Lavitz blinked, still in awe of what his eyes could now see.
The magical aurora was still there, suspended in the air, floating between branches and roots. For the first time in days, he felt no fear. He felt… clarity. As if his gaze could pierce the skin of the world and glimpse the current pulsing beneath it.
He looked back at the open book on his lap. The words no longer looked like mere letters. They were truths—alive, pulsing. But he lacked the strength to keep reading.
He closed it gently and wrapped it again in the cloth, making sure the moisture wouldn't reach it. Then he stood up, slowly and clumsily. Hunger weighed on him more than exhaustion.
"I need water… and food," he murmured, his lips dry.
He took a few steps out of the hollow tree. The forest greeted him with its usual silence, but now he didn't feel lost in it.
Now he could see.
In front of him, the threads of mana floated like a light mist. They concentrated more intensely in certain spots, forming faint whirlpools in the air, as if nature itself traced invisible routes. Lavitz squinted. He didn't know how to interpret them, but he could feel which path was… more alive.
He followed one of those currents. It was like following a trail of light only he could see.
He climbed a small slope and descended among damp roots. The ground grew softer, cooler. The mana threads turned blue, fluctuating as if dancing above something liquid.
And then he heard it.
A low murmur. Constant.
He hurried, stumbling over stones, until he saw it: a stream.
The water flowed crystal clear between moss-covered rocks, so clear the pebbles at the bottom were visible. Lavitz dropped to his knees at the edge and drank desperately, not caring about the temperature. The liquid burned his throat with its coldness, but he didn't stop. He drank until he was full, until his stomach no longer complained.
He took a deep breath.
Around him, the mana threads floated in peace. Soft. Calm.
Lavitz closed his eyes for a moment. He felt the water restoring him physically, easing his weariness. Then he opened his eyes and looked around.
A few steps from the stream, above a thick-leaved bush, the mana threads glowed with a different color: a denser, more intense green. He approached carefully. The plants gave off a fresh, almost sweet scent. And among the branches, small bluish berries.
He touched one with his fingertips. Mana flowed gently within them, unagitated.
"Are they edible?" he wondered.
He picked one berry, examined it for a moment, and brought it to his mouth. It was juicy, sweet with a slight tang. His body reacted immediately. The weakness began to subside—just a little.
He kept eating, without restraint, until he felt he could walk without staggering.
When he finished, he wiped his hands on his pants, took a deep breath, and stood again. The cold still seeped into his bones, but his body no longer felt like stone. His steps, though still cautious, were firmer. The mist began to lift among the trees, and timid sunlight filtered down in shafts through the foliage.
Lavitz kept walking, alert to his surroundings.
He was no longer walking blind.
The mana threads continued guiding him like invisible lanterns. Some rose lightly into the treetops. Others descended toward hidden roots beneath the earth. But the ones that caught his attention were those that advanced in a straight line, as if marking a path not drawn by human hands but by the heartbeat of the world itself.
"There must be something at the end of this," he murmured.
Though uncertain, a persistent sensation stirred in his chest—an intuition amplified by the mana. It wasn't voices. It wasn't signs. It was… a subtle pull, as if his body recognized a direction without consciously choosing it.
The forest around him seemed more awake.
He could hear the creaking of branches, the whisper of insects in motion, the occasional flutter of some creature. But nothing attacked him. Nothing stood in his way. As if his presence didn't disrupt the balance of the place. As if the forest accepted him as one of its own.
From time to time, he paused by a moss-covered trunk, resting his hand on it and watching how the mana spiraled along the bark. It was fascinating. It made him feel… small. But also part of something greater.
He walked for hours.
The sun had already reached its peak, and the light among the trees had grown stronger. If the forest continued to clear, he might soon find a real path. A human trail or anything that might bring him closer to civilization.
When fatigue began to numb his feet, Lavitz sat on a fallen log covered in lichen. He closed his eyes for just an instant… and then he heard them. Footsteps. Rhythmic. Steady. Crushing branches and leaves with heavy force.
