CHAPTER 6—CHAPTER 6 — FIRST STEPS INTO A NEW WORLD
(~2,250 words)
The smell of warm soup and herbs drifted through the house long before I reached the dining room. My steps were slow, careful, almost unsure. The home itself felt too large, too quiet, too gentle. A part of me expected someone to shout at me for touching the walls or walking too loudly — old instincts from the slums dying slow deaths.
My mother arranged plates on the long wooden table. My father adjusted the cutlery with a seriousness that made it look like he was preparing a battlefield. Arin sat across from an empty seat, tapping her spoon against the table rhythmically. Ren hugged a stuffed beast toy to his chest, the fabric worn and loved.
When they noticed me standing in the doorway, everyone paused.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then my mother gave a soft, warm smile. "Come sit, sweetheart."
I walked toward the table like I was walking toward a memory I never had. My father pulled out the chair beside him, and I sat carefully, adjusting my weight as if afraid of breaking something.
Arin slid a bowl toward me. "It's not too hot. I checked."
Ren chimed in, "I helped stir the soup!"He puffed his chest out proudly.
A small laugh escaped me. "Thank you."
It felt strange — thanking someone for food. Eating at a table. Being surrounded by warm bodies instead of cold walls and broken pipes. But the strangeness wasn't bad. Just… unfamiliar.
We all began eating quietly.
Halfway through my first spoonful, my father spoke.
"We didn't want to overwhelm you last night," he said, staring down at his soup. "But there are things you should know. About the world. About us."
I swallowed slowly, bracing myself.
My mother nudged him with a fond, exasperated look. "Explain gently. He just sat down."
"I am being gentle," he muttered.
Arin snorted into her drink.
Ren peeked at me, whispering, "Daddy explains scary stuff like monsters. He goes ROAR—"
My father gave him a look. Ren instantly went silent.
I found myself smiling — tiny, soft, but real.
My mother placed her spoon down. "What your father means is… this world might be new to you. And we want you to learn safely."
My father leaned back slightly. "This city is called Rayfall. A Class-A mana zone. One of the twelve capitals of the continent."
Rayfall.
I had heard that name before — in the slums, whispered by people dreaming of a better life.
Arin added, "It's where most A-rank and S-rank hunters live. And their families."
"So we live here because we're strong?" I asked quietly.
My father nodded. "Your mother and I awakened at young ages. Both of us reached the Purple Core — A-rank — by our twenties. A-rank families are given residence rights in Rayfall."
"And protection," my mother added. "This city has strong mana barriers. Fewer beasts. Fewer dungeons inside the city limits."
I glanced at the window. The world outside was quiet and peaceful — nothing like the chaos of the slums.
My father continued, "Outside the city, things are different. Mana zones get wilder. Beast territories shift. Dungeons open randomly."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"What… exactly are dungeons?" I asked.
Arin's eyes sparkled. "They're like pocket worlds! Sometimes they're forests, sometimes caves, sometimes ruins. Monsters spawn inside — different species based on mana density."
"And beasts?" I pressed softly.
Ren raised his toy beast. "They look like THIS, but real! And big! And scary! But some are nice."
My mother patted his head. "Most beasts survive by instinct. They aren't evil. But higher-ranked ones… they're intelligent. They learn. They adapt. They plan."
My father's face grew shadowed. "And those beasts can destroy villages."
He continued, "Mana gates appear when too much mana gathers in one place. Hunters enter these gates, clear the beasts, and take the dungeon core."
"What happens if they don't clear it?" I asked.
Arin answered quietly, "It bursts."
My mother's voice softened. "And when it bursts… beasts spill out. Into the world."
I realized then why hunters were respected — feared, even. They weren't just warriors; they were the thin line between cities and chaos.
My father added, "Your transparent core means you haven't awakened mana yet. But that's not unusual." He placed a hand on the table, fingers drumming. "We're not asking you to become a hunter. Not now. Not ever, unless you want to."
My head jerked up. "Huh?"
"We want you safe," my mother whispered. "Not weaponized."
Arin nodded, pushing her bowl aside. "You're not joining the military or some hunter guild. You'll live your life. Go to school. Learn things. Meet people."
I stared at the family around me.
They weren't asking me to fight.They weren't asking me for power.They weren't even asking me to train.
They were asking me to live.
