Ivor's eyes snapped open, his breathing quick and shallow as he looked around.
Morning light filtered through the branches. He was still on the same tree, on the same branch where he had fallen asleep.
For a moment, he thought it had all been a nightmare.
Then the pressure behind his eyes made itself known.
It was worse than before.
Not sharp like the pain he had felt in the darkness, but constant, heavy and throbbing, as if something inside his skull was pressing outward. He brought a hand to his face and exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself.
It didn't help.
Ivor swallowed.
Continuing like this wouldn't be possible for long.
He opened his bag and took a long drink of water before tearing open one of the tins. He ate quickly, not caring about taste. He was injured, exhausted, and light-headed.
When he finished, he reached into the bag again.
A mana crystal rested in his palm.
From what he had read, he had two choices. He could begin compressing the mana inside his core, increasing its density slowly over time. Or he could push that mana into a dormant node and attempt attunement.
His core was already full.
He remembered the children talking about how many nodes they had attuned.
Ivor closed his eyes and steadied his breathing.
He decided to attempt attuning one node.
He shifted into a seated position on the branch, back against the trunk. Slowly, he turned his awareness inward. He felt the mana inside his core, dense but still crude. He chose one node along his right arm and focused on it.
Then he pushed.
Mana flowed out of the core in a steady stream, moving through the circuit toward the chosen node. The sensation was strange—warm at first, then heavy. The node resisted, as if it were an empty vessel refusing to be filled too quickly.
He continued pushing.
Mana drained from the core gradually. He did not rush it. When nearly half of the mana inside his core had been emptied into that single node, he stopped.
The node had not fully changed yet, but it felt different. Less empty. Slightly aware.
Ivor opened his eyes. His core felt light, almost hollow, and the pressure behind his eyes throbbed in response. He looked at the crystal in his hand and made a decision.
He hold it tightly between his fingers and began absorbing the mana inside. It flowed into him quickly, raw and slightly rough, but he controlled it as best he could. The emptiness inside his core filled again, not completely, but enough.
As the mana settled, he noticed something. The pressure behind his eyes had dulled. Even the soreness in his limbs felt less sharp.
He exhaled slowly.
Without another word, he strapped the bag securely to a higher branch and concealed it between thick leaves. He kept only the metal sword.
Then, gripping the trunk carefully, he began climbing down from the tree. It took him somewhere between 2 to 3 hours to finish both observing the crystal and progressing toward attunement.
When his feet touched the forest floor, he paused.
For a moment, he tried to recall what he had intended to do before sleeping.
"Healing plants."
That had been the plan.
But as his fingers tightened around the grip of the metal sword, he realized his thoughts had shifted. The image that came to him wasn't leaves or roots. It was the faint glow of mana crystals scattered across dirt.
His pulse quickened slightly.
He told himself it was practical. Crystals meant mana. Mana meant strength. Strength meant survival.
Yet when he replayed the fight in his mind, it wasn't the crystal that lingered.
It was the moment before impact. The narrowing of the world. The clarity.
The thrill.
His grip on the sword tightened unconsciously.
Maybe hunting crystals would lead him to healing plants anyway. The forest wasn't small. If he moved enough, he would find both.
He adjusted the cloth over the lower half of his face and turned.
This time, he walked in the opposite direction from where he had left the injured boys.
His steps were light despite the ache in his body, senses stretching outward as he moved deeper into the trees.
As he walked, he did not let his mind wander too far.
Instead, he focused inward.
He reached toward his core and pulled at the mana resting there. It responded slowly, like warm liquid shifting inside his chest. He guided a thin stream of it down his arm and toward his palm while still keeping his senses stretched across the forest.
The first few steps were easy.
A faint layer of mana coated his skin, barely visible even to him, like heat shimmering above stone.
Then a branch snapped somewhere to his right. His focus flickered. The mana slipped. It unraveled instantly and rushed back toward his core, leaving his palm empty.
He frowned beneath the cloth mask and continued walking.
Again.
This time he moved the mana slower, not forcing it. He kept his breathing steady and listened to the rhythm of his own footsteps. Mana flowed into his palm and spread thin across his knuckles.
He held it for three steps.
Five.
Ten.
Then he tried listening harder, pushing his hearing farther into the trees while maintaining the coating.
The mana wavered.
It thinned, unstable.
He clenched his jaw and tried to stabilize it.
It dispersed.
He exhaled softly.
So that was the problem. It was not just about moving mana. It was about holding intent while the body moved and the senses stayed alert.
He tried again as he walked.
Again.
And again.
Each attempt lasted a little longer than the last.
After some time, another thought surfaced.
This was the first time he had held a proper metal sword.
He slowed and slipped behind a thick tree trunk. After listening carefully for any movement, he drew the blade out of its sheath.
The metal caught faint morning light between the leaves.