We left the Great Hall and entered a narrow passage descending downward. Thick roots intertwined around us like ancient veins of the tree, glowing softly with a greenish light.

  Reim stopped by a small opening.

  — Here, — he said.

  We stepped inside.

  The room felt like both an office and a den.

  On one side stood a desk, roughly carved from a single massive piece of wood. Upon it lay maps, runes, reports, quills, stones, and amulets.

  On the other side—soft moss, hides, and a warm resting place, as if he truly lived here through the nights.

  The space smelled of smoke, moss, steel, and sweet древесная resin.

  — Tell me, — Reim said, lowering himself onto a wide stump instead of a chair. — How is your training?

  I told him everything.

  About my classmates.

  About Elinia.

  About Finn and Reynar.

  About teachers who couldn’t explain.

  About how easy it was to fall asleep during lessons.

  About what the future mages of the country looked like—strong, but not understanding the essence.

  Reim listened in silence, never interrupting. His ears lifted slightly—alert, attentive, like a beast on watch.

  When I finished, he only sighed.

  — Just like before… Humans don’t learn magic—they copy it. Like movements, like form, but not meaning.

  And then, completely unexpectedly, a thought formed in my mind.

  — Reim, what are you teaching the children now?

  — The basics. A bit of breathing. A bit of control. A bit—how you taught us, — he smiled faintly. — But we have few books. Almost no structured knowledge. Teachers say “feel the wind,” “listen to the water.” But the children don’t know what they’re supposed to be listening to.

  I bit my lip.

  There it was—an opportunity to help. A real one.

  — Then I’ll write them, — I said.

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  — What? — Reim blinked.

  — Textbooks. Short ones at first—by element. Then a full manual for adults and children. With explanations, examples, diagrams. So anyone can understand. Not feel—but understand.

  Reim exhaled as if I had lifted a decade-long burden from his shoulders.

  — That… will be a gift to the forest, — he said quietly.

  He opened a carved casket and took out something white and soft, like a cloud soaked in light.

  — Try it.

  I put a piece in my mouth.

  And…

  It was incredible.

  Sweet, but light. Dissolving in an instant.

  Like eating a piece of night mist woven with moonlight.

  — This… — I almost couldn’t find the words. — This is the best sweetness I’ve ever tasted.

  Reim gave a satisfied huff, but I noticed something else—a faint, unpleasant aftertaste on my lips, like the thought that you want more.

  — Just— — I said, — don’t give much to the children. It’s addictive.

  Reim froze. Then nodded—seriously, gratefully.

  — I’ll make sure of it.

  That same night, I wrote.

  I wrote until dawn.

  Pages flowed one after another.

  Diagrams.

  Pressure formulas.

  Examples of water movement.

  Temperature reactions.

  Simple explanations even the youngest could grasp.

  I finished the book on the Water Element in a single day.

  And that evening, I went into the forest.

  White Wolf and Grey Shadow were waiting at the entrance—silent silhouettes among the trees.

  — The Council is already assembled, — White Wolf said. — Everyone is waiting for you.

  Seven elves sat around a circular root that served as their table. Rune-light reflected in their eyes.

  All of them—nearly grown now.

  Ferris had stretched taller, broad-shouldered.

  Selia had matured, confidence settling into her gaze.

  Lienna—slender, calm, wise.

  Tyriel—still talkative, but now with a shadow of responsibility.

  Arlis—focused, no longer a child.

  White Wolf—steady, strong.

  Grey Shadow—quiet as the night itself.

  When I entered—they jumped to their feet.

  — ZEN-SENPAI!

  — Finally!

  — You have no idea how much we missed you!

  They surrounded me so fast I nearly lost my balance.

  We talked for two hours.

  Two hours of questions, laughter, memories, stories—and for the first time I realized how much I had missed them.

  Then I took out the book.

  Silence thickened.

  I placed it on the table.

  — This… is for you. The best explanation of water I can give.

  They flipped through the pages, whispering as they read.

  Selia whispered:

  — This is… a revolution.

  Lienna added:

  — This will change everything.

  Arlis looked up:

  — We’ll adapt it for the Forest Academy. Teachers will finally be able to explain things… properly.

  I raised a hand.

  — But.

  This knowledge is for the forest only.

  Do not release it outside.

  Do not sell it.

  Do not spread it.

  They all nodded.

  No objections.

  They understood.

  And I looked at them.

  They had grown.

  Some were already thirteen. Others twelve.

  Some nearly my age.

  Warmth rose inside me.

  The kind parents feel when they see their children grow.

  And then Reim began to speak—but his voice was heavy.

  — Zen-senpai, — he said. — The forest is growing. And humans… are beginning to be afraid.

  His words hung in the air like an approaching storm.

  And I understood:

  This was only the beginning.