My father watched me carefully. "Training doesn't mean combat. At least not yet. It just means… learning how to breathe correctly, strengthen your weak muscles, develop balance."
My mother smiled softly. "Your body was underfed for years. We need to help you recover slowly."
"So… no pressure?" I whispered.
"None," she assured.
Arin stretched her arms. "We can teach you fun stuff too. Reading, writing, the world's map, history. You can come with me to the market. We can visit the hunter tower — they sell amazing mana sweets!"
Ren practically sparkled. "And beast toys! And glowing slime! And—!"
Father cleared his throat. Ren immediately fell silent again.
I breathed out slowly.
For the first time, I felt like I could breathe without fear of consequences.
After dinner, Arin tugged at my sleeve. "Come on. I'll show you the house."
The house was bigger than any place I had ever lived. The living room had a large mana screen built into the wall — clearer than anything I had seen. The floor was polished wood. The air vents were carved with runic patterns. The entire home thrummed softly with mana, like a living thing.
"This is the fusion crystal," Arin said, tapping a glowing cube by the hallway. "It powers mana lights, the screen, the heater, everything."
"What does it run on?" I asked.
"Ambient mana. Rayfall has a high mana concentration, so crystals recharge themselves."
I touched the cube. It was warm, like holding sunlight.
We walked through the house slowly. Each room told a story.
The twins' room had two beds side by side — Arin's half clean, organized; Ren's half a chaotic mountain of toys. My parents' room smelled faintly of lavender and ink.
When Arin opened the door to my room, my breath hitched.
The walls were painted light blue. There was a bookshelf neatly filled with beginner readers. A small desk. A soft rug. A comfortable bed. The VR set in the corner blinked with a gentle blue light.
My father had placed a framed photo on the table — my mother holding two toddlers, one clearly Arin.
The empty space beside Arin was where I should've been.
Arin didn't look at me. She stared at her feet.
"We didn't know if you'd ever come back," she whispered. "But we kept your room ready. Just in case."
Something heavy dropped inside my chest.
Words wouldn't come. So I sat on the bed slowly.
She sat next to me and didn't say anything else.
We didn't need to.
The next morning felt strange — in a good way.
The sunlight wasn't hostile. The air wasn't dusty. My clothes weren't torn.
My mother handed me a beginner reading book. "Let's start slow. Just ten minutes a day."
The letters were clean, sharp. My mind struggled to keep up at first, but she guided my finger under each word patiently.
Ren crawled into my lap halfway through, demanding that I read aloud. My voice shook, but he didn't mind.
Later, Arin took me to the balcony and explained the city layout.
"That tall tower? That's the Hunter Guild headquarters. The floating spheres around it measure mana pressure."
"What about that building with the red banners?"
"That's the Elemental Academy. Kids enroll at ten or twelve to learn basic mana control."
"Do I have to go?"
"Only if you want to," she said sincerely.
We walked down the street together in the afternoon. The world outside was vibrant — people of different races filled the sidewalks.
Beastkin with furry ears carrying pastries. Elves buying mana crystals. Dwarves arguing about the price of metal ores. A horned man haggling with a fruit seller.
My eyes widened. "There are… so many races."
Arin grinned. "Yep! This city is a big melting pot. No one bothers anyone."
Ren tugged my hand. "Look! Slimes!"
A vendor sold small, glowing mana slimes inside glass jars. Children squealed as the creatures wobbled.
I touched the glass gently. The slime pressed against my finger.
Arin chuckled. "You like it?"
"I… don't know," I admitted softly.
I liked everything.I hated everything.I didn't know what to feel.
Too much, too quickly.
In the evening, my father brought me to the backyard.
Not to train — not really.
He handed me a wooden stick. "Hold it."
I did.
"Good. Now breathe."
He demonstrated slow breathing — long inhalations, calm exhalations.I followed awkwardly.
"The body remembers trauma," he said quietly. "Before we train your mana, we train your breath."
I nodded slowly.
"This is enough for today."
"That's it?" I blinked.
"That's it."
He patted my shoulder gently. "Small steps. You've already fought harder battles than most adults."
I lowered the stick and let the evening breeze wash over me.
Small steps.
For the first time in years, that didn't sound impossible.
That night, I lay in my room, staring at the ceiling.
I learned about my family.
I learned about the world.
I learned how to read.
I went outside.
I trained — a little.
I breathed.
And slowly…
I felt like I was beginning to live.
Not perfectly.
