Dian was glowing.
Not in the poetic sense—literally glowing. Streams of light slid across his skin like ripples over water, each weapon floating around him, humming softly. He looked like a child who'd just been handed a chest full of new toys.
"Can you believe it?" he shouted, spinning a sword in one hand and catching a bow in the other. "Nine inheritances! The real hero relics! Hahaha! Haha—look at this pose!"
He shifted stances, trying to imitate something between a warrior and an action-movie poster. I wanted to laugh, but my eyes caught something else—something far stranger.
The air.
It moved differently around him, swirling and contracting as if breathing. The wind wasn't random; it had rhythm—an inhale, an exhale. My Wisdom Comprehension activated on its own, whispering explanations directly into my thoughts.
---
The Secret of Prana
This world was built on layered energies.
For mages there was magic; for knights, aura; for martial artists, chakra—but every path led back to the same root: Prana, the life energy born from every living thing's lifespan.
All power returned to Prana eventually. It was the tide beneath all others.
If someone could completely manipulate Prana, they would never age. Never die.
But to contain Prana was the real challenge.
Bodies leak it. Souls do not. Souls already carry the ancient essence, the Primal Energy, the source of creation itself.
> [Your understanding of Prana and Primal Energy has increased.]
The moment that message flashed, I gasped.
Air thickened around me—no, not air, energy. Every particle of it pressed toward my lungs, my skin, my bones.
An idea struck like lightning:
If energy behaves like air, then perhaps breathing could be more than a physical act.
What if I could make my whole being breathe energy itself?
I tried.
For a second, the world dimmed. My breath halted; my chest locked. Pain pierced through me like needles.
"Yeah… although my understanding increased," I wheezed, collapsing to one knee, "my body is still too weak."
---
Watching Dian
When I looked back at Dian, the swirling current around him had grown stronger. Energy poured into him like a river into an ocean.
Why could his body handle it so naturally?
The answer arrived uninvited.
It was the weapons. They weren't just relics; they were feeding him, releasing nine different types of elemental force into his body. Those streams collided, blended, and—by accident or divine design—created true Prana within him.
"So that's it," I murmured. "He's forming Prana unconsciously."
If Prana required multiple energies fusing into one, then I only needed one thing.
Weapons. Different kinds.
I turned to the endless corridor of doors. None glowed for me. None even flickered.
Dian was laughing somewhere behind me, swinging blades and bows like festival fireworks.
"All right then," I whispered. "If they won't choose me, I'll take the trial instead."
---
The Door of the Bow
The first door on my right was plain—dark wood, faintly humming. When I touched it, cold rushed up my arm, and the door opened silently.
Inside was darkness.
In the middle of that black void floated a single bow, hovering weightlessly, its string vibrating as though plucked by invisible fingers.
I stepped forward slowly. My instincts screamed to stay alert; every hair on my skin stood upright.
But before I could reach it, the bow vanished.
"What? Where did—"
My words never finished. The world shattered like glass.
---
The Thunder Forest
When vision returned, I stood in a forest bathed in stormlight. Wind howled, clouds churned, and bolts of lightning cracked through the air, illuminating twisted trees and ground scorched black.
Before me stood a man.
Tall, long-eared, long-nosed—neither elf nor human but something ancient. He held the same bow I had seen, drawing its string with effortless grace.
When he released, the sky obeyed.
Thunder tore open heaven itself and fell toward him. Instead of striking, the lightning bent, funneling into the bow's curved limbs, devoured entirely.
I forgot to breathe.
The man looked at me then. His eyes were calm, deep, endless—like he had seen centuries pass and grown bored of them.
"Inheritor," he said, his voice echoing as though spoken through both air and soul. "I am the creator of this bow. I named it Dhanush."
He held it up, the string shimmering like a silver river. "If you wish to inherit Dhanush, you must wield it. Simple enough. Pick it up… and hold the draw for one full minute."
He smiled faintly, and when he let the bow fall, the ground split apart as if struck by meteors. The weapon embedded itself, leaving a smoking crater.
He turned to me. "Do you wish to quit?"
I met his gaze. My knees trembled, but something within me refused to back down. "No."
---
The Trial
I reached out.
The moment my fingers brushed the handle, thunder answered.
Bolts rained from every direction, striking me, burning through flesh, tearing muscle. Pain so sharp it blurred sight. I screamed but couldn't hear my own voice over the roar of the storm.
Yet through that agony, a cool sensation rose from deep inside—like clear water flooding a burning field.
Something old, something familiar.
I looked up.
There he was.
The same god from my dreams, the one who had first promised to awaken my Primal Energy. His form was barely visible—a silhouette woven from stars—but his eyes glowed with silent encouragement.
> [Primal Energy awakening — successful.]
The message blazed inside my skull.
My body changed.
I felt every drop of Prana, every spark of life around me, sink into my veins. The pain didn't fade—it transformed, folding into power.
I lifted Dhanush, steadied my stance, and aimed at the sky.
"Let's see if I'm worthy."
I drew the string. Lightning answered instantly.
One bolt. Two. Ten.
Twenty.
Thirty-four.
Fifty-five.
Eighty-eight.
A hundred.
A thousand.
I lost count after that. Each strike should have killed me, yet the awakened Primal Energy kept repairing what was destroyed—skin mending, bones reforging mid-battle. I became both the target and conduit of the storm.
The energy built until the bow vibrated violently, the string glowing white. My arms felt like they would rip off, lungs bursting, vision narrowing to a single point of light.
Then I released.
The sound was not thunder—it was creation.
Countless bolts erupted upward, scattering like stars, then plunged back down across the forest. Mountains cracked, clouds parted, rivers of lightning danced across the horizon.
When silence finally returned, smoke curled around me, and Dhanush rested gently in my hands, warm and alive.
The creator watched me with quiet pride.
"Congratulations," he said, voice fading like the wind after rain. "Dhanush is now yours."
---
The world dissolved again, and I found myself kneeling on the palace floor.
The bow lay across my knees, pulsing softly with blue light. My skin still smoked faintly, but the pain was gone—replaced by a humming energy under every heartbeat.
Somewhere in the distance, Dian was shouting excitedly about discovering a cafeteria full of floating fruits.
I smiled weakly. "Figures."
Then I looked down at the bow, and it pulsed once, as if breathing.
For the first time since arriving in this world, I felt something absolute settle inside me.
Not just survival.
Purpose.
The true beginning of my path as an Ego-Born, wielder of Primal Energy.