The wind blew gently across a vast, deserted plain. No hills, no trees—nothing but the infinite horizon and the bare sky. The ground, dry and brown, was cracked in places, marked here and there by footprints—remnants of past training. The silence was heavy... oppressive.
Érikan followed Yorr and Yvnir, his legs still slightly numb from apprehension. The ground crunched beneath their boots, and with each step, the empty expanse seemed even more enormous.
"Welcome to our little playground," Yorr declared, arms crossed, his chest puffed out like a wall of stone. "This is where your real training begins."
He turned to Érikan, a fierce smile on his face.
"We'll start with a little run. You'll go around this field fifty times. Every morning. Then a hundred push-ups, a hundred squats. And if you stop, even once... we double the load. Got it?"
Érikan swallowed hard, his eyes scanning the plain. The terrain was at least three times the size of a professional football stadium. To him, it looked like an endless desert. A run that long seemed impossible. Utterly insane.
Yvnir, leaning against a boulder, chuckled with sadistic pleasure.
"What are you waiting for, brat?! Go on, run!"
Érikan froze. Cold sweat beaded on his temple. He had never been much of an athlete. In his previous life, he spent his days in laboratories, writing equations, building theories. Sometimes, he watched athletes on TV. They were admired, powerful, confident. And he... he was just an ordinary man. Short, discreet, not particularly handsome—and desperately envious. Envious of those who dared. Of those who chased their dreams.
He clenched his fists.
"I never truly lived. Always held back by fear: fear of failure, fear of love, fear of rejection…"
He lowered his head.
"But not this time."
Something burned quietly inside him. A fire born from his awakening—but also from his promise.
"This time, I choose my constraints."
He drew a deep breath… and began to run
The ground thudded under his feet. At first, everything went smoothly. His newly awakened body felt lighter, more responsive. He was surprised by his own speed. Ten laps passed—his legs held, his breathing remained steady. But gradually… the world shifted.
His muscles started to burn. His throat dried up. His breath turned ragged, and his vision blurred slightly. The sun's rays fell on him like blades. His strides grew heavier. Every step became a battle.
But he didn't stop.
Yorr, observing from a distance, frowned.
"He should've collapsed by now… He's holding up better than expected."
Yvnir crossed his arms, an intrigued smile tugging at his lips.
"This kid… he's special. You feel that? His mana isn't fluctuating. It's stable. Way too stable for a freshly awakened."
"And look at his body," Yorr added. "The awakening's already reinforced his physical structure… That's not normal. He's ahead of most apprentices."
By the thirtieth lap, Érikan was utterly exhausted. His legs trembled, his back was drenched in sweat. His arms hung limp at his sides, and his breathing was harsh. But his gaze… it burned.
He didn't want to quit. He couldn't. Not now.
"One step at a time. One breath after another."
He was almost dragging himself, falling to his knees now and then, but rising each time.
"If I have to crawl… then I'll crawl."
He recalled his own words. The promise he made to himself. He was no longer a spectator of his life. He would be the actor. The engine. The author.
And then… it happened.
The star within him, spinning at the core of his nucleus, accelerated. A strange pulse, like a wheel turning faster, stronger. Suddenly, ambient mana flowed toward him. Not chaotically—but in a perfect, harmonious stream.
His body absorbed it. Integrated it. Assimilated it.
And his muscles… began to regenerate.
The pain dulled. The fatigue withdrew. His steps grew steadier, quicker. He was running again, chest upright, eyes locked on the horizon. No—he was almost flying.
The two giants could hardly believe their eyes.
"This… this can't be," Yorr muttered.
"He just created resonance… between his star and his body," Yvnir said, his voice much graver than usual.
"He aligned his internal circuits with the natural flow of mana… like a master."
They exchanged a look. What the boy had just done—only the greatest had ever achieved it. And even then, only after years of intense training.
But Érikan kept running. Driven by a burning will. A new strength. He was no longer running to obey—but because he wanted to.
And when he reached his fiftieth lap, time seemed to freeze.
