Obinai stands amidst the vast, open plains outside the cottage, the wind tugging gently at his clothes. The rolling grass shifts like waves, golden and green blending under the soft morning light. The scent of damp earth lingers in the air, mingling with the crisp, fresh breeze that carries distant hints of pine and wildflowers from the treeline a few paces away.
He stares at the trees beyond, his gaze distant, thoughts swirling sluggishly in his head. Something feels… different. Not just his body—though it still aches in places—but his mind. His head feels heavy, like a dense fog is pressing in, yet beneath it, there's a strange clarity, something stirring beneath the surface of his thoughts, waiting to be noticed.
What is this? It's not pain exactly… but it's something.
Before he can fully grasp the feeling, his attention flickers to Vale, who is rolling up the loose sleeves of his robe, the fabric folding neatly as he adjusts them. There's a subtle elegance to his movements, deliberate and smooth.
Obinai opens his mouth to speak, but before he can form a question, Vale glances at him and cuts in smoothly, "So… which one caught your fancy?"
Obinai blinks, his thoughts scrambling to catch up. "Right—sorry, uh…" He hesitates, trying to pull his thoughts together. C'mon, think. You knew this question was coming.
He shifts his weight slightly, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flickering between the grass and Vale's expectant gaze. "I don't know, really," he admits, then pauses. His brow furrows. "Which one's the strongest?"
Vale laughs, a deep, hearty sound, before shaking his head with amusement. "Ah, a common question." He folds his arms, tilting his head slightly. "But there is no strongest. Not truly. Any of them can overpower the other… depending on the wielder."
Obinai clicks his tongue, rocking on his heels as he thinks. Okay, so no clear winner. But… Ki, maybe? His mind drifts toward the thought of sheer, raw power—enhancing his body, breaking through obstacles, crushing whatever stood in his way. Fighting like those martial artists in old stories… That sounds damn useful.
But then—magic.
His nose scrunches slightly. Magic? It seems… practical, but also like a lot of work. Ki feels more straightforward—punching, moving faster, feeling stronger. Magic, though… he pictures casting fire from his hands, manipulating the elements, bending reality to his will. The thought lingers longer than expected.
His lips part to speak, but something… shifts.
His breath hitches.
A flicker of something not entirely his own glides through his mind like an intrusive whisper. Wait. What was I thinking? His tongue moves before he even registers it.
"Magic." The word leaves his lips smoothly, as if it had always been his first choice.
His eyes widen slightly. Wait… what?
Vale's brow raises slightly as he studies him. Obinai's face twitches, as if trying to shake something off. "I mean—yeah. Magic." He forces a grin, rubbing his temple. "Dunno where that came from… but yeah, definitely magic."
Vale watches him for a moment longer than necessary before exhaling. "Hm. Interesting."
There's a weight behind his words, but he lets it go. Instead, he chuckles lightly. "I'll admit, I thought you'd pick something else. But… I can't complain." He rolls his shoulders, the fabric of his faded green robe shifting as he relaxes slightly. "You did choose the one I'm most well-versed in, after all."
Obinai shrugs. "Guess I made the right call, then."
Vale smirks. "That remains to be seen."
The wind shifts again, ruffling Obinai's hair as he exhales, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He glances up at the sky—endless and open, a stretch of pale blue with drifting clouds. The air feels charged, as if something unseen lingers in the atmosphere.
Vale steps forward, his expression turning serious. "Now," he begins, "in order to access magic, what you need is a Mana Circle . This will allow you to manipulate Essence and convert it into mana."
Obinai squints at him, his expression twisting slightly. "Okay… and how do I get one of those?"
Vale gives a small, knowing smile. "It's a process that requires concentration, patience, and—" his eyes glint, "—a bit of courage. You'll need to learn how to channel and shape the Essence flowing through you, crafting it into a continuous loop. That loop will become your Mana Circle."
Obinai lets out a slow breath. Patience? Courage? That sounds… complicated. His fingers tap against his thigh as he tries to process the explanation.
Before he can respond, Vale lifts a hand, making a casual gesture.
Without warning, a sturdy wooden table materializes between them, complete with two chairs. Plates and silverware glint in the sunlight, and an array of food—freshly baked bread, roasted meat, an assortment of fruit—appears as if summoned from the air itself.
