"And thus, on the edge of the abyss, he stood with a determination that neither time nor space could break; because although fate had taken his home and identity, he still carried within his veins the indomitable spark of the Innate, a power as ancient as the universe and as dangerous as the edge of a cursed sword." —Excerpt from Volume 1 of The Reborn Hero.
"What does it feel like to live a life that isn't yours? What does it feel like to know that you're an impostor in your own skin? What does it feel like to not know the way home?"
He bit his lower lip, trapped between frustration and resignation. An invisible weight chained him, dragging him to an unknown and shadowy place. Had he died? Or was this, in some absurd way, the rebirth spoken of in those mangas and novels he sometimes read to kill time? He shook his head, rejecting the idea immediately.
He didn't want to get lost in absurd explanations. He just wanted to return home, to the life that had been taken from him, to the familiar laughs and voices that now felt like distant echoes, as if the waves of time and space had swept them away forever.
He looked at the sandwich in his hands and, without realizing it, squeezed it until the filling overflowed, a small chaos between his fingers. This entire situation, this imposed life, seemed like a cruel farce, a perverse game in which he had never asked to participate. Neither the fresh breeze nor the soft touch of the grass beneath him could ease the anguish of being trapped in a world he didn't understand, in an academy where they looked at him as if he were a stranger, an anomaly that didn't belong.
He leaned his back against the shadowed trunk of a tree, his green-aquamarine eyes reflecting the daylight. The calm of the place contrasted bitterly with the turmoil inside him. In the distance, the dirt path he had come from stretched out, a straight line that would take him back to the academy if he followed it.
But he wasn't in a hurry to return. That vast dining hall on the ground floor, with high ceilings, unreachable luxuries, and large open windows, was a reality he felt as alien as the cold stares sometimes directed at him by other students. They, with their giggles and whispers that seemed to scrape his skin, made him feel like he didn't belong. And maybe they were right.
He recalled how he had taken a couple of sandwiches and decided to leave the dining hall through the window, instead of using the normal path. The astonished and disapproving looks that had followed him seemed, at the time, as insignificant as the words they uttered, as if their opinions were dust carried by the wind.
He was exhausted, even more so now after being dragged by that crazy woman, Nina something. That woman seriously needed better acting classes, as her attitudes fooled no one. She had offered him training, personally guiding his movements for the rest of the class with a mixture of coldness and clumsiness, exposing her façade of false kindness. His hands still ached from the exercises, with newly formed calluses already closed over by scabs he had resisted picking at.
As he took a bite of the sandwich, he closed his eyes, letting the simple but comforting taste envelop him. At least it was delicious, and it was something he could control, something that didn't judge or demand anything from him. Perhaps the exhaustion was part of his current irritation, a mix of insomnia and unease manifesting as a simmering rage, a desperation that defied logical explanation.
Maybe he wasn't going mad, but he felt his mind teetering on the edge of an unfathomable abyss. He wasn't someone prone to losing his calm, but the absurdity of this strange life seemed like an impossible enigma to solve, one that any psychologist would struggle to understand.
He tried to cling to rationality, but what sense did that make when the world itself lacked any?
Changing the subject, he took another bite of the sandwich, as if the mechanical act of chewing helped him organize his thoughts. With solitude as his only companion, that ability, that power called "Innate," kept swirling in his mind like a persistent bad omen. He couldn't stop thinking about it, like a repetitive and unsettling melody. "Innate," he murmured, biting into the sandwich as he chewed slowly. The name couldn't have been simpler, but simplicity was deceptive.
Innate Abilities... Nurse Selene had been careful in explaining them to him; the ability was part of his essence, something natural and primordial. You were born with it, or it awakened within you over time. It was instinctive, almost like learning to breathe when you entered this world.
He recalled her talk about the importance of protecting that so-called ability, of keeping it secret since he had no power, influence, or connections. "It's not just a talent," the beautiful nurse had warned, "it's a weapon that, in the wrong hands, could lead you down a dark path."
Yes, that lecture hadn't been pleasant to listen to. He already knew he was a poor devil; there was no need to have that reinforced for a whole hour. He understood the depths of something so unique, something that few possessed and many coveted.
Out of curiosity and deliberate boredom, without much effort, he had delved into his own mind, and there it was: the details unfolded before him like an open book. That ability allowed him, once a day, to increase any chosen attribute by 1%, whether physical, mental, or spiritual, as long as it applied to himself. Even inanimate objects were viable, but other people were not. It was cumulative, and while it couldn't be reversed, its effect could be negated at will, like a switch that could be turned on or off without any cost.
