Five years passed.
Not like the breathless panic of rebirth, nor the grinding patience of survival—but like the steady unfolding of a story that had not yet decided its genre.
William turned eight beneath the sky of the Blade Domain.
The domain itself felt alive that morning. Floating lanterns drifted along marble walkways, their soft glow sustained by embedded mana cores. Ivy climbed silver-trimmed towers, leaves faintly luminous from centuries of ambient enchantment. Wind chimes rang softly from balconies, each tone tuned to stabilize the surrounding mana currents.
This was not merely a noble estate.
It was a mana ecosystem.
Knights patrolled the inner grounds in disciplined formations, armor etched with glowing sigils that pulsed in slow, measured rhythms. Their presence bent the air subtly—mana clinging to them in dense, rolling layers.
Liquid-stage.
Every single one of them.
Their mana no longer drifted like mist nor flowed loosely through meridians. It pooled, heavy and controlled, reinforcing flesh and bone, granting strength far beyond mortal limits. With such foundations, they could fight for days without exhaustion, survive wounds that would kill lesser men, and command techniques that reshaped battlefields.
William watched them pass from the manor's balcony, hands folded behind his back.
Eight years old.
Old enough.
That evening, the Blade family gathered for dinner.
The hall glowed warmly beneath floating crystal orbs, each refracting light into soft rainbows that danced across enchanted tapestries. Those tapestries depicted the family's history—not in words, but in motion. Blades clashed. Stars fell. A lone figure stood against a fractured sky.
Aurelion Blade sat at the head of the table.
He did not radiate mana the way others did.
Because mana did not cling to him.
It obeyed.
The space around Aurelion felt heavier, denser—not with pressure, but with acknowledgment. His existence anchored the hall, as though the world itself subtly adjusted to accommodate him. This was not Liquid. Not Solid. Not Crystal.
This was Demigod.
A being whose existence had been etched into the World Laws.
To William's eyes, Aurelion was no longer merely a man.
He was a constant.
Kael sat at his right, seventeen now, broad-shouldered and composed. His mana was Solid-stage—stable, refined, responsive. Each breath drew atmospheric mana naturally, compressing it further within his body.
Opposite him lounged Orion, fifteen, casual to the point of disrespect. His mana fluctuated between high Flow and early Liquid, unstable but forceful. Ambition leaked from him like heat from a forge.
Lyra sat beside William, serene and radiant. Her Liquid-stage mana was gentle yet deep, suffused with a healing resonance that softened the space around her. Servants unconsciously relaxed whenever she smiled.
And William—
William appeared ordinary.
No visible mana circulation. No pressure. No signs of cultivation.
Just an eight-year-old boy listening quietly.
"So," Lyra said with a smile, lifting her cup, "Kael, how many training dummies survived today?"
Kael exhaled. "Two."
Orion laughed. "A new record."
"They were reinforced," Kael replied calmly. "Poorly."
Aurelion's lips curved faintly. "The craftsmen will send their complaints soon."
"I'll compensate them," Kael said without hesitation.
William smiled into his food.
This warmth—this normalcy—had never existed in the novel.
Only the ruins remained there.
"Orion," Aurelion said, turning his gaze. "Your instructors report progress."
Orion shrugged. "I'm improving."
"And your control?"
"…Improving," Orion echoed.
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "That pause says otherwise."
Orion groaned. "You all sound like Master Torren."
Kael chuckled. "Because he's right."
The conversation drifted easily—stories of patrol mishaps, Lyra teasing Kael about his seriousness, Orion complaining about restrictive formations.
Then Aurelion's gaze settled on William.
"William."
William straightened instantly. "Yes, Father?"
"You are eight," Aurelion said. "It is time to begin your mana training."
William felt his heartbeat steady.
"I understand," he said calmly.
Lyra's smile widened. Kael nodded approvingly. Even Orion looked interested.
"Tomorrow at dawn," Aurelion continued. "We will start."
The training courtyard was shrouded in silver mist at sunrise.
Not fog—mana.
Ancient formations beneath the stone drew atmospheric mana inward, condensing it into visible streams that drifted lazily across the ground. Knights stood guard at the perimeter, Liquid-stage mana rolling off them in disciplined waves.
Kael stood beside William, arms crossed.
"Don't rush," Kael advised. "Most people fail by trying too hard."
Aurelion stood before them, hands behind his back.
"In Fantasia," he said, "mana is not power. It is potential."
With a simple gesture, the air shimmered.
"Mist," Aurelion said.
A thin haze formed—weak, diffuse.
"This is the first stage. Mana exists within the body, but unrefined. It strengthens vitality, senses, and recovery. Most soldiers remain here."
The mist tightened, beginning to circulate.
"Flow," he continued. "Mana moves consciously. Techniques become possible. Control begins."
The circulation compressed further.
"Liquid," Aurelion said. "Mana deepens and pools. Longevity increases. Authority over one's body strengthens."
The mana condensed into dense, heavy currents.
"Solid," Aurelion said. "Mana stabilizes. Power becomes consistent. The foundation of elite warriors."
Finally, the mana crystallized briefly into a translucent structure before dispersing.
"Crystal-stage," Aurelion concluded. "True crystallization of mana. The body resists decay. Two hundred years of lifespan, if one is disciplined."
William listened intently.
"And beyond Crystal?" he asked, tilting his head.
Aurelion's gaze sharpened slightly.
"Beyond Crystal are demigods," he said. "Those acknowledged by the World Laws. They transcend mortal cycles. Five centuries of life—or more."
No further explanation followed.
A boundary had been drawn.
"Now," Aurelion said, turning to William, "feeling mana for the first time is difficult. Weeks for most. Months for some. Do not force it."
William sat as instructed, closing his eyes.
He breathed.
And the world answered.
Mana did not resist him.
It aligned.
The moment his intent brushed outward, atmospheric mana responded—not flooding in, not surging—but recognizing the path. It circled him smoothly, brushing his consciousness like a tide testing unfamiliar shores.
Too fast.
Too clear.
William immediately slowed his breathing, masking the connection.
To Aurelion's senses, nothing happened.
Minutes passed.
Aurelion nodded. "That is enough for today."
William opened his eyes, feigning mild disappointment.
"I'll try harder tomorrow," he said.
Aurelion smiled. "Patience, William. Strength comes with time."
William bowed his head respectfully.
Inside, his resolve sharpened.
He had touched mana.
And mana had listened.
But the world had not yet spoken.
Not yet.
Until it did—
He would grow quietly.
In the shadows of a future that still believed itself unbroken.