Omin sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, voice calm but cold.
"Dax… where did you run off to?"
I said nothing.
The silence stretched.
"Answer me!" he snapped, slamming his palm on the table. The sound cracked through the room like a whip.
"Hmm."
A low sound came from the far end of the room.
Grandfather stirred.
Omin's fury vanished. Instantly. Like it had never existed.
"You're too lenient with him," Omin muttered under his breath, but the old man waved it off.
"My grandson," Grandpa said warmly, beckoning me. "Come here."
I stepped forward.
"Don't mind that boy," he added, glancing at Omin. "He's been hard-headed since he was a child. I'll knock some sense into him—don't worry, my boy."
I chuckled and walked closer.
Omin frowned. "Father, I'm not a boy anymore."
"That doesn't mean I won't scold you," Grandpa replied, shaking his fist with mock sternness.
Then he turned to me, eyes narrowing with interest. "Dax, my boy... you've grown stronger. Your breath—it's denser than any youth in the clan."
*Sharp old man... his senses are scary.*
Omin's eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"
He rushed over and grabbed my wrist. Instantly, I felt his energy invade my body—swift, surgical.
His eyes closed. A crease formed on his brow… then another.
"What… what is this?" Omin whispered. "What kind of core…?"
He pulled back suddenly, stunned.
"He has… mana?"
Omin stared at me, disbelief written across his face. "What kind of heaven-shattering encounter did you experience?"
Grandfather, now curious, leaned forward. "Omin? What did you see?"
Omin didn't answer. He looked shaken.
"Tell me," Grandpa demanded. "What did you see?"
Still no reply.
Frustrated, Grandpa grabbed my wrist himself. Energy surged.
Then his face twisted, just like Omin's.
Why are his mana veins so robust?
He dug deeper.
And then—he found it.
A massive mana core, pulsing with energy. But it wasn't just one. Within it… dozens. No, hundreds of smaller cores, rotating gracefully in synchronized orbit.
How many are there…?
His attention was drawn to five in particular. They glowed brighter than the others.
But one stood out among them all.
A black-and-silver core, rotating like the dance of yin and yang, perfectly balanced and filled with unfathomable depth.
"What in the…?"
Before he could go further, something yanked him back—violently. He gasped, eyes wide, heart racing.
Did they see it? I wondered. Did they see my core?
Suddenly, Grandpa shot up, laughter bursting from him like fireworks.
"My grandson is the greatest genius of this era!" he cried out, dancing like a child as he grabbed Omin's hand and raised it high.
"I told you! My eyes never lie. I saw it from the start—he is the light of the Godfall Clan!"
The joy on his face was pure, almost innocent.
"Don't break your old bones," Omin said dryly, though a small smile betrayed him.
"Break what?" Grandpa lifted his leg and knocked it against the chair. A loud clang rang out.
"News like this can keep an old man alive forever!"
He turned to me, face softening. "My boy, go and rest. You must be tired from your journey. But visit me tomorrow. I won't take no for an answer."
"Yes, Grandfather."
"Good night, Father."
I bowed slightly and left the study.
---
Later: Dax's Chambers
My room was elegant, richly furnished with warm wooden tones and subtle golden trims. In the center of the far wall hung a large painting—a beautiful woman with brunette hair, her eyes soft, her smile faint.
I stepped forward, brushing my fingers against the canvas.
"Mother…"
The word left my lips unconsciously, like a ghost rising from memory.
I didn't remember her. But something in her eyes… made my chest feel tight.
I fell onto the bed—it was like collapsing onto clouds. Soft, weightless. Heavenly.
I searched through my predecessor's memories, but… there was nothing. No image of her. No emotion. Just that painting.
As sleep pulled at me, I kept my eyes on the portrait.
*Who were you…?*
Then the world went dark.
---
Elsewhere, beneath the soft crackle of firelight, Omin and the old man sat in silence—two generations weighing the burden of a future they could no longer control.
The old man poured two glasses of spirit wine, placing one before Omin.
"You saw it too, didn't you?" he asked softly.
Omin nodded. "Yes… His breath—it's not just powerful. It's *inhuman.*"
The old man swirled the wine in his glass. "You remember the vision I had… don't you?"
Omin stared at the floor, quiet.
Then the old man spoke again.
"Your son… he's just like your brother. A reincarnator."
Omin's eyes flickered.
"He's already begun to regain the memories of his past life," Grandpa continued. "That explains everything."
Omin frowned, his face tightening.
Lost in thought.
And worried.