It was simple, yes, subtle if you wanted to call it that, but was he the only one who could see it? Or had he already gone mad? He looked at the sandwich thoughtfully and took another bite. The Innate ability wasn't suited for direct combat, as the nurse had suggested due to her lack of knowledge, since even she didn't know what it entailed. It was something more insidious, and that made it dangerous in a different way.
He thought of a quick example: What would happen if, over a hundred days, he accumulated a 100% chance of causing death with a simple touch? Absurd, yes, but real. So real that he felt a chill run down his spine. Could it be true, the warning? Were those abilities known as Innate so extreme, so uncontrollable? So much so that all their users became full-fledged monsters, as Selene had mentioned?
If that were the case, he didn't want to imagine what kind of people those other users were, and another reason was added to the list, one of many, not to reveal that he had awakened an Innate Ability. Besides, who did he have to tell? The demon girl or the ghosts under his bed? Yes, he could already see how that would turn out.
But there was another question that piqued his curiosity. If the ability was so instinctive and under his perfect control, how general and ambiguous could it be? An example... something like a type of bodily fortitude that covered the entire physical spectrum, encompassing his whole body.
Could something like that really be done? As he finished the last bite of his sandwich, he decided to try. After all, he wouldn't lose anything by attempting it, and the ability was there, calling to him, tempting him, asking to be used.
With a slow breath, he allowed the ability to flow from within, a force that seemed to understand itself. He felt his mind reciting a strange chant, words he didn't recognize but seemed engraved in his soul. "Liscturm, mankerfird dua do baleck, seraft no torburd, karlowoen dimato porbebalick... unn."
Without knowing it, he had completed the ancient rune chants of past lives. He felt a slight tingling in his body, and then a strange calm. Bodily Fortitude... current: 001%. A tiny increase, but proof that the ability was active. Proof that opened a world of possibilities, and something others might have considered as a Trait in itself became part of his existence, strengthening him, creating an extra layer that would never deactivate.
However, he didn't notice any immediate change, and that was obvious, as a 1% improvement was still minimal. Everything seemed the same. But in his enthusiasm, he had overlooked an essential detail; having knowledge of something didn't mean having the experience to know how to use it.
A cold sensation touched his lips, and when his fingers brushed the base of his nose, he felt something thick and warm staining his skin. He looked down and saw blood, a crimson drop spreading quickly. What the hell...? he tried to think, but was interrupted by an uncontrollable cough.
Covering his mouth to avoid staining the grass with his blood, he felt his chest tighten. The tingling turned into a crushing emptiness, as if a sharp blade threatened his throat, ready to cut his last breath.
And then, in the blink of an eye, everything went dark. His body fell to the ground like a puppet without strings, plunging into the abyss of a deep and bottomless unconsciousness.
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Pain... a throbbing disturbance that caused him slight spasms.
The turning of pages, such a common and monotonous sound, reached his ears like the echo of a distant memory. The back of his head rested on something soft, a familiar softness from times past, the kind of softness that only another person could provide.
What was happening? he wondered. He remembered being a complete idiot, a fool who had abused a power he barely understood superficially. A fool who had suffered serious consequences for it.
Between his fingers, the grass and soil were palpable, a direct connection to reality and away from the world of dreams. His breathing slowly regulated, and with growing unease, he opened his eyes. The shadows of leaves in the treetops and the small traces of sunlight that managed to penetrate that wall caressed his face and body.
That sound, the turning of a page, was audible again, and when he looked up, his mind processed the image in astonishment. Unable to stop himself, his lips whispered, "An angel?" as his eyes adjusted to the light.
Before him stood a figure with short silver hair, porcelain-like skin, and a serene smile that soon turned into one of embarrassment, with a soft blush on her cheeks and bandages covering her eyes. Yes, she was definitely an angel, and in that moment, he knew he had made too many mistakes, the last one being an act of idiocy born out of boredom. Curiosity killed the cat, they said.
The angel extended her arms and began moving her hands clumsily. Her lips moved, trying to form an explanation, but a series of untimely coughs broke the silence and the beautiful atmosphere. He sat up, lifting his torso from the lap of sanctity, trying to cover his mouth, relieved not to see blood this time. It made sense, he thought. On the other side, things like that should be considered trifles.
But... why did the "other side" look exactly like the place where he died? Even that ugly leather backpack, which belonged to this body, was there, tossed aside like trash.
"Are you... are you okay?" the angel asked, her voice soft like a melody, her worried tone awakening a thousand feelings of guilt in him. When his coughing finally subsided, he turned his face toward her, his eyes narrowing as he felt an almost blinding aura of purity emanating from her.
"I think so," he replied, his voice rough from the coughing, causing a slight discomfort in his throat. Now, fully awake and no longer blinded by the light, the angel he thought he had seen seemed... more human. Yes, he wasn't dead, it had just been a momentary confusion, but he didn't doubt he had been close. After all, fainting so often couldn't be good for his brain, considering the lack of oxygen and all that.
