Chapter 3: The Awakening
The storm had passed, but the air in the Valen estate still thrummed with unspent energy. Ethan stood motionless in the courtyard, his bare feet pressing into the dew-slick grass as dawn painted the eastern sky in hues of gold and crimson. For nineteen years, he had moved through these halls like a ghost—present but unseen, existing but unnoticed. Now, everything had changed.
A strange warmth pulsed through his veins, something ancient and hungry stirring beneath his skin. The morning breeze carried whispers of mana—he could feel it now, not as ordinary cultivators did, but as a predator senses prey. The energy recoiled from his presence, as if afraid of what slumbered within his bones.
His energy—nameless, boundless, his—had finally awakened.
---
The grandfather clock in the west wing chimed thrice when Ethan slipped from his chambers. Moonlight streamed through the arched windows, painting silver trails across the worn stone floors as he made his way to the abandoned training hall. The air smelled of dust and old leather, of memories best forgotten.
Ethan ran his fingers along the cracked wooden dummies, their straw stuffing leaking like viscera from combat wounds decades old. This place had been grand once, when the Valen name still commanded respect. Now it served only as storage for broken furniture and broken dreams.
He settled onto the cold floor, cross-legged before a shaft of moonlight that illuminated the stolen manual in his lap—"Rippling Stream," the most basic cultivation text even the guards mocked. The pages smelled of mildew and neglect, the ink faded from years of disuse.
Closing his eyes, Ethan began the breathing exercises. At first, nothing happened. Then—
A spark. A pull. A hunger.
The ambient mana didn't simply flow into him—it was devoured. His cells absorbed the energy with terrifying efficiency, refining it through some alchemy his stolen manual couldn't begin to explain. The process burned like swallowing molten lead, yet left him craving more.
By the time the first birds began their morning songs, his veins hummed with power. Ethan opened eyes that now gleamed faintly in the dark.
Mana Condensation Realm—Level 2.
A bitter smile touched his lips. Darius had taken six months to reach this stage, with private tutors and expensive elixirs. Ethan had done it in one night with scraps and stolen knowledge.
---
--TRAINING YARD--
The training yard buzzed with activity when Ethan arrived the next morning. Seris and Darius moved through their sparring forms with the grace of those born to privilege, their practice blades flashing in the morning light. The dozen guards and servants watching immediately fell silent when Ethan stepped into view.
Seris noticed him first. Her nose wrinkled as if smelling something foul. "Well, well," she sneered, twirling her jeweled dagger. "The defect finally decided to grace us with his presence."
Ethan said nothing, his gaze sweeping the weapon racks before selecting a plain wooden sword. The grip felt alien in his hands—he'd never been permitted to train with the others.
Darius barked a laugh that echoed across the courtyard. "What's this? You think you can actually fight now?" He flourished his blade, the steel catching the light. "This isn't one of your books, brother."
The guards chuckled. Even the kitchen maids hanging laundry paused to watch the spectacle.
"Yes." The single word carried more weight than Ethan intended. The courtyard fell eerily silent.
Darius's smile twisted into something cruel. He tossed aside his practice sword and rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms corded with muscle from years of training. "Let's see how long you last."
He moved with the speed of a Level 4 cultivator, his fist blurring toward Ethan's face. But Ethan saw it coming—saw the minute tension in Darius's shoulders before he moved, the slight shift of weight that telegraphed his attack.
Time seemed to slow.
Ethan's body reacted before his mind could process—his wooden sword snapping up to intercept Darius's wrist with a sickening crack. Before the older boy could scream, Ethan pivoted, driving his elbow into exposed ribs. The air left Darius's lungs in a whoosh as he crumpled to the dirt like a sack of grain.
Silence descended upon the training yard. Seris's jeweled dagger slipped from numb fingers, its clatter against the flagstones shockingly loud. The watching guards stood frozen, their expressions caught between awe and terror.
"H-how...?" Seris whispered, her face pale.
Ethan flexed his fingers. He'd barely tapped into that well of power inside him. Yet Darius—two levels above him, trained since childhood—lay broken in the dirt.
---
### Dinner time###
The great hall smelled of roasted pheasant and simmering tension when Ethan arrived for the evening meal. The massive oak table could seat thirty, though only six places were set tonight. Crystal goblets caught the firelight, casting prismatic shadows across the family's faces.
Lord Arion Valen sat at the head of the table, his fingers steepled before him as he studied Ethan with an unreadable expression. Darius occupied the seat of honor at his right hand, his bandaged wrist resting conspicuously on the tablecloth. The normally boisterous youth hadn't touched his wine.
Lady Elira, Ethan's adoptive mother, clutched her goblet so tightly her knuckles whitened. The ruby pendant at her throat—a family heirloom meant for her firstborn—caught the light as she turned away from Ethan's gaze.
