Liam went to Ragnar with a question that had lingered in his mind for days.
"Dad, I heard Grandpa mention something called mana. What exactly is it?"
Ragnar scratched his chin, thinking."I'm not too sure myself," he admitted. "They say it's a kind of energy... something only mages can feel. It's what lets them use magic, from what I've heard."
Liam nodded slowly, his mind turning.
Energy only some people can sense… yet spells still worked with just words?
Even at his age, his mind was sharp—filled with fragments of logic and curiosity that ran deeper than anyone around him realized. Something didn't add up. If there was truly an unseen force governing magic, then how did incantations trigger it? Was it symbolic? Resonant? Instinctive.
"Mom, I'm going upstairs to play. Don't disturb me."
"Oh my, little Liam's all grown up now, huh?" Lily teased with a chuckle.
Liam blushed, muttering under his breath as he hurried upstairs.
Once in his room, he sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, taking a deep breath. It was a simple meditative pose he'd once seen in a guided simulation back in his old world—never tried it then, but now it felt oddly natural.
He closed his eyes, calming his breath, letting his thoughts settle like dust in still air.
Then, he began whispering the wind spell's incantation.
A soft breeze brushed past his cheeks.
He repeated the process over and over, practicing until fatigue crept into his limbs. Every day for the next month, this became his secret routine—meditation, incantation, exhaustion, sleep.
Until one night…
As sleep took him, he found himself in a strange dream. Golden motes of light danced all around him, like fireflies drifting through a boundless void.
He awoke with a start, the image still vivid in his mind.
Was that… mana?
Eager to test it, he closed his eyes again, steadying his breath. Minutes passed—then, faintly, ever so faintly, he began to feel something.
Within the darkness of his closed eyes, golden lights shimmered once more—floating gently in an infinite black frame.
His lips parted in awe.
"…So this is mana."
This time, Liam cast the spell beforehand and carefully observed its workings. As soon as the incantation left his lips, the mana around him stirred—converging and swirling together. Then came a blank, a moment of incomprehension. The next thing he knew, the mana had manifested into tangible wind. Yet the crucial transition—the mysterious process between convergence and manifestation—remained veiled to his senses.
Liam opened his eyes slowly, the wind already gone.
He sat still, frustration and wonder coiling in his chest.
"So mana does respond to intent... but how?""What happens in that blank space?"
He clenched his fists. This wasn't like the old world, where everything could be measured, graphed, or simulated. There was no AI here to break it down frame by frame, no sensor to track what he couldn't perceive.
Liam began trying new things—simple experiments, really. He focused on the golden motes, attempting to guide and cluster them together with his will. At first, it was like trying to grasp mist with bare hands—slippery, unfocused.
But day by day, his mental clarity sharpened—not drastically, but enough to make progress noticeable.
After nearly three months of quiet, relentless practice, he managed to clump the motes—ten at a time. No matter how carefully he tried, adding an eleventh always caused the group to collapse and scatter.
So he shifted strategies.
Instead of forcing more into a single group, he began creating separate clusters—first one, then two, then three. Each was stable when handled with care.
But just as he attempted to form a fourth group, something pushed back. A mental wall—not painful, but absolute. The motes refused to obey.
Liam sat back, breathing steadily, sweat beading on his brow.
"So... there's a limit," he thought, not with disappointment, but curiosity.
"Is it because of me—or something else?"
That evening, the air in Liam's room was still.
He sat cross-legged, a quiet focus in his gaze. Three clusters of golden mana motes hovered before him—each meticulously clumped through weeks of tireless practice. He hadn't changed the incantation. He hadn't altered the gesture. The only difference… was the mana itself.
Steeling his breath, Liam extended a hand toward the wall and recited softly:
"Aer Velo."
The familiar words echoed like always—but this time, something clicked.
The clustered mana surged forward.
BOOM!
A concentrated blast of wind exploded from his palm, slamming into the wooden wall with a violent crack. Dust erupted from the splintered impact point. A sharp breeze knocked over the candle, and a low creak ran through the floorboards.
Downstairs, Lily dropped a pot. "What was that?!"
Ragnar's chair scraped hard against the floor. "Liam?!"
Before Liam could even get to his feet, both his parents burst into the room.
"Liam!" Lily scanned him frantically. "Are you alright?"
Ragnar asked with concern-"What happened?"
"I just chanted the usual spell incantation for wind."
Ragnar's eyes widened at the wall. "That's... That's not just wind…"
Liam blinked, still shocked at the spell's power. "I used the same spell, Dad… I didn't change anything."
"I can sense mana now! I think I can cast stronger spells," Liam said, eyes gleaming with excitement.
For a moment, Ragnar and Lily stared at each other, unsure whether to celebrate or scold him.
Then Ragnar let out a proud laugh. "Hah! Look at that—see whose son this is! A true genius just like his father!"
Lily rolled her eyes. "Genius or not, you nearly blew a hole in our roof. Next time warn the house first, oh mighty mage."
Liam chuckled awkwardly.
Ragnar ruffled his hair. "We're proud of you, son. Truly."
"But be careful," Lily added gently. "Magic isn't just about power. One mistake and it can hurt you—or someone else."
Liam nodded seriously. "I will. I promise."
But still Liam was unable to know about one thing Mana core, that was mentioned in the requirements to attend mage academy.