The Van Turner mansion stood tall and unyielding against the horizon, an ancient relic of wealth, power, and tradition. Within its hallowed halls, however, there was no room for weakness. And Garfield Van Turner, the firstborn son of the Van Turner clan, was nothing if not a walking failure.
Today, like every other, the air in the grand dining hall was thick with scorn, but Garfield felt it all the more as his family gathered, the light of the great chandelier above casting long, accusing shadows.
"Garfield Van Turner," his father's voice cut through the air, sharp and devoid of affection, "the family has produced over two million mages and knights. But you? You can barely manage a single spark of mana."
Garfield stood at the far end of the hall, his hands clenched tightly at his sides, fingers twitching with the desperate urge to release the vast mana swirling inside him, but he knew it was futile. Mana—raw, untapped, a boundless sea of energy—coursed through him like a curse, a gift he could not use.
The family sat at the table, their faces as cold as the polished silverware. His twin sister, Rose, didn't even look up from her dinner. She didn't need to. At fifteen, Rose had already surpassed the 7th Late, making her the youngest prodigy in the continent of Aflocia. It was no secret that the Van Turner clan expected greatness. No, *demanded* it.
But there was no greatness in Garfield. There was only the pitiless mockery of his existence.
"You are a disgrace," his father continued, his voice a steady hum of irritation, "No, worse—you're a liability. With that amount of mana, we could have conquered half of Arnotiazia. But instead, you sit there, useless."
His heart tightened, and his throat constricted. But Garfield didn't flinch. He never did. The only thing that kept him rooted to the spot was the terrible surge of power inside him. It was so strong, it almost burned.
*If only I could use it. If only I could control it...*
"Father," Rose's voice was soft, but every word dripped with authority, "You're wasting time. It's clear he can't handle it. It's too dangerous to let him keep—"
"Enough!" his father snapped, slamming his fist against the table. "You'll speak when I allow it."
The silence that followed was deafening. Garfield's gaze drifted to the floor, but his mind was elsewhere. The weight of his family's expectations was like a boulder pressing down on his chest. His heart beat in slow, rhythmic thuds, echoing in his ears. They hated him. But he didn't care. Or at least, that's what he tried to tell himself.
---
Later that night, long after the heated words of his family had faded, Garfield found himself alone in the training hall, the cold marble floor beneath his bare feet.
A single torch flickered dimly, casting fleeting shadows across the walls. He couldn't help but wonder why he was here. What was he hoping to prove?
No one could see the vast amounts of mana that pooled in his body. No one could understand what it was like to have so much power and yet no way to wield it.
The moment the thought entered his mind, the surge began. His chest constricted, and the pressure within him exploded outward like a storm. His fingers twitched, and the air around him vibrated. But nothing—*nothing*—happened.
"Why am I so weak?" he whispered to himself, his voice carrying the weight of all the years spent trying and failing.
The question hung in the air for a moment, and just as Garfield was about to walk away, something shifted in the darkness.
A shadow flickered at the edge of his vision.
He froze. His heart rate spiked. He wasn't alone.
With a slow turn, he saw the figure step forward from the darkness. Tall, clothed in tattered black robes that seemed to swallow the very light around it, the figure looked... ancient. The presence of the being was suffocating, and Garfield instinctively took a step back.
"Who are you?" Garfield's voice came out as little more than a rasp.
The figure didn't speak, but its presence was overwhelming. Every instinct in Garfield's body screamed to run, but his feet were glued to the floor. He could feel the power radiating from the figure—like a pressure that crushed the very air between them. It was unlike anything he'd ever encountered.
The being's voice echoed inside his mind. *You are weak, Garfield Van Turner. But you are also something else...*
His hands trembled, the power inside him rising once more, itching to be released. His entire body burned with the need to unleash the mana. The figure's voice swirled in his thoughts again. *You, who have the capacity to absorb more mana than any other—there is a way for you to gain control of it.*
Garfield's eyes widened. "What... what are you saying?"
The figure stepped forward, the sound of its movement impossibly quiet, like the wind itself. "You are *The King of All*, Garfield Van Turner. You will transcend your limits." The being raised a hand, and suddenly, the temperature of the room plummeted. A single object materialized in the air—*a monster core.*
It glowed with an eerie, pulsating light, dark veins of energy running through it like a beating heart.
Garfield reached for it instinctively, drawn to its power. But as soon as his fingers brushed the core, a searing pain shot through his arm. His entire body convulsed, as though the core was trying to tear him apart from the inside.
The figure's voice echoed again, now more like a command: *You must embrace it, Garfield. You must learn to wield what you were never meant to.*
Through the blinding pain, Garfield's vision narrowed. *Was this... his answer?*
And then, the being whispered, *Do you truly wish to become the one who can reshape the world?
Garfield didn't answer. He didn't need to.
---
The door to the training hall slammed open, and Rose's voice cut through the silence, sharp and unforgiving. "What are you doing here, you failure?"
But Garfield wasn't listening. The world around him had ceased to exist. Only the *core* mattered now. The pain, the power, the hunger-everything he had longed for was within his grasp.
As the darkness swallowed him whole, he knew one thing for certain.
This was only the beginning.