Not fully.
But enough.
Enough to start.
(~2,250 words)
The smell of warm soup and herbs drifted through the house long before I reached the dining room. My steps were slow, careful, almost unsure. The home itself felt too large, too quiet, too gentle. A part of me expected someone to shout at me for touching the walls or walking too loudly — old instincts from the slums dying slow deaths.
My mother arranged plates on the long wooden table. My father adjusted the cutlery with a seriousness that made it look like he was preparing a battlefield. Arin sat across from an empty seat, tapping her spoon against the table rhythmically. Ren hugged a stuffed beast toy to his chest, the fabric worn and loved.
When they noticed me standing in the doorway, everyone paused.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then my mother gave a soft, warm smile. "Come sit, sweetheart."
I walked toward the table like I was walking toward a memory I never had. My father pulled out the chair beside him, and I sat carefully, adjusting my weight as if afraid of breaking something.
Arin slid a bowl toward me. "It's not too hot. I checked."
Ren chimed in, "I helped stir the soup!"
He puffed his chest out proudly.
A small laugh escaped me. "Thank you."
It felt strange — thanking someone for food. Eating at a table. Being surrounded by warm bodies instead of cold walls and broken pipes. But the strangeness wasn't bad. Just… unfamiliar.
We all began eating quietly.
Halfway through my first spoonful, my father spoke.
"We didn't want to overwhelm you last night," he said, staring down at his soup. "But there are things you should know. About the world. About us."
I swallowed slowly, bracing myself.
My mother nudged him with a fond, exasperated look. "Explain gently. He just sat down."
"I am being gentle," he muttered.
Arin snorted into her drink.
Ren peeked at me, whispering, "Daddy explains scary stuff like monsters. He goes ROAR—"
My father gave him a look. Ren instantly went silent.
I found myself smiling — tiny, soft, but real.
My mother placed her spoon down. "What your father means is… this world might be new to you. And we want you to learn safely."
My father leaned back slightly. "This city is called Rayfall. A Class-A mana zone. One of the twelve capitals of the continent."
Rayfall.
I had heard that name before — in the slums, whispered by people dreaming of a better life.
Arin added, "It's where most A-rank and S-rank hunters live. And their families."
"So we live here because we're strong?" I asked quietly.
My father nodded. "Your mother and I awakened at young ages. Both of us reached the Purple Core — A-rank — by our twenties. A-rank families are given residence rights in Rayfall."
"And protection," my mother added. "This city has strong mana barriers. Fewer beasts. Fewer dungeons inside the city limits."
I glanced at the window. The world outside was quiet and peaceful — nothing like the chaos of the slums.
My father continued, "Outside the city, things are different. Mana zones get wilder. Beast territories shift. Dungeons open randomly."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"What… exactly are dungeons?" I asked.
Arin's eyes sparkled. "They're like pocket worlds! Sometimes they're forests, sometimes caves, sometimes ruins. Monsters spawn inside — different species based on mana density."
"And beasts?" I pressed softly.
Ren raised his toy beast. "They look like THIS, but real! And big! And scary! But some are nice."
My mother patted his head. "Most beasts survive by instinct. They aren't evil. But higher-ranked ones… they're intelligent. They learn. They adapt. They plan."
My father's face grew shadowed. "And those beasts can destroy villages."
He continued, "Mana gates appear when too much mana gathers in one place. Hunters enter these gates, clear the beasts, and take the dungeon core."
"What happens if they don't clear it?" I asked.
Arin answered quietly, "It bursts."
My mother's voice softened. "And when it bursts… beasts spill out. Into the world."
I realized then why hunters were respected — feared, even. They weren't just warriors; they were the thin line between cities and chaos.
My father added, "Your transparent core means you haven't awakened mana yet. But that's not unusual." He placed a hand on the table, fingers drumming. "We're not asking you to become a hunter. Not now. Not ever, unless you want to."
My head jerked up. "Huh?"
"We want you safe," my mother whispered. "Not weaponized."
Arin nodded, pushing her bowl aside. "You're not joining the military or some hunter guild. You'll live your life. Go to school. Learn things. Meet people."
I stared at the family around me.
They weren't asking me to fight.
They weren't asking me for power.
They weren't even asking me to train.
They were asking me to live.
My father watched me carefully. "Training doesn't mean combat. At least not yet. It just means… learning how to breathe correctly, strengthen your weak muscles, develop balance."