He rose silently and hid behind the log, crouched. The sound approached from deep within the forest, and its cadence was not that of a human walker.
A figure emerged from the trees, advancing solemnly. At first, Lavitz thought it was a horse. It had the robust, elegant body of one: dark brown coat, glossy, with a black mane that fell like a curtain over its back. Its hooves sank slightly into the damp earth, and its muscles moved with each step, full of life and strength.
But then he saw it.
From the horse's back, where the neck should have begun, emerged a human torso. Bare, with taut bronzed skin and long arms swinging gently with its gait. At first, Lavitz thought it was a centaur—a creature of Greek mythology—but the closer it came, the more that idea dissolved.
The creature lifted its head, and Lavitz held his breath.
Its head was that of an elk, with two massive, perfectly symmetrical antlers like a crown, shifting restlessly, as if sensing something beyond the forest. Its mouth curled into an unreadable, almost contemplative expression.
Lavitz dared not move.
The creature sniffed the air. Turned its head slowly, its antlers brushing the lower branches, and for an instant, it seemed to stare directly where Lavitz was hiding. The silence was absolute. No birds, no wind. Only that strange being breathing in the middle of the forest.
But it did nothing.
It simply turned and walked away with the same calm it had arrived, vanishing between the trees without another sound.
Lavitz remained frozen until he was sure it was gone.
He didn't know what that thing was. Whether it was a beast, a natural mutation, or something else… But one thing was certain: that creature was unnatural.
Only when the forest sounds returned did he rise. He glanced around several times, alert for any shadows or movement. He saw nothing. The air still carried tension, but the immediate danger had faded.
He adjusted his clothes and moved on.
The mana around him began to thin.
He no longer felt it with the same intensity flowing along the trunks or drifting through the air. The clearer the forest became, the scarcer it was. As if life itself were less present.
Eventually, after several hours of walking and with the sun starting to descend, he spotted a small settlement among the hills: weathered wooden houses, sloped roofs, and humble fields stretching like scars across the land. No more than thirty homes, some surrounded by makeshift fences, others in ruins. He heard chickens, occasional hammering, and distant barking.
As Lavitz passed through the palisade, every eye turned to him.
Farmers and hunters stopped their work. A child dropped his wooden toy. A woman paused mid-step and cautiously stepped back. It wasn't common to receive strangers in that forgotten corner of the map.
Lavitz raised a hand in peace.
"I mean no trouble," he said, looking toward an older man watching him from the center of the village. "I just need information… and, if possible, a place to rest for the night."
The older man stepped forward. He carried a knotted staff and had a slight hunch, but his gaze was firm. He wore a thick white beard and a scar crossed his cheek.
"I'm Halven, chief of this village," he said hoarsely. "If you're a stranger, you'll need to explain what brings you here. We tread cautiously these days."
Lavitz nodded.
"I understand. And I'm willing to explain. Can we speak under a roof? I'm tired. And… I recently saw something in the forest. Something I'm still trying to process."
Halven studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded slightly.
"Follow me."
⸻
Halven's cabin was the largest in the village, though still humble: well-fitted log walls, a small lit fireplace, and a long bench facing a coarse wooden table. The air smelled of smoke, salt, and dried herbs.
"Sit," the old man instructed.
He served a steaming bowl of broth. Inside floated bits of root, bone, and shredded meat. He placed a piece of hard bread beside it—the kind that scrapes the palate more than it nourishes.
Lavitz gave thanks and began eating in silence. The hot liquid revived him slightly.
Halven sat across from him, fingers intertwined.
"Now speak."
Lavitz swallowed and looked up.
"I come from the Emerald City."
Halven's expression didn't change, as if waiting for him to go on.
"I escaped just a day ago. The city was attacked by an army of undead. Everything was reduced to ash and corpses. It was a massacre. I doubt there were any other survivors. I barely managed to flee, by sheer luck."
