Sylas did not attempt another spark for three days—not because he lacked the ability, but because he understood the danger of impatience. Lightning was not an element that tolerated recklessness. In his previous life, he had wielded it like an extension of his own will, calling down bolts that shattered earth and sky alike. But that mastery had been built upon years of discipline, pain, and relentless refinement. This body, though improving, was still new to such power. Rushing now would only undo the fragile foundation he had worked so carefully to build.
His training became more structured with each passing week. Before dawn, while the town still slept beneath a gray sky, he would leave the house for a quiet run along the outer paths. His steps were steady rather than fast. He focused on rhythm—breath matching stride, heart beating in controlled cadence. When he returned, sweat dampening his thin shirt, he would move into strength exercises: push-ups until his arms trembled, squats held until his thighs burned, planks that tested the limits of his endurance. The improvement was gradual but undeniable. His once frail frame began to firm, muscles forming lean definition beneath his skin. He remained slim, but no longer looked fragile.
Afternoons were devoted to internal work. Sitting cross-legged in his room, door locked, he guided mana through the pathways he had reconstructed. The circulation patterns were deliberate and repetitive, tracing the same routes again and again to reinforce them. What had once felt like jagged cracks in stone now resembled narrow but stable channels. The dull pain that had accompanied every attempt at mana flow diminished to a manageable warmth. By the sixth week, the tingling sensation unique to lightning no longer startled his nerves. It felt familiar—almost welcome.
When he next attempted a discharge, it was with measured confidence. He guided a thin strand of mana from his core, allowing it to travel the full route from abdomen to spine, across his shoulder, and down his arm without compressing it prematurely. There was no numbness, only heat. Slowly, he concentrated the energy at his fingertip. A spark appeared, small and sharp. Instead of vanishing instantly, it lingered, crackling softly between his index finger and thumb. He maintained steady breathing as the arc brightened. Three seconds passed, then five. At seven, he cut off the mana supply cleanly. The spark disappeared without backlash. His arm felt sore but intact. It was progress.
Over the following days, he practiced extending the discharge outward. A thin arc snapped forward and struck his wooden desk, leaving a charred mark. The sound was contained, precise. That was what mattered. Lightning was not merely about power; it was about timing and control. He began refining basic applications: circulating lightning mana through his limbs to sharpen muscle response, releasing short arcs for precision strikes, and experimenting cautiously with brief bursts of speed. The first time he attempted to channel lightning into his legs for acceleration, he shot forward faster than intended and collided with the wall. The impact left him sprawled on the floor, staring at the ceiling in mild irritation. The failure, however, confirmed something critical—his body could withstand enhanced output. It simply required refinement.
By the end of the second month, Sylas could summon lightning on command without destabilizing his core or damaging his pathways. The arcs were not large, nor were they suitable for extended combat, but they were stable and obedient. For someone his age in this era, it would already be considered exceptional. More importantly, it was built upon a foundation far denser than the hollow cores commonly formed through modern methods.
The announcement came on a warm afternoon as he returned from a run. A crowd had gathered in the town square around a messenger dressed in academy robes. The man affixed a large parchment to the central notice board, its seal bearing the intertwined elemental symbols of fire, water, wind, earth, and light—the emblem of the Five Heroes. Murmurs spread quickly through the onlookers as the messenger began to read aloud. The Capital Grand Academy would hold its annual entrance examination in three months' time. Candidates between fourteen and sixteen were eligible. The exam would consist of three stages: core assessment, elemental control evaluation, and combat aptitude trial.
Excitement rippled through the crowd. The Capital Grand Academy was the most prestigious institution in the country. Admission meant opportunity—government positions, elite units, even potential proximity to the Hero Council established by the Five. Sylas listened quietly, calculating. Three months was sufficient time to strengthen his control further and expand his output. Revealing lightning would draw attention, but the academy offered access to resources he could not obtain in a small town—advanced manuals, specialized instructors, and perhaps information about the current structure of the Hero Council.
His father arrived at his side, scanning the notice with thoughtful eyes. "You're fourteen now," he said after a moment. "You could at least try."
There was no expectation in his voice, only polite suggestion. Sylas kept his gaze on the parchment a moment longer before nodding. "I'll take it."
His father looked mildly surprised but said nothing more.
As the crowd dispersed, Sylas remained still for a moment, feeling the faint, controlled current beneath his skin. He did not seek recognition this time. He did not intend to stand at the forefront of a war or carry the weight of others' ambitions. But the path forward layed in the capital. If he wished to climb beyond the artificial ceiling imposed on this era—and to understand the full extent of what had been altered after his death—then entering the academy was the logical next step.
With three months remaining, he turned and walked home, already adjusting his training schedule in his mind. The lightning within him was no longer a fragile spark. It was a steady current, waiting patiently to grow.