The cavern was deathly silent. Even the faint dripping of water from the mossy ceiling had ceased, as if the world itself held its breath.
Younes stood alone in the dimly lit chamber, his palms trembling slightly as they hovered inches above the ancient stone altar. His lips were cracked, his breath shallow, and his body on the verge of collapse. Weeks of failure, meditation, pain, and blind hope had brought him to this moment.
This was not the first time he had stood in this chamber. He had come here almost every day after school for the past month. Hidden beneath an abandoned ruin outside the city, the place had long been forgotten by the world, but Younes had found it by accident during one of his desperate searches for solitude.
At first, it had been nothing more than a quiet place to scream into the void, to punch the walls until his knuckles bled. Then, he began to meditate here, surrounded by the ancient runes carved into the rock, hoping that perhaps the silence would answer the questions no one else could.
But this time… this time something felt different.
He closed his eyes.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Feel the silence.
He tried to empty his mind, letting go of all expectations. His breathing slowed, heartbeats syncing with the rhythm of something he couldn't name. For the first time, he didn't force the energy. He listened.
And then he felt it.
A whisper. No louder than a breath. Not from outside—but inside.
A thread of warmth unfurled within his chest, like a candle lit in the middle of a storm. It spread through his veins slowly, hesitantly. His fingers tingled. His spine straightened. His heart skipped a beat.
His breath caught in his throat.
Was this it?
The air around him shimmered, twisting slightly as particles of silver-blue light began to gather from the shadows. At first, just a few—like curious fireflies. Then more. Dozens. Hundreds. They spiraled toward him, encircling him in a gentle cyclone of glowing dust.
Younes's eyes snapped open. They glowed faintly, reflecting the blue light around him. The air was dense now, vibrating with a subtle pressure that weighed on his skin and soul. He gasped, stumbling back—but didn't fall. The mana held him aloft like invisible hands.
His body hovered slightly above the ground. His legs dangled, and the stones beneath him began to tremble. The ancient altar cracked, a thin line of golden light escaping from within.
The warmth inside him surged, growing into a pulse. With each beat of his heart, the mana responded—coiling, reacting, obeying.
He was no longer just touching it. He was controlling it.
He focused.
A tendril of mana extended from his hand, swirling in midair like a ribbon of living light. With nothing but a thought, he made it coil into a sphere, then stretch into a blade, then disperse into mist.
His jaw dropped.
It worked.
A surge of emotion flooded him—relief, disbelief, joy… fear. He didn't know what he had become, but it wasn't normal.
And then—
A flash.
A sharp light between his eyes—not from outside, but within.
A golden symbol appeared mid-air, etched with unknown runes. It hovered for mere seconds, pulsing with impossible energy. Then it exploded into rays of light, illuminating the chamber like the sun had risen underground.
A mechanical, neutral voice echoed in his mind—clear and absolute.
[Congratulations. You are the first human to control mana on Earth.]
[Your presence has been recorded.]
[Reward to be granted on the Promised Day.]
And just like that, the mana dropped him.
Younes crashed onto the cold stone floor, gasping for air. The light was gone. The particles scattered. The warmth faded.
His body ached. His limbs trembled. He was drenched in sweat, but smiling.
"What… was that?" he whispered, staring at his hands. They still tingled.
No hallucination had ever felt this real. The mana no longer resisted him. It was there. Responding. Waiting.
For the next hour, he sat in silence, replaying the voice in his head.
The first human to control mana…
Reward… Promised Day…
What did it mean?
He stood on wobbly legs and began the long climb back to the surface. The air outside was cold and fresh, the night sky vast and uncaring. The moon was high, casting silver shadows across the rocky landscape.
He walked home in a daze, unnoticed by the world. People passed him on bikes, cars rolled by, windows glowed with life.
Nothing had changed.
But everything had.
At home, he scribbled everything he could remember into a notebook. The voice. The light. The runes. The feeling. He tried explaining it to his brother, to his friend from school, even on an obscure forum for mana believers.
They laughed. Or ignored him.
"You're dehydrated."
"You're hallucinating."
"You're just desperate for attention."
But he knew.
He knew what he had felt.
And somewhere far from Earth, in the cold emptiness between stars, something shifted. A slumbering presence stirred. It had been watching. Waiting.
A signal had been sent.
The mana had been touched.
And the countdown to the Promised Day had begun.