The sun was gently descending toward the horizon, painting the sky with shades of orange and pink that reflected off the linen curtains hanging on the veranda. A warm breeze rustled the foliage around the pavilion, carrying with it soothing scents of lavender and resin. Everything seemed calm here, out of time.
Érikan was sitting on a light wooden bench, his back slightly hunched, arms resting on his knees. He stared into space without really seeing what surrounded him. Beside him, his mother stood, her hands gently crossed in front of her, as if she too were listening to the silence of the world. She said nothing. She didn't need to. Her mere presence was enough.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Her deep brown hair was tied into a high braid that fell over her shoulder like a silk thread. She wore a loose ivory cotton dress, which moved gently with the wind. The golden light of the evening brushed her face, highlighting the softness of her features and the serenity in her hazel eyes. There was in her gaze a peace that few possessed. A peace that, every time, settled quietly into Érikan, despite himself.
He felt the tensions built up over the hours — the fatigue, the nervousness from training, the bruised pride, the turmoil caused by Salmi — dissolve, as if his mind were becoming smooth again. Smooth and calm. Like a lake.
But this newfound tranquility forced him to look inward.
The memory of his reaction to Salmi came back without warning.
His gaze, a little too intense.His body, too stiff.His words… a bit harsh. Defensive. As if he'd been afraid of something. Or trying to prove… he didn't even know what anymore.He saw again Salmi's peaceful eyes, the shadow of a smile on her face, and himself — standing, tense, closed off.
A faint embarrassment rose in his throat, discreet but real. He lowered his head slightly.
"I acted like an idiot."
Not cruel. Not mean. Just… clumsy. Clumsy and on the defensive. And it wasn't fair to her.
He glanced at his mother. She still said nothing. But she was watching him. Not with reproach, nor with pity. Just with that silent understanding she had always had for him.
He looked away and took a deep breath.
"Next time… I'll speak to her differently. I'll apologize. Truly. Because she deserves it."
He felt the thought settle in him, with a strange clarity.
A simple promise. Not theatrical. Not to redeem himself. But because it was right.
She stepped closer, her figure bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, and sat delicately beside Érikan. Her smile shone like a summer morning, bright, full of that tenderness she had always reserved for him. In a soft, almost sing-song voice, she asked:
— So, how was your training day, sweetheart?
Érikan, still a bit dazed from the intensity of the trials, looked up at her. He gave a tired smile, his hair still damp with sweat, his back slightly curved from exhaustion, but his eyes… his eyes were alive.
— It was hell, Mom. But I had fun.
He let out a small laugh, sincere, a bit hoarse, but filled with a strange satisfaction.
And it was true.
Every step, no matter how brutal, had awakened something in him. He had loved feeling his body push its limits, loved that surge of adrenaline in his veins when he jumped, fell, got back up. He had felt that pure thrill when he succeeded where he had almost failed.
Now, he understood athletes—those mad people who ran toward pain with a smile. It wasn't the suffering that drew them in, no. It was the overcoming, that moment when you become better than the version of yourself from yesterday. And that feeling…
Addictive.
He turned his head toward his mother, calmer now, more centered, and whispered:
— I get it. It's… exhilarating. Like I'm finally alive.
Stella observed him for a moment with gentleness, placing a light hand on his arm. She could see what burned in his eyes — this new flame, this inner drive she had been waiting for. She nodded slowly.
— That's wonderful, my love.Her voice carried a deep calm, but within it was a quiet, profound pride.
Then she set her cup back on the table, sat a little straighter, and her gaze changed. Less motherly, more solemn. The softness was still there… but something older, truer, echoed in her tone.
— Now that you've awakened…She paused, locking eyes with him.— It's time we talked about mana.
Érikan, sitting cross-legged before his mother, eyes lifted, listened without a word.His features were still tired, with faint traces of dust on his cheeks, arms folded over his knees. His serious expression gave him the air of a miniature sage. His eyes — usually lively and curious — were fixed on Stella with a newfound intensity. A spark of wonder tinged with thought.Stella sat upright. On a woven cushion, her hair loosely tied in a bun, she spoke in a soft but steady voice, almost melodic.