Short, beautiful silver hair... but for some reason, it was poorly cut? His mind wondered. Her delicate skin, with a split lip, slightly dirty bandages covering her eyes, a simple dress full of suspicious food stains, and sleeves covered in dried blood. His blood, the thought arrived late. There... before him stood a young girl, similar in age to this body, a girl who now simply seemed vulnerable.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his doubts about her appearance increasing his concern. The silver-haired girl waved her arms, noticeably thin, and a faint trace of bruised skin peeked out from under her sleeves. It was only for a moment, but something told him that what he saw wasn't his imagination.
"You... you should be more worried about yourself," the girl stammered clumsily. "I found you collapsed, and you were too heavy to move," she added quickly, as if trying to justify herself against a non-existent accusation.
He narrowed his eyes, noticing her evasiveness born of caution, always trying to protect herself from the new or unknown. The girl seemed skittish, which further fueled his suspicions. Without thinking much about it, he moved closer, and the girl flinched at his proximity. How could she perceive him if she was blindfolded? Another mystery surrounding the girl.
"The bandages... they're dirty," he said almost unconsciously, his words sounding harsh, though that wasn't his original intent. She shrank, much like a frightened turtle, causing a wave of sympathy to stir in him, as his suspicions seemed to be confirmed.
"Do you have anything else you can use?" he asked, softening his tone as much as possible. "I have others in my bag, but I wanted to wait until the day ended," she explained, with a shyness that almost made him smile inwardly.
"I see," he murmured, sitting in front of the girl, making sure to maintain a respectful distance so both could feel comfortable. He remained silent, letting the seconds pass, and the girl began to show signs of nervousness at the prolonged calm.
"I'm still here, if you're wondering," he commented in a tired tone. "Though I'd like to know how long I was out, if it's not too much to ask. Of course, if you know," he said, breaking the silence, which he didn't find uncomfortable, but the other person clearly did. Upon hearing his question, the girl exhaled with relief and, with renewed determination, began gathering the courage to respond.
"When I arrived, I found you passed out, and I didn't know what to do," she said, nervously fiddling with the book she held in her hands. "That was over half an hour ago," she finished, her voice trembling with timidity.
"I see... I must have been a huge bother to you. I'm sorry for that," he smiled with some sadness, and, knowing how to read between the lines, added, "And I'm also sorry for taking your place; that was my fault." Upon saying this, the girl's face turned red with embarrassment, and she quickly waved her hands, "Don't say that," she replied, but her confusion only grew when he let out a soft, amused laugh.
Joy marked his face, and for the first time that day, something didn't seem horrible; "Thank you," he murmured, "I really needed that." He let his body fall back onto the grass, watching the movement of the leaves that blocked the sunlight. "If you need help with your hair, don't hesitate to ask," he said, raising his arm and forming scissors with his fingers, slicing the air. His hand dropped immediately, realizing how silly the gesture was, and his face flushed slightly.
"How can I say this without sounding rude? It's a... mess," he corrected with a slight smile, while the girl hid her face behind the book in embarrassment, murmuring to herself, "I thought I did a good job."
Turning his head, he noticed his other sandwich on the ground, covered in ants. The sight made him a little sad. He was still hungry.
"You said you had another pair of bandages, right?" he asked curiously, trying to keep the conversation going. Upon a timid nod, he sighed, rising from his comfort. He took a few steps toward the worn leather backpack, pulled out some new bandages, and returned to the girl. He wasn't going to use them anyway; with that thought, he glanced at his hand, particularly his knuckles, where previously lost bandages had once been. He had found those bandages in the room and planned to use them but forgot.
Being forgetful had its uses, he supposed. "Here, you can use them, they're new, so you won't have to use the ones you already have," he said, extending his hand. She fumbled awkwardly in the air and, upon feeling his fingers, pulled her hand back nervously. After some insistence on his part, she finally took the offered fabric, leaving him both curious and surprised.
"Do you usually accept things so easily from strangers?" he asked playfully. She quickly shook her head, "I don't feel any malice in your actions," she replied, and that stirred a slight confusion in him, though he preferred not to pry to avoid being intrusive.
"Use them. I'll turn around so I won't bother you," he said, making sure not to make her uncomfortable. His legs turned, a small gesture that the silver-haired girl silently appreciated, trusting that he would keep his word, as his actions had no trace of malice, only compassion.
Three minutes later, she whispered softly, "I'm done." Now... the clean bandage highlighted her aura of purity, making him feel somewhat more at ease. "Much better," he murmured and nodded to himself. Once again, he sat down, ensuring he kept a comfortable distance between them, and thus... silence reigned again.
