As I closed my eyes and fell into a deep sleep, the shadows of my past life began to bleed into my dreams.
I heard my mother's voice calling to me. It was a sound filled with a familiar, aching warmth. I couldn't quite understand what she was saying, but she kept calling my name. In the dream, she reached out and patted my head, her fingers rustling through my hair as she giggled softly. I was a child again. I couldn't find the words to speak yet, but the joy in my chest was overflowing.
"I will, Mother," my younger self responded, laughing with a genuine innocence I had long since forgotten.
I stood up and began walking toward a door, my small hand tucked safely inside hers. We stopped in front of the frame, and she turned to me with a gentle smile. "Are you ready?" she asked.
"Yes, Mom!" I answered happily, having no idea what lay beyond that threshold.
Suddenly, the door swung open on its own. Instead of a room, there was only a vast, silent void. The doorway began to drift away, pulling me into the darkness. I froze, staring as the distance between us grew. My mother stood there, waving goodbye. Beside her stood another version of me—the child version—waving back at the me that was being swallowed by the void.
I began to run. I sprinted toward her, my legs heavy, but my body felt like it was being dragged backward by an invisible force.
"I'll see you again, my..."
Her last word was drowned out by the wind of the void. I didn't stop. I ran and ran, tears streaming down my face, screaming her name until my throat burned. I didn't understand why she wouldn't reach out for me. I pushed myself to the limit, screaming with everything I had, but no sound came out.
I jolted awake, my voice finally breaking through the silence. "MOTHER!!!"
Huff... huff...
I sat up, panting heavily as I tried to catch my breath. My heart was thumping against my ribs like a trapped bird. I held my chest tightly, trying to calm the trembling in my hands. As the tears continued to drip onto my sheets, the cold reality of the room settled in.
"I miss you, Mom," I whispered into the dark.
After a few minutes, I swung my legs over the left side of the bed. I checked the time: 3:13 AM. I pressed my palms against my face and sighed, my fingers sliding down to my thighs as I stood up.
I headed to the kitchen and began to boil some ginseng. It was an old habit of mine—something I did whenever I felt the weight of depression or anxiety. The bitter, earthy scent always made me feel a little more grounded.
Once I finished my tea, I changed into a tracksuit and headed out. The streets were quiet as I began to jog. Watching the world wake up, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. My life would be so different if I hadn't been transmigrated here.
An hour later, I stopped at a small cafe to catch my breath. I bought a coffee and sat there for a moment, humming my favorite song to myself.
"Ah, I didn't notice it was already 5:30 AM." I stood up, realized I needed to move. I knew Prate would be awake by now, and his villa wasn't far from the cafe.
I jogged the rest of the way. The gate to his villa was already open, so I walked straight to the front door and rang the bell. A few seconds later, I heard footsteps approaching.
"Oh! Good morning, Lukas," Prate greeted me with a smile.
"Good morning," I replied.
"Why don't we have breakfast first? I'm sure you're tired from that jog."
"Yeah, thanks."
As Prate set the table, I stared at the spread of food. There was enough to feed an entire party. "I'm sorry, I made a lot," he laughed. "It's a habit of mine."
"I don't mind. It looks amazing," I said, taking a bite. My eyes widened. "You're actually a great cook!"
After we finished eating, Prate told me to head down to the basement while he finished the dishes. I walked down the stairs and realized the space was massive—much bigger than my entire dorm room.
A short while later, Prate joined me.
"Remember when I showed you the Origin of Mana?" he asked.
"Yeah," I respond.
"The color of the tree I showed you back then was green, right?" Prate began to explain, his tone becoming more serious. "The color that appears represents your attribute. The brighter the glow, the higher the quality of your mana. Mine..." He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Mine is just a faint light."
Prate walked over to a strange, metallic basin in the center of the room. It was filled with a liquid that looked like liquid silver, shimmering under the basement lights. "But hey, a faint light is still a light, right? It got me this far."
He leaned against a nearby workbench, crossing his arms. "Normally, people don't find out their true quality until they've hit level fifty. But since we're heading into that Arena soon, I figured you should know exactly what you're working with. Knowledge is power, Lucas—especially in a world that keeps changing the rules on us."
I stared at the silver liquid, feeling a bead of sweat roll down my neck. "And if the color is off? Or if it's too dim?"
Prate shrugged, his expression relaxed. "Then we work harder. But honestly? I've seen the way you handled those Goblins. I have a feeling your 'tree' isn't going to be a common shade of green. Go on, dip your hand in. Just focus on that warmth in your chest—the mana you felt when you first awakened."
I stepped forward, my heart echoing the heavy thuds from my dream earlier. I reached out, my fingers hovering over the cool surface of the basin. I wasn't just curious; I was terrified. As the creator of this world's original story, I knew what colors were supposed to exist. But looking at Prate—a guy I never wrote into existence—standing in a villa I never designed, I realized that whatever happened next might prove once and for all that I was no longer the one holding the pen.
"Don't overthink it, man," Prate said softly, his voice grounding me. "It's just mana. It's just a part of you."
I nodded, took a deep breath, and plunged my hand into the liquid silver.