"...Verdant Touch!"
I spoke the words, my voice trembling with anticipation, standing in the middle of the study room. A soft glow sparked at my fingertips, right there on the wooden floor, a tiny flower bloomed.
My eyes widened.
"I DID IT!" I shouted, nearly tripping over myself from excitement.
"I finally did it! I did magic!" I yelled excitedly, then I grabbed the book and opened it.
And then... the room tilted. My legs wobbled. My head felt like it was filled with feathers and fog.
W-what...?
I barely had time to realize it before-thud!-I collapsed face-first onto the floorboards.
All my mana... gone. That tiny flower had drained everything out of me.
Seriously? That's all I've got? That's... so lame...
But even as the edges of my vision blurred, a sleepy smile tugged at my lips. It had taken me nearly a year of effort, study, and practice, but I had finally cast my first spell. I was five years old now, and on the very first day of my birth month, I had made something magical bloom. As I drifted into unconsciousness, I heard the creak of the door. My mother's footsteps. Her voice, gentle, concerned, calling my name.
"Kyro?"
It faded into a blur... And then I fell asleep, still smiling.
***
I woke up in my room.
The ceiling was familiar, but the space felt just a little bigger than before. Right.. Dad had made a few adjustments recently. Said something about "my little boy growing up" and expanded the room a bit, even if it was still humble. Guess he realized I'm no longer the waddling baby who couldn't walk straight without tipping over.
I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand and blinked at the daylight streaming through the window. The sun was out in full force, it was bright and warm, the fields outside stretched gold and ripe as wheat swaying gently in the wind.
Then it hit me.
The flower. I actually conjured a spell yesterday.
A grin crept across my face. I clenched my tiny fist and pumped it into the air.
"Yes!" I whispered, a small fist-pump of victory. That.. was a real spell. An actual, working magic!
My eyes drifted toward the familiar brown book resting in the corner.
Source of Power..
I scrambled over and grabbed it, flipping to the section I had saved for after I cast my first spell. Now that I had succeeded, I could finally read the next chapter with pride. A reward to myself. I skimmed the title.
"Mana Reserves and Limitations"
Interesting.
I leaned back against my bed frame and read:
"A spellcaster's mana reserve is a finite pool of energy, much like a muscle. It is naturally small in early childhood, but grows over time with age and maturity. However, the details on increasing mana capacity are still a subject of ongoing research."
I paused.
"Ongoing research, huh...?" I muttered, tapping the page with my finger.
So mana reserves grow as you age, but there's no solid consensus on whether you can train them? Huh... That felt... suspiciously vague.
I squinted at the page again. One paragraph looked like it had been scratched or torn, the text near the bottom cut off mid-sentence. The page was brittle and faded, likely damaged from age or poor storage.
Figures. I sighed.
"Seems like one of those areas where someone needs to step up and do the work," I muttered.
I looked down at my small hands, flexed my fingers, then pressed one against my chest where I imagined my mana would be.
"If it is like a muscle, maybe using it more helps it grow... Probably.."
That was how it worked in anime. The protagonist overuses their powers, burns out, collapses dramatically, then wakes up stronger. It's cliche as hell. A rinse-and-repeat cycle of growth through exhaustion. Might not be scientific, but hey, it made good arcs. With a grin of quiet determination, I flipped the page and slid off the bed, cradling the book in my arm.
Yeah. More research is clearly needed.
But then, my nose smelled something... delicious. Coming from down stairs.
Ooo, Mom must be cooking!
I stretched and headed downstairs, still reading as I walked.
"Look who's our little mage!" Reyna sang, appearing from around the corner with the speed of a loving missile, and scooped me up like a feather.
"Oouf—!"
"Oh, Kyyy! You've grown up so fast!" she said, twisting left and right, hugging me tightly enough to crack ribs. "I don't want you to leave Mama so soon!" My limbs flailed like noodles in a pot. They gave me a nickname now. Mom calls me Ky from time to time, but Dad still calls me Kyro.
"Uwaa—uwaa—ahh!"
"Reyy! Kyro might pass out again if you do that." Thorskil called from the kitchen, casually decorating a cake with carved fruit. He didn't even look back, he just knew.
"Oh, right. Sorry, Ky." Reyna laughed and set me down with a kiss on the forehead. "I'm just so proud of you!"
