The days that followed were grueling.
Even at the tender age of barely a year old, I understood one simple truth—power was not given; it was earned. I had once stood at the pinnacle, a ruler feared and respected, but in this life, I was weak. Helpless. A child.
And I hated it.
My father's lesson had been simple—mana is not commanded, it is guided. But knowing that did not mean I could suddenly wield it. I had no manual, no step-by-step guide. Just instinct, observation, and relentless determination.
I would not remain powerless.
The First Step Toward CultivationIt began with meditation.
My father never called it that, but I recognized the method immediately. He taught me to sit still, to breathe slowly, to listen. Not to my surroundings, but to something deeper—something beneath the skin, beneath the surface of thought.
"The first thing every warrior must learn is how to feel their own mana," he had said. "Before you shape it, before you use it, you must know it's there."
So I sat. Every morning. Every night. Still and silent.
And I waited.
At first, there was nothing.
It was frustrating beyond words. My mind was sharp, my will unbreakable, yet I could not reach what I knew was there. Each failed attempt reminded me of my helplessness.
But failure was an old enemy.
One I had defeated before.
And I would do so again.
Then, on the fifth night, I felt it.
A spark. Faint and fragile, but undeniably real.
The Awakening of ManaIt wasn't like the great surges of power I had wielded in my past life. No lightning, no burning fire, no earth-shaking force. It was small, like an ember hidden deep within my core.
But it was mine.
I focused on it, reaching out with my will. The ember flickered, resisting me at first. But I remembered my father's words—you do not command mana; you guide it.
So I did.
Instead of trying to seize control, I nudged it gently. It responded, sluggish at first, but then moving like a slow current. The more I focused, the clearer it became—a flow of energy coursing through me, waiting to be shaped.
A rush of exhilaration surged through my chest. This was my first step.
I opened my eyes.
The room was dark, illuminated only by the faint glow of the fireplace. My body felt warm, my heartbeat steady. But when I looked at my hand, I saw something incredible.
A tiny wisp of blue light.
It hovered above my palm, barely the size of a candle flame, flickering unsteadily before fading away.
It wasn't much.
But it was a beginning.
Mana and the Flow of PowerThe next morning, I wasted no time. My father, noticing my eagerness, merely raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He led me back to the forest, to the same clearing where he had given me my first lesson.
"You felt it, didn't you?" he asked.
I nodded.
His expression softened with approval. "Good. But feeling mana and using it are two different things." He picked up another leaf, rolling it between his fingers. "Mana flows like a river. If you try to force it, it resists. If you guide it, it follows. Control comes from understanding that balance."
I listened carefully, absorbing his words.
"Show me what you can do," he instructed.
I took a deep breath, closing my eyes, and reached inward. This time, I found my mana easily. It pulsed within me, more defined than before. I focused, drawing it toward my palm, trying to replicate the wisp I had created the night before.
A faint glow appeared—small, but stable.
My father watched, nodding thoughtfully. "That's a good start. But mana isn't just light. It's strength, speed, resilience. Try focusing it elsewhere—your arm, your legs."
I frowned but obeyed, directing the energy downward.
Immediately, my body felt different.
Lighter. Sharper. More alive.
I took a step forward and nearly stumbled—my foot moved faster than expected.
A grin tugged at my lips. This… this was the foundation of power.
The World Beyond the VillageAs my training progressed, so did my awareness of the world beyond our quiet village.
Travelers often passed through, bringing news of distant cities, of great academies where mages and warriors honed their craft, of kingdoms ruled by powerful figures. Some spoke of ancient relics, others of beasts lurking in the wilderness.
But one story caught my attention more than the others.
The tale of the forgotten lands beyond the great mountains.
I listened closely, my mind piecing together fragments of what I had overheard. A place where mysteries thrived, where history had been erased, where gods once walked.
My instincts screamed that this was important.
But why?
I didn't have the answer yet. But I would.
A Hunter's WarningA few days later, my father returned from a hunt with a deep frown etched into his features.
"There's something in the woods," he muttered.
My mother's gaze snapped to him, concern flashing across her face. "Bandits?"
He shook his head. "No. Something else." He looked at me, his usual calm demeanor edged with unease. "Sylas, I want you to be careful. If you sense anything… off, anything unnatural, you come straight home. Understood?"
I nodded, but my mind was already racing.
Something unnatural?
This was the first time my father had shown real concern over the forest. And considering his experience as a hunter, it meant something serious was happening.
Was it a beast? A rogue mage? Or something… worse?
Whatever it was, I had a feeling this peaceful life would not last forever.