Across the table, Lady Maerin watched Ethan with the cold calculation of a hawk eyeing prey. Her newly polished nails tapped a slow rhythm against the table—one-two-three, one-two-three—the sound like a countdown to some unseen disaster.
"Ethan." Arion's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "Explain yourself."
The servants hovering by the doorway stilled their breathing. Even the fire in the hearth seemed to dim.
Ethan met his father's gaze evenly. "I've broken through."
"To what?" The words were deceptively soft.
"Mana Condensation. Level Two."
A murmur rippled through the hall. The steward dropped a serving spoon with a clatter. Lady Elira's breath hitched, her eyes darting to Darius's injured wrist.
Darius slammed his good hand on the table, making the silverware jump. "Lies! You've never cultivated a day in your life!"
Ethan didn't react. He didn't need to.
Lady Elira forced a laugh that rang hollow in the tense air. "Perhaps... it was luck?" Her fingers fluttered to her pendant. "Darius might have been tired from—"
"Enough." Arion's voice cracked like a whip. His jaw worked silently for a moment before he continued in a more measured tone. "We will have the physician examine Darius. Ethan—" His gaze lingered on the son he'd never truly seen until now. "You will demonstrate your cultivation tomorrow before the court mage."
Lady Maerin's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "How... fortunate that our defective son has found his talent." Her nails tapped faster against the table.
The way she said it made it sound like a threat.
---
The moon had reached its zenith when Lady Elira summoned her most trusted guard to her private chambers. The scent of lavender and fear hung heavy in the air as she paced before the crackling fire.
"The boy is a threat," she whispered, her silk nightgown whispering against her ankles. "If he grows stronger, what becomes of Darius? Of Seris?" Her fingers twisted the ruby pendant at her throat—the one that should have gone to her firstborn son.
The guard—a grizzled veteran with scars from border skirmishes—hesitated. "My lady, he is still your—"
"He is no son of mine!" The words came out in a hiss. The pendant's chain bit into her fingers. "That thing Arion dragged from the woods... it's unnatural." Her eyes gleamed in the firelight. "I want it gone. Permanently."
Meanwhile, in the west wing, Lady Maerin penned a letter with careful, deliberate strokes. The ink smelled of nightshade and deceit as it flowed across the parchment.
"Cousin," she wrote to the magistrate in the capital, "the mongrel has finally shown his teeth. Arrange a theft in the estate vaults—let the blame fall where it may." She sanded the ink with a smile. "Perhaps a missing heirloom... say, Elira's ruby pendant?"
Her laughter was soft as she sealed the letter with the Valen crest. Humiliation would break the boy faster than any blade.
---
### OUTSIDE###
The forest beyond the estate walls hummed with dangerous life. Ethan moved through the undergrowth like a shadow, his borrowed dagger cold in his hand. Moonlight filtered through the canopy, painting the world in shades of silver and obsidian.
He found his first prey near a lightning-blasted oak—a Frostfang Wolf, its fur glistening with hoarfrost, eyes like chips of glacial ice. The beast stood nearly to his chest, its breath steaming in the night air. Level 3 Mana Condensation equivalent.
The fight was brutal. Claws raked his shoulder, painting the forest floor with crimson. Pain flared white-hot—then faded as quickly as it came. His body thrummed with that strange energy, knitting flesh and bone with terrifying efficiency.
By the time he drove his dagger into the beast's skull, he could already feel himself changing, adapting. The wolf's dying howl echoed through the trees as Ethan ripped out its core—a pulsing blue stone that cast eerie shadows across his face.
Raw energy flooded his veins when he crushed the core in his palm, burning like liquid fire. His body devoured it greedily. The power surged through him, settling deep in his marrow.
Halfway through Level 2 now. The realization brought a feral grin to his face.
This was only the beginning.
---
Back in his sparse chambers, Ethan unfolded a notice he had stolen on his way back with careful fingers. The parchment crackled with promise:
**Royal Academy Annual Recruitment**
*Requirements:*
- Minimum Level 4 Mana Condensation
- Ages 18-20
- Noble lineage or Instructor's Recommendation
His fingers traced the embossed seal—a phoenix rising from flames, symbol of the Academy. Two paths stretched before him:
The noble's path—an emblem from his house, permission from his father. Impossible.
The commoner's path—a recommendation earned through the provincial tournaments. Dangerous, but attainable.Thinking this, he decided to forego sleep this night and go back out to continue hunting.
Ethan's gaze drifted to the window, where torchlight still burned in Darius's chambers. His half-brother's laughter drifted on the night breeze, followed by Seris's sharp retort. They would take the noble's path to glory, while he—
A shadow passed across the moon. Somewhere in the forest, a beast howled. Ethan smiled.
He would take everything.