"Aw, thanks, Mom." I smiled as I smoothed out my shirt.
The house smelled of celebration-roasted nuts, sugared berries, spiced bread. The table was cluttered with trays and bowls. I'm finally five years old. Birth Month.. A whole month just for me.
I loved this time.
***
Weeks passed.
Each day, after my chores and meals, I locked myself in my room, armed with nothing but sheer will and the faint glow of potential. The walls were thin, the floor cold, and the air always smelled faintly of hay, but none of that mattered.
It started with the simplest.
"Oh God of Nature, lend thy breath to this seed. Grow."
Mana rippled through my veins. The flower pot before me twitched, its soil shifting. A sprout pushed upward like a curious child, then bloomed; soft petals unfolding slowly, gently, like a yawn greeting the dawn.
"Oh God of Nature, I return this life to your soil. Wither."
The petals curled inward. Their color drained. Brown spots spread like bruises across their delicate faces. The stem stiffened, trembled, then cracked in half with a quiet snap. It took hours to get it right. Sometimes it worked. Most times... it didn't. When it failed, the flower exploded into pollen or simply sat there, motionless, mocking me with its stubborn stillness.
But I didn't stop.
Soon, I ventured into the other elements. Basic starter spells from the "Source of Power" book. Elemental in nature, grounded in rhythm and intent. The incantations were short, but each word demanded control.
"Oh Wind unshackled, brush against the world. Gale."
A small puff of air flicked my bangs. Not strong enough to move paper. But it moved. It listened.
"Oh Fire unborn, take spark from my soul. Flicker."
A golden spark danced from my fingertips, it was alive for barely a heartbeat before fizzling into smoke. It didn't even reach the waiting candle.
"Oh Water unseen, draw forth from the air. Drip."
The air turned damp. Then, slowly, a single droplet formed above the bowl and fell with a soft plink. Sometimes I missed the bowl. Sometimes I hit my own hand.
"Oh Earth beneath, rise in my grasp. Pebble."
A clump of soil stirred, lifted, then crumbled like wet sugar in the air. Crude and fragile, but it was real.. The feeling felt encouraging. Small things. Pathetic, maybe. But they were real spells. They responded to me. That meant I was casting them.
That meant I was learning.
Still, each spell came with a price. After three casts in a row, my head would start to throb behind my eyes. After five, my vision blurred and my hands shook. After seven... I'd either pass out or vomit. Once, I blacked out entirely and woke up with dried blood beneath my nose, my fingers spasming like they were possessed.
But I couldn't stop.
As another week passed, I grew tired of repeating incantations over and over. My mouth began to ache & dry from the constant rhythm. It was exhausting.
***
One afternoon…
"Oh Nature's light, awaken and..." I cut myself off, my patience splintering.
I grit my teeth. "
Bloom!—Bloom!" I shouted, for the fifth time that afternoon. Mana surged. A flower bloomed on the pot, briefly, before shivering apart into ash.
I collapsed onto the floor, my forehead hitting the cool wooden boards with a dull thud. My breath came in shallow gasps, my limbs trembling from the effort. I could feel it, my mana. It was growing, really. Slowly, steadily. It was just like a muscle. Push it hard enough, and it responds. But something about all this still bothered me.
"Why..." I groaned, voice raw, "why does it have to be out loud? Why do I need to say it at all? That magician barely said his spell and despite that, he managed heal me.. Unbelievable."
I winced as I swallowed, my throat felt like sandpaper. "I swear, if I say 'bloom' one more time, I'm gonna start coughing petals..."
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, sweat clinging to my brow, my chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. My thoughts drifted back to something the mage once said during healing me, something I hadn't really understood back then.
"Still no. It's one thing to say the words, kid. It's another thing entirely to mean them." He'd tapped the side of his temple with two fingers. "Intent matters. Especially when you're telling reality what to do."
Intent matters...
I stared at the ceiling blankly, that phrase echoing in my skull like a quiet bell. Magic wasn't about just shouting and hand waving. It wasn't the word bloom that made a flower grow. It was what I wanted to happen when I said it.
The word was a guide: A training wheel, something that resembles a... crutch.