He noticed how the girl turned the pages of her book, tracing the printed ink of those scribbles with her fingers. From his position, he could see that it wasn't Braille. Curiosity made him raise an eyebrow, though he said nothing, wanting to enjoy the silence, which now seemed comfortable for both of them, for a while longer.
But all good things must come to an end. When the sound of bells echoed through the place, he remembered the "magic arts" classes he had heard he was supposed to attend. He stood up, each movement accompanied by persistent pain, as if his body was on the verge of collapse.
Taking his backpack, he sighed a little and scratched his hair; and now that he thought about it, his hair was also a mess. He'd have to cut it sometime when he found some scissors. Faced with his future problems and poor school protection, he ignored the pain and continued forward.
He saw how the girl remained motionless, reading her book. Well... he couldn't be a jerk and ask her about it, but toward the only person he didn't find horrible in this place, he didn't want the interaction to end, so... before leaving, he ventured to ask, "Can I come back here? Of course, if you don't mind."
The girl vehemently shook her head and then, with an evident blush, nodded, "You... you can." She hid behind her book, and he smiled before saying goodbye, looking forward to their next conversation.
After walking for a few minutes and seeing the imposing Academy in the distance, an idea crossed his mind. And he felt like an idiot, realizing that he had never asked the name of his shy caretaker.
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What to do when one was lost? That was the question that lingered in his mind, the thought that summed up his current situation. As he walked through desolate, lifeless, and cold hallways, a pang of frustration surged through him, making him click his tongue.
"Seriously, this place needed a few maps of its facilities," he muttered in annoyance, his voice barely a whisper that was swallowed by the echo of the corridor. It had been a terrible day, no, scratch that... it was turning into an awful day, and it kept getting worse.
The only good thing had been that moment with the shy girl, a strange encounter that helped him relax, but which soured upon noticing clear signs of bullying towards her. His expression darkened, he promised himself he'd help her.
Aside from that, everything had been a disaster. To top it off, he was hungry too; he should've eaten faster when he had the chance. He shook his head, frustrated with himself. That had been his mistake, just like it was when he used that ability thinking it wouldn't harm him, assuming that since it belonged to this body, he'd have some kind of immunity—a foolish assumption that cost him dearly.
He ran a hand over his face, pushing the hair that fell over his eyes aside, and massaged his eyelids, trying to clear his head. Sleep was stalking him, and while the hallways felt familiar to his body, to his mind, they were just empty pieces, like a vague déjà vu.
He had entered the building through the window, the same one he had used to get out to the courtyard, and later to re-enter a now almost empty dining hall. Strange and disdainful looks from the few students he didn't recognize from earlier followed him, as if he were some circus monkey. But that didn't bother him much, and he kept walking. The result? Well... he couldn't figure out how to navigate and ended up hopelessly lost.
"Magical arts..." he suddenly whispered, the term slipping from his lips as if it felt so natural and yet so unattainable. It was something he didn't conceptually understand, something that, where he came from, wasn't realistic; and if you took into account those con artist courses, things got even worse.
Magical arts, the word echoed in his mind. How could he grasp something that, theoretically, didn't exist in his world? Magic, spells, and all that here were a reality, not simple fairy tales, not lies told to children, not a delusion many liked to believe in; but rather... something as tangible as it was dangerous.
At least the sleepless night had been productive; he had found some information in those scattered books in the room. He had discovered that magic not only existed in various forms. But that... "Mages" were those trained to use prana, known to the public eye as researchers, inventors, and developers.
These so-called mages dedicated themselves to exploring the potential of magic in peaceful, scientific, and even commercial ways, all in the name of prosperity, or so the book said. To him, things boiled down to the basics... people trying to make a living and line their pockets with money.
But there was another type of mage, those who belonged to a unique class... battle mages. These mages were trained for war, prepared to defend against supernatural threats, monsters, and anything thrown at them. Their magic was their best weapon, and their lifestyle was quite unique. They were admired, almost revered in all sectors, as few managed to reach this level of skill. The few who succeeded were recruited by countries, by governments, and placed in high-ranking positions as protectors of entire nations or specific regions.
For those who couldn't make it in this category, there was a special sub-division: Sorcerers. These were experts trained to face monsters, counter demons, and punish those who betrayed their race of birth. Additionally, they were assigned the dangerous task of combating the Chalseas Monturd Resem, creatures formed from the surrounding mana and the accumulated resentment of people. Known for their cruelty and ferocity, these tangible nightmares were hunted as soon as there was any awareness of them.
That was the extent of his knowledge on the subject. After all, the books he found in the room and his curiosity had limits, as apart from that, which was the only interesting part, everything else was just books he stumbled upon. Texts filled with theories, teaching methods, but ones that delved into complex subjects he could barely understand.
