Inside one of the study rooms in the Verdant Mansion, silence lingered like a sacred veil. The faint golden light of the mana lamps cast a quiet radiance upon shelves stacked with tomes, each filled with the secrets of the arcane world. The fragrance of ink and parchment hung in the still air, mingling with a faint metallic tang of mana that occasionally shimmered through the atmosphere.
At the center of that tranquil room, a young girl sat cross-legged upon an intricate magic circle etched into the marble floor. Her small hands rested on her knees, her white hair cascading like threads of moonlight over her shoulders. Across from her, seated just behind her form, was a man — tall, composed, and exuding the calm confidence of one accustomed to the weight of knowledge.
He was Juan Everhart, an external mage summoned from the capital to teach the Verdant family's youngest daughter. A close friend of Duke and a respected scholar-mage known for his deep understanding of mana structure and the discipline of the Circle System. To him, magic was not merely power — it was language, harmony, and law.
And yet, as he watched the small girl before him, even his practiced calm wavered at times. There was something uncanny about her — the stillness with which she listened, the intensity in her sapphire-blue eyes, the quiet rhythm of focus that seemed beyond her years.
Now, in the glow of the study lamps, Juan began to weave mana through the air — thin tendrils of translucent blue flowing from his fingertips. With deliberate precision, he guided them into the child's body, letting the energy seep through her back and circulate along faint, imaginary pathways. The circle beneath them pulsed faintly in response, its runes awakening to life.
"Remember," Juan's voice was measured, soft yet firm. "You do not force mana to obey. You invite it to resonate. Feel it, let it move through you, not as something foreign — but as breath. The world's breath."
The child nodded faintly, her eyes closed, her lashes trembling. "Yes, Teacher."
Sophia Verdant's small frame remained still, her breathing even, though the effort behind that calm was immense. She tried to feel what Juan described — to sense the flow he sent into her. But all she encountered was emptiness, a blank silence that refused to reveal itself. The air was cool against her skin, but she felt no pulse, no rhythm of energy, no echo of the current that Juan spoke of.
I tried to imagine it — I really did. What did mana feel like? Was it warm, cold, or simply invisible? I had imagined it a hundred times when reading my books. Threads of light, rivers under skin, fire and wind mixed into something alive. But imagining and feeling were worlds apart.
Minutes passed — long, quiet minutes where the faint hum of the magic circle filled the room like distant bells. Juan watched the girl's small back rise and fall in steady rhythm, his hand hovering just above the circle's outer ring, channelling a slow, steady current into her system.
Her body was too young, he knew. At five years old, even the most prodigious children struggled to feel the world's mana. Their cores were dormant, their sensitivity dim. He was not expecting a miracle tonight — only the first spark of awareness, a faint resonance between the girl's inner rhythm and the world around her.
Yet there was something unusual about her. When he guided the flow through her heart, the circle reacted more than expected. The amplification lines brightened momentarily, pulsing like a heartbeat. It was as though her mana core, though faint, was listening.
Sophia's brows furrowed. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"It's… quiet," she whispered softly, her voice barely above a breath. "Like I'm listening to a lake, but I can't hear the water."
Juan gave a gentle smile. "Good. Then listen deeper. Still your thoughts. Mana hides behind noise."
He wasn't surprised that she couldn't feel it yet. But his voice was patient — calm in a way that carried assurance rather than expectation.
Sophia inhaled slowly, letting the breath flow to her heart. Then, she turned inward.
The outside world began to blur. The faint ticking of the clock, the whisper of parchment on the desk, the hum of the circle — they all receded into the distance. She tried again to feel what Juan called the breath of the world.
But there was nothing. Just the rhythm of her heartbeat — steady, quiet, human.
Still, she listened to it. One beat. Then another. Then another.
Each pulse became a note in the silence. She counted them, letting time stretch with every rhythmic echo. Eighty beats per minute… eighty-one… then a brief pause — a strange, uneven thrum that pulsed stronger, heavier, almost glowing.
I caught it. For just an instant, something different moved inside me — not blood, not warmth, but a shimmer of something unseen. It was faint, fragile, as if it might vanish if I tried to name it.
There — near my heart. Something tiny, something alive.
The world around her shifted. The silence was no longer empty. It rippled. The still air seemed to breathe with her.
Juan's eyes flickered open slightly. He felt it. A subtle resonance — the mana within the circle trembled ever so slightly, responding to something within the girl. His lips curved faintly.
So she's found it.
He didn't interrupt. The slightest word could break her concentration. He only maintained the flow — patient, deliberate, as the faint shimmer of mana within Sophia's body began to glow more distinctly.
And then—
"I can feel it," Sophia breathed.
Her voice carried a quiet wonder, like someone who had just seen snow for the first time.
Juan raised his gaze. "Are you certain?"
"Yes." Her eyes opened slowly, pupils dilated, shimmering faintly with reflected light. "It's… everywhere."
Juan tested her claim. He channelled a small, invisible sphere of mana above his palm and concealed it behind his back. "Tell me, do you sense anything unusual nearby?"
Sophia focused again, her eyes narrowing slightly. For a moment, the air seemed to waver near Juan's hand.
"There," she said softly, pointing. "A… round thing. It's faint, but I can feel it."
