The world had changed—but perhaps it was simply Erikan who now saw differently.
Since he had begun modeling mana as a set of fundamental particles, his perception had evolved. No longer was it a vague sensation or ethereal whisper—it was an organized field, a network of pulses. And within that network, he began to detect patterns.
One evening, while observing his father's forge, he closed his eyes. He focused. There, in the ambient heat, he sensed a deeper, denser vibration. A warmth unlike that of physical fire. It was fire-mana.
He realized that the red, fast, undulating particles he visualized became clearer when he associated them with his scientific models. Fire wasn't just a sensation—it was frequency, amplitude, rotation.
And for the first time, he succeeded in guiding that flow. It wasn't spectacular. Just a pulse of heat, directed from his heart into his abdomen, toward his Dantian.
He opened his eyes, drenched in sweat, breath short.
— I'm close… he murmured.
But magic was not a solitary path.
In the village, the other children had always seen Erikan as strange. Distant. Too calm. Too serious. Lina, Mira's daughter, was the only one who truly understood him. She often came looking for him.
— You're going to stay locked up thinking about mana again? Come play with us, genius!
Lina was lively, slender, her skin slightly golden, with large amber eyes that sparkled with intelligence. Her brown hair was always tied in a long braid that danced behind her as she ran. She was full of life.
That day, two other children were with them:
Narek: taller than the others, wild rust-colored hair, freckled skin, and muscular arms for his age. He loved to fight, to play knights.
And Ylsa, gentle and quiet, with ash-blonde hair, pale green eyes, and a timid smile. She collected stones and leaves like others collected toys.
They had gone searching for mirage-stones.
The forest bordering Erikan's village was a world of its own. Ancient, dense—it felt alive. Not just because it rustled or moved, but because it seemed to watch. Every sound—the snap of a twig, the silent flutter of a bird—felt like part of an organized, breathing system.
The trees were tall and sinuous, their trunks covered in emerald moss. Vines stretched between branches like suspended veins. The ground was carpeted with needles, dead leaves, and twisted roots, scattered with glowing mushrooms and stones polished by time.
Light barely pierced the canopy, forming golden shafts through the suspended particles, giving the air an almost tangible density. The scent of sap, damp bark, and wildflowers filled their noses. Invisible birds sang strange songs, sometimes harmonious, sometimes eerie.
Occasionally, clearings opened like breaths, fringed with giant ferns and bushes bearing shiny red berries. This was where the mirage-stones appeared, capturing light and shifting colors depending on the viewing angle.
But that day, something was different.
A tension.
A tremble in the bushes that wasn't the wind.
A sudden silence, as if the forest itself held its breath.
As they climbed the mossy ravine—slick underfoot, arched by bent trunks—they felt the strangeness. The shadow deepened. The air grew heavier.
And then came the growl—low, deep—shattering the forest's murmur.
They had ventured further than usual.
The forest had changed. Not visibly, but Erikan felt it in his skin, in his bones. The mana around him was no longer fluid and harmonious. There was dissonance in the air. A disturbance. The filaments of colored particles he usually perceived were agitated, unstable, as if an unseen force distorted their frequency.
— Wait… he whispered, stopping abruptly.
The others turned. He crouched, brushing the damp earth.
Footprints.
Massive. Far larger than any normal wolf. Deeply pressed into the soft earth, with claw marks gouged into the dirt. Trails showed where the beast had sniffed… then leaped away. Around them, crushed foliage and torn branches.
— This isn't normal… he muttered.
Narek stepped closer, a bit too excited:
— A wild beast? Awesome!
But Erikan didn't respond. Something was calling him further, a silent, deep, ancient pull. He strayed from the path, guided by steps not fully his own. The others protested, but he no longer heard them.
And there, in a half-overgrown clearing beneath a centuries-old tree's roots, he saw it.
An egg. Black. Perfectly smooth. So dark it seemed to absorb the light around it. It rested on a bed of moss, as if deliberately placed, protected. The air around it vibrated. No heat. No cold. Just a frequency. A nearly imperceptible pulse. Like a heartbeat.