— Mana… isn't something you see, she said, closing her eyes as if to better feel what she spoke of.— It's neither light, nor smoke, nor matter. It's… what flows. What vibrates. What connects.
She slowly opened her hand, palm to the sky. A breeze of air swirled within it, light, almost invisible.
— Mana is the very breath of the world. It is everywhere — in the earth, the air, the sea, in our bodies, our thoughts… and even in our silences.Her eyes met Érikan's, and she smiled gently.— It has no fixed form, but it takes on the shape of who you are.— It bonds with your will, your essence… and this bond reveals your affinity.
Érikan blinked. His breathing had slowed. He was entirely absorbed. His mother's words echoed within him like an ancient, almost forgotten truth.
— There are affinities, Stella continued. Fire, water, wind, stone, lightning, light, shadow… But those are only reflections. Mana itself is unique. Ancient. Untamable. It is the element before elements. The song… before speech.She paused, observing her son.— In this world, all that lives carries a trace of it. But very few know how to listen. And even fewer can invite it… to dance.
A breath passed between them. No words.Then, lower, she added:
— What you must understand… isn't how to control it.— But how to hear it. How to breathe with it. How not to be a cage… but an echo.
Silence fell again. Érikan did not move.But behind his wide eyes, his mind was boiling.
Inside his inner world, the gears of his former physicist mind began to turn.He recalled models, formulas, quantum fields. He visualized unified field equations.
Mana… it's like a fundamental field, he thought.An invisible fabric woven through all things. But unlike the fields I knew — gravity, electromagnetism — this one is sensitive… to intention. To life. To consciousness itself.
He frowned slightly.As if the universe possessed a dynamic, fluid, malleable energy network… and the mind could brush against it, guide it, shape it.
Images floated through his mind:Neural networks connected to invisible flows. Particles of light drifting in a vibrating ocean.
If I had to imagine it with my former knowledge… I'd say mana is both a vector and a mirror.It flows through space like an energetic fluid… but changes according to the one who perceives it.It becomes what we are. It reflects our will, our essence.
A shiver ran down his spine.
It's a living energy. Strange and mysterious. It seems to organize itself, almost as if it has a will of its own. It can change, adapt, vibrate differently depending on what it feels.Fire, water, air… they're not separate things, just forms—different 'voices' of a single, invisible song.
He unconsciously brought his hand to his chest, where he sometimes felt that strange pulsing. That silent warmth.
Every living being would be like an antenna. A resonator. And affinity?A frequency. A vibrational signature of the soul.
Then suddenly… a spark lit up in his mind.A flash, clear and sharp.
The soul.That concept he once rejected as too vague, too mystical.But here… everything made sense.
And what if… he thought, it was the missing parameter?The unquantifiable, immeasurable… yet fundamental element?
His gaze lit up, as though he had just grasped a universal secret.
Maybe… that's where my affinity with Time comes from.
He looked up at his mother.Stella was smiling silently.She could see her son thinking. Diving deep. Analyzing.But most of all: feeling.And that… was worth more than any answer.
Point of View: Stella
He looked at me, surprised.A little intrigued… but mostly tense.His shoulders straightened. His curious gaze clouded over with that kind of expectation I've seen a thousand times in the eyes of the newly awakened.
He was expecting gestures. Movements. Effects.Things he could master, shape, launch like projectiles or flames.
That's normal. They all want that at the beginning.They want to act. To influence. To shine.
But that's not how we start.Not if we truly want to understand. Not if we want to go deeper.
I approached him slowly.My steps were silent on the stone floor, barely covered by the rustling of the leaves.
I knelt before him, and without a word, I placed my hand on his sternum.A light touch. Barely there.
I could feel his muscles tensed beneath my fingers.His breathing a bit too fast.His heart, beating with feverish energy.
— Mana isn't something you control, I said softly. You don't command it. You feel it.
I saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes, but he said nothing.He was listening.
So I continued, even softer, almost in a whisper:
— And to feel it… you must first silence everything else.
I crouched down. My face level with his.
— Sit cross-legged. Back straight. Hands open on your knees. Close your eyes… and breathe.
He didn't argue.He obeyed, as always, with that calm, almost instinctive submission.He had learned to trust me.
I observed him.His movements were fluid. Not perfect, but natural.
I guided him through the breathing:
— Inhale to the count of four…— Hold for four…— Exhale for four…— And leave the void for four.
His chest slowly rose and fell.His breathing began to slow.His shoulders, tense just a moment earlier, began to relax.
Then I placed my hand on him again. Lower this time.Just below the navel.
Where the core lies.
— Imagine… a lantern inside you. Right here.
He didn't react, but I felt a slight shiver run over his skin.
— Small. Silent. Just a spark. But it's there.
— That's your core. Your inner light.Mana rests there, like a sleeping fire.You can't force it.You just have to… lift the veil.
He said nothing, but his energy was shifting.
The air around him was calming.Thickening.Synchronizing.
I watched him in silence.
He hadn't moved—But something in him… had moved.
A trembling.Like a string being gently touched, and still vibrating.
— Don't try to shape it, I whispered.— Feel it. Listen to it. Where is it flowing? Is it warm? Cold? Dense? Light? Is it pulsing? Is it sleeping?
— Let it speak. Let it be. Let it exist without judgment.
The wind gently lifted the linen curtains around us.The evening light filtered through the branches, weaving dancing shadows on the floor.The silence was complete.
But this silence… was full. Dense. Heavy with presence.
And him—within that silence—had melted.
I saw his face soften.His brow unfurrowed.His breathing became fluid, like a stream.
He wasn't resisting anymore.He was listening.
And in that calm… I felt it: mana was answering him.
There was no resistance. No conflict.Like two rivers joining seamlessly.
A harmony… I had never witnessed in one so young.
I could hardly believe it.
He was in phase.Not just with mana.With the world.With himself.
A natural bond.Obvious.Intimate.
A prodigy.
And then… I smiled.Softly. With quiet pride and a touch of awe.
The lantern… had awakened.
Érikan felt good. Truly good.For the first time since arriving in this world, he felt… aligned.
Eyes closed, back straight, palms open, he had stopped thinking.Stopped calculating, modeling, trying to understand through pure reason.
He had let go.Just for a moment.He had let his heart listen.
And the mana was answering.
It was soft, warm, almost alive.Like shared breath.Like an invisible hand brushing against his.
"It's strange…"The thought rose gently, a mere whisper from deep within.
"I've always believed that everything could be explained. That every single thing—no matter how elusive—could be reduced to equations, to fields, to laws…"
A silence.Then a smile.
"But… maybe I was wrong. Or at least… incomplete."
He inhaled. Deeply.
And, for the first time, he understood:It wasn't about denying science.But about not imprisoning it.
"I'm a scientist. Not a dominator. I never wanted to control nature… only to understand it. To describe it. To honor it."
A heartbeat.A shiver ran down his spine.
"Mana… it's not a tool. Not a slave. It's a presence. A primordial force. A vibration."
He had felt it.He had listened—not with his brain… but with his entire being.
And in that moment, he grasped something fundamental:
Science, at its core, isn't a way to dominate.It's a path to truth.
A whisper stirred in his mind, as if he were speaking to himself… or to the man he once was:
"Science… is the art of asking the right questions.The effort to observe, to listen, to interpret.It isn't a stick, nor a cage.It's a lantern.And today, I carry that lantern in a world where light comes not from equations… but from the heart."
His breathing steadied again.
"I may be a monster of mana control…"He smiled inwardly."…but not because I dominate it.Because perhaps, I'm learning to understand it. To be in sync.And that's what it means to be a genius:To feel what others merely measure."
He opened his eyes slowly.
The world hadn't changed.But he… had.