"Yawn…"
I rubbed my eyes, swung my legs off the bed, and padded across the wooden floorboards toward the washbasin. The cold splash of water on my face sent shivers down my small frame, but it did little to cool the restless heat churning inside me. For the past week, every time I drew in mana from the surroundings, my body would swell with pressure—like air filling a balloon that was close to bursting.
That feeling was back again this morning, heavier than ever.
A hunch whispered at the back of my mind: Today might be the day. My mana core, long in the making, felt dangerously close to forming. The thought alone sent excitement rushing through my veins.
For the past few months, I'd been pestering my parents with questions about awakenings. At first, they laughed, thinking it was just a child's curiosity, but I persisted. Slowly, they relented and shared what they knew.
Humans, elves, dwarves, beastkin—it didn't matter. Awakening usually came between eight and twelve years old. Rare cases stretched to sixteen, even eighteen, but those were tragic stories. People who awakened that late never managed to climb higher than F rank, forever shackled by their weak potential. Their only hope to grow stronger lay in natural treasures or elixirs—items so rare they were whispered about as myths, spoken of only in the faded scrolls of history.
I didn't want to be one of those unfortunate souls. I wanted to blaze forward, to prove that this life, unlike my last, would be extraordinary.
But awakening and becoming strong wasn't the only path. My parents often spoke about sub-professions: blacksmiths who forged weapons, runesmiths who inscribed magical arrays, alchemists who brewed potions and elixirs, and countless others. These were lifelines for those without overwhelming combat power.
Knights leaned toward blacksmithing, the hammer and anvil fitting naturally with the strength of their arms. Some rare souls became alchemists, though only if they had the rare gift of precise control. Mages, by contrast, almost always turned toward runes or alchemy, disciplines that shared the theories of spellcraft. Both parents reminded me often that money flowed more easily in those trades than it did from dangerous adventuring.
Still, my heart yearned for more than a simple profession.
Lost in thought, I hurried down the hallway, my small feet tapping against the wood. The smell of fresh bread and sizzling eggs pulled me into the dining hall, where my mother was arranging breakfast on the table. Her soft brown hair was tied neatly behind her head, her face glowing with a gentle smile.
But my eyes instantly caught something amiss. There were only two portions.
"Mom," I asked quickly, "where's Father's plate?"
Her smile wavered just a little. "Your father left early this morning. He joined a group of adventurers to deal with the mana beasts near the village."
"Mana beasts?" My curiosity sparked instantly.
"Yes," she replied while placing a jug of milk on the table. "Ground rodents. Nasty creatures. They dig through the soil, pop out in swarms, and tear up farmland. Your father and the others have been trying to wipe them out, but the rodents keep slipping away underground. It's… troublesome."
I frowned, picturing my father, spear in hand, chasing vermin that disappeared into the earth. "With Father's strength, shouldn't it be easy?"
She chuckled softly. "Not all fights are simple, Alex. Even strong knights find it hard to chase what they cannot catch."
I nodded, silently spooning food into my mouth. The eggs were warm, the bread soft, but my thoughts wandered to the forest, where my father was likely thrusting his spear into shadows beneath the soil.
After breakfast, I helped clean the dishes while Mother prepared for her day at the guild. With a healer's gift and her earth magic, she was always in demand. "Stay out of trouble," she reminded me as she slipped on her cloak and kissed my forehead. Then she was gone, leaving the house quiet except for the chirping of sparrows outside.
I leaned against the doorframe, staring at the dirt road leading through Briarwood village. Life here was peaceful, yet beneath the surface, strength determined everything. My parents knew that truth well.