Two years.
That's how long it had been since Aeron Nightveil took his first breath in this strange, vibrant world.
He was no longer a wailing infant in swaddled cloth. His legs could now walk. His hands could hold tools. And his mind—his mind was sharper than it had ever been.
Though he still spoke in clumsy babble when others were around, in silence, Aeron's thoughts flowed like a seasoned scholar's.
> "Two years… and this world continues to unfold."
Much of his time had been spent pretending.
Pretending to stumble, to laugh without reason, to marvel at simple toys.
But in truth, every moment was an opportunity to observe.
And he had learned a lot.
—
He had learned that mana was alive.
Not sentient. But reactive. Emotion-sensitive. It gathered where emotions were purest—joy, rage, grief, or serenity. He had tested it dozens of times, in secret: when laughing with Lyra, when watching a storm, when pretending to cry.
It responded like breath to flame.
He had learned to sense the types of mana too. Heat-heavy threads near fire. Cool, light wisps near water. Dense pressure near stone.
Each type had a unique pulse.
He couldn't manipulate it fully yet, not without his awakening. But he could pull it near him, shape it faintly, and sometimes… create sparks, or floating threads that glowed like fireflies before fading.
> "Mana memory," he called it. A trickle of magic without a core.
—
He had also learned about people.
His parents—simple farmers. Kind, hardworking, and blissfully unaware of the strange light in their son's eyes. They loved him dearly.
Lyra remained his anchor. She had grown taller, braver, and more curious. She often tried to teach him how to speak full sentences, sometimes inventing stories just to make him laugh. And though she could never guess the truth of who he was… she was, in some ways, his first real companion in two lifetimes.
Then there were the villagers.
They spoke of taxes and harvests. Of noble houses and kingdom matters. But often, they whispered about rising tensions in the outer provinces. Creatures spotted near old ruins. Scholars buying up strange relics.
Even here, in sleepy Elaren, the world had begun to stir.
> "Whatever the Concord fears… it's not far now."
—
Aeron spent much of his alone time meditating.
His little body made it awkward—he could only sit cross-legged for a few minutes before tumbling over—but that never stopped him.
He practiced stillness. Listened to the wind. Followed the flow of mana.
He began learning how it traveled through the body.
At first, it tickled. Now, it hummed. Faint traces drifted through his limbs, like slow-moving streams. Not enough to cast spells. But enough to study.
> "It's preparing me."
He could feel it more each day.
A pressure at the core of his chest. A coiling tension beneath his skin. Like thunder hiding behind clouds.
His mana core—the heart of all magic—was forming.
And soon… it would awaken.
—
He kept records in his mind. Observations. Questions.
Mana Theory (Early):
Reactive to emotion.
Follows breath, heartbeat, and intention.
Denser near natural elements.
Can be guided, not forced.
Core formation begins around age two.
Physical Limits (Current Body):
Strength: Below average (child's frame).
Reflex: Enhanced slightly with mana sense.
Endurance: Improving via exposure.
Conclusion:
> "Once the core awakens, I'll begin real training. Spells. Enhancements. Combat theory."
But he would not rush.
He had learned one final truth from this world in these past two years.
Magic is listening.
And someone… or something… might be listening too.
—
It was dusk.
The cottage's hearth crackled, filling the room with a soft amber glow. Outside, wind rustled through the trees. Lyra was humming beside the window, stitching something into her little cloth pouch.
Aeron sat on the floor, stacking wooden blocks. Not for fun, of course—but to study motion, gravity, and how mana subtly affected balance.
Then it happened.
A flicker.
Inside him.
Not pain. Not pressure.
But a spark.
> "It's time."
His body froze.
Not visibly—he kept stacking, pretending—but within, every cell was burning with excitement.
The mana around him began to shift. Not rush or swirl, but gravitate—toward him.
He felt it.
For the first time… he was drawing it inward.
—
Later that night, as he lay in bed, eyes wide open beneath the thatched ceiling, he whispered a single word under his breath.
Not aloud.
Not in the language of this world.
But in the old tongue, the one buried deep in his soul.
> "Awaken."
And his heart responded.
A pulse.
A shudder.
The mana entered him—slowly, reverently—as if recognizing its vessel.
And deep in his chest, a light began to form.
—
The next morning, the world would still be the same.
Birds would sing. Fields would rustle. Lyra would call him for breakfast.
But within Aeron Nightveil… nothing would ever be the same again.
—
Chapter 8 End