Morning sunlight spilled through the wooden shutters of Zend's room, casting golden slats across the dusty floorboards. Birds chirped outside, and the faint clinking of utensils echoed from the kitchen.
"Zend! Breakfast's ready!" his mother called from downstairs.
Zend stirred, blinking slowly as memories of the strange dream resurfaced. The man. The words. The ring on his needle.
He sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and muttered to himself, "Was it real…?"
But there was no time to dwell. His stomach reminded him that reality began with food.
Downstairs, the table was set with warm porridge, baked rootbread, and fresh goat milk. His father sat sharpening a small hoe, while his mother hummed a soft tune by the fire.
Zend greeted them and took his seat. They exchanged a few light-hearted jokes about the ceremony, and though his parents didn't ask too many questions, Zend knew they were still quietly watching waiting to see what kind of boy he would become with his new Aether.
After finishing his breakfast, Zend stood and grabbed his satchel. "I'm heading out," he said.
"Off to your little hideout again?" Roger asked with a smirk.
Zend only smiled and nodded.
A narrow forest path led him to the edge of Little Wind Village, where the trees thickened and the wind quieted. Hidden just beyond the first grove stood an old treehouse, nestled in the arms of a tall, sturdy maple.
Built by Zend and his father years ago, it was his sanctuary a secret place where he could think, dream, and now… train.
He climbed up the rope ladder with ease, his satchel bouncing lightly against his back. Once inside, Zend knelt in the center of the wooden floor and called upon his Soul Chamber.
With a thought, the black needle shimmered into existence in his hand.
It felt heavier today. Or maybe more solid more real.
"I wonder…" he murmured.
Standing up, Zend took a few steps to the open window and spotted a nearby tree about ten meters away. He narrowed his eyes, took aim, and threw the needle like a dart.
It cut through the air in a blur.
Thuk!
The needle embedded itself deep into the bark almost entirely vanishing from sight.
Zend climbed down and jogged to the tree. He reached to pull it free, but it was wedged so tightly that it refused to budge.
He grinned. "Not bad."
Over the next hour, Zend practiced his accuracy, throwing and summoning the needle again and again. His aim improved quickly, and with each throw, he felt more synchronized with it like it was learning with him.
Eventually, sweat dripping from his brow, Zend packed his things and made a decision.
"If I want to really understand this Aether… I need knowledge."
That afternoon, Zend arrived in Windmere, the small city a few kilometers from his village. It bustled with traders, travelers, and scholars. At its center stood the Grand Archive, a library shaped like a massive hourglass, its walls made of spiraling stone and shimmering glass.
Inside, the scent of old parchment and ink filled the air. Zend walked between towering shelves, his eyes darting over rows of books.
He found the Acupuncture Reference Manual quickly an old tome filled with diagrams of pressure points, energy meridians, and healing techniques. It seemed perfect.
But as he made his way toward the reading tables, a different book caught his eye.
"Basic Skill Techniques: Volume I"
Curiosity got the better of him, and he took that one too.
Settling at a quiet table, Zend opened the second book first. It listed beginner skills for those just starting their Aether or magic journey.
One skill stood out: Light Telekinesis.
Most people considered it useless. Too weak. Too slow.
But Zend didn't see it that way.
With a needle-sized Aether, a skill like that might prove incredibly useful.
His heart beat faster until he read the requirement:
"Mana Core required to activate any skill."
Zend sighed and closed the book. No Mana Core. Yet.
He turned back to the acupuncture manual and began studying in earnest. Time passed quickly as he memorized diagram after diagram, tracing the body's hidden channels with his fingers and reciting names in silence.
By sunset, he had already memorized a quarter of the body's critical points.
"Not bad," he muttered to himself. "Maybe this really is the right path."
Before leaving, he approached the librarian and borrowed both books using his village registration token.
As he stepped out into the streets, he heard the shout of a merchant nearby. "Rare book sale! Genuine Arcane Texts! Half-price spells and cultivation guides!"
Zend turned curiously.
A weathered man stood behind a wooden stall, displaying tattered books on velvet cloth. Most of them were overpriced junk, but one title glinted in gold foil:
"Understanding the Mana Core: Awakening the Inner Flame"
Zend's heart skipped a beat.
"Price?" he asked.
"One gold coin," the merchant replied.
It was expensive very expensive but Zend's parents had taught him to save. He'd been gathering coin for years from odd jobs, helping neighbors, even trading herbs. He had just enough.
Without hesitation, he paid the man and tucked the book carefully into his satchel.
That evening, as the sky turned purple and stars began to peek from the heavens, Zend returned home with three books heavier and a mind alive with purpose.
The needle, still resting in his Soul Chamber, pulsed once soft and steady.
The journey was only beginning.
But Zend Kly now knew one thing with certainty:
His path may be quiet.
But it would be powerful.
Night had fallen by the time Zend returned home, the moonlight washing the village fields in soft silver. Fireflies blinked lazily in the tall grass as he slipped quietly into the house, trying not to wake his parents.
Once inside his room, he set the books down carefully on his desk and locked the door behind him.
His fingers trembled with anticipation as he opened the third book the expensive one.
"Understanding the Mana Core: Awakening the Inner Flame"
He turned to the first chapter:
"Mana exists everywhere. In the air, in the earth, in life itself. But to use it, one must first awaken their own core a spiritual furnace that draws and refines mana."
The steps were outlined clearly:
Sit in complete silence.
Close your eyes and clear your mind.
Focus inward. Feel your heartbeat. Your breath. Then reach for the faint energy flowing around you.
Once you feel the mana, guide it gently toward your center just beneath your navel.
When enough mana gathers, the core will spark like flint against stone. And the fire will begin.
Zend sat cross legged on his bed and closed his eyes. He tried to calm his thoughts, listening only to his own breathing.
In…
Out.
In…
Out.
He waited.
The room felt still. Quiet. The wooden floor beneath him was cool. He imagined reaching out, searching for mana in the air around him.
But all he felt was… nothing.
Again, he tried. And again. But there was no flicker, no warmth, no pull of invisible energy.
His thoughts drifted. "What if I can't do this? What if I never awaken it?"
He opened his eyes, frustrated.
Becoming a cultivator wasn't as easy as reading a book.
He sighed and leaned back against the wall. The book warned that some people took days, weeks even months to awaken their mana core. Zend had only tried for fifteen minutes.
Still, he couldn't help but feel disappointed.
He looked at the needle resting silently in the Soul Chamber just beyond reach but always there. It didn't glow. It didn't pulse. It just waited.
"Maybe… not tonight," Zend whispered.
He bookmarked the page and blew out his lamp.
Darkness filled the room, but it didn't feel heavy.
Because even in failure, he had taken his first step.
And steps, no matter how small, still moved forward.