"Ancient Runic Treatment," "Merlin's Chants, Fourth Edition," "Prana Spells for Beginners," titles that his tongue pronounced but which slipped through his fingers. Also, he wouldn't say he delved too deep into the topic, that would be arrogant; not when he was so shaken by those dreams, not when he was just trying to keep his mind occupied.
"What are you doing here?" a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts, freezing him in place. A chill ran down his spine as he recognized it. It was her, the demon girl, the same one who had cornered him this morning and whom he had tried to avoid at all costs. A bead of sweat slid down his neck. What was the devilish girl doing here?
He felt a slight itch on his wrist, right where a tattoo of crossed feathers became visible, a clear hex that brat had cast on him to bother him. It only happened when she was nearby, almost as if it was warning him of her presence.
He slowly turned, feeling the weight of her gaze stabbing into him like daggers. And there she was, just a few steps away. Her clothes were torn, her face covered in bruises; she looked like she had been attacked by a pack of rabid dogs. Yes, it was definitely her. With her intense gaze and her barely disguised look of annoyance, and though she was a head shorter than this body, she was twice as intimidating.
"We have class together. Walk or you'll be late," she said, her look piercing right through him. Her eyes shone with a dangerous intensity, and her voice was as sharp as the edge of a sword. Without waiting for a response, she walked past him, leaving behind a cold sensation that seeped into his bones.
He watched her walk, noticing that she limped slightly. Every step she took seemed painful, but she endured it with an indifference that he found unsettling. Follow her or not? What to do? The last time had ended in a terribly uncomfortable experience, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to go through that again. However, when she turned her head and shot him a stern look, the decision became clear.
He sighed, resigned, and began walking after her. Maybe, just maybe, the day could still get better... or worse, depending on what awaited him in that class.
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Emma Tarkard's Point of View
With a full stomach, she left the dining hall, leaving behind the prying eyes and the murmurs that endlessly followed her. Those murmurs were a mix of envy, reluctant respect, lust, and disdain toward the power a commoner like her wielded.
The relief of being outside that place tangled with the discomfort in her legs, which felt like needles stabbing her with every step. Pain… that much was clear, she couldn't deny it. She felt every bruise on her body and face from the extensive training she had endured. But it had been her decision, and she wasn't about to go back on it.
Thalion, after being defeated in their demonstration match, insisted on being her training partner. Sure, she didn't really care what he wanted, but if he was willing to push her limits, she would do the same. She would use him as a climbing wall; and that guy… he hadn't hesitated to fight with all his strength, holding nothing back. Now… now her body was paying the price they had agreed upon. She felt the weight of exhaustion in every fiber. It wasn't as if she wasn't used to physical discipline, but training at that level was entirely different.
But why couldn't she just... stop? She knew the answer, though she hated the insistence of that voice reminding her with every step of her need to become stronger. That voice she couldn't silence.
Thalion, as her opponent, had given it his all; for the first time during her stay at the Academy, she fought against his real abilities. It quickly became apparent that there was a massive gap between the two. Their fight was simply a mismatch for Thalion due to her Trait. With someone like that, someone who didn't treat her with kid gloves, her goal of surpassing herself, of truly becoming strong, felt more achievable.
Emma blinked several times, trying to clear her vision and shake off the heaviness in her eyelids. She didn't want to stop, she couldn't allow herself to. Yet, when she looked up, focusing on the great stone hallway ahead, and saw him, it felt like all the effort of the afternoon condensed into a single moment of... What exactly?
There was Brián, that fool, with that long, messy aqua-green hair that made him stand out—or at least, that's how it seemed to her eyes. But it wasn't just that. It was... him. She sighed deeply, the air escaping her lungs as a reminder of the slight discomfort she felt.
She no longer knew what they were. Friends? Acquaintances? She couldn't say; they had stopped being so close a long time ago. Ever since that incident, their relationship had only plummeted.
The afternoon in the dining hall had been strange; quiet despite all the whispers. Without the usual presence of that fool, without him approaching to pester her, to share lunch while trying to start some pointless conversation, pretending everything was fine.
He hadn't sought her out, and that was new, just like this morning. However, she attributed it to what she had heard the night before and how she had seen him then. But now, something about his behavior annoyed her. He looked... lost? She watched him closely, noticing how he seemed to look in every direction as if searching for something.
Didn't he read the information boards when he came in? Emma thought, recalling the notice board where recent class updates were posted. Probably not, after all, he was that kind of idiot... She wondered if he was aware of the change, that they now had Beginner-level Magic Arts instead of the usual Swordsmanship class in the afternoon. That thought made her sigh in exasperation. She knew he was naturally absent-minded, but was it this bad?