Obinai stares.
His stomach growls...
Vale smirks. "Eat up," he says, motioning for him to take a seat.
Obinai doesn't hesitate. He drops into the chair, snatching a piece of bread off the plate, feeling the warmth still clinging to it. The scent is rich—earthy and slightly sweet, with the crispness of a fresh bake.
Vale sits across from him, pouring himself a cup of dark, fragrant tea. "While you eat, I'll explain the fundamentals of Mana Circles," he says, taking a sip. "What they are, how they work, and what you can expect as you progress from the First Circle to the Ninth."
Obinai leans forward slightly, chewing absently as he listens, his mind already spinning with questions. The warm, rich flavors of roasted meat and lightly spiced rice spread over his tongue, but his focus drifts between bites. He barely registers the food as Vale begins his explanation.
"Mana Circles are essentially the stages of a mage's power," Vale says, his voice steady. "But not their understanding. Each circle represents a deeper grasp of magic, a stronger ability to control and refine mana."
Obinai slows his chewing. Not their understanding? He expected something more straightforward, like a ranking system—first circle, weak. Ninth circle, godlike...
"The First Circle," Vale continues, "is where every beginner starts. It allows you to manipulate very basic magical effects—elemental properties, minor enchantments, simple debuffs." He takes a sip of tea, savoring the warmth before adding, "No matter your affinity, the first circle grants you access to the most fundamental forces of magic."
Obinai swallows, nodding. "Okay," he says between bites. "That makes sense."
But does it? He thinks about it for a second. So, anyone can use elemental magic at the start? That's kinda… wild. He assumed he'd be locked into some kind of affinity...forgetting that humans have the ability to learn all momentarily. Fire, water, whatever—but if even basic enchantments and elemental effects were accessible, then…
His mind shifts, imagining the possibilities.
So I could throw fire, freeze water, and enchant stuff, all at the first stage? That doesn't sound weak at all.
Vale's voice pulls him back from his thoughts.
"The Second Circle expands your control," he continues. "Your spells become stronger, more refined. Power and complexity increase exponentially up to the fourth circle. These levels grant stronger enhancements, greater restoration spells, much higher offensive capabilities, spiritual and concentration magic, and even the ability to analyze and counter spells."
Obinai stops mid-chew. Wait, analyze and counter? Like, just stop magic mid-cast? His eyes flick up to Vale. "You're telling me that by the fourth circle, I could—what? Cancel out another mage's spell before it even happens?"
Vale nods. "With enough skill, yes."
Obinai lets out a muffled groan, slumping slightly in his chair as he shovels another bite of food into his mouth. Damn it… I was really hoping it was just about raw power. His shoulders sag as the realization settles in. Now I gotta outthink people too? He sighs through his nose, chewing slower, his thoughts shifting into reluctant frustration.
So it's not just about who throws the biggest fireball—it's who throws it at the right time, in the right way, with the right counter ready in case someone snuffs it out? His expression twitches slightly. That sounds exhausting.
His fork idly stabs at his rice, thoughts tumbling one after another. _Great. Just great. So I don't just have to be powerful—I gotta be smart, too?
He hates that...
Vale, who had been sipping his tea, raises an eyebrow but says nothing, waiting for him to process.
Obinai scowls at his plate. Now I gotta actually think about strategy and planning, and predicting what my opponent is gonna do? Ugh. He shakes his head, poking at a piece of roasted meat. Why can't it just be about blasting the other guy into the ground? You know—whoever has the biggest explosion wins? That sounds way better.
Vale takes another sip of tea before his expression shifts slightly. "However," he says, "once you pass the fourth circle, you will receive a visitor."
Obinai blinks, lowering his fork slightly. "A… visitor?"
Vale's eyes darken, his voice dropping to something quieter. "Yes. Someone—something—will come to you. It could be a representative from one of the Five Epochs, a god, a demigod, an angel, a demon, an archangel… any of them."
Obinai's pulse quickens. "To do what, exactly?"
"To grant you the choice of Ascension."
Obinai feels a knot form in his stomach as he look forward, his appetite momentarily forgotten.
Ascension?
