Anton slumped into his bed, the soft mattress welcoming his weary body like an old friend.
Across the room, his brother's gentle snores filled the air with their familiar rhythm, each breath a reminder of normalcy that Anton couldn't quite grasp anymore. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, each sound hammering against his skull with the weight of time itself. Tick. Tick. Tick. Like a metronome counting down to something he couldn't quite see.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. The Kurona bloodline's gift of instant sleep had never failed him before. It was one of the few certainties he'd had in life - a small magic, but his own. Now even that seemed to be slipping away, like sand through his fingers.
The excess Mana in the air didn't help, crackling across his skin like invisible static. Days of fitful rest had left dark circles under his eyes that he'd caught glimpses of in passing mirrors, making him look more like a shade than a student. But it wasn't just physical exhaustion anymore - something deeper was keeping him awake, questions that buzzed in his mind like angry wasps.
Finally surrendering to his restlessness, Anton pushed himself up and made his way to his desk. His hands found their way to his quill and journal by muscle memory alone - his oldest form of meditation, his private sanctuary when thoughts became too loud to bear.
Sitting down at his table, he did what he would always do when his thoughts were too loud. He picked up his quill and just started to splatter his thoughts onto the paper, the ink raging and flowing like a river as his mind struggled to piece everything together. He opted to use his trusted inkwell, leaving the Fire Quill in the drawer - he didn't want to risk waking his brother.
Writing had always been his escape, his private form of meditation. A fond smile tugged at his lips as he remembered his very first journal - a modest little thing bound in faded blue leather, its pages yellowed even when new. He'd found it buried under a pile of trinkets at old Madame Rosewood's stall during the annual Midsummer Market Fair, right next to a stack of dog-eared spellbooks that would later spark his passion for magic. The journal wasn't expensive, but it was the first thing he'd ever bought with his own money.
"Note to self," he wrote, his usually neat handwriting betraying a slight tremor, "NEVER cast Swift spells near windows again." Below that, fighting embarrassment with gratitude: "Thank Merlin for Ice Wyverns and their riders. Lunee deserves more than just thanks - maybe help with her Beast Taming homework?"
The Moon Fangs section flowed easier, his quill dancing across the page as he sketched their crescent-shaped fangs. The way shadows bent around them still sent shivers down his spine - not of fear, but of wonder. His annotations grew more detailed: lunar alignment patterns, shadow manipulation capabilities, their fierce independence. A question mark hovered beside his notes on lunar energy connection patterns, a mystery for another day.
Professor Argentum's lecture came next, the dodecahedron diagram emerging under his careful strokes. The twelve vertices gleamed with possibility in his mind's eye, each one a potential conduit for power he still couldn't quite grasp. The internal helical patterns were beautiful, yes, but they also felt like pieces of a puzzle he was meant to solve.
His hand faltered at the Flamare-Ruina combination notes. "52.7% stability," he wrote, the numbers feeling like an accusation. Not good enough. Never good enough. The list of possible solutions grew: golden ratio adjustments, containment matrix reinforcement... Professor Argentum's reference materials might help, if he could find them. If they even applied to someone like him.
That thought brought him to the next topic, and his quill hesitated above the page like a diver about to plunge into dark waters.
Manamancy.
The word sat heavy on the page, each letter a weight pressing down on his chest. The memory of the Manaector's emptiness clawed at his thoughts with fresh intensity, refusing to be ignored any longer.
He could still see it with painful clarity - that ancient crystal's brilliant glow dying at his touch, as if his very presence had somehow tainted it. Every other student had shown something. Anything. Fire students had conjured dancing flames within the orb, water affinities had summoned swirling miniature oceans, nature alignments had sprouted delicate patterns of leaves and vines. Even the mysterious Spectre student, whose very existence seemed to defy natural law, had revealed something - a stark void-type alignment that had turned the crystal an impossible shade of black.
But when Anton had stepped forward, there had been... nothing. No color, no resonance, no reaction at all.
Just a hollow emptiness that felt like it was mocking him, reflecting back the growing void of uncertainty in his own heart.
Professor Arthas's words echoed in his mind, taking on new weight in the quiet hours: "Your father was a reckless, outrageous, stupid, impatient, impulsive man. And nonetheless, the greatest human I have met in my life."
