Ohohohoh BITCH! DADDY IS ABOUT TO AWAKEN! HAHAHAHAHA!
The giddy, triumphant thought screamed through Ali's mind, a raw burst of emotion that clashed violently with the shed's grim reality and the System's sterile warnings. For a glorious, breathless second, he felt it—a connection. A thread, thinner than spider silk and fainter than a dream, now tied him to the world in a way it never had been before.
He stared at his hand, flexing his fingers. No glowing aura. No crackling energy. But the potential for it now lived inside the hollow space behind his navel, a faint, grey smudge of otherness where before there had been nothing.
[Status Update: Mana Integration Initiated.]
Core State: Active (Minimal Charge). Designation: Mana Core - Grade: Fledgling, Rank: F-
Current Mana: ~0.0001/100 (Estimated Total Capacity - Uncalibrated).
Passive Regeneration: 0.00001 units/hour (Subject to environmental density, user's health, and core efficiency).
Active Draw Capacity: Untested. WARNING: Do not attempt without further study.
New Sensory Input Detected: Mana-Sense (Passive) - Grade: Rudimentary.
Description: You are now subconsciously aware of the ambient mana field. It is currently perceived as a uniform, low-grade pressure, like hearing a distant waterfall you cannot see. You cannot distinguish sources, types, or densities yet.
The rush of triumph curdled, tempered by the data. He wasn't a wizard. He was a baby who had just opened his eyes for the first time in a blinding room. He could see light, but no shapes, no colors, no meaning.
Alright, alright. Calm down. Don't get cocky. This is step one of ten thousand. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the ordinary air now feeling like it carried a faint, electric tang. System. What now? Can I... feel her?
He looked toward the longhouse, focusing not with his eyes, but with that new, vague sense. He tried to push it toward where Lyra would be, to feel for the cold, stagnant knot.
The effort gave him an instant, piercing headache behind his eyes. The sense didn't push. It was just there, a blanket perception. He couldn't direct it.
[Mana-Sense (Rudimentary) is omnidirectional and non-discriminatory. Attempting to focus it requires either a significant increase in proficiency or an active skill such as [Mana Sight] or [Diagnostic Touch].]
Right. Of course. He leaned back against the wall, the headache receding. The excitement was still there, buzzing under his skin, but it was now layered with a profound, weary understanding. He had unlocked the door. Now he had to learn the entire language of the house he'd entered.
And he had to do it in secret.
Kaelen's words echoed in his memory: "It leaves a mark. Like a campfire smoke in a clear sky."
Ali was now a tiny, smoldering ember in a world where some creatures hunted by the scent of smoke. His earlier fear of thugs with fireballs was joined by a new, more primal fear: what if his first, fumbling breath had just sent up a wisp of smoke something had already noticed?
"System. Am I... giving off a signature? Can anything sense this?"
[Analysis: Mana emission at your current level is several orders of magnitude below the natural background radiation of a healthy plant or insect. It is functionally undetectable at range by all but the most specialized, focused sensors or supremely gifted beings.]
[However.] The text emphasized the word. [Active manipulation of mana—attempting to shape it, cast it, or draw it in rapidly—will create detectable ripples. The greater the effect, the larger the ripple. Caution is paramount.]
So, for now, he was safe as long as he just... existed with his core ticking over. But the moment he tried to do anything with it, he risked lighting a beacon.
The sound of the main gate opening startled him. Kaelen and Bryn returned, their faces set in their usual grim lines. Ali quickly stood, brushing straw from his pants, forcing his expression into one of simple readiness for the next task.
Kaelen's eyes swept over him. They paused for a half-second longer than normal. A faint crease appeared between his brows.
"You look different," Kaelen stated, his voice flat.
Ali's blood ran cold. He can't know. He can't. "Just… rested, I think," he mumbled, dropping his gaze to the ground, the picture of a subservient laborer.
Kaelen grunted. "Hmph. The rest of the world isn't so kind. The west tree-line is quiet. Too quiet. The birds have stopped. Something is moving out there, keeping its head down." He looked from Ali to the forest beyond the palisade, his hand resting on his axe. "It may be nothing. It may be a predator we haven't met yet. We stay sharp. You finish with the tool shed roof before dusk. I want no loose shingles in a night wind."
"Yes, Kaelen."
As Ali moved to fetch the ladder, his mind churned. Coincidence? Did my little 'breath' actually stir something? Or is it just the normal, terrifying rhythm of this place?
He didn't know. He couldn't ask.
For the rest of the day, as he worked on the roof, the new sense was a constant, low-level distraction. He could feel the life in the wood of the shingles, a dull, slow ember compared to the faint, warm glow coming from the longhouse where the family resided. He could feel a patch of cold emptiness from a nearby bucket of well water. It wasn't sight. It was a mental impression, a texture on reality he'd been numb to before.
And when Lyra came out to take in the laundry before evening, he felt her.
It wasn't the knot. It was her. A faint, guttering candle-flame of life, beautiful and frail. And around that flame, like a thick, frozen mud sucking at its light, was the heavy, dull absence of the blockage. He didn't see it. He felt its oppressive, cold weight. It was worse than the System's description. It was a suffocation.
She looked up, catching him staring. She didn't smile, but she gave a small, acknowledging nod before turning back to her work.
In that moment, Ali's triumph completely evaporated, replaced by a cold, clear purpose.
He had the key now. Or the first, barest sketch of a key.
He was no longer just building a foundation of labor.
He was building a disguise, a fortress of normalcy, behind which he would have to teach himself the most dangerous art in this world—an art his hosts feared and abhorred—all to perform a surgery on a girl's soul with tools he didn't yet own.
The grind had just become a secret war. And he had just taken his first, silent step onto the battlefield.