Back in the lavish prison of my dorm room, the silence felt different. Before, it was the empty silence of a life without purpose. Now, it was the charged silence of a hidden workshop, a secret laboratory where I was the sole scientist and subject. I locked the heavy oak door, a definitive click that shut out the world of Crimson Destiny and, for a little while, the role of Lucian Greyfall.
The book on mana cultivation lay open on the desk, its ancient pages seeming to glow faintly in the twilight filtering through the window. I didn't sit in the plush, high-backed chair. That was where Lucian would lounge. Instead, I cleared a space on the thick rug in the center of the room and sat cross-legged on the floor, placing the book before me like a sacred text. My posture was stiff and unfamiliar, a deliberate rejection of the lazy, arrogant slouch I'd inherited with this body.
I re-read the key passage on Mana Breathing, mouthing the words to burn them into my memory.
"The fool seeks to command the world's mana. The master seeks to join its song. Do not seize it with your will; invite it with your breath. Let your Mana Core be the silent pool, and your breath be the gentle rain that fills it. Listen to the rhythm of the world, and learn to hum in tune. For a Weaver is not one who imposes upon the world, but one who weaves themself into its grand tapestry."
The prose was poetic, almost frustratingly vague, but the core concept was clear. This wasn't about force. It was about harmony.
Closing my eyes, I focused on my breathing, slowing it down, making each inhale and exhale deep and deliberate. I tried to reach out with my senses, to feel the ambient mana the book described. The result was immediate and overwhelming. It was nothing like the controlled mana within a person's Core. The raw, untamed mana of the world was a chaotic storm, a cacophony of energies. I could feel the thrum of the enchantments that kept the island afloat, the residual energy from thousands of spells cast over centuries, the life force of the plants in the garden outside. It was a sensory overload, like trying to pick out a single voice in a stadium full of screaming people.
My attempts to find a "rhythm" were useless. Every time I thought I found a pattern, it was drowned out by another surge of chaotic energy. My mind, already frayed with anxiety about my future, refused to quiet down. Thoughts of Damien's cold smile, of Leonidas's earnest face, of my own scripted death, kept intruding. Frustration began to build, a hot, prickly feeling in my chest. The original Lucian's short temper was a flaw I could ill afford.
"Do not command... listen," the book's words echoed in my mind. I was trying to force it, to find the rhythm through sheer effort. It was the wrong approach.
Then, an idea struck me. I had been trying to use my normal magical senses. What if I used the one thing that was uniquely mine?
I stopped trying to feel with my mind and instead reached out with my soul. I activated my Soul Resonance, but instead of directing it at a person, I turned its focus outward, into the seemingly empty space of the room. I let it expand, not as a targeted probe, but as a passive, open net, feeling for intent and energy not from a person, but from the world itself.
The change was instantaneous and profound.
The chaotic noise didn't vanish, but it began to resolve. My Soul Resonance filtered through the surface-level static, seeking the deeper currents beneath. It was like adjusting the focus on a lens. The sharp, erratic spikes of the academy's enchantments became a distinct layer. The vibrant, chaotic energy of life from the gardens became another. And beneath it all, so deep and faint I could barely perceive it, was something else.
A rhythm. A slow, profound, and immeasurably powerful pulse. Thump... thump... thump. It was like hearing the heartbeat of a sleeping giant. The Ley Veins. The lifeblood of the world, flowing through the very rock of this floating island. It was the song the book spoke of.
I had found it. Awe washed over me, quieting the storm in my mind. Now for the hard part.
I aligned my breathing with the pulse. It was far slower than a human heartbeat, a deep, resonant cycle of swelling and receding energy. I inhaled as the pulse swelled, picturing the world's mana gathering around me. I exhaled as it receded, releasing my own tension and anxiety into the world.
For minutes that stretched into an eternity, nothing happened. My own heart raced with anticipation, throwing my rhythm off. My lungs burned from the unnaturally slow pace. It felt like I was trying to pat my head and rub my stomach while solving a math problem. But I persisted, chasing that elusive moment of harmony.
And then, it happened.
For the space of a single, perfect breath, everything aligned. My inhale, my heartbeat, my soul, and the pulse of the world—they all locked into a single, harmonious rhythm.
The sensation was unlike anything I had ever experienced. A current of energy, unimaginably pure and cool, was drawn into my body with my breath. It wasn't a violent rush, but a gentle, cleansing stream that flowed through me, bypassing the need for crude channeling. It spiraled directly into my Mana Core in the center of my chest.
I felt the murky, sluggish energy of the original Lucian's neglected Core recoil as this pure mana entered it. The tiny droplet of world-mana was like a purifier, cleansing a small spot in the pool of stagnant energy. The connection broke on my next exhale, the harmony lost. The sudden absence left me gasping, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I slumped forward, my body drenched in sweat, every muscle aching from the mental and physical strain. I was more exhausted than I'd been after hours of physical labor at my old part-time job.
But as I knelt there on the floor, catching my breath, a genuine, unforced smile spread across my face. It was the first real smile I'd had since waking up in this world.
One breath. One tiny drop of purified mana. It was a pitifully small gain. But it wasn't given to me. I hadn't found it by luck or by following a script. I had earned it. I had found a path, carved out by my own analysis and my own unique ability. It was a steep, arduous path, but it was mine.
A sharp knock on the door shattered the peaceful aftermath.
Knock. Knock.
My smile vanished. I scrambled to my feet, my body instantly tensing. The mask of Lucian Greyfall slid back into place.
"A message for Lord Greyfall," a crisp voice announced from the other side. "Lord Vrael requests your presence in the west courtyard for evening swordsmanship practice."
I took a deep breath, pushing down the exhilaration from my training and pulling up the familiar veil of subservient arrogance. My secret moment was over. The demands of my role, of the story, were calling.
"Tell him I will be there shortly," I called out, my voice the cool, haughty tone everyone expected.
The footsteps receded. I stood in the center of my room, the duality of my new life starkly clear. In here, in secret, I was Aiden, painstakingly forging a new foundation. Out there, I was Lucian, the villain's shadow, walking a path laid with traps and ending in a pre-written grave.
I straightened my uniform, smoothed my silver hair, and walked towards the door. The single drop of pure mana in my Core felt like a hidden star, a secret source of light in the encroaching darkness. It was small, but it was a start. And it was all I had.