His fingers tighten around his fork. "And what happens if I… don't take it?"
Vale doesn't answer immediately. He simply looks at him, gaze unreadable.
Obinai swallows, about to press further, but before he can, Vale exhales sharply and waves a hand. "That is something for much, much later," he says, cutting off the conversation before it can spiral. "You need not concern yourself with it yet."
Obinai scowls. "But—"
Vale's brow twitches slightly, the barest flicker of irritation crossing his face.
Obinai immediately clamps his mouth shut, pouting slightly as he stabs his fork into the rice. Fine. Whatever. He can already tell he won't get any more out of him right now.
Vale's expression softens as he moves on. "By the Fifth Circle, a mage can alter physical properties, create seals, and even teleport."
Obinai raises a brow. Teleport? His mind flashes to every book and story where mages blink across battlefields, dodging attacks in an instant. He leans forward, interest rekindled. Now that's more like it.
Vale continues, his voice steady, deliberate. "The Sixth to Eighth Circles are where true mastery begins. Here, you can manipulate time on a small scale, control the weather over vast areas, influence minds subtly, and summon contracted creatures from the Twelve Permitted Realms."
Obinai's grip on his fork tightens. Time? Weather? Mind control? His pulse kicks up again.
"And the Ninth Circle," Vale says, "is the current pinnacle of magical prowess. Only the most dedicated and powerful mages reach it. Here, you can bend reality itself—resurrecting the dead, rewriting the very fabric of the world around you."
Obinai pauses mid-bite, his fork hovering above the plate. He doesn't even register the warm, savory flavors in his mouth anymore. His mind races.
Resurrecting the dead?
He feels his breath hitch slightly. His hands grow cold.
If I—
The thought vanishes as quickly as it appears. He swallows hard, shaking it off.
He forces himself to refocus. "Is there a tenth circle?" he asks, trying to sound casual, but there's a tightness in his voice he can't quite hide.
Vale nods solemnly. "Yes."
Obinai tenses slightly.
"The Tenth Circle," Vale says, his voice carrying a weight that Obinai hasn't heard before, "transcends common magic. It allows for the creation of entire worlds, dimensions, and even the very concepts that define reality. Those who reach it don't just wield magic—they become part of it. They can shape the laws that govern existence itself." He pauses, his expression unreadable. "They can manipulate time—not just perceive or travel through it, but command it."
A shiver runs down Obinai's spine.
That's not power—that's something else entirely.
He stares at Vale, trying to read his face, but the older man simply watches him with quiet patience...
Obinai takes a slow breath.
This is insane.
Obinai stares down at his hands, his fingers twitching slightly as the faint shimmer of Essence clings to them, pulsating like a heartbeat in the air around him. The glow is subtle, almost fragile, yet undeniably present. He flexes his fingers experimentally, watching the way the energy flickers like embers struggling to catch flame.
Something about it unsettles him. What if…?
He swallows, hesitating. Screw it. He lifts his gaze, locking onto Vale, and asks, "Is there… an Eleventh Circle?"
The question hangs in the air between them. For a moment, Vale doesn't respond. Then, slowly, he sets his cup down with an audible clink against the wooden table. The flickering light from the nearby lantern casts deep shadows across his face, making his expression unreadable.
" Yes, there is an Eleventh Circle," Vale says. His eyes settle on Obinai. "It is the pinnacle where life itself can be created or destroyed at will. Reaching the Eleventh Circle means shedding your mortal body and becoming part of the Almighty—a state of being that is everything, nothing, and all things at once. It's a form of existence beyond mortal comprehension… where you cease to be... and instead become a fundamental force of the universe."
Obinai sets his fork down, suddenly uninterested in food.
Creating and destroying life? Becoming something beyond a person?
The idea twists something deep in his gut, a mixture of awe and something darker—fear, maybe. But fear of what? The idea itself? Or the fact that some part of him wonders—just for a second—what would that kind of power feel like?
He exhales slowly. "...And how does anyone even get close to something like that?" His voice comes out lower than he expected, tinged with something between skepticism and reluctant fascination.
Vale picks up his cup again, taking a slow, thoughtful sip before answering. "It starts the same way as every other path—by mastering the lower circles. Each step is a foundation for the next. Power is nothing without understanding. Insight, precision, control… these are what separate those who advance from those who fail." He sets the cup down again. "Many try. Few succeed."