The frustration built until his quill pressed too hard, leaving a dark blot that bled through the page like an accusation. Fifteen years of questions had piled up like autumn leaves, threatening to bury him completely. Each answer only seemed to spawn more questions, a hydra of uncertainty that grew stronger with every attempt to understand it.
He drew connections between points on the page: "No mana alignment" linked to "Kurona surname - dangerous?" and finally to "Time dreams?" The question marks clustered around the last point like curious onlookers, each one holding its own mystery.
His hand stilled as something tugged at the edges of his mind - connections trying to form, like stars slowly aligning into a constellation he couldn't quite make out yet. The emptiness in the Manaector, the dreams of time, his father's mysterious past - they were pieces of the same puzzle, weren't they?
But how?
With a quiet sigh that carried the weight of his frustration, he reached for his backpack and withdrew the Manaector. It seemed to hum with potential as he placed it at the center of his desk, its presence commanding attention like a small star fallen to earth.
The crystal orb rested upon the wooden table with an otherworldly grace, its golden framework an intricate dance of metalwork that seemed to breathe with its own life. Like celestial vines embracing a captured star, the bars cradled a sphere of flawless crystal. Within, an azure flame pulsed with gentle rhythm, painting the desk in shifting patterns of cobalt that whispered of ancient secrets. Each flicker fractured through the crystal surface, creating a kaleidoscope of blue that rippled outward like waves on a midnight sea.
The craftsmanship transcended mere artifice - the crystal was perfect, cool and smooth beneath his tentative touch, while the golden bars that embraced it bore runes that seemed to shift and change with each passing shadow. The blue flame inside danced to unseen currents, its warmth carrying the comfort of a sea breeze, familiar yet just beyond the reach of memory.
He stared into its depths, searching for answers. As his hands approached, the flame grew stronger - but the moment his fingers made contact with the orb, it vanished. The crystal turned cold and lifeless in his grasp, like a light snuffed out by darkness.
Professor Arthas's instructions rang in his ears: "One. You shall learn to manipulate your main alignment inside this orb at will. You should be able to make it brighter and dimmer on a whim's notice."
Brighter and dimmer...
Brighter and dimmer, huh?
Wait. Brighter and dimmer. This means the Manaector measures intensity, right?
The young man nodded to himself. Do more, think less. He reached out, and once again, the flame dissipated. Instead, this time he closed his eyes and focused on the Manaector. Reaching out with his mind, his Mana sense focused intensely on the crystal.
The sensation washed over Anton like a wave of clarity, a profound revelation that left him breathless. It was as if he had discovered a hidden mirror within his soul, reflecting not his physical form but the very essence of his being. The Mana flowed through this metaphysical looking glass, showing him glimpses of his inner self that he had never known existed. Like a blind man suddenly granted sight, or a deaf person hearing music for the first time, he found himself exploring the contours of his own magical nature with wonder - tracing patterns both familiar and alien, mapping the landscape of his own power with each tentative touch. The experience reminded him of deep meditation - that state of perfect stillness where the boundaries between self and universe seemed to blur and fade. It was an intimacy with himself that transcended mere physical sensation, a deep knowing that resonated through every fiber of his being, as if he had finally found that elusive center point that meditation masters spoke of finding.
A curse formed in his mind but never reached his lips. This wasn't a test he could solve by reading. There were no books, no teachers, no guides. This was his journey alone, a reflection of himself that only he could interpret. Dimmer. Brighter. Dimmer. Brighter. How?
CAST. Strategize. How to make this dimmer or brighter?
Hypothesis 1 - The Manaector reacts to raw Mana. If it detects quantity and displays it through brightness and intensity, maybe his Mana was simply too weak?
Hypothesis 2 - The Manaector reacts to intent. Perhaps it wasn't about raw power at all, but about focus and direction. Like a lens focusing light, he needed to shape and guide his Mana with purpose rather than just pushing it out.
Hypothesis 3 - The Manaector measures resonance. The flame danced and responded like something alive - maybe it sought harmony between his Mana and itself, like two instruments finding the same note. The emptiness might mean he was out of tune rather than lacking power.
Next step, Try.
