Chapter 35 – Aric
The night stretched long after his father revealed the forbidden texts. Even as the fire dimmed, Aric's mind refused to quiet. The whispers of the scroll lingered in his thoughts, images of weaving mana not like flowing water but like threads of a tapestry—threads he might pull, twist, or snap.
At dawn, when his father finally retreated to rest, Aric remained awake. He stepped out of the safehouse, the morning air sharp and cold, the trees swaying like watchful sentinels.
He sat cross-legged on a flat stone and closed his eyes.
The scroll had shown him something radical: mana wasn't simply energy to be pushed or pulled. It was alive, with weight and texture. He had felt it the night before, like strands brushing his fingertips. Now he sought it again.
At first, there was only silence. Then—faint threads. Like gossamer drifting in the air.
He reached.
The threads quivered, vibrating as though resisting his touch. Aric gritted his teeth. His old training, what the system had "allowed," had taught him to channel mana through fixed circuits, obedient and rigid. But this was different. These threads resisted being bent.
Sweat gathered at his brow.
"Focus," he whispered to himself. "Not as energy. As threads."
Slowly, he visualized weaving. He imagined strands between his fingers, knotting them together. His mana surged, and for the briefest moment, he saw faint blue strings twist in the air before him, shimmering like dew.
His heart leapt—then the weave collapsed, scattering into nothing.
The sudden backlash snapped against his chest. Aric gasped, nearly toppling from the stone. His mana core throbbed painfully, as though punishing him for trying to break the rules.
He clutched his chest and grimaced. "So that's the trap. The system punishes deviation."
But the glimpse was enough. He had touched it. He knew it was possible.
Hours passed. He repeated the attempt over and over. Each time, the threads flickered briefly before unraveling. Sometimes they fizzled into sparks. Other times they backlashed, leaving his body aching. By midday, his limbs trembled, and his breath came ragged.
Still, he refused to stop.
Finally, on his twelfth attempt, the strands lingered. Two faint blue threads hung before him, bound by sheer will. They vibrated but did not scatter.
Aric gritted his teeth, holding them steady. "Stay… just stay."
The threads trembled, threatening to break. His entire body shook with the effort of sustaining them. But in that fragile moment, he understood. The system wanted control. The forbidden texts offered rebellion. And the cost of rebellion was pain.
The weave lasted three heartbeats before shattering into sparks.
Aric collapsed onto the stone, his body drenched in sweat. But a smile tugged at his lips.
"I did it…" he whispered. "Even if only for a moment."
---
From the doorway, unseen, Daren watched quietly. His sharp eyes softened with the faintest hint of pride. The boy had not only read the forbidden words but applied them. Most mortals would have given up after a single backlash.
Daren's thoughts darkened. He will be hunted for this. But he is strong. Stronger than I was at his age.
When Aric finally staggered back inside, exhausted, Daren merely asked, "And? What did you learn?"
Aric sank against the wall, chest still heaving. "That the system… punishes those who resist. But punishment isn't the same as impossibility. I held the threads. I know I did."
Daren allowed himself the faintest smirk. "Then you've taken your first true step. Remember this feeling, Aric. You'll need it when the system sends more than just whispers and shadows."
Aric nodded, his exhaustion outweighed by determination. "Next time, I'll hold them longer."