Miles had done it. The block of wood had now transformed into a humanoid figure, a wooden golem with limbs, a torso, and even a blank, featureless face. It was a thing of raw potential—nothing more than a shell for what Miles could one day make it.
His father, Marcus, stood nearby, watching intently. His stern expression never wavered, but his sharp gaze flicked from the golem to Miles. "So, what can your golem do?"
The question, though asked in a matter-of-fact tone, was laced with an unspoken pride. Miles had been working hard to unlock his magical talent, and Marcus, though a strict and silent father, had always been his greatest supporter.
With a nervous but excited smile, Miles stepped forward, raising a hand. The golem, though still as a statue, seemed to sense his movement. Slowly, it began to twitch. First, a single finger, then its arm, before its entire body came to life. It raised its wooden head to face him, its blank eyes staring without emotion, yet somehow, it felt... aware.
"It can move," Miles said, his voice both amazed and humble. "And it can see. I haven't given it any real features yet, but I think it understands me."
Marcus's gaze sharpened. Without a word, he closed his eyes, his sharp features softening slightly as he reached out with his senses. Marcus was a master of mana perception, something that Miles didn't know about. He could feel the flow of magic in the air, in the earth beneath his feet, in the water running through the nearby stream. But what Marcus was doing now was something different. He was extending his mana sense towards the golem .
Without moving an inch, Marcus's mind brushed against the intricate web of mana inside the golem. The magic woven into its structure was far more complex than a mere transformation—it was a living system of channels, circuits, and flows. The golem wasn't just animated; it was alive with magic, shaped by Miles's will.
For a long moment, Marcus stood silent, absorbing the depth of what his son had done. His lips parted, his gaze shifting slightly as he measured the golem with his mind. "Miles... this is..." His words faltered, as though the sheer complexity of the creation left him momentarily speechless.
Miles shifted uneasily under his father's scrutiny. "I know. It's still not much. I can't give it much power right now. I ran out of mana too soon, but I think it could be stronger. I just need more time."
Marcus opened his eyes, his face unreadable as he studied the golem. "You've created something extraordinary here. The mana circuits you've woven inside the golem... They are far more intricate than I've seen in most professional works. To shape something like this in a matter of seconds—it's not just talent, Miles. It's natural! So this is what your element can do !! ." His voice was filled with an edge of awe, though his tone never lost its cool composure.
Miles chuckled softly, looking down at his creation. "It's still basic. I couldn't add any real features. I wanted to give it a face, make it move faster... maybe give it some more abilities. But I couldn't. It's all I can do for now."
"That's not nothing," Marcus replied, a rare note of warmth creeping into his voice. "Even professionals struggle to get the circuits right when creating a golem. They usually take hours to perfect their mana flows and structural integrity, but you've done it in minutes. You're beyond most already, Miles. You've got a long way to go, but this is just the beginning."
Miles felt a swell of pride, but it was quickly tempered by the fatigue that gnawed at him. His mana reserves were almost completely drained from the creation. "I could've made something better if I had more mana, but for now, I need rest."
Marcus regarded him for a moment, eyes still focused on the wooden golem. "Rest, then. But don't forget, magic isn't just about power. It's about understanding. You'll learn to pace yourself. Your magic... it's unlike anything I've seen in this world."
Miles was still staring at the golem, marveling at the creation he had just made, when his father's face shifted into one of calm alertness. Marcus's gaze locked onto the ceiling, his sharp eyes narrowing as if perceiving something that Miles couldn't quite reach.
A crackle of energy swept through the room, a subtle pressure building in the air. The mana currents, once steady and invisible, now flickered with strange intensity, like the approaching storm that one can feel but not yet see.
Then, with a sudden clarity, Marcus spoke, his voice low, but laced with unshakable authority.
"Military," he muttered, his expression hardening. "They've arrived."
Miles didn't need further explanation. The shift in the air, the sense of danger, told him everything he needed to know. He stood up, the exhaustion from using his mana now a distant thought as the adrenaline began to flood his veins.
Marcus turned to him, his face serious, no longer carrying the quiet pride it had moments before. "It's time to go. We can't stay here any longer."
Miles froze, his mind racing. Government? Were they the ones trying to break through the magical barrier? He didn't know much about them, but the urgency in his father's tone made it clear that they were no mere threat.
"What's happening, Father?" Miles asked, his voice tense with worry.
Marcus gave him a quick, sharp look before walking toward the door. " They're dangerous, relentless. They've broken through a number of wards and are trying to force their way in here, pushing the dome I placed around the school to its limits. We need to leave now, before more of them showup. "
He looked back over his shoulder, eyes softening just a fraction. "Miles, it's time to come with me. You're coming back to the clan. It's the only place you'll be safe. After that... we'll decide what comes next. You'll need to choose your path soon, my son. Your power is growing, but so is the danger that comes with it."
Miles hesitated, feeling a mix of emotions tugging at him. He knew that whatever was happening now—whatever threat was closing in on them—was bigger than any trial he had faced
Marcus's gaze softened for a brief moment, a flicker of tenderness in his otherwise stoic demeanor. "She's already worried. That's why you also need to go to her, Miles. We'll explain everything. I'll fight for you this time, I swear it."
Miles's heart clenched at the thought of his mother. He loved his family—his mother, his father. They had always been there for him, even when things seemed impossible. The thought of abandoning them felt wrong, yet he knew his father was right. The danger was real. The government wouldn't wait, and the situation was escalating.
"Alright," Miles finally agreed, though there was a hint of reluctance in his voice. "I'll go with you. We'll figure it out, together."
Marcus gave him a firm nod, his face hardening once more. "Good. We don't have time to waste. Stay close."