Juan exhaled, almost a laugh — a quiet sound of disbelief. "Remarkable. To sense a formless sphere on your first try…"
He trailed off, shaking his head. No, this wasn't ordinary talent. This was something else entirely.
"Congratulations, young miss," he said finally. "You've taken the first step."
Sophia smiled shyly, unsure whether to feel proud or nervous.
Juan stood and moved toward the board again, his expression regaining its composure. "Now that you can feel mana, it's time to learn its discipline — how to shape it."
He drew a complex pattern on the study board: a circle divided into three concentric layers, etched with runic lines.
"This," he said, "is the First Magic Circle — the foundation of all mages. When placed upon the heart, it connects your Mana Core and your Mana Paths. It opens the conduit that allows you to shape spells."
Sophia leaned forward slightly, her eyes tracing each stroke. The circle seemed to pulse with quiet grace — its symmetry beautiful, its lines like poetry written in light.
"The process," Juan continued, "is not easy. You must first gather mana from your surroundings, refine it within your heart, and then construct this circle using that refined mana. Divide it into three parts — lower, middle, and upper. Together, they form the complete Circle of Initiation."
He placed the chalk down, his tone calm but grave. "Most take weeks to form even the first section. Months, for the complete circle. You must not rush it."
"I understand," Sophia said quietly. But her eyes — they gleamed with something unspoken, a quiet fire of curiosity that burned brighter than patience.
Juan handed her the chalk. "Try drawing it."
Sophia approached the board, standing on tiptoe. Her hand trembled slightly as she began to draw. Each curve and line followed perfectly from memory — the runes etched with uncanny precision for someone so young.
Juan watched in silence. The longer he observed, the more a quiet unease crept through him. Every symbol she drew was exact — perfectly proportioned, perfectly balanced. It looked like the work of someone who understood the language, not merely copied it.
When she finished, she turned toward him expectantly.
"How is it?"
Juan's voice softened. "It's perfect." He hesitated. "Too perfect."
Sophia tilted her head, unsure whether to be proud or scolded.
"The difficulty," he continued, "lies not in drawing it, but in giving it life. You will now gather mana, refine it through your heart, and create this circle. Slowly. Carefully."
"I'll try."
"Remember — control is more important than speed. If the mana becomes unstable, stop immediately."
She nodded.
Then, as she lowered herself once again into the lotus position, the room seemed to fall into sacred silence once more.
Sophia closed her eyes, her small frame motionless as she steadied her breathing. Juan sat a short distance away, watching the faint ripples of energy that began to stir within the circle beneath her. The carved runes shimmered in delicate pulses of blue, responding to her intent.
"Good," Juan said softly, his voice measured and calm. "Now, do not force it. Feel the mana in the air—its rhythm, its breath. Let it flow to you as if answering a quiet call."
Sophia obeyed. Her consciousness extended outward, fragile at first—like a hand reaching into an invisible current. The air around her shifted. Threads of mana, fine as silk and translucent as mist, began to coil faintly toward her.
They brushed against her skin, gentle at first—cool, weightless. Her breathing slowed further, synchronizing with that subtle tide. The runes beneath her flickered in recognition, their light strengthening with each inhale.
Juan's eyes narrowed in concentration as he observed the circle's reaction. 'She's already sensing it…' he thought. The pace of her progress was astonishing.
The room's atmosphere deepened. The faint traces of mana gathering around Sophia started to condense, weaving closer together until small motes of light shimmered near her body.
A faint hum began to fill the air.
Sophia's delicate brows furrowed as she guided the motes closer, trying to compress them into a single point. The strands of mana spiraled together, forming a pale blue sphere that hovered just above her lap.
The sphere flickered beautifully—alive, vibrant, unstable.
Juan immediately recognized the signs. The structure was forming too fast, without proper anchoring from the core.
"Steady… steady…" he muttered under his breath, unwilling to break her concentration just yet.
The light grew brighter, pulsing in rapid rhythm. The pressure in the room shifted, the air crackling as though lightning were trapped within the sphere. Sophia's hair began to sway gently, lifted by the unseen wind. The mana within the orb vibrated uncontrollably, a wild heart refusing to be contained.
"Control your breath, Sophia!" Juan called out suddenly, his tone urgent yet calm.
Sophia tried to focus, but the mana no longer obeyed her. It trembled violently, the sphere stretching and collapsing in uneven intervals. The glow illuminated her face in fierce waves—then, in the next moment, flared out, threatening to burst.
Juan's eyes sharpened. In a flash, his hand pressed against the floor, activating the secondary array drawn around the main circle. A cascade of runes flared to life, sealing the unstable sphere in a dome of blue light.
Crack!
A muffled explosion reverberated through the air. The orb shattered into fine motes of brilliance that dissolved into nothingness.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Sophia sat there, panting softly, her palms trembling over her knees. The once-glowing circle beneath her dimmed, its light fading into stillness.
Juan let out a long, controlled breath. His gaze lingered on the faint smoke that curled above the vanished sphere before turning toward her.
"You just put your own life at risk," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. "The ball that you formed from the mana in the surroundings was unstable and would have blown up this entire room if you had gone any further."
His voice echoed faintly in the still chamber. The runes pulsed once more before finally going dark, leaving only the quiet sound of Sophia's unsteady breathing—and the lingering memory of what could have been a catastrophe born of brilliance.