"The origin of magic dates back to the beginning of the Second Age," Alaric's voice rang out calm and clear, even as the air around him trembled with pulses of raw magical energy. "At that time, Igathi—the First Mage—was nothing more than an ordinary Elf. She lived in the eastern lands of the continent Arias, in the region known as Lenora."
Across from him, Adrian launched a burst of Wind Magic. The spell whirled through the air, forming a sharp spiral that nearly grazed Alaric's temple.
"What!?" Adrian gasped. His attack had almost hit—but still missed.
Alaric didn't flinch. His eyes remained closed as he continued speaking in a serene tone, as though this grassy field were nothing more than a lecture hall.
"Igathi had grown weary of her long Elven life. She could have chosen to become a knight of the Thishara Kingdom, to die honorably on the battlefield. But that wasn't what she desired…"
Adrian didn't let up. He sprinted around Alaric, trying to strike from a blind spot. He conjured more wind orbs, hurling them in rapid succession. Yet Alaric only shifted slightly, dodging each attack with minimal movement—like the wind brushing against him was nothing more than a spring breeze.
"One night, Igathi gazed up at the starlit sky. And then, for reasons unknown, she spoke a single sentence—a wish born from the deepest longing of the mortal soul: 'What if I could control and create the stars with my own hands?'"
His voice was still calm, but there was a weight behind it now—something ancient, something real.
"That wish… was heard by one of the Eight Great Titans: the Lady of Mysticism."
Adrian paused, drawing in a sharp breath. He lowered himself slightly, focusing all his mana into his palms. Wind swirled violently, forming a massive vortex of energy. With a shout, he released it.
Alaric opened his eyes.
Raising one hand, he summoned a magical shield. It absorbed the powerful gust like dry sand drinking in water.
"The Lady of Mysticism was intrigued," Alaric went on, unshaken. "And she granted Igathi's wish. Like a blind creature seeing light for the first time, Igathi received the gift of magic… with awe and reverence."
Alaric absorbed the residual wind energy from Adrian's spell. In the blink of an eye, he conjured dozens of dark violet spears—each one crackling with latent power, hovering in the air like thunderclouds before a storm.
And then—they struck.
Adrian's eyes widened. He braced himself, shutting his eyes tight—expecting pain, or worse.
But nothing happened.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
The spears had stopped.
Frozen in place, hovering mere inches from his body—silent, unmoving, like forgotten statues of death.
"Igathi even created a language," Alaric said, lowering his hand. The spears dissolved into sparks of violet energy. "A language that would become the foundation for all incantations and magical rituals. We now call it: Ancient Igathi."
Adrian stared at him, chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.
He couldn't speak.
Adrian collapsed onto the ground. His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps. His chest heaved, his muscles trembled, and his vision blurred. He was completely out of mana.
"Damn…" he muttered, staring up at the pale blue sky. "Telling me to hit you with Wind Magic… that's impossible. You're not even human, are you?" His voice was half complaint, half reluctant admiration.
Alaric let out a quiet chuckle. His tone was light, but there was still a weight behind it. "I'll take that as a compliment." He walked toward Adrian at a slow, deliberate pace. "The truth is… I knew from the start you wouldn't land a hit. But that wasn't the point of this training."
Adrian forced himself to sit up, glaring at him. "What?! So this whole thing was rigged from the start? You made me push myself to the brink, knowing I'd fail?"
"Relax," Alaric replied, folding his arms. "This wasn't about winning. I wanted to see how you handle mana—how your body responds under pressure."
Adrian narrowed his eyes. "And… what's the verdict?"
Alaric shrugged. "Not great."
"Not great?" Adrian echoed, clearly offended. "That bad?"
"Yeah," Alaric said bluntly. "But that's to be expected. You only awakened your Mana Core a few weeks ago—and at an age that's… let's just say, far from ideal."
Adrian looked down at his trembling hand. "So… my mana control is really that awful?"
"It is," Alaric answered, this time more serious. "First, you're wasteful. You pour mana out like a leaking bucket—no control, no reserve. Second, you rely entirely on external magic. You're not reinforcing your body with Aura. That's why when you run out of mana, your strength collapses with it. And that, Adrian, is dangerous."
"So… I'm just relying on external power?" Adrian murmured, trying to piece it together.
"Exactly. Now listen closely." Alaric took a seat on a nearby stone, his tone calm but firm. "Mana is a natural energy. It exists all around us—in the air, the ground, the sky. Your body, through the Mana Core, absorbs it and refines it into Magical Energy."
Adrian furrowed his brow, thinking hard. "I thought Mana was Magical Energy."
"That's a common beginner mistake." Alaric nodded. "But no. Mana is raw—think of it as the breath of the planet. Magical Energy is processed mana, shaped by the body. And that is what forms the basis for casting spells."
Adrian stared blankly for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "Alright… I'm following."
"Mana control is divided into two categories: internal and external. You'll need to master both."
"Internal and external?" Adrian repeated. "You mean, from inside the body… and outside?"
