I did not tell anyone what I felt that night.
I did not have the words for it yet, and even if I did, I was not sure who would listen. Some things felt safer when they stayed inside, unspoken and untested. This was one of them.
When I woke that morning, the pressure in my chest was still there.
It was not pain. It was not discomfort either. It felt like something resting just beneath my breath, quiet but present. I lay still for a while, staring at the ceiling, listening to my own breathing. Each inhale felt measured, as if my body was careful not to draw too deeply.
I sat up slowly.
The room looked the same as always. Bare walls. A narrow window. Faint blue haze drifting near the ceiling. Nothing had changed.
Except me.
I stood and pulled on my clothes, moving carefully. My body felt light, almost too light, like it was waiting for instructions it had not received yet. When I tied my hair back, I noticed my hands were steady. That felt strange. After nights like the one before, I usually woke tense, exhausted.
Today, I felt alert.
Outside, the city was already awake.
People moved through the streets with purpose, their steps confident and practiced. Mana shimmered faintly around them, responding to habit and use. I walked among them, close to the walls, watching without being noticed.
I had always been good at that.
As I passed a group of younger children practicing basic breathing exercises, I slowed my steps. They sat in a circle, eyes closed, hands resting on their knees. Thin strands of blue mana drifted toward them, settling easily into their bodies.
None of them flinched.
I looked away and kept walking.
At the training grounds, the instructor was already there. He glanced at me once, then looked past me as if I were part of the stone.
That was normal.
We lined up, barefoot on cold tiles. I took my place at the edge of the row, where I always stood. From there, it was easier to be forgotten.
"Begin," the instructor said.
I closed my eyes and breathed.
The mana brushed against me, cautious and slow. The pressure followed almost immediately, but it felt different from before. Not stronger. Not weaker.
Aware.
I held my breath for a moment, then let it out slowly. The pressure eased, but the mana did not leave entirely. It lingered, hovering close to my chest, as if waiting.
That had never happened before.
My focus wavered.
The pressure surged briefly, sharp enough to force me to stop. I opened my eyes and stepped back before anyone could notice.
The instructor did not look at me.
The others continued.
I stood there, heart beating a little faster than it should have, and tried to understand what I had just felt. The mana had not settled, but it had not rejected me completely either.
It had hesitated.
That thought stayed with me through the rest of the session.
After training, I did not go home right away. I walked instead, letting the city pull me forward. The lower roads were busy. Beasts moved under watchful eyes, carrying, pulling, enduring.
I stopped near the railing again.
The same beast from the day before was there.
I recognized it by the scar along its shoulder, a jagged line that never quite faded. It worked in silence, muscles moving with practiced strain. When it paused to breathe, no one struck it this time.
I watched until it moved again.
I did not know why my chest tightened when I looked at it.
I only knew it did.
That afternoon, my father did not come home.
I waited longer than usual, sitting near the entrance, listening for his steps. When he finally arrived, his movements were slower, heavier. He did not meet my eyes.
"What happened?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Nothing you need to worry about."
That was not an answer.
Later, as he cleaned his tools in silence, I noticed fresh marks on his hands. Not deep, but angry. Red.
"You should rest," I said.
He nodded, but he did not stop.
That night, I tried again.
I waited until the house was quiet, until the air felt still. I sat on the floor and closed my eyes.
I breathed.
The mana came closer than it ever had before.
It brushed against my chest, warm and unstable. The pressure followed, but it did not overwhelm me immediately. I focused on staying calm, on not forcing it.
Something moved inside me.
It was not mana.
It felt heavier. Deeper. Like a presence shifting in response to being noticed.
My breath caught.
The pressure surged, sharp and sudden. Pain flared behind my ribs, but I did not break focus immediately. I clenched my jaw and tried to endure it.
The sensation changed.
For a moment, I felt something align.
Then it shattered.
The mana scattered violently. The pain forced me forward, hands braced against the floor as my breathing broke into sharp bursts. My vision blurred, and I tasted blood.
When it passed, I stayed there, shaking.
I had never pushed that far before.
I did not know why I had tried.
I lay back on the floor and stared at the ceiling, heart racing. The blue haze above me shifted slowly, indifferent to what had just happened.
I laughed quietly.
It sounded wrong in the empty room.
"This is not how it works," I said to no one.
Mana was control. Discipline. Structure.
What I felt was none of those things.
It felt alive.
Sleep came late, and when it did, it was restless. I dreamed of heat and pressure, of standing between two worlds and belonging to neither. Of something vast watching me with patience rather than hunger.
When I woke, the pressure in my chest was still there.
But now, it felt familiar.
I walked through the city with new awareness. The mana around people felt loud to me now, restless and obedient. Mine felt quiet.
Contained.
At the training grounds, I did not try to absorb mana again. I watched instead.
I noticed how others pulled it in. How they shaped it. How easily it answered them.
I noticed how different that felt from what stirred inside me.
That afternoon, I followed my father again.
At the handling grounds, a beast collapsed.
It did not cry out. It did not resist. It simply fell.
Handlers shouted. Guards moved in.
I stepped forward without thinking.
"Stop," I said.
My voice carried.
The guards looked at me, surprised. One of them frowned.
"Stay back," he said.
I felt it then.
The pressure in my chest shifted, responding to my intent. Not exploding. Not resisting.
Listening.
I stopped myself before it went further.
I stepped back.
The beast was dragged away.
No one looked at me again.
That night, I understood something.
The world had rules.
Mana obeyed those rules.
Whatever was inside me did not.
I did not know what that meant yet. I only knew it was dangerous.
And for the first time, I was afraid not of failing.
I was afraid of succeeding.