She decided to approach, her steps echoing in the empty hallway to announce her presence. Without preamble, she let out a few words: "What are you doing here?" She watched as Brián mechanically turned to look at her, and for a moment, a flicker of panic crossed his face before he masked it with a clumsy, nervous smile. Why that expression? Something tightened in her chest, and without knowing exactly why, irritation started to creep in.
The itching on her wrist began, a reminder of a promise made in the innocence of childhood. Why is he acting like this? Emma tried to maintain her serious demeanor, but doubts relentlessly seeped in. Is it because of yesterday? Her chest sank with a discomfort she struggled to conceal. No, it wasn't entirely her fault, he shared part of the blame, but that truth didn't make it any easier to endure the unease she felt now.
A few meters from the tired eyes of that fool, she had to look up to meet his gaze. He had grown a lot recently, she noticed. Until not long ago, she had been the taller of the two.
With a harsher tone than she intended, due to a hint of bad temper, she said, "We have joint classes. Walk, or you'll be late." She walked past him without waiting for a response, and the slight shiver his proximity caused made her grit her teeth. Why is he acting like this? Why didn't he seek me out in the dining hall? And why does this bother me so much?
Noticing that he wasn't starting to walk, Emma stopped and threw him a frustrated look. She turned sharply to face him, and as if the distance could keep her thoughts from consuming her, she tried to speak, but then he began to move, and Emma fell silent. She bit the inside of her cheek, swallowing whatever she had wanted to say.
In the end, she clenched her teeth and just kept walking. It's not just my fault, she told herself. That fool is also to blame. Blame for pretending nothing happened, for believing everything could go back to normal like before.
And as she walked, Emma felt that, somewhere deep inside, insecurity and anger mingled, forming a knot in her chest that she didn't know how to untangle.
With her legs moving, unhurried, she noticed it again. The same thing as yesterday, the same thing as today. That fool, Brián, maintained a distance that no longer seemed prudent, but enormous, as if they were mere strangers walking the same path. The discomfort on his face was palpable, reflected in those unique aqua-green eyes he had.
And that irritated her more than she would have admitted aloud. The tattoo on her wrist began to itch, a familiar sensation that accompanied her growing frustration as her hands clenched into fists. That instinctive movement caused Brián to take a step back.
That simple act made her stop and turn her head, glaring at him with a frown. Had yesterday been too much? She asked herself that over and over again, but she shook her head. No. This hadn't started yesterday. This had begun earlier, from when things changed. From when she couldn't protect her home... or that idiot.
She wanted to speak, to say something that might ease what her own foolishness had broken. To at least try to fix the mistake she had made, seeing how Brián was trying to move forward, pretending to forget the past, seeking that peace that was denied to her. And knowing that she couldn't do it made her very angry, and she did something she didn't want to.
But... how could she not be furious about it? That he could move on while she sank into her own resentment filled her with hatred—not towards that fool, but towards herself. A hatred she had endured for a long time and that came out at the worst possible moment. She wanted to say something, to backtrack and give in a little, but... this wasn't just her fault, was it?
Sadly, the words died in her throat before they could come out. There was no reconciliation, not even an attempt to yield her part, because right at that moment, something else caught her attention. A set of double doors rose before her, imposing and prestigious, with glowing runes engraved on the frame that read: "Magic Reception Hall."
She stopped abruptly, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw that fool, still trailing behind her, and for some reason, he had an expression so defeated it almost made her smile. Almost. Her face became blank again. He was still the same idiot as always, and sooner or later, they would fix things. They would. He just had to wait a little longer. Wait until she could let go of the past.
Upon entering the hall, the overwhelming presence of condensed mana hit her senses. The room was vastly larger than it appeared from the outside, a testament to the magic used to expand its interior. Seats resembling bleachers lined both sides, rising toward the walls, with stairs flanking the ends. In the center, a flawlessly polished stone floor featured a hexagon with a podium standing as the main focal point.
Looking up, she saw mana stones floating in the air like chandeliers, gently swaying, illuminating the triangular ceiling adorned with fine paintings that narrated stories from ancient times. The hall was packed, filled with first-year students chatting and laughing with their groups of friends, excited for the upcoming new class.
Again, from the corner of her eye, she noticed how Brián finally approached. Internally, she smiled with satisfaction. After all, standing there motionless for so long had a certain purpose. "Let's find a seat," she said, and almost like a predator stalking its prey, she grabbed Brián's hand in a firm grip. The movement was so fast that that fool didn't even have time to react.
For a moment, their tattoos glowed with a soft light, indicating that a connection had formed between them, a bond that had been dormant for months. That bond was a connection sealed in their innocence, allowing them to see each other as an open map.
