The forest was endless.
Dark trunks rose like walls around them, the thick canopy swallowing what little moonlight remained. Each step felt heavier than the last, their small bodies struggling against exhaustion. Their breaths came in sharp gasps, legs burning, lungs aching. Still, they pressed on. The prison was behind them now, but fear pushed them forward as much as hope did.
Finally, Miguel stumbled against the base of a massive tree and collapsed. His chest rose and fell violently as if each breath might be his last. "Nick… I can't keep running…"
Nick leaned against the same trunk, sweat dripping down his brow. His face was pale, but his eyes burned with determination. "We can't stop for long. They'll send people after us."
Miguel closed his eyes, forcing himself into a cross-legged position. "Just… a little. Let me draw in mana. It relaxes me."
Nick frowned, but seeing Miguel already shutting himself off, he sighed and mirrored him. Both boys sat in silence, their bodies trembling, their minds reaching outward. The forest was alive with faint threads of energy—mana—flowing through the air like invisible streams. Slowly, it seeped into their fragile bodies, cooling their fatigue like water on a parched throat.
Four minutes passed. Miguel opened his eyes, and a small, weary smile appeared on his lips. "Now I feel better. Magic really is… wonderful."
Nick exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Wonderful or not, we don't have time. They might be tracking us already."
The reality of it pierced Miguel's calm. He nodded, rose unsteadily to his feet, and together they began running again.
The forest stretched endlessly, but the fear of capture kept their legs moving. They ran until their lungs burned like fire and their vision blurred. It wasn't long before they stumbled across a rocky slope where a narrow cave opened like a hungry mouth.
"This will do," Nick panted, leaning against the entrance.
Miguel nodded weakly. They staggered inside, collapsing onto the cool stone floor. "We've… gotten far enough. Let's… rest."
Neither had the strength for more words. Within moments, the exhaustion of their frail child-bodies claimed them. Darkness took them both.
Seven hours later, Miguel stirred. His eyelids felt heavy, his body aching as though he had been trampled. He groaned softly, pushing himself upright. "Another hellish day…"
It all came rushing back: the truck, the bridge, their deaths, their rebirth into these fragile seven-year-old shells. The prison. The fight. The escape. He wasn't in his world anymore. He wasn't even himself anymore.
Turning, he spotted Nick lying a few feet behind, sleeping so soundly it almost irritated him. The boy looked carefree, utterly detached from the nightmare they were in. Miguel frowned.
"Wake up."
No response.
"Seriously, Nick, wake up."
Still nothing.
Miguel narrowed his eyes, conjured a small ball of water, and flicked it at Nick's face. The splash hit perfectly.
Nick sputtered awake, coughing as droplets ran down his cheeks. "Wha—what the hell, Miguel?!"
Miguel smirked faintly. "It's morning. Time to get up."
Nick wiped his face with his sleeve, muttering curses under his breath. Then, stretching his stiff limbs, he gave a small grin. "Well, we're not in prison anymore. Guess that makes us free birds."
Miguel leaned back against the stone wall. "Free birds… in cages of weak bodies." His tone was bitter, but his eyes softened as he recalled something. "Do you remember? Back in that fight. Our fire and water… they were stronger. We could control them completely."
Nick's eyes lit up. "Yeah, I noticed too. I think that was a mana zone, or… what some novels call spirit field, mana field—whatever. When we're inside it, we can sense mana more clearly and our magic feels buffed."
Miguel tilted his head. "So… we can make it at will?"
"Let's find out."
They both sat down again, crossing their legs. Closing their eyes, they concentrated. Nick imagined a sphere of energy expanding around him, while Miguel tried to draw mana inward like before, but denser, sharper, controlled. Minutes passed. The forest air stirred faintly, but… nothing.
Nick's brow furrowed. He opened his eyes with a long sigh. "Huff… no good. I can't form it. Maybe we're missing something."
Miguel's attempt had failed too. He shrugged. "Maybe it's something you can't brute force. We might need actual knowledge."
"Books," Nick muttered, frustrated. "We need magic books. Damn it, I thought I'd nailed it."
Miguel chuckled lightly at his annoyance. "Calm down. We're alive, that's more than enough for now. Knowledge will come later."
Nick groaned but didn't argue. He lay back against the cave wall, glaring at the stone ceiling.
Practicality soon took over. Miguel, grimacing at the dirt on his uniform, raised his hand and conjured water. He soaked the clothes carefully, washing away the grime and sweat. Nick followed, his fire crackling softly as he dried them out with practiced control. For a moment, the cave flickered with warmth and light, reminding them of something like home.
When the last of the steam vanished, Miguel stood and stretched. "We should get moving."
Nick tugged at his now-clean shirt, smirking. "At least we don't smell like prisoners anymore."
They stepped out of the cave, the dawn greeting them with golden light filtering through the trees. The world was vast, unknown, and dangerous.