The atmosphere in the class remained still, yet heavy with curiosity, following the ancient tale of the God of Eternity. Not a single student spoke for a few moments after the professor left. Whispers began to scatter across the room—some awed, some skeptical, some outright fascinated. Even the nobility seemed shaken by the scale of that tale.
Some students clutched their pens tighter, others stared off into space, minds running wild with thoughts about ancient gods and their influence on the present world.
Zen, however, was completely silent. His fingers were laced together on the desk, his posture relaxed—but his amber eyes were stormy with thought. That name… the God of Eternity. Something about that story, the way he vanished…
—
After the class ended, Zen quietly made his way toward the Eboncrest Academy Library. The structure towered with grace, its pale white marble pillars etched with runes and floating lights guiding students inside. Zen entered, and the calm hum of flipping pages, quiet footsteps, and the rustling of robes surrounded him.
He walked deeper in, scanning the aisles until he reached the research section. A tall librarian in a gray robe stood near the index table. Zen approached.
"Excuse me," Zen asked softly, "Can you help me find books about… how a mana core is formed in the body?"
The librarian raised an eyebrow. "Rare question these days… Most students your age already know this. But very well. Follow me."
He led Zen through an upper floor into a dustier section of the library. There, he handed him a thin but ancient-looking book. The title was etched in golden letters: The Seed of Essence: Formation of Mana Cores.
Zen sat at a corner desk and began to read.
The book explained:
> "A mana core is a crystallized essence formed within the heart of a person's soul. Typically, between the ages of seven and eight, the body begins to absorb ambient mana from the world. If their affinity aligns and the soul is strong enough, the core begins to form naturally—like a seed. From there, it grows slowly until adolescence, where training nurtures it further. Those who are born with active mana cores from birth are considered prodigies or blessed by fate."
Zen's eyes lingered on one particular paragraph:
> "If the process does not begin before the age of ten, the spiritual meridians close. The soul settles. And the body can no longer form a core. Artificial cores can only be implanted through forbidden rituals or dangerous contracts."
Zen stared at the sentence.
"So… it's confirmed. I'll never have a mana core. Not unless I become something I'm not… or break myself."
He sighed, closed the book, and leaned back in the chair. Strangely, he didn't feel despair. It was more like… acceptance. "So I'll just grow stronger in my own way."
—
By the time Zen left the library, swordsmanship class had already ended. Instead, he headed toward the spirit class grounds, curious to observe the others again.
From a distance, he noticed Lyra laughing with Arisella and a group of girls under the warm sunlight. Her silver hair shimmered with every motion, her laughter bright, eyes glowing with cheer.
Zen paused and smiled faintly.
He turned around and made his way toward the training hall.
—
The cool air of the training hall greeted him. Inside, the wooden floors were spotless, the lanterns low. There, at the center—stood the same girl who helped him awaken his Sword Qi that night. Her expression was calm, her stance elegant as she practiced with a wooden blade.
Zen approached and "Thanked her," he said. "For that night. I awakened Sword Qi because of your guidance."
She turned to him with a soft smile. "You awakened it already? That fast?" she asked, tilting her head. "You're talented."
Zen just smiled back.
The girl stepped forward, tucking her wooden blade under one arm. "My name is Sylvia Yoshin. I'm from the Yoshin family. We worship the God of Destruction. I'm part of the Verdant Class."
Zen nodded. "I'm Zen. Aetherion Class."
She held her sword forward. "Spar with me. It'll help us both."
They began. Wooden blades clashed softly but rapidly. The air filled with swift movements and graceful dodges. Zen held his ground, learning and adapting with each motion.
After nearly an hour, Sylvia stopped, wiping her forehead. "That's enough for today."
She gave Zen a final nod and left the hall, her footsteps echoing away.
Zen remained, practicing alone under the flickering torchlight.
But suddenly, his knees buckled. The world spun. The sword slipped from his fingers. Darkness crept from the edges of his vision.
And he collapsed.
His consciousness slipped into the void.