Obinai nods absently, barely aware that he's doing it. His mind is still chewing over everything, still trying to process what this all means. So magic has no real limit? No true peak? It just keeps going… past what can even be comprehend?
That thought alone is… unsettling.
But also kind of thrilling...
His lips press together, then he leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Alright," he says, voice firmer now. "What circle are you aiming to get me to?"
Vale studies him for a moment before answering. "For you, reaching the Third Circle would be ideal."
Obinai tilts his head slightly. "Third? Why just the third?"
"Because it's where real refinement begins," Vale replies.
Obinai huffs, leaning back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. So just three, huh? It almost feels… underwhelming. After everything he just heard—reality warping, controlling time, creating life—the idea of stopping at the Third Circle feels like someone handing him a wooden sword and telling him that's enough.
"...And what does mastering the Third Circle actually do?" he asks, forcing down his mild frustration.
Vale's lips curl into a faint smile, as if he expected that reaction. "The Third Circle is where the raw fundamentals of magic evolve into something more complex. It's where control and refinement become paramount. At this level, you won't just conjure fire—you'll shape it. You won't just summon wind—you'll wield it with intent."
Obinai's fingers drum against the table as he listens.
"You could create pillars of fire that only burn your enemies," Vale continues, gesturing slightly. "Or shape water into animated forms that act independently. The spells stop being simple acts of power and instead become extensions of your will. At this point, magic is no longer just energy—it's a language. And the better you learn to speak it, the more powerful you become."
Obinai's lips part slightly, then press into a firm line. That actually sounds… He chews the inside of his cheek. ...Pretty damn cool.
"And elements?" he asks, his curiosity winning over his initial reluctance. "Do I have to pick one, or can I learn multiple?"
Vale's smile widens slightly. "Many mages specialize in a single element due to natural affinity. Mastery comes easier that way. But those who take the time to learn multiple elements become far more versatile." His gaze sharpens. "It all comes down to balance and understanding. Every element has strengths and weaknesses. A mage who understands them all… is a mage who is truly dangerous."
Obinai exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. His thoughts are everywhere now, colliding and reshaping with each new piece of information. Alright… Third Circle doesn't sound so bad.
But still—
Somewhere deep down, something in him doesn't want to stop there.
Something in him wants to keep going.
He doesn't say it out loud.
Not yet.
Instead, he lets out a breath and smirks slightly. "Alright, alright, you're selling it well."
Vale chuckles. "I'm not selling you anything. You're the one who has to put in the work."
Obinai grins, but before he can respond—
Vale pushes back his chair, standing with a slight groan as he stretches his arms. "Well then," he says, rolling his shoulders. "Let's begin."
Obinai follows suit, taking a final sip of his drink before standing. The instant he pushes himself up, the table and everything on it dissolves into nothingness, fading away like mist in the morning sun. He blinks, glancing down at where the plates and food had been just moments ago. The ground is bare, as if they had never been there at all.
He exhales, rolling his shoulders. I'm never gonna get used to that.
The scenery stretches before him again—the endless plains rolling gently in the breeze, green stalks of grass shifting like waves on a quiet sea. The towering trees in the distance stand as silent sentinels, their branches twisting upward building on each other into a canopy, leaves rustling in the wind like hushed whispers. The air carries a crisp, earthy scent, the lingering traces of morning dew still clinging to the blades of grass beneath his bare feet.
For a brief moment, he simply… exists in it.
No running. No fighting. Just standing in a world that, for all its strangeness, feels oddly peaceful. But there's an undercurrent of something beneath the calm, a tension he can't quite shake.
Then Vale motions him forward, bringing him back to the moment.
"Stand here," Vale instructs, gesturing to a spot directly in front of him. "Close your eyes and focus. Wait until you start to see white particles swirling in your vision."
Obinai shifts slightly, hesitant. Alright… here goes nothing.
He moves into position, planting his feet firmly on the ground, then closes his eyes. At first, all he can see is the usual darkness behind his eyelids. He takes a slow breath, trying to focus on nothing but the sensation of air filling his lungs, then releasing it in measured exhales.
