Cross-legged on the uneven ground, his thin frame trembled slightly, as if a cold wind was passing through his body, though the air was still. Sweat clung to his brow despite the chill of early morning. Every inhale scraped against his lungs, shallow and uneven.
He had been sitting there for what felt like hours, his legs long since gone numb and his patience wearing thin.
"This is stupid," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the faint rustling of leaves.
The Elder, perched nearby on a smooth stone, raised an eyebrow but said nothing. His weathered face betrayed a faint hint of amusement.
"Focus," the Elder said at last. "You're distracting yourself."
He clenched his jaw but swallowed back his retort. Complaining wouldn't help, and he knew better than to test the old man's patience further. Instead, he gritted his teeth and tried to do as instructed.
'Calm your mind. Focus. Find the force within.'
But how was he supposed to calm his mind when every fiber of his being screamed with discomfort? His thoughts buzzed like angry wasps—the ache in his legs, the damp coolness of the ground pressing against his skin, the faint hum of wind in the trees. Every distraction made the task seem impossible.
Time dragged on, his frustration mounting into something heavier—an aching pull deep within. He shifted forward slightly, ready to abandon the exercise altogether, when something stirred.
It was faint at first, like the flicker of a candle in a vast, dark room. A pulse of energy deep within his body, low and steady, emanating from the base of his spine. It wasn't strong, more like a quiet hum, but it stilled his thoughts instantly.
His breath caught. The sensation grew warmer, spreading outward like a slow trickle of molten gold. It was neither comforting nor threatening—just there, alive and persistent, like something ancient awakening from slumber.
The ground beneath him seemed to vanish for a moment, leaving him suspended in an unfamiliar void, tethered only by that growing hum at his core.
His hands twitched involuntarily, his entire body on the edge of trembling, as though the energy wanted to move but was restrained by unseen bounds.
A single tear slipped down his cheek, not from pain or fear, but an overwhelming sense of... something. A presence? A force? He didn't know.
Then it stopped.
The warmth dissipated as quickly as it had come, leaving a hollow stillness in its place. His body collapsed forward, his palms catching him against the earth. The roughness of the ground bit into his skin, grounding him back in the physical world.
He swayed unsteadily, his chest heaving as though he had just surfaced from deep water. The air felt heavier, pressing down on his chest, and his vision blurred. The sharpness of the leaves and sky dissolved into shadows.
The Elder's voice reached him, distant and muffled. "Do not fight it. Let it take you."
But he had no strength left to resist or obey. His body gave in, collapsing fully onto the ground. The rough earth pressed against his cheek, cool and grounding, but even that sensation began to fade.
The faint hum at the base of his spine flickered again, persistent despite his body's surrender. It pulsed faintly, as if calling to him from far away, but he was slipping further, consciousness unraveling thread by thread.
The last thing he felt before the void claimed him was a faint spark—warm, alive, and waiting.
He wasn't on the ground anymore.
His boots sank slightly into mud thick with grime and soaked in the sickening tang of blood. The air itself felt heavy, choked with smoke and the sharp metallic scent of war. Overhead, clouds roiled like a boiling cauldron, flashes of lightning carving jagged scars across the sky. Distant thunder rolled in waves, a low, guttural growl that seemed to vibrate through his chest.
Before he could fully process his surroundings, movement caught his eye. A woman emerged from the chaos—a figure wreathed in gold. Her armor gleamed even under the murky sky, battered yet unyielding, each plate polished as though it refused to succumb to the filth of the battlefield. Her wings, six impossibly white appendages, stretched from her back with a celestial grace, feathers catching the dim light as though hoarding the last remnants of hope.
She wasn't walking. She was soaring.
Each beat of her wings sent gusts rippling through the acrid smoke, parting it like a divine force cutting through despair. Below her, golden-armored soldiers advanced, their formation flawless, their movements a silent echo of her command. Where her blade swept, enemies fell like dry leaves in a storm, their screams swallowed by the sheer presence of her might.
But then, the scene wavered.
The battlefield dissolved, and he found himself in another place entirely. The same golden-haired woman knelt before him, her radiant armor now tarnished and streaked with blood. Deep cracks spiderwebbed across its surface, and her wings hung limp, their once-pristine feathers marred and broken. She clung to her sword, the blade driven into the ground, her trembling hands the only thing keeping her upright.
He stared at her, confusion coiling in his chest. Where am I? What is this place? His eyes darted around, searching for answers, but the desolation stretched endlessly. His gaze returned to her, drawn by an inexplicable pull.
And then he noticed her face.
His breath caught. Despite the grime and blood, her beauty was undeniable—striking, otherworldly. Something in her expression, a mix of anguish and defiance, stirred an unplaceable ache within him. His lips parted slightly as he thought,
'Can she not see me?'
Tentatively, he tried to move closer, but his steps faltered. His body refused to obey, as though some unseen force held him in place. Frustration flickered across his face, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He tried again, but it was futile.
The vision crumbled, fragments of the scene peeling away like ash in the wind. Darkness swallowed what remained.
He gasped as his eyes flew open, the midday sun stabbing painfully into his vision. The clean, earthy smell of the training field hit him. His chest rose and fell as if he'd been underwater for too long, and the gentle rustle of leaves felt almost alien in the stillness.
A voice broke through the haze. "Back with us now?"
The Elder's gaze pierced him, calm but intent, his weathered hands resting lightly on his knees. "What did you feel?"
He didn't answer immediately. His muscles ached as he pushed himself upright, his fingers curling briefly into the cool dirt beneath him. Images of the woman lingered in his mind—her golden wings, her fall—but he shoved them deep into a locked corner of his thoughts.
"Something," he murmured, his voice rough. "A hum. Warm. Alive." He hesitated, trying to pin the sensation with words that didn't betray the weight of what he'd seen. "It grew stronger… until it wasn't."
The Elder tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Just the prana?"
A pause. Then, with a steady voice that belied the storm within him: "Yes. Just the prana."
The Elder nodded slowly, a faint hum escaping him. "Good. That's progress. But don't get complacent. This is only the surface. To truly awaken it, you'll need to go further. Much further."
"Take some time to recover," the Elder said, rising to his feet with surprising ease for a man his age. "We'll continue tomorrow."
He stayed seated as the old man walked away, his footsteps soft against the grass. Alone again, he exhaled deeply, his gaze drifting to the horizon. The hum within him still lingered faintly.
"What were those visions, System?" he asked aloud, his voice barely above a whisper. "That... it was so quick. Almost just seconds, but it felt like an eternity."
[What do you mean?] The System's response was immediate, its tone neutral yet tinged with a curiosity that seemed almost human.
He closed his eyes, searching for the words to describe the fleeting images that had burned themselves into his mind. "There was a woman… golden-haired, with wings. She wielded a beautifull sword, cutting through enemies like they were nothing. It felt so real, as if I was there. And then… she fell. Everything shattered, and I woke up."
[..]
For a moment, there was silence. Then the System's voice, calm and detached, responded. [Hmm...]
The pause lingered, and his thoughts began to race, his mind trying to make sense of the fleeting fragments. Was it just a vision? Or something more?
[Umm... Can I check your memories to see it more accurately?]
"Okay." His voice was barely a whisper, but he couldn't bring himself to deny it. Maybe the System could make sense of it. He didn't understand what had happened or why he had seen it, but he needed answers.
After what felt like an eternity, the System spoke again, its tone more deliberate this time.
[After careful consideration and examining the memory and energy signature, I have come to a conclusion.]