"What?"
"Is possible for me to be like them?" Icariel asked the voice in his head.
"Yes.It wasn't possible until now only because you never asked for it," the voice replied.
Icariel widened his eyes.
It was true. Back in Mjull, he had always been stronger than most children in the village—but he never cared. Even during hunts, he was safe because Galien, the superhuman, was there. He never felt the need to push himself or leave his comfort zone. Why would he? Monsters didn't appear in Mjull. Food could be hunted with little risk. And whenever danger did come, Galien was nearby.
In a place where nothing threatened his life, even someone obsessed with not dying—like Icariel—had no reason to suffer for strength.
"It makes sense," the boy muttered, curled up inside the cave. Night had fallen, and the silence around him felt endless.
Then a realization hit.
"Hey," he said aloud, "you said it's possible to become a mage, a superhuman, or a swordmaster."
"Yes," the voice answered. "I said that."
"But how?" Icariel asked. "I could understand if you said you could help me to try to become a swordmaster through hellish training—but how can I become the other two? I'm sixteen. The age of awakening for superhumans is fourteen. And mages are born with vast mana. I barely have any. I've refined what little I had to the best of my ability, that's all."
A pause.
Then the voice said, "Do you know the difference between others and you?"
Icariel waited for the answer.
"You have me."
Icariel widened his eyes even more.
"The fact that you couldn't become one until now was because you never wanted it. Or, like I said... you never asked. Since I can remember—since you were much younger—you only ever asked me to help you survive. That's all. So that's what I've done."
"If you now wish for something more, I can help you with that"
Icariel stared into the dark of the cave. "I'm really curious... who are you?"
A deep silence followed.
"Sometimes you talk like a fixed thing. Other times, you talk like... a person. These days, you're speaking more than ever."
"Because you needed more advice now than before."
"Yeah… yeah, that's true," Icariel admitted.
He let out a breath. "So how do I become one? Can you tell me already?"
"Sleep tonight," the voice said. "You need rest. We'll begin tomorrow."
Icariel shifted, lying down on the cold stone floor of the cave. It was hard, uncomfortable—but his eyes began to close.
The next morning came.
The wind whispered through the trees, and rays of sunlight filtered through the thick forest canopy, gently nudging Icariel awake. He stepped out of the cave where he'd slept for the night, surrounded by endless woods. He stretched his back and arms, joints popping slightly as he rolled his neck.
"I'm ready," he said to the voice in his head. "So, what path should I choose?"
A pause.
"Why don't you choose all of them?" the voice asked calmly.
"What? Is that even possible?"
"Like I said… it is."
Icariel blinked. The idea sounded ridiculous—impossible. But at the same time… it made sense. He clenched his fists slightly.
"If one power can be that strong… having all three would give me far more cards to survive."
"That's right," the voice confirmed. "But before anything, you need to truly understand what a mage, a superhuman, and a swordmaster actually are. You only know the beginner scraps—the old books that were passed around in your village."
Icariel admitted. "That's true."
"You see, our world is full of mana and energy. It's everywhere—flowing through the ground, in the trees, even in the air you breathe I guess you have already sensed it. Every breath you take, every exhale, carries mana."
"Then why doesn't everyone become a mage?" Icariel asked, eyes narrowing. "If mana is everywhere, shouldn't everyone be able to absorb it?"
"Because they don't have a strong enough shell to contain it."
That answer shook him.
"It's not that babies are born with incredible mana. That's a myth. Everyone can have incredible reserves of mana. But the real issue is whether the body can handle it."
"Like the stomach of a human," the voice continued. "If you eat too much food—more than you can handle—you vomit. Your body rejects it. It's a built-in defense system. The same goes for mana. When someone with a weak vessel absorbs too much, their body forces it out. That's why most people have only a small amount of usable mana—like you."
"But mages…" the voice lowered, with reverence, "…they're different. Their bodies can handle absurd amounts of mana. Their limits are far beyond what normal people can reach."
Icariel listened, his face serious.
"So, how do I remove that mechanism? How can I get my body to handle all that mana?"
"Simple," the voice answered.
"Suffer."
Icariel's hand trembled.
"I know you hate to suffer. You always have. But humans are adaptable. That's what they do best. They adapt to pain. To pressure. To tragedy. And that's exactly what you're going to do—adapt to the overwhelming mana your body will soon hold. With my guidance, you'll survive it. And once you can wield mana like a mage… we'll move to the next step. Superhuman awakening."
The forest wind blew softly.
"So I'll ask again…" the voice said, steady and firm. "Are you ready to suffer in order to live the life you want?"
There was silence.
Then slowly, a smile crept onto Icariel's face. His eyes didn't shine with naïve excitement. They burned with will.
"Is there a risk I will die from it?" he asked. "From the pain, from the suffering of the training?"
"Don't forget what I told you when you were little," the voice said. "You asked me to help you survive. That was your wish. And as long as I'm here… you won't die. But yes… you will really suffer."
The boy grinned, eyes steady.
"Then let's begin," he said. "Like always… I'm counting on you."
"So first thing," the voice in his head said, cold and composed, "Take the axe. Cut your arm. Just enough to draw with your blood."
Icariel didn't flinch.
He stepped outside the cave. The morning mist clung to the trees like breath held in suspense. He took the axe, turned the blade, and dragged it across his forearm. The sting flared sharp, clean, and hot. Blood welled up instantly, trailing down his arm.
"Now draw a circle. I'll show you how. Focus."
An image flickered into his mind—etched like flame on old parchment.
A perfect circle… and at its center, a sharp, unblinking eye. Angular. Watching.
"You get it?"
"I saw it clearly."
He knelt, swept aside leaves and soil, and began tracing. The blood smeared red into the dirt as he worked, guided by memory and instinct. His cut bled fast, and he had to slash twice more to finish it—his hand shaking, his skin pale.
"Damn… that's three cuts."
"It will be worth it," the voice replied calmly.
Leaves rustled in the trees above, and a bird darted out of sight with a startled cry.
"Now sit. Middle of the circle."
Icariel obeyed, settling into the bloodied soil. The forest air was still. Damp. Cold.
"Close your eyes. Forget the pain. Let nothing exist except mana."
He exhaled slowly. Let his breath melt into the silence.
Then—
Tiny motes. At first, pale and silver. Then, as his awareness deepened, they glowed soft blue—like fireflies floating in moonlit water, drifting in the black void behind his eyelids.
"I see them," he whispered.
"Good. Now inhale. Like you'll never breathe again."
He gasped—sharp and desperate. The mana stirred.
The blue motes swirled, then surged toward him.
They rushed down his throat like a frozen fire. His chest swelled painfully. His ribs creaked. The taste hit him—metallic and electric, like licking cold iron during a lightning storm.
"Hold it," the voice commanded.
Pressure crushed his lungs. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. His head throbbed, and a high, needling sound rang somewhere deep inside him.
"I—I can't. I feel like I'll explode—"
"Endure."
His fingers curled. Nails bit into his palms.
And then he felt it.
A spark.
A crackle beneath the skin—heat and friction, mana trying to reshape his very nerves. His body screamed. Not just pain now—but something else. Raw. Unknown.
His muscles locked. His jaw clenched. Blood trickled from his nose.
"I can't—!"
"Hold."
Every cell in his body felt like it was turning inside out.
And then—
Black.