It started with a tingling sensation.
Jermal had trained for mere minutes, yet something inside him was already beginning to click.
First step: close your eyes.
He had learned quickly that concentration was everything when it came to casting spells. So, with his eyes shut and his mind still, Jermal allowed himself to feel. The world around him sharpened; every sound, every spark of energy became painfully clear.
Second step: reach out to the chosen element.
He still didn't understand where the elements came from. Were they hidden in the air? A gift from God? Or did the energy simply form from nothing?
It didn't matter. Not now.
What mattered was what came next.
Darkness.
The dark element entered his body: his veins, reaching his blood and cells. There, it mixed with his own pure mana.
Final step: Channel the mana. Basically, build a road inside his body for the mana to follow, usually toward his hands.
Jermal opened his eyes, determination flashing in his pupils. His hands glowed with an ominous black light that seemed to swallow the sunlight, casting faint shadows across the firelit forest.
And then, with utmost precision, Jermal's hands rose to the sky simultaneously, like an orchestra conductor guiding the grand finale.
For a moment, silence. Until…
…the world bent.
A pulse of pressure rippled through the air as shadows rushed forward, thick and heavy like liquid night. They erupted from the ground, swirling violently before hardening into a colossal wall of darkness.
The inferno met it head-on. Flames licked and clawed, but instead of spreading, they dimmed, their light swallowed by the black barrier. The roaring blaze was muffled, replaced by the low hum of mana vibrating through the air.
Like a black hole, swallowing everything in its radius. For a moment, night had descended on the tribe, like an eclipse at noon.
Jermal stood still, arms trembling, sweat rolling down his forehead. His breathing grew ragged, but he didn't falter. The wall held.
For the first time since the fire began, the tribe had a moment to breathe.
Behind him, whispers spread like wildfire.
"Did you see that?"
"He stopped the flames…"
"He commanded the darkness."
Jermal's knees buckled. The glow faded from his hands as exhaustion took over. But even as his vision blurred, one thought echoed in his mind:
This power… it's not just divine.
Despite the overwhelming urge to collapse, Jermal forced himself to stand. His senses sharpened, honed to a razor's edge. He had to see this through to the end.
Control was everything. One moment of weakness, one slip into unconsciousness, and it would mean their doom.
His knees locked. His spine stiffened. He was like a soldier awaiting orders, every fiber of his body coiled and ready.
He would become a wall within a wall, unyielding, immovable, still as stone, pouring every ounce of focus into maintaining their shadowy fortress.
The tribesmen were in awe once again. However, this time, a spark of something was lit in their hearts.
Desire. Envy. Hope of being granted this strength that could only be described as incredible.
Despite their newfound emotions, they mostly all dropped to the floor like flies. They were all exhausted.
Some kids cried. Especially the younger ones. But the adults didn't. They didn't complain. They all stared at the First.
Totat m, however, knew that their refuge would be short lived. He didn't have the first clue about how mana worked, but he could tell Jermal's reserves were low.
But even before that, before being burned to a crisp, they would suffocate from lack of oxygen.
They were essentially in a cave, with fire all around them. The smoke was bound to kill them before its flashier counterpart got to them.
Yet Totat was not afraid. In this fleeting moment of reprieve, he chose to pray, in his crude manner.
And he was not alone. Many others silently reached out, their thoughts directed at the Hollow Eye God, hoping their words might reach Him.
Little did they know, they did.
High above, Exile sat upon his throne, floating in the sky, his gaze piercing both land and mind. Thoughts poured into him, alien yet familiar, not his own.
"What's this?" he muttered, addressing no one in particular.
"Oh, Hollow Eye, I beg of you, help us reach new land."
"God, grant us strength."
"I implore you, help us survive!"
It seemed that prayers now allowed him to read the minds of his followers. It made sense, but Exile couldn't help but wonder why he had been deaf to their pleas the first time, back in the cave.
"Must require some special condition to activate… perhaps despair?"
For now, he set the question aside. His attention turned to the more immediate matter: analyzing the situation the group found themselves in.
Exile was thoroughly pleased with Jermal. His aptitude for controlling mana was nothing short of phenomenal.
Scratching at his beak, Exile considered his plans for the rest of the tribe.
It was safe to assume that the odds of another being like Jermal manifesting within their small group of thirty were next to none. With that in mind, his approach had to be careful. Mana, their driving force, was not something just anyone could attain.
Jermal had endured the grueling challenge of crossing the canyon, barely surviving. And yet he was already the strongest in the tribe. If even he had struggled, what hope did the others have?
No. Their population was far too small to risk lives in the Challenge. Exile would wait. Wait until the tribe grew in number, until their faith solidified. Only then would the gamble be worth the risk.
For now, the main priorities were clear: find suitable land, seek out other small tribes to merge with, establish a city, and begin colonization. If another "God" appeared before they were ready, who could predict the disaster that might follow?
Exile considered a moderately sized island near the continent's coast: large enough for development, yet distant enough to ensure safety. It reminded him faintly of England, back on Earth.
"Earth…" he muttered, his expression sour, though it was soon overtaken by the deeper currents of grief and anger.
That's right: Exile, formerly Luca, had lived as an Earthling. He had died in the year 2157, at least by Earth's reckoning. Who knew what year it was now, out here?
Since "coming back to life," he had rarely dwelled on his past. But now, the layers that had long hidden his memories began to peel away, revealing them in sharp, vivid detail.