough to give me good data," I said, only half-joking.

"No," she said firmly. "We're starting with something small. You said you stabbed yourself with a syringe earlier, right? Did you feel the mana then?"

"I did, but—"

"Good. That's where we'll start."She walked over to the equipment box and retrieved a fresh syringe. I didn't flinch. Not after yesterday.

"I'm going to put this into your arm," she said. "Tell me when you feel the gate opening."

I took a few calming breaths, focusing entirely on my senses, then nodded. The needle slid in easily, barely noticeable after everything else I'd done to myself. The moment it broke skin, I felt it.

"It's working," I said. "There's a stream. It's small but it's there."

"See?" she said, dabbing the blood away with a rag. "Better than snapping bones."

I tried to reduce the flow, like I had yesterday. But it was harder this time. Back then, the magic had surged through me like a wave. Today, it was barely a trickle. Trying to control it was like trying to dam a stream with tweezers. The risk of cutting it off completely was high.

Then it hit me.

"Ah," I said aloud.

"My body must have some kind of natural trigger," I said. "It just... kicks in when I'm injured. But keeping the flow shut off takes actual concentration. If I let my mind wander, it just starts again."

"Can you reduce the flow instead?" Mistress Maggie asked.

"It's hard with something this small," I admitted, glancing at the faint mark where the syringe had gone in. "It feels... brittle. Like if I try to restrict it, it just snaps."

"The important thing is that you know where your minimum lies now," she said. "And more importantly, you can shut it off. At least as long as you're conscious."

"Not amazing news considering the state I was in when you found me," I said with a wry smile. "But maybe it'll get easier with practice."

She nodded. "Exactly. Magic, like the body, can be trained. The more you practice control, the more second nature it'll become. Eventually, keeping that flow steady, or closed, might not take much effort at all."

"I'll work on it," I promised. "But the next step is finding my limit. Yesterday, I burned through what I had with two confirmed broken bones, a deep stab wound, and a maybe-broken wrist."

I reached for my pinkie finger, ready to snap it for science, when Mistress Maggie shot out a hand and grabbed my wrist.

"No. Absolutely not. I am not going to sit here and watch you break your own fingers. We are not barbarians."

She sighed and reached into her apron pocket, pulling out a small scalpel. I blinked at it.

"You just carry that around?"

She didn't answer, but the look on her face told me she thought the question was stupid. She placed a bowl on the bed beneath my arm and gestured for me to roll up my sleeve.

"I'll make a shallow cut, and you tell me what you feel, alright?"

"Ready," I said with a nod.

She hesitated for a moment, her lips pursed in worry, then took a breath and began the cut. It was longer than I expected, but not deep. Still, the pain wasn't what held my attention. It was the mana.

The stream surged into me like a slow, deliberate river, far larger than before. Not twelve times bigger than the syringe prick, but at least four or five times. Strange.

"The flow's increased, but not proportionately," I said, watching blood drip into the bowl. "This cut's way bigger than the syringe one, but the stream's not even close to that difference."

"Maybe there's a minimum threshold?" she offered. "The needle prick hit the lowest point your body reacts to, and anything past that just scales gradually?"

That theory made sense. To test it, I concentrated and brought the flow back down to what I remembered the needle level to be.

"You're right," I said. "It matches the earlier trickle. Any lower, and the stream vanishes altogether."

"Good. That gives us a reliable baseline."

"I'm going to increase it now," I warned, "just to see how much I can pull through."

As I widened the imaginary gate in my mind, I watched the cut on my arm begin to close. Slowly at first, then faster. Mistress Maggie dabbed the blood away to give us a better view, and we both stared in awe as the wound completely vanished before our eyes.

"Good heavens," she whispered, covering her mouth. "I've never seen healing like that. It's... incredible."

I grinned. "Cool, right?"

"Disturbing," she muttered, though the amazement hadn't left her face.

"Let's do it again," I said, too excited to be subtle. There was less hesitation this time. She made a similar cut, and I went straight to maximum flow. The result was the same, a near-instant healing.

"I've been tripling the gate each time," I said. "So if the base stream is one 'unit,' then this is twelve. And I still don't feel even remotely drained."

We repeated the process a few more times, each one widening the gate and pushing the limits a bit further. On the fifth try, I finally hit the wall. The stream became sluggish, my head a little foggy. The exhaustion was creeping in again.

"That's it," I said, breathing deeply. "I'm out."

She bandaged the last cut, though the skin had already knitted together beneath it.

Using my very scientific process, I came to a conclusion: I had sixty 'units' of mana. Not an exact system and it didn't account for how long the gates had stayed open, or how stacking injuries might affect consumption but it was a start. Something I could refer back to.

More importantly, I now understood that the gate could be opened, closed, and controlled. That I could sense how far it was stretched. And that I had reserves that, with training, could be pushed even further. I thought back to what Erick had told me about mages growing stronger over time, about mana reserves expanding with effort. That would be my next goal. But for now, I was content.

I had a baseline.

I had a threshold.

I had a magic power.

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