Five Years After My Birth

  I’m five years old now—a Wanderer, carrying out tasks given directly by God to grow stronger and wiser with each passing day.

  God’s orders were clear and unwavering: first, continue gathering knowledge from every corner of this world; second, train my mana quietly, away from prying eyes; and third, never reveal to anyone the truth of who I am—a chosen Wanderer with a destiny unlike any other.

  For the past year, I had been studying mana in secret, poring over dusty tomes and practicing in shadows. Training openly was impossible; discovery would bring danger not just to me, but to those around me. Now that I had turned five, Father decided the time had come to teach me how to wield mana properly.

  One warm afternoon, we stood together in the backyard of our modest home. Father clapped his hands gently to catch my attention.

  “All right, young man,” he began with a kind smile that warmed the air. “Today, I’m going to teach you something very important—something called mana.”

  He lowered himself to sit on the soft grass and patted the spot beside him. “Come, sit with your papa.”

  I settled down beside him, heart pounding with excitement and a little nervousness.

  Father’s voice was patient and gentle as he spoke. “Mana is the energy that lives inside us all. You’ve seen your mother make things float—remember when she made your milk bottle hover? And then it spilled all over you, causing quite a mess?”

  I giggled at the memory, the image vivid in my mind.

  He continued, “Mana is like stamina, but stronger and more mysterious. It’s what lets you do things your body alone can’t—things that seem impossible.”

  Counting on his fingers, he explained, “First, there’s the basic phase—mana itself. Most people can reach this phase, though some races, like dwarves or goblins, cannot. The second phase is called Nectar. When Nectar combines with strong, focused mana, it can grant you special abilities.”

  Father held out his open palm. Slowly, a gentle breeze gathered, swirling and condensing into a faint, shimmering sphere of wind and light.

  “These Nectar abilities are unpredictable,” he said carefully. “Using them takes stamina—how much depends on how much mana and Nectar you use. Usually, those who master Nectar train at magic schools, where they learn to become Necfars.”

  He looked at me expectantly. “Do you understand so far?”

  I nodded eagerly, my eyes bright with curiosity.

  He chuckled softly and ruffled my hair affectionately. “Good. But before you can master Nectar, you must first conquer the basics—mana itself.”

  Father guided me to sit in the shade beneath a large tree and told me to close my eyes and breathe slowly.

  “Good—just like that. Now, tighten all the muscles in your arms,” he instructed, watching my every move carefully.

  I clenched my fists and tightened every muscle I could. A warm sensation spread through my arms—comforting and alive. Suddenly, my eyes flew open as colors exploded around me, swirling and shimmering wildly. A wave of dizziness swept over me, and nausea threatened to overwhelm.

  “Don’t panic,” Father’s calm voice steadied me. “Look up at the sky and keep your focus there.”

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  I obeyed, lifting my gaze upward. Gradually, the swirling colors faded, and the dizziness eased.

  He smiled warmly. “Well done. That was the awakening of your mana. It resides dormant near your shoulders. When you tense your muscles, you force it out. At first, it rushes to your head, which causes the colors and dizziness—you might even lose your sight if you don’t look up in time. But by looking up, you allow the mana to flow down and settle safely within your body.”

  He studied me closely, waiting for a sign that I understood.

  I nodded slowly, still feeling the lingering warmth inside me. Deep down, I already knew the next steps—I had read about them in secret. Now, I simply had to act as if this were all new to me, to keep the truth hidden.

  Because to defy God’s orders was unthinkable.

  And to obey was my only path forward.

  In the Kingdom of Dusk

  The grand hall of the palace was cloaked in an uneasy silence, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows across the ancient stone walls. The air was thick with tension, a palpable sense of foreboding that seemed to settle over every corner. Outside, a cold wind whispered through the towering spires, carrying with it the distant echoes of unrest.

  “Your Majesty, I have urgent news,” a knight announced, bowing deeply before the king. His armor scratched softly with the movement, and his voice trembled slightly, betraying the weight of the message he bore.

  The king, seated upon his ornate throne carved from dark wood and iron, lifted his gaze steadily. “What is it?” he asked, his voice calm but edged with concern.

  “Madam Hira has requested your presence immediately, my liege. It’s a matter of great importance,” the knight replied, his eyes darting anxiously toward the heavy oak doors.

  “Madam Hira? At this hour?” The king rose swiftly, the weight of responsibility settling firmly on his shoulders. “I must see her at once.”

  Outside, the night was heavy and still, the sky a deep indigo studded with cold stars. Madam Hira waited near the palace entrance, her light green eyes sharp and unreadable beneath the shadow of her hood. When the king approached, she stopped him with a piercing look, stepping close as if to shield him from the chill wind.

  “So, Zil, you’re as slow as ever,” she said sharply, the irritation in her voice barely masked. “How fares the throne?”

  “I’m sorry, madam—” the king began, but she cut him off with a raised hand.

  “I’m not here for apologies. I’m here to warn you.” Her voice dropped to a grave whisper. “Tonight, you will be attacked—not by human foes, nor beasts, but by entities I do not recognize. Dark forces, unlike anything we have faced. You must tighten your defenses if you wish to see the next dawn.”

  The king’s eyes widened slightly, the tension in his jaw betraying his alarm. “A-attack ho—”

  “No questions,” Madam Hira interrupted sharply. “Do as I say.”

  Zil Yung swallowed hard, nodding in reluctant agreement.

  “Good. I’ll take my leave,” she said, disappearing swiftly into the night, swallowed by the shadows.

  Back inside, the palace prepared for the coming storm. Guards doubled their patrols, banners fluttering uneasily in the cold night breeze. The king was escorted to a heavily fortified chamber deep within the heart of the castle, a sanctuary designed to withstand any assault.

  But as the hours passed, the tension gave way to chaos.

  Screams shattered the silence as unknown assailants struck through the labyrinthine corridors. The clash of steel and the cries of the fallen echoed, growing louder as they neared the king’s chamber.

  Suddenly, the heavy doors burst open.

  A towering gray-skinned monster strode in, dragging behind it the lifeless body of a high-ranking A-rank Necfar. Its presence filled the room with a suffocating darkness, the air thickening as it moved.

  The king froze, his guards rigid with fear.

  The creature approached the throne slowly, voice low and trembling yet filled with an ominous authority. “I will not kill you… not yet. I offer a bargain. Obey my demands, and your life will be spared.”

  “W-what do you want?” the king stammered, voice barely above a whisper.

  “I grant you three years,” the creature said deliberately. “Use this time to train your armies. Lead them to war against the Kingdom of Nexus. Follow my instructions once the war begins.”

  With that, it vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving a cold silence in its wake.

  The king collapsed to his knees, the weight of fear and helplessness pressing down on him like a crushing stone, though he had done nothing to deserve it. His mind whirled with one desperate thought: survival.

  After a long, heavy pause, he rose with renewed determination. If war was the price of life, then he would bear that burden. He would fight.