Halven lowered his head silently.
"I didn't know something like that had happened," he said after a pause.
"People rarely pass through here. It's unusual to see a traveler… but it seems the kingdom is in serious trouble."
"It is," Lavitz replied in a muted voice. "A war might break out. From what I understood while escaping, the attack was premeditated. By the way, while heading here, I saw something else in the forest. A creature. I don't know how to describe it properly. It had the body of a horse, but from its back rose a human torso. Its face was like an elk's… and two antlers sprouted from its head."
Halven frowned.
"You saw an Averok in the forest. Those creatures are rare in these parts."
Lavitz looked at him in silence, unsure how to respond.
The old man fell quiet, as if deep in thought.
Seeing he wasn't speaking again, Lavitz decided to ask for directions.
"Do you know of any nearby city where I might find refuge?"
"There's a settlement to the northeast. It's called Merholt. About three days away if you follow the river path. It's a large city, surrounded by walls. It also has a small magic tower. You might find help there."
Lavitz nodded, grateful.
"Thank you. I just need a bit of time. To gather strength. Then I'll move on."
Halven rose slowly.
"You can stay the night. You'll sleep in the shed. It's not much, but it'll keep out the cold."
"That's enough for me."
The old man walked toward the door but paused before opening it.
"Don't mention what you told me to the villagers."
His voice dropped.
"It's not about distrust. It's precaution. People here live on the edge of fear. If they hear talk of undead or forest beasts, they might panic. And we can't afford chaos."
Lavitz nodded silently. He understood. He had seen what fear could do.
Halven left, closing the door behind him.
⸻
Night gradually fell over the village.
A veil of mist descended among the rooftops, and the moon peeked through thin clouds, diffusing its light across the fields. Lavitz stepped out of the main cabin, body lighter thanks to the broth, though his mind still heavy with thoughts. He crossed the back yard following the directions, until he found the shed.
It was a small structure, built of aged wood, reinforced with ropes and rusty nails. The door creaked as it opened. Inside, the air smelled of hay, dry earth, and old tools.
In a corner, someone had piled clean straw and left a coarse wool blanket. There was also an unlit oil lamp and a bucket of water.
Lavitz let himself drop with a sigh.
He settled into the straw and placed his sword beside him, within reach. Though the environment was calm, his body still couldn't fully relax.
For a while, he stared at the ceiling, where small holes let in silver light. In the distance, crickets sang. The village slept.
The blanket barely held back the night cold, but Lavitz didn't complain. After the past days, any roof was a luxury.
As he looked up, he noticed small trails of light appearing and fading.
It made him recall the feeling from that morning—when he first perceived mana.
He sat up slightly and, despite his fatigue, once again took out the cloth-wrapped book.
He opened to the section about mana cores.
"Every mage develops a core within. This forms after a long period of absorption. Mana flows like mist through internal channels, as if the body were building an invisible river. When the mage has gathered enough mana, it is compressed into a single point, forming the core."
"This process is extremely delicate. One mistake, and all the accumulated effort is lost. In the best case… In the worst, the body collapses."
"The core follows a natural progression, from white to shades only a few have ever reached. Each color is a threshold. Each threshold, a whole world of difference."
Lavitz traced the names with his eyes, finally understanding what he was reading:
Core colors, in ascending order:
White
Gray
Green
Blue
Red
Violet
Gold
Black
Silver
Emerald Green
"Each color has three sublevels: light, medium, and dark. A dark blue core is more advanced than a light blue one, but still inferior to a light red core. This scale determines not only the mana storage capacity, but also its affinity, flow speed, and control."
Lavitz exhaled slowly.
He didn't have a core yet. But something inside told him the path had already begun.
He closed the book carefully, wrapped it in the cloth again, and laid his head on the rough blanket.
And this time, when he closed his eyes, he didn't dream of death or ashes.
He dreamed of light.