What she perceived, however, took her breath away. A deep emptiness formed in her chest as she felt the faint fear, the overwhelm, the confusion, and the exhaustion of that fool. She could sense that he was overwhelmed by her presence, by her grip, by her unstable nature, by her personality. That made her frown and bite the inside of her cheek; she could no longer see what was once there, she couldn't feel it, she couldn't find it. That joy, that excitement, that warm embarrassment that used to appear when they formed the bond, all of that was no longer where it should be.
Guilt struck her like a furious storm. It was unbearable. She averted her gaze, unable to face what she had seen. "Let's hurry," she murmured, hiding her distress, avoiding looking at Brián's expression, as he too could read her like an open book, for that was the nature of the bond they had formed back then.
She began to walk without letting go of his hand, searching in him for something she could remember, an echo of what they once shared, but she found nothing. She tried to dig deeper, but the spike of pain she felt through the connection made her panic. She quickly looked at Brián and saw his face, trying to hide the pain, but the bond didn't lie. She was stronger, she reminded herself; and immediately let go of his hand, noticing how the calmness returned to that fool's face.
His expression looked like that of someone who had just survived a calamity and lived to tell the tale. That gesture made her frown even more. What was that supposed to mean? she thought, almost grumbling internally. At that point, they had found seats in the front row, and thanks to her kind presence, the students made way for them without hesitation, even leaving a considerable space around them.
Brián stood beside her, rubbing his hand and checking if he had any broken bones, which made her roll her eyes in exasperation at his comical exaggeration. "Sit," she ordered in her usual tone. He obeyed, though he kept a cautious distance from her, just to be safe.
She paid no attention to the murmurs around her, some compliments and others malicious comments barely whispered by those who didn't dare speak aloud. None of it mattered to her, none; everything she needed to resolve was right there, sitting next to her, and right inside her chaotic mind.
More conversations, more murmurs resonated, but this time not directed at her. The gazes turned toward someone else. Soon a figure approached; "I'll sit here, since I see a lot of space available," said an unmistakable voice. Yes, it was Thalion Astaroth, the third son of the city's ruler. She nodded her head, acknowledging his presence, and he did the same before sitting near her. After that, there was no further exchange of words between them.
"Did Thalion just talk to someone?" whispered a female voice from a few seats up, incredulous like many others at what had just happened. It was the last thing she heard before a new commotion grabbed everyone's attention.
A pink smoke began to rise from beneath the hexagon in the center of the room. The lights dimmed, and fluorescent particles filled the air, creating a scene that resembled a beautiful starry sky. A swirl of dark roses appeared out of thin air, rising in the center and provoking gasps and cries of surprise from the students. The swirl grew, spinning intensely in a single direction.
Her senses exploded, her eyes widening. The mana fluctuation was so intense that she almost assumed a defensive stance out of reflex. Thalion, beside her, seemed to have noticed it too, as he was in a similar state, showing that, like her, he could perceive these subtle energies.
Brián, on the other hand, remained oblivious, like most of the gathered students, unable to perceive the magnitude of what was happening. And that made sense, since his senses weren't sharp enough to detect such magical fluctuations.
She sighed to calm herself and, just about to turn to that fool to point out what was happening, had no time as the swirl dissolved, revealing a figure that left the thousands of students in the room speechless.
In the center of the hexagon, a beautiful woman appeared among the black roses. Her purple dress accentuated her almost perfect figure, her brown skin contrasted with her reddish hair, and her amber eyes shone intensely. Before all of them, a person renowned across the continent had made her appearance.
Carmele Duared Vermillon; Battle Mage of 16 stars, the current pinnacle of fire magic. Vice-director of Seraphim Academy and protector of the city of Astaroth. Nicknamed "The Sun Mage," she is a member of the Eldoria Council and holds a high rank in the Magic Tower located in the Triumvirate. Moreover... she is the current bearer of the Primordial Tricolor title, the Red.
The information flowed through her mind, and without a doubt, she recognized her as an all-powerful figure, someone capable of making nations tremble with her mere presence. At thirty-two years old, Carmele Duared Vermillon had achieved countless feats, placing her among the most prominent figures of the present day.
"Well, well, this generation's flock is quite remarkable," she said as her voice flowed through the air like the songs of sirens. Her amber eyes scanned the thousands of gathered students with pinpoint precision, her revealing, almost ethereal gaze quickly classifying those who stood out as exceptions to the rule; from a pretty aqua green, through brown and black, to the bandaged silver, among a few others. Carmele could see what others couldn't even imagine, thanks to her exceptional vision.
Her staff, black as night and so opaque it absorbed shadows, struck the ground twice. The echo rumbled like mountains collapsing, and in an instant, her majestic presentation vanished as if it had never been there.
