The seasons in Oakhaven had a way of blurring together when one was focused on the grueling path of self-refinement. For Kayan, the two years following the birth of the twins were a masterclass in patience and deception. To the world, he was a silent, helpful seven-year-old. But internally, he was a volcano approaching the point of eruption.
Aria and Ren were now three years old, and their presence had transformed the cottage into a place of constant motion. Ren, possessing the sturdy frame of his father, spent his days wrestling with wooden stools, while Aria had a peculiar habit of staring at the garden flowers until they bloomed prematurely.
One afternoon, the sun was casting long, golden fingers across the living room floor. Elara was busy in the kitchen, the scent of fresh bread wafting through the house. Kayan sat on the floor, ostensibly playing with wooden blocks, but his eyes were fixed on the toddlers.
"Ren, lower your center," Kayan whispered, his voice barely audible over the crackling of the hearth. "You are pushing with your shoulders. The earth is your source; push with your heels."
The toddler blinked, his chubby face red with effort as he tried to move a heavy oak box. He adjusted his stance as Kayan commanded. With a sudden scrape, the box slid across the floor. Ren's eyes widened, and he let out a triumphant giggle, looking at Kayan for approval.
Kayan gave him a small, rare smile. :) It was a fleeting moment of genuine warmth, but it was quickly replaced by a shadow of concern. He could feel it—the energy within his siblings was awakening too early, especially Aria. Her mana was like a wild river, leaking out in small, emerald sparks that singed the edges of her blanket.
'This world is not safe for the unprepared,' Kayan thought, his gaze drifting toward the dark silhouette of the Blackwood Forest visible through the window. 'If I am to protect them, I cannot remain at this level. My current body is a cup trying to hold an ocean.'
Later that evening, after ensuring his parents were occupied, Kayan slipped out of the house. He moved with the silent grace of a shadow, his feet barely disturbing the tall grass. He headed toward the "Spiral Zone"—a part of the forest where the trees grew in unnatural, twisted shapes, a place where the natural Mana of the world was notoriously volatile.
As he reached the center of a clearing marked by jagged, ancient stones, Kayan took a deep breath. The air here was heavy, tasting of ozone and damp earth.
'The official Awakening is at age eight,' he mused, gripping a rusted iron sword he had hidden in a hollow log. 'But a God of the Battlefield does not wait for permission. I will force the Awakening tonight.'
He closed his eyes and began the "Violent Harmony"—the forbidden technique of merging Aura and Mana.
In his right arm, he ignited the Deep Blue Aura. It felt like molten lead, heavy and scorching. In his left, he drew in the Pale Green Mana from the surrounding ancient trees. It felt like needles of ice, cold and indifferent.
Usually, he kept these energies separate. But tonight, he forced them toward his heart.
[Warning: Physical capacity at 95%. Risk of internal rupture.]
The air around him began to distort. The grass at his feet turned to frost while the stones above him began to glow with a dull, red heat. His small body began to tremble violently. Blood trickled from his ears, but his resolve did not waver.
"Merge!" he hissed through gritted teeth.
The collision of the two energies didn't result in an explosion. Instead, it created a silent, terrifying vacuum. At the point where the blue and green met, a spark of pitch-black light appeared. It grew rapidly, tearing at the fabric of space itself.
Kayan's eyes widened. He had underestimated the volatility of the Mana in this specific zone. This wasn't just a breakthrough; it was a Spatial Fracture.
A high-pitched, crystalline shriek echoed through the forest. The black fissure expanded, manifesting as a jagged rift that looked like a wound in reality. It began to pull everything toward it with an absolute, gravitational force.
Kayan tried to thrust his sword into the ground to anchor himself, but the rusted metal snapped like a twig. The ground beneath him disintegrated.
'No... not yet! Aria! Ren!' The thought of his siblings was the last thing in his mind before the darkness swallowed him. The rift closed as quickly as it had opened, leaving behind nothing but a circle of scorched earth and a snapped iron blade.
When Kayan opened his eyes, the scent of the forest was gone. In its place was the smell of ancient dust, cold stone, and stagnant magic.
He was lying on a floor made of polished obsidian. Towering pillars stretched into a darkness so thick it seemed solid. Thousands of blue and green runes pulsed on the walls, flickering like the heartbeat of a dying god.
He wasn't in Oakhaven anymore. He was in the Abyssal Ruins of the Monarchs—a place forgotten by time, and a place that was never meant for a seven-year-old boy.