The night breeze blew cold as Yan crossed the gates of the Ellory mansion. His steps were heavy, muscles silently screaming with every movement. The moon hung high, a silent witness to what had transpired on the training field.
Lilia had pushed him to the limit. Physically, mentally… emotionally.
And he had endured. Survived. Learned.
He passed through the entrance of the house without making a sound. The mansion was steeped in shadow, except for the soft lights in the hallway that Helena always left on — not out of necessity, but out of care. Everything was quiet, as if the house itself understood what he needed in that moment: silence.
He climbed the stairs slowly. He didn't even have the strength to think. All his body wanted was rest. But deep down, it wasn't just physical exhaustion — there was a sense of imminent transformation, as if something inside him had realigned.
Upon reaching his room, he didn't change clothes or take a shower. He simply lay down on the still-made bed… and let his eyes close.
Sleep wrapped around him like a warm blanket, dragging him far away — away from the echoes of spear and sword, from cutting words, from magenta eyes. That presence still vibrated on his skin, like a shiver that wouldn't fade.
That night, he slept deeply.
---
The soft morning light slipped through the cracks in the window, as if it hesitated to invade the room. Yan opened his eyes with a calm sigh, his muscles still aching from the previous night's training, but there was something different in his body — it wasn't just a bit of fatigue. It was vigor. As if the pain carried a purpose, a reminder that he was alive, in motion, and every part of his being had been tested.
He sat up in bed and ran a hand through his messy hair. The memory of Lilia immediately surfaced: magenta eyes slicing through the darkness like blades, her firm voice echoing in his mind.
"If you want to become stronger… be ready to bleed."
Yan smiled faintly, not with arrogance, but with a kind of silent acknowledgment. He knew where he wanted to go. And now, at least, he knew where to begin.
He dressed in light clothes and descended the stairs in silence, drawn by the warm scent of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread wafting from the kitchen. The aroma blended with the warmth of the house, surrounding him with the sensation of home.
Helena had her back turned, setting the table with gentle movements. Aurora was already seated, reading a digital report projected in front of her while sipping something from a dark mug. The light from the screen partially illuminated her face, revealing a concentrated, slightly irritated expression, as if she disagreed with what she was reading.
"Good morning," Yan said, his voice still hoarse from sleep.
Helena turned with a warm smile, her eyes glowing with that affection only mothers knew how to express.
"Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?"
"Better than I expected," he replied, sitting at the table.
Aurora didn't lift her eyes from the report.
"Better than we expected too, considering you left in the middle of the night," she remarked, with a hint of subtle irony.
"I needed to train," Yan said, grabbing a slice of bread and spreading butter with almost mechanical movements.
"And did you find someone to train with?" Helena asked, her tone casual but attentive. Her way of protecting was always gentle, yet sharp.
"I did." He kept the answer short, avoiding further details. He still didn't know how to explain Lilia — or what he had felt upon seeing her. There was something about her that demanded silence, almost reverence.
"Hm," Aurora murmured. "Just don't come back broken."
Yan chuckled quietly. There was a sort of grumpy affection in the way Aurora showed concern, as if it were easier to mask care with sarcasm than admit any trace of vulnerability.
During breakfast, the conversation remained light, routine. Helena talked about adjustments to the perimeter defense system. Aurora mentioned changes in the hierarchy of the eastern council. Yan simply listened, eating in silence, absorbing every word. It was strange how those peaceful routines now felt precious. Rare. As if the world were always on the brink of collapse, and these moments were cracks of peace amid the fractures.
After helping to clear the table, he went back upstairs — not to his bedroom, but to the house's private training room — a circular space with energy panels and reinforced flooring, designed to withstand mana bursts.
There, he took a deep breath and began his warm-up.
Push-ups. Jumps. Short sprints. Stretches. Cadenced movements, almost meditative. He let his body take over while his mind began to wander.
With every strike in the air, with every step, an image came to mind — not from yesterday, nor the present, but from long ago. Ancestral images. Fragments of history.
The arrival of mana.
Three thousand years ago, the sky broke. At least, that's how the ancients described it. An invisible tear split the fabric of reality, and the energy from the other side — pure, chaotic, and magnificent — flooded the Earth. The world was never the same again.
Cities crumbled. Nations disappeared. Others rose as elemental empires, led by those who could channel the new force. Geography was reshaped by the energy, and the seas changed color.
And along with mana… came the dimensional beasts.
Creatures that didn't belong to this plane. Beings shaped by alien logic, primal instincts, endless hunger. They crossed the dimensional rifts like viruses exploiting a weakened system. They ravaged. They tore. And they forced humanity to bow… or fight.
Yan paused for a moment, sweating, chest heaving.
He hadn't lived in that era. No living human had — at least, that's what they say. But the records remained — in books, in films, in dreams. And the world still bled the wounds of that age. Some cities still maintained magical walls, permanent reminders of the fear that once ruled everything.
"How many lives were taken before we learned to defend ourselves?" he murmured, looking at his own hands.
Since the first mana surge, humanity had tried to understand that force. Some saw it as a curse. Others, as a blessing. But in the end, it was neither. It was just power. Impersonal. Immense. Untamable. And, at times… indifferent.
Yan activated his mana core, feeling the energy flow through his body like a tide beneath the skin. The ethereal sword appeared in his hand — a blade of pure intent, shaped by his will.
He trained against the room's automated dummies, alternating between physical strikes and mana bursts. His movements were cleaner. Less hesitant. Still far from perfect, but there was progress.
As he fought, thoughts of Lilia came to him again.
Her stance. Her mastery of the spear. Her unwavering confidence.
She was like the world after mana: beautiful, dangerous, unpredictable. And Yan knew that, by her side, he couldn't afford to be anything less than excellent. Any weakness, any hesitation, would be exposed.
"Be ready to bleed."
He now understood that it wasn't just about the body.
It was about stripping away the ego. Tearing down pride. Facing one's own insignificance without looking away.
With each thrust at the training dummy, the metallic sound echoed through the room. With every impact, an idea solidified:
He didn't want to merely survive.
He wanted to understand the essence of that world.
He wanted power… not as armor, but as an extension of who he was.
He wanted to walk among the great — not as a shadow, but as his own light.
The training lasted more than an hour. When he finally stopped, sweat dripped from his forehead, and his body trembled. But his eyes… his eyes were calm.
He sat in the center of the room, crossing his legs, letting his breath return to normal. He closed his eyes. And the world within him seemed to expand.
He visualized what he had already faced. What was still to come. The beasts. The abysses. The challenges. And, at the center of it all, a figure.
Lilia.
Not as a rival. Not as an enemy. But as a mirror of everything he could — and needed — to become.
"Tonight, I train with her. But one day… maybe I'll face her for real."
There was no arrogance in that thought. Only possibility.
When he opened his eyes, the day had already moved forward. Sunlight streamed through the upper windows, casting warm rays across the training floor.
He rose slowly, his muscles screaming, but his spirit… vibrant. He wiped his face, brushing away the sweat, and left the training room.
The rest of the day awaited him.
But the night…
the night would shape him.