"Partially right," Alaric said. "Internal control means using mana within your body—or within objects, like weapons. This is called Aura. External control is when you draw mana, convert it into magical energy, and use it for spells."
Adrian suddenly remembered the attack by the Nox Crow Cult… how Richard, the Crow of Wrath, unleashed a massive explosion with Dark Magic. Adrian had been buried in debris—and he'd instinctively used Aura to push it off.
That had been internal mana control.
He rubbed his face. It was starting to make sense. "I've been so focused on external magic… I forgot this body can fight from the inside out too."
"Exactly." Alaric's gaze sharpened. "If you keep relying solely on spellcasting, you'll burn out before your enemy even falls. Remember—without mana, you can't cast a single spell. But with Aura… you can still fight."
Adrian nodded slowly. His eyes returned to his hand. For the first time he truly felt like a beginner.
A gentle breeze drifted across the wide open plain, rustling the tall grass like waves in a green sea. Alaric stood still, eyes narrowed, as if sensing something just beyond perception. The silence was thick—too thick.
Slowly, he turned his gaze toward a lone tree standing in the middle of the field. His eyes sharpened.
Movement. Just a flicker.
A young boy—no older than twelve, around Adrian's age—peeked from behind the trunk. His golden-blonde hair shimmered faintly under the sunlight, and his eyes were wide with wonder, like a child witnessing magic for the first time. But when their eyes met, the boy flinched and quickly ducked behind the tree.
Alaric allowed himself a small smile. That gaze… innocent, yet piercing. As if the child knew more than he should.
He turned away, shifting his attention back to Adrian, who still sat on the ground, worn out and breathing heavily.
"Alright," Alaric said, brushing his robe lightly, as though sweeping away dust that wasn't there. "That's enough for today. You can head home."
Adrian looked up, confused. "Huh? You're not coming with me?" He had noticed that Alaric had some business to deal with.
But he knew better than to pry.
"Alright then," he said with a small, tired smile, slowly getting to his feet. His body still ached from exhaustion. "See you at home."
Alaric gave a silent nod.
With that, Adrian turned and began walking away from the field. His steps were slow, but steady.
***
Jerome Welcott was an orphan raised in the quiet village orphanage of Rockville. He never knew the faces of his parents. But there was one person who became the closest thing to family—Sister Nellie. The elderly woman wasn't just a caretaker; she was warmth, compassion, and love wrapped in a faded brown cloak.
His childhood was steeped in loneliness. But as the years passed, new children came. They laughed, cried, and grew together. Bonds were formed—not by blood, but by shared struggles. They weren't just friends; they were family.
Among them, the one closest to Jerome wasn't even from the orphanage—Adrian Nightwork. Their first meeting happened by the banks of the Sanbrough River, where Jerome found a boy sitting alone, crying quietly. Adrian had just lost his mother to a strange illness.
"I'm Jerome," he had said.
Adrian wiped his tears and answered, "I'm Adrian."
From that day forward, they were inseparable. They grew up side by side, sharing dreams, fears, and unspoken pain.
When Jerome was nine, he awakened his Mana Core and began learning magic. But Adrian… didn't. No signs of Mana. Yet Adrian never showed jealousy. He always smiled, watching Jerome grow stronger.
That was what made Adrian so irreplaceable to Jerome.
But everything changed that night.
Fire. Screams. Blood. The destruction of Rockville came without warning, brought by the wrath of the Nox Crow Cult. The children Jerome once played with... gone. The home he once knew... reduced to ashes.
He had seen it all.
He felt like a failure. Powerless. Broken. Night after night, his cries echoed from behind closed doors.
"This is my fault! All of it!"
He locked himself away, even from Sister Nellie.
Weeks passed, and somehow, his feet carried him to a field—an old place, where memories of him and Adrian lingered like ghosts. And there, he saw his friend training with a man in a black robe. Jerome's eyes widened.
That man… he wasn't just anyone. The stories were clear. He was the 3rd Archmage—Alaric Nightwork.
And Adrian… was wielding magic.
Jerome clenched his fists. He was very upset because Adrian didn't lose anything at that night and it made him feel like there was injustice here.
He turned to leave. But the next day… he came back. And the next. And the next. Something kept pulling him there. He watched from behind the old tree, silent.
"Adrian's fighting… and I'm still stuck mourning the past. If I stay like this, he'll leave me behind."
One day, just as he peeked out again, Alaric's eyes turned—locking onto his.
Jerome swallowed hard. He saw me?! He ducked in a panic. "Oh goddess—do I run now?!"
But when he peeked again, they were gone.
"It's too late to hide, Jerome." The deep, cold voice came from behind.
Jerome yelped, falling onto his back. "Wha—What the—how did you—?!"
Alaric stood there, arms folded. "I know your name. Adrian spoke of you often. I'm sorry… about what happened to your village. If only that attack could've been prevented…"
Jerome lowered his eyes. "It doesn't matter now. No matter how many say 'I'm sorry,' the kids are still gone. And me… I couldn't do anything."