The urgency in Marcus's voice spurred Miles into action. As they prepared to leave, Miles felt a sudden desire to protect the golem he had just created, a sense of responsibility for the small wooden being that he had shaped with his own hands. He extended his hand toward it, his fingers tingling with the last bits of his mana, and whispered, "Golem Vault."
In an instant, the wooden golem began to disassemble, its shape crumbling into a pile of magical energy. But instead of dissipating, it all funneled into a small, glowing orb that floated above his hand. The orb hovered briefly before sinking into the depths of his magic core, stored safely within his soul, ready to be summoned whenever he wished.
Miles's breath hitched for a moment. The golem was gone for now, but not lost. It was safe, within him.
Marcus's eyes widened slightly as he observed the process, his keen senses noting the unfamiliar magic at work. "That's... a new ability? What did you just do?"
Miles looked down at his hand, still feeling the residue of mana that lingered there. "It's a storage ability," he explained. "I can keep the golem within me, for now. It's... like a vault. I can summon it when I need it."
Marcus stepped closer, his expression a mix of astonishment and pride. "I've heard of abilities like that before, but I've never seen anyone other than summoners and space use it ."
The scene outside the dome was tense, the air thick with anticipation. Maria stood near the barrier, her arms crossed over her chest, watching as a large crowd gathered around the magical barrier. They were people from the city and surrounding areas, most looking on with a mix of curiosity and fear. The dome, an invisible but tangible wall of power, shimmered faintly in the late afternoon light, keeping them all at bay.
At the front of the crowd, two figures stood—Mayor Varon, a rotund man with a well-groomed beard, and Governor Taelson, a tall, imposing figure dressed in ornate robes. They were trying to break through the dome, their faces set with frustration.
"Open this dome at once, Maria!" Mayor Varon shouted, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd. "Let us pass! This is an emergency!"
Governor Taelson, who stood with a deep scowl, spoke more carefully, his voice layered with a practiced authority. "This barrier… it's not just the school's barrier, is it? You've sealed us all out here. Open it, Maria. This is no longer a matter of school protocol."
Maria's expression was calm, betraying none of the tension in the air. She raised a single eyebrow, her eyes piercing as she regarded them both. "This isn't the school's barrier," she said, her voice as cool and unwavering as the magic surrounding them. "This was set by a person. And I cannot open it."
Her words carried a weight of finality. The mayor and governor exchanged frustrated glances, the unease in the air palpable.
Before either could respond, there was a shift in the crowd. The sound of heavy footsteps drew nearer. Marcus and Miles appeared at the edge of the throng, cutting through the barrier like a blade through fog. The air around them seemed to grow colder, the presence of Marcus—battle commander of the Stormborne Clan—radiating power.
As they neared, the dome began to recede, the shimmering light flickering before dissolving entirely, leaving the path open.
Governor Taelson's eyes immediately locked onto Marcus, and a nervous flicker of recognition crossed his face. "Battle Commander Marcus Daves," he called out, his tone as tight as his posture. "What is this? What are you doing here? And with the boy, no less?"
The crowd parted slightly at the mention of Marcus's name, a mix of reverence and fear clouding their expressions. Everyone knew of the Stormborne Clan. Known for their unyielding strength and battlefield prowess, the clan was as respected as it was feared. But this wasn't just about respect. This was about power—and the governor was keenly aware of the disparity.
Marcus's expression remained impassive, though there was a hint of quiet authority in his eyes as he met Taelson's gaze. "I'm taking my son back to our clan," Marcus said, his voice low, but carrying enough weight to make it clear there was no room for argument. "That is all."
As he began to move forward, Marcus didn't wait for permission, nor did he ask for it. His steps were sure, his body exuding the confidence of someone who knew his strength, his place in the world. As he walked, the crowd instinctively parted in deference, none daring to stop him. His presence, like a storm rolling in, silenced any would-be protestors.
Governor Taelson's face twisted in frustration, but he couldn't act rashly—not with Marcus so close. Still, with a forced bravado, he raised his hand, halting Marcus's progress. "Not so fast," he said, his voice taking on a more commanding tone. "I need to ensure that the boy isn't carrying the treasure just born in my land."
Marcus stopped, his posture unflinching, but a deadly edge sharpened in his gaze. His eyes locked onto the governor with the intensity of a predator sizing up its prey. The governor's words hung in the air, but Marcus's reply cut through the tension like a blade.
"Try touching him," Marcus said, his voice laced with quiet malice, "and your head will roll."
The crowd held its breath. Even Taelson flinched, his usually composed features momentarily cracking. A ripple of unease spread through the people watching from the sidelines. The governor had the reputation of being a powerful and influential man, but in front of Marcus, he was nothing but a shadow. Marcus Daves was a force of nature, one who could wipe out armies with the flick of his hand—and the governor knew that.
Taelson swallowed hard, trying to maintain a façade of control. But there was no hiding the tremor in his hands, the bead of sweat that formed at his temple. His eyes darted briefly to the crowd, searching for some support, but none came. They were all too afraid of Marcus, too aware of what he was capable of.
With a tight, controlled nod, the governor took a step back, his arrogance deflating like a punctured balloon. "Very well," he said, his voice strained but trying to regain a sliver of his earlier composure. "We'll let this go for now, Stormborne. But know this, the capital will hear of this."
Marcus didn't respond. He simply turned his back on the governor and continued walking forward. His presence, a storm of authority, left no room for further dispute. The crowd parted for him as if parting for the tide, their fear and respect silent witnesses to the power he wielded.
As they passed the governor, Marcus's voice, low and dangerous, echoed through the air. "I suggest you don't waste my time again, Governor Taelson. If you know what's good for you, you'll remember this."
The governor, standing frozen as Marcus and Miles made their way through the crowd, could do nothing but watch them go. His hands clenched at his sides, his pride shattered in front of the very people he had sought to intimidate.