"As you know, Mana Arts class will now be added to your schedules," she announced as she walked around. Her voice, though calm and not loud, resonated clear and sharp, as if it had the power to silence any noise.
"Just like your swordsmanship classes at the start of the year, you'll be assigned a rank after being examined. But don't worry, it won't be as tedious as that barbaric director you're used to," she joked, letting out a mischievous smile that caught the gaze of many students, without discriminating by gender.
With her mind focused on two tasks, Carmele classified 742 Traits and detected two Innate Abilities. That marked the abyssal difference between those two levels of skills. Even she, the Sun Mage, didn't possess an innate ability, as they were so rare that entire countries would wage wars just for them. That's why finding two in the Academy and in the same generation genuinely surprised her.
She didn't believe in coincidences; this was the work of fate and its cruel games. Things were changing, and where the coin would fall was uncertain. However... she gave a slight smile, she wasn't one to reveal those two little secrets she had just discovered to anyone.
"For you to understand," she said as her staff touched the hexagonal floor once more, making the mana stones flicker and turn into blank sheets of paper; "we will conduct a quick admission process." The papers flew toward the students, landing in the laps of most of them.
"Oh, and for those who didn't receive their paper, don't worry, you'll have a different form of evaluation," she added playfully, charming more than one student, once again without discriminating by gender. Her staff touched the ground three times, and in the center of the hexagon, where the conference podium had been, appeared a giant crystal sphere, held by an elegant rose-gold stand.
"For the top 102 ranked students, your evaluation method will be this," she said as she approached the dark crystal sphere. She placed her hand on it, and it glowed with an incandescent blue that blinded several students.
"Carmele Duared Vermillon, prana affinity; 89%," announced a metallic voice that emanated from the sphere, causing gasps and murmurs among the audience, as such a monstrous affinity with mana was unprecedented for all of them.
"By now, you'll have noticed that not all first-year students are here. That's because only you meet the requirements for this class; only you will be able to complete it," she explained as she made a floating hat appear, so wrinkled it seemed to form a face.
"But, let's not keep the rest waiting," she said smiling, snapping her fingers to activate the papers the students held, which reacted to each one's spiritual energy.
Emma, curious, glanced sideways at the only one beside her holding one of those papers; and that fool for some reason looked petrified, as if he had just discovered a cosmic mystery. The paper in his hands glowed faintly, in a beautiful aquamarine green barely noticeable but that captivated her.
With a little extra observation, she could see how different it was from the usual blue prana tone emanating from the papers of the other astonished students. The rarity of the color seemed interesting to her, a detail to consider, but the content was what grabbed her attention most, so she put it aside.
She read the content her eyes could see. That boy was still dumbfounded by something he didn't understand, while she, on the other hand, shamelessly indulged in her reading, even going so far as to lean in blatantly; and who could judge her? After all, she hadn't received one of those coveted papers.
Name: Brián Morningstar ≠ Ɐ𝛌ᶖ₫εη Ͻ◎ᴙⱽεΩηɘ.
Age: 12 years ≠ ḤꞃȺ.
Attributes:
♜ Vitality: 0.8 + 120% + 1% = 2.0.
♜ Physical Endurance: 0.5 + 120% + 1% = 1.7.
♜ Prana Resistance: 0.1 + 120% = 1.3.
♜ Strength: 0.4 + 120% + 1% = 1.3.
♜ Speed: 0.7 + 120% + 1% = 1.6.
♜ Agility: 0.9 + Trait amplification + 120% + 1% = 3.9.
♜ Prana Production: 0.2 + 120% = 1.4.
♜ Prana Affinity: 14%.
♜ Body Strength: 1%.
Traits:
♜ Nervous Synthesis.
Type: passive.
Trait Strength: 2 + 120% = 3.2.
Emma carefully read each line, and although some of the initial letters seemed like strange scribbles, the rest of the content was clear. She was surprised by the amount of information revealed and the complexity of the percentages shown, which almost made her get lost in so many numbers.
The paper contained so much information that she wondered what it would be like if she had one herself. However, the results were all that mattered, and in that, that fool stood out in two areas: his Trait and his Agility. Emma found it interesting to see how his Trait, Nervous Synthesis, seemed to synergize with his Agility, causing an overwhelming difference compared to the rest of his attributes.
Without realizing it, her detailed analysis overlooked a revelation that would have shocked any expert in the magical process led by Carmele; the percentage increases in those attributes. They were unheard of and suggested overwhelming power if the one who possessed them could reach the upper echelons of power.
This, without a doubt, could only be the work of an Innate Ability, something so coveted that it could catapult you to the heavens if you had one.