At this point someone’s bound to ask: what’s the difference between Instant Movement and a Spatial Leap?

Instant Movement shifts you from one spot to another without crossing the in‑between, like a swallow darting from branch to branch in one breath.

It crosses long stretches in a blink, letting the caster rush away or close in, like a tide surging toward or away from shore.

A Spatial Leap manipulates space, opening a seam or corridor, like cutting silk to reveal a hidden passage between layers.

It can hide you inside that narrow pocket for a while, like crouching in a hollow reed as the wind passes.

A Storage Ring uses a similar principle, like a tiny chest anchored in a folded corner of the world.

In short, Instant Movement is simpler and direct, swift motion inside space, like a hawk’s straight dive.

A Spatial Leap is broader and complex, true space control, like steering a river by carving new channels.

The latter is usually trickier than the former, like weaving brocade instead of plain cloth.

So what happens if you fuse the two into one Magic Array, like twining two strings into one bowstring?

It lets Lucimia teleport while carrying other people or objects, like a boat ferrying all its passengers in one stroke.

Lucimia set a Teleportation Magic Array in her bedroom, like a compass pinned to her home.

But that felt insufficient; what if she couldn’t make it back, like rain catching her outside without an umbrella?

She thought it through, dismantled her Storage Ring, and rewrote the array, like a watchmaker opening a clock to reset its gears.

By the way, when she asked her father for magic books today, he gave her another Storage Ring from a prior Reversion, like passing down an heirloom bead.

He didn’t hand over the family’s old tome, like keeping the ancestral key locked away.

So she moved everything from the original Storage Ring into the new one, like pouring water from one jar into another.

Then she modified the old ring, engraved a teleportation array, and linked it to the bedroom array, like threading two doors with one silver cord.

Now she could teleport anytime, anywhere, like a step through mist whenever she wished.

Perfect. I’m amazing, she praised herself, like tossing a flower to her own stage.

Next came the trial run to see if the array worked, like testing a bridge with the first careful step.

Lucimia walked into the bathing chamber and closed the door, like a moon slipping behind clouds.

She channeled mana into the ring, shut her eyes, and chanted a dense spell, like weaving knots in the dark with steady breath.

The ring flared blue and wrapped her, like tidewater rising to hold a swimmer weightless.

She opened her eyes to a strange space, and unseen hands pushed her forward, like currents nudging a leaf downstream.

Soon a crack split open ahead, and she slipped through, like a moth finding a slit in paper to reach the lamp.

She emerged right into her bedroom, like stepping from shadow into familiar lamplight.

Success! Lucimia smiled bright, like a sunrise breaking over quiet roofs.

First try and it worked—of course it did, like an arrow hitting the mark it was born for.

She felt she’d created something remarkable, a kind of array this world had never seen, like planting a new star in an old sky.

Even the Royal Capital lacked such magic tech, like a palace without this particular key.

Scholars had proposed the idea long ago, but few mages wield space, so starting was hard, like seeds without rain in a dry season.

And their vision differed greatly from Lucimia’s, like roads leading to separate valleys.

Mages who grasped the Spatial Leap could usually carry only themselves, like lone birds crossing a gap without a flock.

They studied arrays to carry people or cargo and thought only within Leap logic, never about Instant Movement, like searching one bank and ignoring the other.

Instant Movement is simpler than a Leap; it doesn’t rip space, it just appears and vanishes, like footprints forming and fading on wet sand.

So they assumed Instant Movement offered no reference for teleportation, like dismissing a reed because it isn’t a bridge.

Even if someone tried to combine them, success wasn’t guaranteed, since arraycraft is complex, like calligraphy where one stroke ruins the scroll.

You can’t help but marvel at Lucimia’s talent, like a spring bubbling from rock where others found only dust.

Lucimia wondered if her Authority Power came from the god of Knowledge and Wisdom her ancestor had once slain, like inheriting a shard from a fallen star.

But maybe not; in theory Knowledge and Wisdom shouldn’t clash with time abilities, like two winds crossing without storm.

Even if they did, you’d need precise knowledge to trigger it, yet hers fired without effort, like a bell ringing on its own.

That meant her ability had some passive effect, like a river flowing even when you don’t draw water.

Forget it, no more thinking, she decided, like laying a stone on restless waves.

She straightened, raised her arms, and stretched long, because study is tiring, like a cat arching after a nap.

Alright, next I just set the landing point outside town, she said, like sketching a gate on the map’s edge.

Then if she needed to run, it would be easy, like a path kept clear under the pines.

