After the encounter with the being that had come and gone without leaving a trace, Andre could no longer afford carelessness.
If the forest had judged them, then he needed to be ready for the moment that judgment ended.
Training grew harsher.
Andre began each day with weight—stone blocks, fallen logs, scraps of metal gathered over the years from the forest and its outskirts. The young body in which he had awakened upon arriving in Atlas was no longer what it had been. His shoulders had broadened. His muscles had hardened. His movements were steadier, deliberate.
He did not aim to become fast.
He aimed to endure.
Cale watched him every day.
At six years old, the boy could not yet imitate everything, but he tried. He ran alongside his father, fell, rose again, pushed himself until his breath came in ragged gasps and his legs trembled beneath him. Over time, his body ceased to be merely that of a child—it became resilient, accustomed to effort.
Not his father's equal.
But already far beyond what any child his age should have been.
They trained with swords.
At first, they were nothing more than wooden blades—simple, light, harmless. But Andre had learned to shape creation magic with restraint. When needed, even wood could become something more.
The blade did not blaze or shine.
It endured.
Enough to defend.
Enough to kill—if there was no other choice.
They hunted together. Fished together. Learned how to move through the forest without provoking it, how to exist without demanding space.
And as their bodies changed, something else shifted within them.
Mana.
For most beings in Atlas, mana was finite. Every spell, every exertion drew them closer to collapse. Andre and Cale did not yet fully understand it, but for them, mana behaved differently.
The more they trained, the more they refined their skills, the deeper their understanding of body and mind became—the greater their capacity grew alongside them.
Andre should have noticed.
But he did not measure limits.
He trained.
That day, he had brought Cale with him.
The forest was quiet.
But it was not calm.
Andre felt it before he heard it—movement too abrupt, breath too uneven. He stopped and raised his hand.
"Hide," he whispered.
Cale nodded and vanished between the trees.
Andre moved forward alone.
When he reached the clearing, he saw a woman thrown violently against a tree by a blast of wind. The impact stole her consciousness instantly.
Then he saw it.
An Inferno Wolf.
Nearly three meters long, its flame-red coat bristled as if burning from within. Wind coiled around its massive form, heat radiating from every breath. Fire and wind—an unforgiving combination, even for a seasoned adventurer.
Andre drew his sword.
Creation magic flowed into the blade. The material compressed. The edge sharpened.
There was no room for hesitation.
Then—
Movement behind him.
"Cale—"
The boy was there.
Before Andre could react, the Inferno Wolf moved like lightning, placing itself between Cale and danger.
Andre froze.
But the attack never came.
The wolf sat down.
Its tail moved slowly. The flames dimmed. The burning intensity in its eyes softened. What had been a savage predator moments ago now resembled an enormous, obedient hound.
Andre felt his grip loosen.
This was not fear.
Not submission.
It was recognition.
Cale extended his hand cautiously.
The wolf tilted its head and remained still.
Cale hesitated only for a heartbeat.
Then he placed his hand gently upon the creature's massive head.
For an instant, nothing happened.
Then the air began to glow.
A soft radiance surrounded Cale, while the Inferno Wolf's flame-red coat lost its feral glare and began to burn deeper—steadier, calmer. Mana—something Andre had only ever sensed as force—became visible, drifting like slow mist, intertwining, merging.
This was not a surge.
It was not an explosion.
It was acceptance.
Andre watched in silence.
Something within his understanding shifted.
This was not a spell.
Not coercion.
It was a process.
Something spoken of only in fragments, in old stories—a contract. Taming was not a chain or a command. It was mutual recognition. The alignment of two currents of mana.
Neither side dominated.
They adapted.
Andre understood that when the process ended, Cale would no longer be merely a boy in the forest. He would understand the being beside him—not through words, but through thought and feeling.
Telepathy.
Not as power.
As connection.
Something Andre had not taught. Something that could not be forced. Something that lay beyond magic.
And then he understood.
"Talent…" he murmured softly.
The forest had not brought them an enemy.
It had brought them a guest.
AdvertisementReportReportA note from Arvi-sama
Some guests do not leave when expected. And some changes cannot be undone.