The moonlight spilling through the window was silver and still, casting soft shadows across the wooden walls of the cottage. Outside, Whistlehollow slept. Inside, Aleron breathed slowly in the quiet warmth of his cradle.
His infant body remained fragile, soft, bound by nature's slow design. But within him, something extraordinary pulsed—the steady rhythm of focused mana, swirling inward with every breath.
He had made progress. Remarkable progress.
It had been a month and a half since God's Whisper first spoke to him, prompting him to begin forming his wizard core. Now, every thread of mana he absorbed coiled inward with refined purpose.
He focused, and the system responded:
[Core Formation Progress: 80%]
Milestone Reached: Condensation Threshold Approaching.
Aleron let the numbers sink in, a quiet pride blooming beneath his calm. Most mages in his old world spent months just sensing mana properly. He was close—so close—to completing what took others years.
Not because of raw talent, but knowledge.
Even in infancy, his mind retained all he had learned as William the Sage. While others visualized their core as a crude well or sphere, Aleron understood it differently. To him, the core wasn't just a container—it was a filter, a harmonizer between the world's energy and the body's nerves. Without stability, raw mana would tear through the pathways like wildfire.
He had started with breath.
Slow. Measured. Rhythmic.
Every inhale collected mana into a gentle spiral. Every exhale compressed it, cycling it inward. He shaped that spiral into patterns—runic geometries etched into his mind. The tighter the rotation, the purer the refinement.
His method didn't rely on brute force. It was subtle, controlled.
[Core Structure: Stable]
[Refinement Grade: High]
[Path Alignment: Wizard – Confirmed]
[Projected Core Color: White → ???]
Most beginners settled with white cores—raw, immature, and unrefined. But Aleron aimed for more. If he kept compressing his mana in layers, filtering it in gradients, his core could skip the early ranks entirely.
The cradle creaked as he shifted slightly, a small sound in the silence. From the kitchen, Rina hummed softly. The scent of drying herbs drifted from her bundles above the hearth.
She didn't speak much around him, not like she would with a real baby. But sometimes, she'd talk to herself while she worked. He listened when he could.
"You're always watching," she murmured once. "Like you're thinking about something you can't say."
Aleron watched her closely. She radiated calm, her presence always grounded. And when she moved, her mana followed—low, constant, and deep.
She had a core too. That much was obvious. But it wasn't like his. He could sense it now, faintly.
The flow is different. Not cerebral… more instinctive. Where is it anchored?
He didn't understand yet that this world didn't have just one path.
Not everyone had a wizard's core.
She returned to her work, and Aleron turned inward again.
He imagined the mana once more. The spiral tightening. The filter taking form. He began to compress it, folding it layer by layer, preparing for stabilization.
[Condensation Phase Initiated]
Stability Required for Advancement.
Caution: Physical strain may increase.
This was the hardest part.
He had to anchor the spiral into something permanent. One wrong push and it would collapse, unraveling weeks of effort. He had to be patient. Careful. Precise.
Still, even as the strain set in—his breathing shallower, his fingers twitching—he smiled.
This was what he knew.
This was who he was.
And the spark inside him was almost ready to become something more.