On the quiet edge of the Human Domain, tucked among low hills and shrinking forests, sat a tiny village no one bothered to name.
No hero came from this place. No prophecy ever stirred the winds that blew through its trees.
Yet, one boy, unknown to history, unnoticed by the world, swung an axe day after day, chasing a goal no one else cared about.
His name was Keith.
Twelve years old.
An orphan with no memory of his parents.
No grand backstory.
No special bloodline.
Just skin, bone, and a stubborn heart.
The task was ridiculously simple...almost silly.
One of the village elders, half joking, half serious, pointed to the huge tree on the hill and said,
"It's blocking the morning sun. Maybe the kids can chop it down."
That tree was massive. Its trunk was wider than any house in the village, its dark bark marked by years of wear. It had stood there long before the village even existed.
The other kids quit before the first day was over.
Keith didn't.
Why did he keep going? He wasn't sure. Maybe he wanted to prove something. Maybe he liked the quiet. Or maybe, deep down, he felt this tree was his to bring down.
So, he started.
His first swing almost knocked the axe back into his arms.
The second made a small scratch.
The third left a tiny mark, barely noticeable.
From that day on, Keith worked. Rain soaked him. Snow stuck to his worn clothes. Sun burned his skin. Wind roared in his ears. The world moved on, but his rhythm stayed steady. He woke before the village stirred, ate bits of bread or dug-up roots, carried his old axe up the hill, and swung.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Day after day. Week after week. Month after month.
His hands got blisters, then scars, then tough skin. His body, once thin and weak, started to grow strong.
His back straightened.
His shoulders widened.
His arms stopped shaking with each swing.
He stopped counting days.
Stopped asking why.
By his thirteenth birthday, the tree's bark was gone, and he'd reached the inner wood. The axe was on its third handle, its blade worn but sharp. The village had stopped talking about the tree or about Keith.
Until the day the tree… fought back.
---
It was early spring.
Thin clouds stretched across a light blue sky. Grass moved with a soft breeze, and birds sang their usual songs.
Keith raised his axe, sweat dripping from his face. He knew this part of the tree well—its texture, its toughness, its slight give under his blade. He'd hit it a hundred times before.
But this time, when the axe struck the wood—
A burst of black and orange energy exploded from the trunk, like a star burning out.
The air shook. Leaves stopped falling.
The birds went quiet.
Even the breeze paused.
The light rushed through the clearing, unseen but bright, a force that passed through Keith's body, not with pain, but with a deep, heart-shaking feeling, as if something unknown, gentle had emraced him.
His legs gave out.
His eyes rolled back.
The axe fell from his hands.
Darkness took him.
He woke a full day later.
No one had come looking for him.
The tree stood as it always had, silent, unchanging.
Its bark showed no damage.
The ground had no burn marks.
The light was gone, like a dream he couldn't hold.
Keith rubbed his eyes and touched his chest. No burns. No cuts. No answers.
Just… a strange itch on the back of his shoulder, like a bug bite that wouldn't go away.
He ignored it.
The next day, he climbed the hill again.
And the next.
And the next.
Time passed.
A year slipped away like a quick breath.
Now fourteen, Keith was at the age when every child in Gaia got their Blessing—a gift from the World Tree, Guardian of the planet Gaia herself.
It was the moment that showed a person's attributes (elements), their talent, and unlocked the Status Screen, a translucent screen that displays details regarding a person's growth and powers.
The first step to being a Mana user.
Most kids waited with hope. Some with fear.
But Keith?
He was on the hill.
Alone.
He skipped the village's small ceremony.
He had work to finish.
The tree was almost done. Just a few more cuts. The deepest groove, carved by his own hands, held a year's worth of sweat and effort.
He gripped his axe tighter.
It felt different now, like a part of him.
Each swing came easily, his body moving without thought, shaped by endless practice. No effort. No pain. Just focus.
Thud.
The wood split.
Thud.
The trunk groaned, a low, stubborn sound.
Thud.
He stepped back.
The tree leaned forward.
Then, with a noise like thunder breaking a mountain, the giant tree crashed to the ground.
The earth shook.
Dust flew into the sky.
Leaves fell like fading sparks.
The world went still.
Keith stood in the middle, staring at his rough hands.
"I did it," he whispered.
His heart pounded, not from being tired, but from something else.
A feeling that something big had changed.
That the world, in some small, quiet way, had moved because of him.
Hidden under his shirt, a mark grew across his upper back—a black and orange tattoo, spreading like a symbol. It glowed once, faintly, then faded.
Waiting.
Waiting to wake up.
Waiting for Gaia to speak again.