A few days slipped by before we finally reached the base of the Giant Mountains massive peaks that clawed at the sky like sleeping titans. The name "Giant" didn't feel exaggerated in the slightest.
The cold breeze bit through my clothes as the caravan came to a slow stop. Snow-dusted ridges loomed above us, and for the first time since we'd left home, I felt the sheer vastness of the world.
I went over the technique again careful to explain the interval between the right and left step, the subtle shift of weight, and how to channel mana evenly into each leg for control. Of course, for me, that last part was nearly impossible to perform now, but teaching it wasn't.
The first one to truly succeed was Scarlet, the red-haired prodigy who hid her emotions behind a cold mask. She pulled me aside one afternoon, her face faintly flushed.
"I want to show you something," she said, almost whispering.
Mother was giving me lessons on reading and writing at the back of the carriage, but Scarlet's tone told me this was serious. We halted briefly to avoid being left behind, and she demonstrated the step flawlessly swift, precise, with a light afterimage trailing her movement.
I clapped in genuine admiration. "Amazing! You learned it so quickly!"
She tried to act indifferent. "It was nothing." But the way her nose twitched in pride betrayed her.
By the time we reached the foot of the mountain, all four of the Crimson Moon members had managed to adapt the technique to their own fighting styles. Even Ronan, who'd first treated me like a joke, grinned with reluctant respect.
The next leg of the journey took us up a narrow trail winding around the mountain. The path was just wide enough for two carriages, lined by jagged stone walls and scattered pine trees whose tops were lost in fog.
Our first carriage was driven by Darrin, with Father seated beside him, keeping watch. Most of our supplies were packed there. Lyra sat atop the second carriage my carriage her bow resting across her knees as she scanned the cliffs for any sign of monsters. Mother and Alina rode in the back, while Scarlet handled the reins at the front.
Ronan walked behind us, spear strapped to his back, occasionally whistling to break the silence.
It was calm. Too calm, maybe but that wasn't what occupied my mind.
Scarlet kept stealing glances at me, only to look away the moment our eyes met.
I wasn't sure if she was curious or just bored but it was kind of funny watching her pretend otherwise.
---
I spent most of my time with my nose buried in a book about mana manipulation. It was old and worn, but surprisingly detailed. The author's handwriting was uneven, like he'd written in haste, yet his insights fascinated me.
From what I'd gathered so far, this world divided mana users into two paths: Manifesters and Enhancers.
Manifesters were those born with a natural connection to external mana they could manifest their mana into elements like fire, wind, earth, or water. Their strength came from understanding the flow of mana around them and shaping it into a tangible form. A skilled Manifester could summon flames, summon barriers of earth, or manipulate air currents as easily as breathing.
On the other hand, Enhancers channeled mana inward. They used it to reinforce their bodies, sharpen their senses, and strengthen weapons. While Manifesters shaped mana into the world, Enhancers shaped mana into themselves.
In short Manifesters painted with mana. Enhancers became their art.
The book described them as two halves of a whole both dependent on a functioning mana core, which acted as a bridge between body and world.
I exhaled sharply, staring at the page as if the words mocked me.
A fractured core. One in a million.
Technically, I could still feel mana its gentle hum at the edge of my senses, the same way one might feel a storm gathering in the air before lightning strikes. But without a stable core to process it, that raw mana was poison to me. Pure mana couldn't be controlled; it tore through unprotected channels like fire through paper.
In a way, it reminded me of two soldiers:
One wearing armor (a healthy mana core) could face a volley of arrows and live.
The other bare-chested wouldn't last a second.
That was me. A soldier without armor.
I ran a finger down the page, tracing the word purification. That was what a mana core did best filtering impurities and regulating flow. But mine, shattered from birth and further damaged when I tried to fuse it, could only leak unstable mana that burned me from the inside out.
So… in short, I was a broken Enhancer who couldn't enhance and a failed Manifester who couldn't manifest.
The irony almost made me laugh.
'Skip"
> The world was built on four elements fire, water, earth, and wind.
Yet among them, wind was the rarest.
Watching them clash brought Avatar to mind that familiar balance between the four felt almost nostalgic.
"Virel," Mother's gentle voice cut through my thoughts. "You've been reading for hours. Rest your eyes a bit."
I closed the book, smiling faintly. "Yes, Mom."
Outside, the caravan creaked as the wheels rolled over uneven rock. The air grew colder as we climbed higher, and patches of frost started to cling to the trees.
Father rode ahead, his hand never leaving the hilt of his sword. "Keep alert," he called. "We're close to the upper pass."
The others nodded. Despite the calm, tension hung in the air mountain roads weren't exactly known for being safe.
I leaned back against the carriage wall, staring up at the narrow strip of sky between the peaks. For a moment, the clouds parted, revealing the faint shimmer of a magic circle etched into the summit above. The Teleportation Gate. Our doorway to Vaelgard.
My new life would start there.
Maybe, if I was lucky, I'd find a way to fix what was broken or at least learn how to wield my sword in a world that demanded magic to survive.
I gripped the wooden sword resting by my side. Even if I couldn't use mana, I still had this. And the instincts of a swordsman who'd once cut down kings.
One way or another… I'd carve a path forward.