When he reached for it, a chill swept through him, from toes to nape. His mind blurred. A fleeting vision: blue flames, leathery wings, an ancient, powerful silhouette. Then nothing.
He stumbled back, disoriented. His mana perception cut off. Like a tripped circuit. Then it returned—clearer, more vivid—and centered around the egg.
— What… is that? he murmured.
But there was no time to ponder. The growl returned. Closer. Deeper.
That's when the wolf appeared.
The silver wolf burst from the underbrush like a living arrow.
Its eyes, a brilliant blue, glowed with cold, near-conscious intelligence. Its coat shimmered like moonlight, each silver hair vibrating with tension. But that wasn't what froze Erikan.
It was its claws.
Long, dark, streaked with black reflections like living obsidian. Razor-sharp. One claw brushed a trunk as it passed, and the wood shattered like an eggshell.
It didn't go for the children.
It went for Erikan.
The beast charged straight at him—inhumanly fast, without hesitation. His instinct screamed to run. And he obeyed. He ran the other way, lungs burning, muscles taut. He didn't know why it was after him, but he knew he had to lead it away.
— Run! he shouted, not looking back.
Branches tore at his skin, leaves whipped his face. But he ran. And ran. Until the world narrowed around him. Until he felt the wolf's presence just behind, its hot breath on his neck.
And suddenly, a light.
Faint. Pulsing. Blue.
The egg.
In the pouch at his waist, the black egg glowed with cold light. Like a mana pulse. Like a consciousness. He slowed, glanced back.
Too late.
The wolf leapt.
He had no choice.
He stopped.
The ground crunched beneath his feet. He turned to face the beast. Breath short. Legs trembling. And he closed his eyes.
In the chaos, he searched for his center.
His Dantian.
At his core, he visualized the flows, the circuits, the model. He expected to feel fire-mana—his old ally. But this was different. Denser. Calmer. Older.
Floating particles—silent—approached. Different. Heavier. Not red, but a deep indigo blue. They seeped in slowly, patiently, as if awaiting a signal… or an heir.
And he understood.
It wasn't fire.
It was something else.
Patience. Lucidity. Stability.
The world had changed. Or maybe Éric simply saw it differently.
Since modeling mana as a network of fundamental particles, his perception had shifted. No longer a blur—but a language, a rhythm. He was no longer a spectator—he was becoming its interpreter.
And that day, in the forest, that bond would be tested.
The silver wolf lunged, claws out, blue eyes locked solely on him. Its speed unnatural. A mass of instinct and magic in motion.
Éric ran.
Not like during training.
Not for fun.
He ran to live.
Roots grabbed at him. Branches lashed his face. The ground was slick and shifting. The earth crumbled beneath him. Mana pulsed violently around him. His perception was saturated: mana crackled everywhere—along with something else. A dissonance… a call.
And the egg.
In his pouch, it pulsed with bluish light. Cold. Wise. This was no coincidence. The wolf hadn't come randomly. Something drew it. Someone.
Him.
He sped up. Leapt over a fallen trunk, rolled on his side, got back up without thinking. He climbed a slope, slipped on moss, charged down a steep descent, and jumped.
A wild leap. Long. High. Crazy.
He landed hard, rolled twice… but stood, alive.
— Damn… I really need to work out more…
He gasped. But he had gained time.
Behind him, the beast slowed. A field of dense particles floated around him—blue, deep, heavy with meaning. This was no longer fire.
It was order. Patience.
And for the first time, he didn't panic.
He modeled. Visualized a zone around him where mana density would slow external flows. He rooted into his Dantian. And the miracle happened: the wolf slowed. A fraction of a second. Just enough. Its movements decelerated.
Éric leapt. Again. And ran, faster than before. His breath steadied. His mind cleared. He no longer fled by instinct.
He survived by choice.
And in that rumbling forest, he felt himself begin to change.