He collapsed to his knees, panting. But an immense smile broke across his face. He had done it.
Not to impress. Not to be loved.
But for himself.
To prove… that he could change
Yorr and Yvnir sat a few paces away, arms folded across their massive chests, observing Érikan in silence. The boy lay collapsed in the dust, his eyes closed but his breath steady. A single thought ran through both their minds: How had this kid managed to create such a powerful resonance during his very first training session?
They were itching to ask him. But the memory of his parents quickly snuffed out the idea. Gaël's chilling, quiet demeanor… and then there was Stella.
Stella.
Even just thinking about her sent shivers down their spines. She had the kind of presence that could freeze the blood in your veins with a single glance. Questioning her son would be like walking straight into the maw of a lioness. No thanks.
Yorr grimaced.
"…Yeah. Forget it."
Yvnir nodded with a tight smile, his jaw clenched at the memory of her aura.
Breaking the silence, Yorr called out, his voice gruff:
"Alright, kid. Take five minutes. Then we move on to pull-ups and push-ups."
"Yes, sir," Érikan answered between breaths, not hesitating for even a second.
He sat down, resting his hands on his knees. His breath was still rapid, but his mind was clear. The warm dirt beneath his fingers, the sun pressing down on his neck, the tension in his muscles—it all anchored him in the present. He had broken through a barrier. A real one. And he wanted more.
When time was up, he got back on his feet and began the exercises. Pull-ups. Push-ups. In rhythm. He handled the effort well. The flow of mana, stabilized since the resonance, circulated smoothly through his limbs, aiding his recovery. He could feel every muscle contraction, every stretch—like a symphony executed in perfect tempo.
Yorr watched, his expression narrowing.
"He's doing too well…"
"Let's spice it up a little," Yvnir said with a sly grin.
He stood up and walked over to Érikan, who had just finished his set, chest glistening with sweat, arms thickened from exertion.
"This isn't over. You're gonna repeat all of it… but this time, with these," he said, holding out two metal wristbands, each strapped with ten-kilo weights.
"Huh? Isn't that a bit much?" Érikan asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You don't get a say. Execute," Yvnir snapped.
Érikan hesitated for just a moment, then took the wristbands. They were cold. Heavy. Oppressive. But he didn't flinch. He fastened them tightly to his wrists, took a deep breath, and resumed the exercises.
Each movement became torment. His already warm muscles screamed under the strain. His joints groaned. It felt like he was shattering himself with every push-up, tearing with every pull.
And yet… he pushed on.
He wasn't fighting the weights. He was fighting himself. Fighting his old limits. The shadow of who he had once been.
And in that pain… in that pressure… he felt it again.
A warmth. A soft vibration. Mana.
It flowed through him like an underground stream, etching new channels through his burning muscles. It wasn't just healing. It was rebuilding. Denser. Tougher. Smarter.
Yorr's eyes widened.
"At this rate… this kid's gonna end up with the body of a titan."
Yvnir slowly nodded, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
"Can you imagine? A human… with a giant's physique. This is madness. I can't wait."
Érikan, panting, completed his final pull-up. His body was laced with microtears, but his mana, in perfect harmony with his cells, repaired the damage like an invisible army of nanomachines.
He felt the transformation. He wanted to understand it. To uncover the scientific mechanism behind this process. Was it a fusion between spiritual energy and molecular biology? Was mana altering regenerative metabolism? He wanted to model it, to analyze it…
But it was still too early.
He sat down, arms shaking, his muscles hot to the touch.
From behind, Yvnir spoke:
"Starting tomorrow, every morning at sunrise—you'll be here. Same training. Same intensity. This is your new routine."
Érikan, drawn out of his musings, sat up straighter.
"Yes, sirs. Thank you… for today."
He bowed respectfully.
Then turned slowly, walking away from the field. His legs were heavy—but his heart was light with pride.
He was no longer just a boy.
He was becoming the forger of himself.
And the first chapter of his rebirth had just been written… in sweat and blood.