I had been studying magic. The heaviest I'd ever done.
Every day, I followed a strict schedule. I'd wake up early, eat, then begin. At 9 a.m., I'd read about magic. At 11, I'd meditate. By 1, I'd train with my sword. At 3, I'd rest for a while. At 4, I'd study Thyrris and everything about this world. At 5, I'd eat dinner with my parents. And when my father returned home from work—that's when the real training began.
After I received my sword from the swordsmith, I fully dedicated myself to training with my father. Even when it exhausted me. It took time to convince my mother, but eventually she gave in. Every session was different—some days harder, some easier.
At the start, I was terrible. At just two and a half years old, the sword was too heavy. I couldn't hold it right. Could barely run, let alone swing. But as weeks passed, I began to improve. My father never pushed me too far. He knew I was young. Until one day I told him, in the way only a child could, how badly I wanted to get stronger. He saw it in my eyes—and that's when he stopped holding back.
Training slowly became real. My hands toughened, my legs steadied, and my swings no longer wobbled. I reached at least a beginner's level in swordsmanship. Time moved strangely after that. Before I knew it, two and a half years had passed. I was five years old.
For the first year, I hadn't taken magic seriously. I focused on the sword. But as I learned more about this world, I realized how important magic truly was. So I began to chase it. Awakening my elemental power wasn't easy—it took months of frustration.
I started by reading everything I could. I already knew about the main elements: water, fire, earth, and wind. There were rarer ones, too—healing, like my mother's, along with darkness, light, and others. I knew I probably wouldn't be lucky enough to get one of those. So I focused on the basics.
One thing all the books agreed on was this: incantations were the first step. Speak them until your voice breaks. Until the element responds.
So I did.
"Wind slash."
"Fireball."
"Waterball."
Day after day. Week after week. Nothing. Just silence. I tried every element, every chant. My throat grew sore. My patience worse. I stopped sword training altogether to focus only on this.
Then, after two full months, it happened.
It was a day I only practiced fire magic. I was angry—furious at myself for wasting so much time. My voice cracked as I screamed, "FIREBALL! FIREBALL! FIREBALL!"
The air stilled. Like time itself froze.
Then—heat. A flicker. A tiny orb of flame formed in my hand and shot forward, landing on my open book. Only one page burned.
It wasn't strong. My mana was weak. But it was real.
I stood there, staring at it—shaking, confused, amazed. Then I shouted for my mother. I told her I'd awakened my element. Fire.
She froze. She didn't understand how it was possible. People usually awaken their mana cores at five. I had awakened mine at two—and now, at three, I had my element. It was unheard of. The youngest in history had been six. I broke that by three whole years.
My mother wanted to tell everyone. She wanted to run into the streets and shout that her son was a genius. But then she realized what that could mean. If people found out, someone might take me away—to study me, train me, or worse. She and my father decided to keep it a secret. I agreed. I didn't want to be treated like an experiment.
⸻
You might wonder why we were still in Thyrris after all these years.
When we first arrived, my parents had planned to stay only a few days. Magic builders repaired our home in a single day—a miracle I didn't even know was possible. We returned soon after, but something felt wrong. Empty.
Our house was beautiful, but it was lonely. Far from people, far from life. No schools, no mentors, no one to learn from. My parents felt it too. For weeks, they talked about moving. And eventually, they did.
We sold our home and moved permanently into the city of Thyrris. Our new house sat near the top corner of the city—where most middle-class families lived. Two stories, three rooms, two bathrooms. It felt alive. Surrounded by shops, restaurants, and people. The blacksmith was close by, and even the Academy of Thyrris wasn't far.
You had to be nine or older to attend. And it was only for those who could use magic. Normal people weren't allowed—too dangerous, they said.
My father also left his old job. Now he works at a guild in the city as an instructor. I don't know exactly what he does, but I know it's important.
Finally, now that I had my fire element, I could say I truly understood my magic.
I could finally practice it. Master it. Then, after that, train swordsmanship with my father.