Minutes pass...
The soft rustling of leaves, the distant chirps of birds, the gentle whisper of the wind through the grass—he notices it all. The world around him doesn't fade, exactly, but it becomes… muted. The sound of his own breathing starts to feel heavier, more pronounced, like the steady rhythm of a drum.
Still, nothing happens...
His brows furrow slightly. What the hell am I supposed to be seeing?
The silence stretches on.
Obinai shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "I don't see anything, Vale," he mutters, impatience creeping into his voice.
Vale doesn't sound the least bit concerned. "Patience," he says, his tone even, calm. "Relax. Focus on the rhythm of your breathing. Let everything else fade away."
Obinai presses his lips together, inhaling deeply through his nose. Fine. Relax. Right.
He tries again, this time focusing on the way the air feels as it enters his lungs, expanding his chest, then leaving him in slow, measured exhales. The more he concentrates, the more the world outside his body dulls, like someone lowering the volume on reality itself. The sound of rustling trees, the scent of the earth, even the feel of the wind—all of it recedes to the background.
And then—
A flicker.
Tiny, white specks, appearing like distant stars behind his closed eyelids. At first, they are barely noticeable, but the longer he focuses, the more they come into view, swirling in intricate patterns, pulsing like embers carried by a breeze.
A sharp inhale catches in his throat.
His eyes snap open.
"I can see them," he blurts, turning to Vale with wide eyes. "The white particles—they're everywhere!"
Vale nods approvingly, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Very good," he murmurs.
Obinai's heart is pounding. He looks at the space around him, still seeing faint traces of the glowing particles dancing in the air like dust caught in sunlight. The realization sends a strange thrill through him—like he's peeking behind a curtain that was always there, but just out of reach.
Vale steps closer. "Now, let's try again," he says, his voice dipping into something softer. "This time, focus on the hum of your own body. Feel its rhythm, its unique vibration—make it the only sensation that exists for you."
Obinai swallows, nodding slowly. Alright.
"Each breath you take draws more of this Essence toward you," Vale continues. "Picture it like mist gathering at the edges of your mind. As it draws nearer, I want you to envision yourself carefully stacking blocks, or assembling pieces of a puzzle. Each piece represents a strand of Essence. You are constructing something from them, building with intent. Focus on how each piece connects, how each block slots together perfectly."
Obinai listens intently, letting the imagery settle into his mind. His eyes slip shut once more.
Stacking blocks… putting things into place…
He inhales, drawing the Essence closer. At first, the particles remain scattered, aimless, flickering like fireflies in a summer field. But as he exhales, something shifts.
The particles hesitate—then, slowly, they begin to align.
His fingers twitch.
For a moment, it's like molding wet clay, trying to shape something that doesn't quite hold form. He tries to press the pieces together, guiding them into some kind of order. The effort makes his head buzz, his temples throb. It's like trying to force a thousand tiny moving parts into place at the same time.
Come on, come on—
Then—
It falls apart.
The particles slip through his grasp like sand through his fingers, scattering in all directions, their glow fading as they disperse.
His breath stutters, frustration bubbling up. His fists clench.
What the hell?
He tries again. Concentrates harder. But no matter how much he focuses, how much effort he pours into shaping the Essence, it refuses to hold. It slips away, unformed, chaotic.
His pulse ticks higher.
Why won't it stay?
The more he forces it, the worse it gets. The particles recoil from his will, breaking apart the second they come close to forming anything solid.
His breathing turns sharp.
This is stupid. How am I supposed to "build" something when I can't even hold onto it?
He clenches his teeth, fists curling at his sides. What am I doing wrong?
A hand rests lightly on his shoulder.
Vale.
"Breathe," the older man says quietly. "You're trying to force it into place. That's not how it works."
Obinai's shoulders are tense. He wants to snap back, to argue. But he doesn't.
Because deep down, he knows Vale is right.
He lets out a slow breath, releasing the tension in his muscles.
"Again," Vale instructs gently. "This time, don't command it. Guide it. Let it come together naturally."
Obinai swallows, nods once, and closes his eyes again.
This time, he doesn't force it.
He just breathes.
And the Essence—slowly, subtly—begins to shift...