Oh, right—she hadn’t tried carrying someone, and almost forgot, like leaving a bookmark behind a page.

She called Yuna, led her into the bathing room, raised the ring, and began the chant, like two travelers whispering before a jump.

But even after she finished, the ring didn’t react; they still stood there, like statues waiting for thunder.

Huh? What happened, she wondered, like a sparrow pausing mid‑flight.

Lucimia was baffled, like mist with no sun to burn it off.

Lucie, sis—did it work? Yuna asked, blind to the scene, hearing only quiet, like listening for rain that never falls.

Uh… Lucimia paused. It didn’t, she said, like admitting a kite refused the wind.

That’s off; it worked just now—so maybe it can’t carry people, she thought, like a bridge cracking under a second step.

But that’s not right; if it can’t carry, the spell should still take her alone, leaving Yuna, like a boat leaving one passenger on the dock.

Which means… she thought, like putting ear to a shell for a hidden sound.

She slipped off the ring and examined the array, like a jeweler peering at fine engravings.

She saw several cracks across the center, like hairline fractures in chilled glaze.

Alright, she knew why, like finding the broken stitch in a sleeve.

Her Teleportation Magic was single‑use; after one jump it needed repair, like a bowstring fraying after one hard pull.

Expected, really; she was self‑taught, and small flaws are normal, like first pottery cooling with a warp.

No fix for now; she’d improve it later, like planting a note for future hands.

She repaired the array and tried again; this time it worked, and she carried Yuna to the bedroom, like a lantern guiding two shadows through a wall.

With the experiment done, the sun was almost down; she hadn’t expected to study all day, like a candle eating itself to the wick.

The bedroom dimmed with the sinking sun; she lit a magic lamp, and light pooled again, like gold poured into a bowl.

Tonight the Church’s Holy Knights for the Exorcism Ritual would arrive, and Lucimia should prepare her plan, like laying pieces on a chessboard before dusk.

If it went well, she’d have Yuna use Reversion and try to save Vittor and Kaeli while making the ritual fail again, like rewinding threads and cutting a knot twice.

She had another plan too—to sell Vittor—like tossing a stone to divert a river, though the idea tasted bitter.

Since I’ve finished Teleportation Magic, why not knock out Vittor, Kaeli’s parents, and other familiar folks, then carry them all away, she thought, like scooping fish into one net before a storm.

It’s doable; she’d stopped slacking to secure her salted‑fish life while keeping the people she knew safe, like building a small harbor for her own boats.

She could abandon the rest of the town and run with family only, like closing the gate behind a chosen few.

But there’s a snag: her father’s a man of duty; he might not run, and after waking he’d return to town and scold her for escaping, like a drum calling soldiers back.

Kaeli was loyal to her father and would go with him, like a banner following its pole.

Her mother wants their family to turn ordinary, but if Alvis goes, she won’t leave alone, like a lamp staying where its flame burns.

Vittor, a collateral of the family, would chase his dream as a Holy Knight if he had the Blessing of Exemption against corruption, like a rider freed to mount his steed.

With the town in crisis, Vittor would take responsibility even if he wasn’t a Holy Knight, like a young tree standing against wind.

Seen this way, maybe only Lucimia would actually run, like one bird breaking from the flock.

Forget it, she shook her head, like dropping a pebble and walking on.

Their thinking isn’t wrong, and neither is mine, she felt, like two paths under the same moon.

Thinking too much gives headaches; better to confirm that sabotaging the ritual can stop the octopus’s plan, like testing a knot before pulling hard.

Besides, if she really ran, people would know a daughter of an Exorcist Family chose flight and would scorn her, like crows circling a fallen banner.

With a ruined name, peaceful life would be hard, like trying to sleep beside a market drum.

If she alone ran, few would speak, like a pebble slipping under water unseen.

But taking Yuna and escaping is the last resort, since that abandons her parents’ safety, which isn’t right, like leaving elders in a storm.

She’d do it only when forced, like breaking glass to reach a fire alarm.

She is selfish, wanting to enjoy life herself, like keeping a warm quilt to her own side.

Yet she isn’t a villain; she helps others when it doesn’t harm her comfort, like sharing tea when the kettle’s full.

Once a matter threatens her own ease, she drops others decisively, like cutting a rope before it drags her under.

Her past life was bitter; this time she wants comfort, like seeking sun after long rain.

Yes—there’s nothing wrong with that, she decided, like writing her name firmly on her own door.

This is her, the essence of Lucimia, like a clear spring reflecting its own sky.