As I arrive at the base of the path that leads to the peak of the majestic mountain where my cultivation chamber resides, I glance toward the palace that sits snugly within the mountain face. It is massive—beyond mortal comprehension—with large glass windows reflecting the sunlight and sprawling balconies as large as castle bedrooms. The palace itself appears to be made of pure white quartz, looking more like the residence of a god than that of a mage.
Well, I am about to become a god—or as close to one as this world allows, I thought.
Turning back to the winding stone path before me, I began to walk. I could have teleported straight to the entrance, but there is something calming about making the trek on foot. It allows me to settle my mind and get into the right headspace.
After walking for a couple of hours, I finally reached the top. Before me stood a huge, flat rocky wall with a clearing that seemed to have been shaped by machinery. Set into the wall was a large, expansive set of doors engraved with a burning sun. I pushed the doors open and stepped inside.
This place is my personal cultivation chamber, containing one of the densest concentrations of mana found anywhere in the world. It is special because it was built around the mana source itself. Most mages purchase chambers fueled through magic crystals—materials usually found in dungeons. The higher the dungeon's grade, the higher the quality of the crystals, and thus, the denser and more refined the mana for cultivation.
Then there are places like this—natural phenomena, as they are called—where mana gathers naturally in immense density. Powerful mages fight and die to control such places, hoping to do what I have done: construct a chamber around the source. This was one of the reasons I built my residence on this mountain.
To the mundane eye, the space might seem unremarkable—no frills or ostentatious luxury, just a cavern with a simple cushion in the center. But any powerful mage would immediately recognize what a priceless resource this chamber truly is.
I seated myself upon the cushion in the middle of the space, closed my eyes, and began my cultivation.
In this world of Magedom, cultivation is the practice of drawing in a substance called mana from the environment and circulating it through the body to strengthen it in preparation for greater power. Once the body is ready, the mage pushes that mana into their magic core, filling it until it becomes completely saturated. When the core reaches its limit, it breaks apart and reforms—larger, smoother, and stronger than before. This grants the mage greater mana reserves and purer mana for spells, making their magic more powerful.
This is where talent comes into play, and why it defines a mage. The higher one's innate talent, the further and faster one can progress along the path of cultivation, and the stronger one becomes even within the same rank. For example, if two mages are both at the Emperor Mage level, the one with the higher-quality core will almost always emerge victorious.
For reference, the levels of cores from weakest to strongest are as follows: Black, Yellow, Orange, Blue, Red, Green, White.
With my eyes closed, I drew pure mana into my body and began circulating it—strengthening my bones, ligaments, cells, and blood. The mana poured in with such intensity that my body felt overloaded, but I persisted, calming the flow as I circulated it. Slowly but surely, I directed it into my core, filling it until it neared saturation. My goal was simple: to push it to its limit, to break and reform it—and finally, after fifteen long years, ascend to the rank of Great Mage.
The process lasted nearly three whole days—an endless cycle of drawing in mana, circulating it, feeling my body strengthen, and sensing my core grow ever fuller. Rinse and repeat, over and over again. Yet for me, time seemed to fly; I was so utterly engrossed in the process.
Then, finally, it happened.
BOOM!
The cavern—and even the mountain itself—shook. My core shattered apart and began to reform, stronger and larger, filled with even purer mana. The mana was so clear it looked like glass, and as it refilled, it gleamed like liquid gold. My connection to it deepened; I could almost communicate with the mana, as though it were not merely a resource but a living, breathing entity.
I will need to test this more after I deal with the Vaelgrims, I thought, continuing my cultivation as something monumental unfolded beyond the cavern walls.
Outside, above the mountain, a colossal golden sun appeared. The people in the palace and the city below felt it—the change in the air, the surge of divine energy, the overwhelming presence emanating from the peak. Many dropped to their knees, bowing in reverence to whatever existence had just ascended. In truth, their instincts were not wrong.
A Grand Mage within the world of Magedom is a figure of legend—a being whose power borders on the divine. Their connection to mana becomes symbiotic and ethereal. Upon reaching this level, a mage naturally develops something known as a domain. Domains manifest instinctively after breakthrough, shaped by one's element, power, and potential.
Within a domain, a Grand Mage is essentially unbeatable, unless another Grand Mage can force their way in or destabilize it. When two domains clash, a Battle of Domains occurs—a contest decided by foundation, talent, and will. Whoever loses suffers a backlash, leaving them weakened and vulnerable.
At present, there are said to be no more than ten Grand Mages in existence. Most have long since withdrawn from the world, pursuing closed-door cultivation for decades, even centuries. Yet their names remain legendary—ancestors of the imperial families, wandering sages, and even the head of the Academy. Their tales are told to children as bedtime stories. Some are centuries old; others, millennia.
And now, another has joined their illustrious ranks.
The One Blessed by the Light.
Kyros Lightborn.