Sixteen years had passed.
Inside a small, weathered cabin by the edge of a deep forest, a boy was quietly sharpening a dull blade.
His messy black hair framed a pair of sharp, focused eyes, and his lean body was already well-built for his age.
His name was Kyran, the name given to him by his adoptive father and he was none other than the infant abandoned in the monster-infested woods sixteen years ago.
"Sharpening that thing again, kid?" A rough voice called from the doorway.
Kyran looked up. A broad-shouldered man stepped in, carrying a freshly hunted beast over his back.
It was Rogan, once a commoner, now a recluse.
Few knew that he had once been a soldier, a former member of the Seven Sacred Knights of Lumerious, who had fought valiantly across countless battlefields before vanishing from the world after one brutal war.
He had since retired to this forest, seeking solitude. It was there that he found the crying infant and took him in raising the boy with his own hands, his own blood and sweat.
Kyran set the sword down and smiled faintly.
"It might be old and dull, but it's the first gift you ever gave me. I'll keep it safe… no matter what."
Rogan's stern expression softened, and he let out a short laugh.
"This kid… always so stubborn."
He reached into his pack and pulled out a new sword sharper, gleaming faintly under the dim light.
"This…" He said: "… is your second gift for when you come of age."
Kyran's eyes widened. He took the sword carefully, reverently, feeling warmth bloom in his chest.
"Thank you… Father."
Outside, the evening sky burned crimson. Kyran sat on a large stone by the cabin entrance, gazing at the vast forest stretching before him.
At sixteen, most noble youths of the kingdom had already learned to wield magic through conduits sacred tools that allowed humans to manipulate mana.
Conduits came in three forms: necklaces, bracelets, and rings.
Without one, magic could not normally be invoked.
Necklaces were the most common and affordable.
Bracelets were rarer, smaller, and slightly stronger.
Rings, however, were nearly priceless reserved only for nobles or members of the royal family.
Children typically awakened their magic or divine energy around the age of thirteen. But Kyran, now sixteen, still couldn't feel a trace of either.
To others, he was simply a failure.
The villagers would often mock him: "Thirteen years old and still can't use magic? What a useless brat."
Kyran heard it all, yet never argued back.
Instead, he trained in silence sparring against beasts, swinging his sword until his hands bled, and pushing his body beyond exhaustion under Rogan's guidance.
Rogan would often tell him: "Strength doesn't come from a conduit. It comes from willpower.
When death stares you in the eye, that's when you'll learn what you're truly capable of."
And sometimes, with a softer tone, he'd add: "Pray to the gods with sincerity. As long as you believe, they will hear you."
Kyran always thought it was just a way for Rogan to comfort him, yet deep inside, he truly believed that someday, the gods would listen.
That night, a thunderous roar echoed through the forest.
The ground trembled as trees cracked and fell a Primordial Thunderdrake, a rare high-tier beast, had appeared near the cabin.
Rogan grabbed his axe and cursed under his breath.
"Kyran, get back! That thing's at least five-star rank, you can't even scratch it!"
But Kyran didn't move. He stepped forward, unsheathing the new sword.
Lightning flickered in his eyes.
"Let me face it, Father!"
Before Rogan could stop him, the air split open with a deafening crack.
A bolt of lightning descended from the stormy sky, striking the ground where Kyran stood.
Electricity danced across his body,
surrounding him in a storm of blinding light.
The Thunderdrake roared, charging forward.
Kyran shouted, swinging his sword with every ounce of strength.
The blade blazed with lightning.
A thunderclap exploded across the forest and though the strike didn't slay the beast, it forced the monstrous dragon back several paces.
Rogan stood frozen.
His weathered hands trembled, his eyes wide with disbelief. It was a feeling he hadn't known in years awe, and something close to hope.
"Lightning affinity…? And without a conduit? You… you used pure will to summon elemental power. Kyran… you're not ordinary."
The boy gasped for breath, sweat dripping down his face, but his heart burned with a fierce conviction.
"The gods heard me… Valtherion has heard my prayer."
He clenched his fist.
"I'll become the greatest warrior the world has ever known. One day, I'll reach the summit… and no one will ever call me useless again."
That night, beneath the storm-laden skies of the Dark Aura Forest, a new warrior was born.
Days passed.
When Kyran finally stabilized his power, he discovered that what surged within him was Mana, not divine energy but of the rare and powerful Lightning element.
He felt a flicker of disappointment that it wasn't holy power, yet it didn't matter.
Power was power and with it, he would reach his dream.
(Note: Divine Energy or "Sacred Force" is an exceptionally rare gift from the gods. In recent years, however, the number of people who possess it has mysteriously increased.)
After six months of relentless, grueling training under Rogan's supervision, Kyran had already achieved what many warriors could only dream of Seven Stars on the Twelve-Star Power Scale.
He had reached intermediate level in a fraction of the time. Most took at least four years to reach that height.
What shocked Rogan most was that Kyran could invoke magic without any conduit, purely by the force of his will.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Rogan watched the boy from afar, a rare smile tugging at his lips.
"Seven stars… in half a year. You never fail to surprise me, son."
He paused, voice heavy with emotion.
"All I ever wanted was for you to live peacefully far from the wars of men. But knowing your dream… to become a warrior… I'm proud of you."
Kyran looked at him, eyes soft with gratitude: "Father…"
Before the moment could linger, the sound of hooves echoed down the forest trail.
A young man appeared beneath the fading light, clean cloak, confident stride, eyes full of youthful fire.
It was Soren Novad, Kyran's closest friend, second son of a minor noble house, the Novad family.