My mother smiled softly. "Your body was underfed for years. We need to help you recover slowly."
"So… no pressure?" I whispered.
"None," she assured.
Arin stretched her arms. "We can teach you fun stuff too. Reading, writing, the world's map, history. You can come with me to the market. We can visit the hunter tower — they sell amazing mana sweets!"
Ren practically sparkled. "And beast toys! And glowing slime! And—!"
Father cleared his throat. Ren immediately fell silent again.
I breathed out slowly.
For the first time, I felt like I could breathe without fear of consequences.
After dinner, Arin tugged at my sleeve. "Come on. I'll show you the house."
The house was bigger than any place I had ever lived. The living room had a large mana screen built into the wall — clearer than anything I had seen. The floor was polished wood. The air vents were carved with runic patterns. The entire home thrummed softly with mana, like a living thing.
"This is the fusion crystal," Arin said, tapping a glowing cube by the hallway. "It powers mana lights, the screen, the heater, everything."
"What does it run on?" I asked.
"Ambient mana. Rayfall has a high mana concentration, so crystals recharge themselves."
I touched the cube. It was warm, like holding sunlight.
We walked through the house slowly. Each room told a story.
The twins' room had two beds side by side — Arin's half clean, organized; Ren's half a chaotic mountain of toys. My parents' room smelled faintly of lavender and ink.
When Arin opened the door to my room, my breath hitched.
The walls were painted light blue. There was a bookshelf neatly filled with beginner readers. A small desk. A soft rug. A comfortable bed. The VR set in the corner blinked with a gentle blue light.
My father had placed a framed photo on the table — my mother holding two toddlers, one clearly Arin.
The empty space beside Arin was where I should've been.
Arin didn't look at me. She stared at her feet.
"We didn't know if you'd ever come back," she whispered. "But we kept your room ready. Just in case."
Something heavy dropped inside my chest.
Words wouldn't come. So I sat on the bed slowly.
She sat next to me and didn't say anything else.
We didn't need to.
The next morning felt strange — in a good way.
The sunlight wasn't hostile. The air wasn't dusty. My clothes weren't torn.
My mother handed me a beginner reading book. "Let's start slow. Just ten minutes a day."
The letters were clean, sharp. My mind struggled to keep up at first, but she guided my finger under each word patiently.
Ren crawled into my lap halfway through, demanding that I read aloud. My voice shook, but he didn't mind.
Later, Arin took me to the balcony and explained the city layout.
"That tall tower? That's the Hunter Guild headquarters. The floating spheres around it measure mana pressure."
"What about that building with the red banners?"
"That's the Elemental Academy. Kids enroll at ten or twelve to learn basic mana control."
"Do I have to go?"
"Only if you want to," she said sincerely.
We walked down the street together in the afternoon. The world outside was vibrant — people of different races filled the sidewalks.
Beastkin with furry ears carrying pastries. Elves buying mana crystals. Dwarves arguing about the price of metal ores. A horned man haggling with a fruit seller.
My eyes widened. "There are… so many races."
Arin grinned. "Yep! This city is a big melting pot. No one bothers anyone."
Ren tugged my hand. "Look! Slimes!"
A vendor sold small, glowing mana slimes inside glass jars. Children squealed as the creatures wobbled.
I touched the glass gently. The slime pressed against my finger.
Arin chuckled. "You like it?"
"I… don't know," I admitted softly.
I liked everything.
I hated everything.
I didn't know what to feel.
Too much, too quickly.
In the evening, my father brought me to the backyard.
Not to train — not really.
He handed me a wooden stick. "Hold it."
I did.
"Good. Now breathe."
He demonstrated slow breathing — long inhalations, calm exhalations.
I followed awkwardly.
"The body remembers trauma," he said quietly. "Before we train your mana, we train your breath."
I nodded slowly.
"This is enough for today."
"That's it?" I blinked.
"That's it."
He patted my shoulder gently. "Small steps. You've already fought harder battles than most adults."
I lowered the stick and let the evening breeze wash over me.
Small steps.
For the first time in years, that didn't sound impossible.
That night, I lay in my room, staring at the ceiling.
I learned about my family.
I learned about the world.
I learned how to read.
I went outside.
I trained — a little.
I breathed.
And slowly…
I felt like I was beginning to live.
Not perfectly.
Not fully.
But enough.
Enough to start.