Alaric's gaze sharpened. "Are you afraid of being left behind by Adrian?"
"What?! Of course not! Why would I be jealous of my own friend?!"
Alaric chuckled softly.
"What's so funny, huh?!"
"If you weren't jealous, you wouldn't be here every day, hiding behind that tree."
Jerome froze. "You… you knew?"
"From the start."
Silence fell.
Then Alaric spoke again, "Come here at four-thirty. After Adrian leaves."
Jerome frowned. "Why?"
"To train. If you still care about what you've lost… this is your chance."
Jerome said nothing. But the next day, at exactly 4:30, he came.
And from that day forward, Alaric began training Jerome in secret—rekindling the fire that once flickered out.
Adrian never knew.
Their training became a secret… shared by only two.
***
The next morning, a clear sky stretched wide above the emerald fields near the village of Rockville. A gentle breeze swept through, rustling the grass and tugging at the clothes of the two figures standing face to face in the middle of the open field—Adrian Nightwork and Alaric Nightwork.
Adrian stood firm, his eyes sharp with determination. Alaric, as always, looked relaxed, as if the duel about to unfold was nothing more than a morning routine.
Alaric raised an eyebrow. "Do you remember what I told you yesterday about Mana control and the use of Magical Energy?"
Adrian nodded quickly. "Yes. Don't over-rely on magic—manage my Magical Energy efficiently. That's it, right?"
Alaric smirked. "Good. No need to drag this out—you know what to do. Just like yesterday—attack me with everything you've got. And this time, make sure you touch me. Ready?"
Adrian slid into a stance, a small smile curling on his lips—not a naive one, but ambitious. "I've been ready."
In a blink, Adrian channeled Mana into his legs and launched forward like an arrow loosed from a bow.
"With unseen step, I ride the breeze—
Let silence cut where I so please.
Wind Magic!"
The incantation flowed from his lips like poetry. A swirling vortex of wind formed in his palm, growing rapidly as he hurled it toward Alaric.
ZRAKK!
A transparent Magical Shield blocked the attack, sending gales sweeping outward in every direction.
Adrian retreated, then leapt into the air, conjuring several spears of wind and throwing them in rapid succession.
Alaric didn't flinch. He read their trajectories in an instant and moved with inhuman grace, dodging them all. With a single stomp—
CRACK!
Three massive boulders burst from the earth and hurled themselves toward Adrian.
"Earth Magic—without an incantation?!" Adrian's eyes widened. But there was no time to marvel—he twisted midair, landing with acrobatic ease, narrowly dodging the stones before conjuring two more spears of wind.
He threw one straight at Alaric.
BRASH!
Alaric deflected it with his white staff, Moonlight, its blue crystal tip gleaming.
But in the moment of impact, Adrian vanished.
And then—
"Behind you!"
The second wind spear shot toward Alaric's back.
BOOM!
Blocked again by his Magical Shield.
But Adrian grinned. "Got you."
The remnants of the first wind spear suddenly reformed—compressed by residual mana—into three new spears midair. Alaric spun his staff, forming a full-circle barrier just in time to intercept them.
"My voice is storm, my heart the strike—
Let thunder roar where fear shall spike.
Thunder Magic!"
Electricity crackled around Adrian. His body surged with speed, movements now a blur. He slammed lightning into the ground, spreading it like roots in every direction.
Alaric leapt into the air to avoid it.
And just as he rose—
"You really like attacking my back, don't you?" Alaric muttered.
Adrian was already behind him, conjuring a bolt of lightning and hurling it at Alaric's blind spot. The Magical Shield flared once more—barely holding.
Adrian flashed back to the ground in an instant and now stood directly in front of him.
"With unseen step, I ride the breeze…
Let silence cut where I so please.
Wind Magic!"
Again, the wind vortex formed, but this time it was denser, wilder. He held it in his palm, compressing the energy until it roared, whipping up dirt and shaking the grass around them.
Alaric raised his staff, summoning another shield. "Show me, then."
"Now!"
Adrian released the vortex.
WHOOSH!
The wind exploded against the magical barrier. Alaric gripped his staff tightly, eyes narrowing.
And—CRACK!
A fracture split the shield.
"No way… How much Magical Energy did he pour into that?" Alaric whispered.
CRACK!
The shield shattered.
The whirlwind engulfed them both in a swirling storm of dust and magic. Adrian held his breath, eyes scanning.
"Did I do it...? Did I actually hit him?"
The dust began to settle.
And standing calmly amidst the fading storm… was Alaric. Unharmed—but a small hole had been torn through his black cloak.
"Adrian," he said softly. "You touched me."
Adrian's eyes widened. "I… I really did it?"
Alaric chuckled. "Maybe I'm getting old… or maybe, you're just extraordinary. For a twelve-year-old to nearly break through an Archmage-class shield…"
Adrian looked down at his trembling hands, stunned by what he had done. Alaric called his name again, more gently.
"Good work. With this, you've passed one of the trials for entering Glesonia Academy."
Adrian looked up and smiled.
"Yes, Grandpa."