Eyes closed, he focused on his own Mana. Through the Manaector's reflection, he watched as he gathered his power, like muscles bunching before a leap. The Mana condensed and coiled in his core, growing denser and more concentrated. He could feel it building, sense the pressure mounting - but something felt wrong. The more he pushed, the more his reflection in the Manaector seemed to distort and fragment, like a mirror cracking under strain.
Alright, hypothesis one failed. Moving to hypothesis two.
This time, instead of raw force, Anton tried to direct his Mana with purpose. The Manaector showed him how his power responded to his will - like watching ripples spread across water where he'd dropped a stone. He could see how his intent shaped the flow, creating elegant patterns and swirls. But something still wasn't clicking. The patterns were beautiful, but they felt... disconnected somehow, like a dance performed to the wrong music.
Still nothing manifested in the crystal.
Frustration mounting, he moved to hypothesis three. If it was about resonance, maybe he needed to listen more than push. He relaxed his grip on the Manaector, letting his fingers rest lightly against its cool surface. The reflection changed dramatically - instead of showing him just his own Mana, he could now see how it interacted with... something else. Something that pulsed with a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat or a ticking clock.
For a moment - just a moment - he felt his own power begin to sync with that rhythm. Through the Manaector, he watched as his Mana started to flow in time with that mysterious pulse, like two dancers finding the same beat. A whisper of warmth, a hint of blue at the corner of his vision. But when he opened his eyes, eager to see the result, the crystal was as empty as ever.
He slumped back in his chair, exhaustion settling into his bones like lead. Three hypotheses, three failures. But something about that last attempt... there had been something there, hadn't there? A connection, however brief.
Maybe he was thinking about this all wrong. The Manaector wasn't just measuring Mana - it was measuring alignment. And alignment wasn't just about power or control or even harmony. It was about...
About what?
He stared at the crystal, watching his own reflection distort and fragment across its surface.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached out but didn't quite touch the Manaector, instead hovering his hand just above its surface.
The flame grew brighter and brighter with each passing second, much like it had in Professor Arthas's class. But this time, instead of disappearing, it seemed to pulse with an otherworldly rhythm. A throbbing pulse that seemed to match the rhythm of his own heartbeat.
A ticking, a pulsing, a monotone wave. A rhythm beyond his own - the rhythm of the universe itself.
He yanked his hand back as if it burned, and the flame immediately settled back to its usual gentle dance. His heart hammered against his ribs as he tried to process what he'd just witnessed. This was different from the emptiness he'd experienced during the alignment test. Different from anything he'd ever read about or seen.
"What are you?" he whispered to the orb, his words barely audible even in the quiet room. The blue flame flickered, as if in response, casting dancing shadows across his journal's pages that seemed to spell out answers just beyond his comprehension.
With a frustrated sigh, Anton gathered his things. The journal went first, its pages still blank where he'd hoped to record some breakthrough. Next came the quill and ink, carefully stoppered to prevent spills. He cast one last glance at the Manaector, its flame dancing innocently as if it hadn't just spent hours defying his every attempt to understand it.
"Another day," he muttered, though he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince the orb or himself. The crystal seemed to pulse in response, its steady glow a reminder of secrets yet to be uncovered. His muscles ached from sitting hunched over for so long, and his head throbbed with the effort of sustained concentration.
He extinguished his small lamp with a quick gesture, plunging the space into darkness save for the Manaector's ethereal blue light. For a moment, he stood there, watching the interplay of light and shadow. The flame's rhythm seemed to whisper secrets just beyond his grasp, like a half-remembered lullaby from childhood that slips away the moment you try to catch it.
Shaking his head to clear it of such fanciful thoughts, Anton closed the door behind him. The walk back to his room was a blur of tired footsteps and scattered thoughts, each theory and failure mixing together into an exhausting muddle.
As he finally lay down, his brother's steady breathing a familiar comfort in the darkness, one thought refused to let him go: What piece of the puzzle am I missing?
Sleep finally claimed him, but his dreams were filled with the endless turning of golden gears and the rhythmic pulse of azure flames, each tick and flash spelling out answers in a language he couldn't quite understand. Not yet.
These questions would have to wait.
During his restless sleep, a letter slid under his door, marked with a stamp of a silver crescent moon.