And I did exactly that.
Every morning I woke early. A bright beam of sunlight would hit my face, cutting through the window. I was used to it by now. I liked it, actually. It woke me up fast. After drinking some water, I'd sit down and begin to meditate.
My meditation is never the same twice. But the process always feels simple. Just like when I first awakened.
I close my eyes and see darkness. All sound fades away — wind, footsteps, even my heartbeat. Time itself begins to slow. Until it feels like it's stopped completely. Like I'm no longer in this world at all. Just floating inside a quiet void that belongs only to me.
Every time, I see the same thing — sparkles. Tiny specks of light dancing in the dark. The more I meditate, the more appear. They change colors too. They move faster each time, harder to grasp.
It took me weeks to understand it, but I finally did. Each time I caught one — each time my hand brushed against a sparkle — I felt mana flow into me. Not a lot, but enough to notice. Enough to grow.
That's how I began to truly understand mana cores.
I'd read about them before, but reading is nothing like feeling it.
Black Core — Unawakened. That's where everyone starts. The core exists, but it's asleep. Most children stay here until their first awakening.
Dark Blue Core — Awakened. That's where I am now. The first real stage. The core becomes alive, and mana starts to circulate on its own — weakly, but steady.
There are more colors after that, many more. But they're far away for me right now. I don't even bother memorizing them yet.
I learned there are only a few true ways to develop your mana core.
The first is meditation — reaching into that darkness and grabbing those sparkles, absorbing them one by one. That's the calm way.
The second is combat — forcing mana to circulate under stress. Most people choose this path because it's faster, but it's dangerous too.
There are other ways, the books said, but they never explained how.
Even now, I wonder how long it actually takes to rank up. How much mana do I need? How much control? Is it months, or years?
Sometimes, I catch myself staring at my father during training, wondering—
What color is his core?
Until I finally asked.
Right after our training session.
It was dark outside, around 8 p.m. The grass was still warm beneath us as we lay there, side by side, staring up at the faraway stars. My arms ached from the day's training, but I didn't mind. The sky looked endless, and for some reason, that made me feel small—in a good way.
"Hey, Dad?" I asked quietly.
He didn't look at me. His eyes stayed fixed on the stars. His voice calm, steady. "Yes, Rain?"
"What's your core level?"
He went silent for a moment. I could tell he didn't expect that question. Maybe wondering how I even knew about mana cores at my age. Then he chuckled softly. "Do you know all the core levels?"
I hesitated. Regretted not memorizing them better. But I lied anyway. "Yeah, I do."
He smirked, still looking at the sky. "Alright then, tell me."
I swallowed. "Black, dark blue…" I trailed off, my voice a bit shaky. "I forgot the rest."
He laughed—really laughed this time. The sound carried through the quiet field. "I knew you wouldn't know them… ha!"
He took a small breath, still smiling. "There's black, dark blue, light blue, green, yellow, orange, red, silver, and finally gold."
I blinked, trying to remember them all in order. "There's really that many?"
"There's a lot, isn't there?" he said, laughing again.
"So…" I turned my head toward him. "What are you?"
He sighed softly. "Yellow core."
I thought about it for a moment. The way he said it—almost disappointed. "Is yellow considered bad?"
He didn't answer right away. Just breathed in the cool air. The grass rustled faintly around us.
"Yellow is very good," he finally said. "Hard to reach. Most people never get past green. But…"
"But?" I asked.
His voice dropped lower, quieter. "I've been stuck there for over three and a half years. It doesn't sound like much, but the early stages came fast. After yellow… everything slowed. Maybe it's because I'm getting old."
I turned to look at him. His face calm, his chest rising slowly under the starlight. He didn't look old. His body was strong, his skin clear, his eyes sharp as ever.
Old? He wasn't old.
Maybe he just felt that way.
So I didn't say anything else.
We just lay there, staring at the sky, the stars shining above like the colors of every core I couldn't yet reach.
One day, I'd reach those colors. One day, I'd surpass even the stars.