But... What if I didn't need the word? What if I had the intention, but instead of shouting it out, I focused all that effort internally? I hummed. Saying it out loud helped form the image in my mind, it gave shape to the mana, but what if I could skip the word and just focus directly on the shape itself? Visualize the spell. Let the mana follow the image. Shape the outcome directly.. Isn't that more efficient?
I sat up slowly, breathing steady now, a sudden stillness washing over me. I focused on that memory, my intent. The shape. The flow. The purpose.
Let's try that hypothesis.. Oh man, kind of reminded me when I was still a young IChemE[1] student. Kinda getting excited. I took a deep breath. Okay, okay... Let's focus now.
I felt my mana as I attempt to make shape. My hand twitched as the flowerpot beside me trembled. A single sprout shot from the soil, no command, no sound. Just... my will and mana. I opened my eyes slowly. A perfect, tiny blue petal swayed at the top of the stem.
My jaw hung open.
"...I did it."
I sat up, slowly, feeling a chill crawl up my spine-not from fear, but from the realization. I just cast magic... without saying a word.
"I'm writing this down, holy cow!"
I booming with excitement
***
It's been another week since I learned wordless magic.
The morning sun broke through the clouds like golden spears, casting long rays over the quiet fields of Ytval. Dew still clung to the grass, glistening like a thousand little stars. Every morning after I wake up, I tend to practice my magic for a while before moving to my day. Each day, I could feel my mana reserves are increasing, minor, but it's rising.
Clack!
Clack-clack!
Wooden swords cracked against each other in rhythmic bursts.
Out by the training patch near the barn, Lyra danced around an older man's strikes, her bare feet skimming the dirt. The man's name was Saul. He was dressed in simple clothes: a faded tunic, rolled sleeves, and boots that had seen more battlefields than I ever would. His hair was short and brown, sides had white strands, signifying his age. He was one of the farm's guards, yes, but more than that, he was a Sword Saint.
Apparently.
He's been training Lyra for the past year or so.
"Too wide, Lyra!" Saul barked between strikes, his voice sharp but not unkind. "Smaller steps! You're not trying to impress the birds."
"I am trying to dodge you, old man!" Lyra grinned, ducking a high swing and pivoting around his flank.
Their wooden blades clashed again, echoing like drumbeats across the field. I stood at a distance, watching. Arms crossed. Book still tucked under one arm.
Swordplay wasn't really my thing. Too physical. Too chaotic. I preferred precision, logic, structure. Still, my father thought it was important. Said it was about connections, reputation, "Making sure you have people who'll back you when it matters," or something like that. Which was why Saul had been brought in to teach me too.
Father himself? He didn't even bother training us. He just smiled, shrugged, and went off to help Mother plant crops and prune trees. And yet... he was supposed to be a Sword God. A living legend, or so the whispers said. I'd never seen it. I only saw him with soil-stained hands and that gentle smile he always wore when Mother was near.
He was just... a dad. A family man. Maybe that was all he wanted to be now.
My gaze drifted back to Lyra, her movements fluid and fearless. Saul swung low, but she spun inside his guard and tapped his ribs with the tip of her wooden blade.
"Point to me!" she declared.
Saul chuckled. "You're either improving fast, or I'm just getting old."
"HAH! BOTH!" Lyra said cheekily, puffing out her chest.
I shook my head, smiling despite myself. Swordplay wasn't my thing, sure, but Lyra made it look like... a dance. Maybe I could try swinging a stick once or twice.
Clack—!
"L-Lyra, could you go easy on me—Wah!" I stumbled back as her wooden sword sliced through the air where my head had just been.
"How are you gonna get better if I keep treating you like a wuss?" Lyra snapped back, already pressing in with another quick strike.
Whap!
I barely managed to sidestep, heart pounding. My grip on the training sword was awkward, too tight, too stiff. Every time I thought I had a window to strike, she'd close it before I could lift my arms. She was relentless, and fast! Her feet barely touched the ground, and her eyes were sharp with focus. Honestly, she was kind of terrifying.
Off to the side, Saul stood with his arms crossed, watching like a hawk and.. His expression was unreadable, but I swore I saw the tiniest smirk tug at his lips.
"This... is not my thing," I muttered under my breath, trying to circle away.
"Less complaining, more swinging!" Lyra shouted, already lunging toward me again like a bolt of lightning.
Her strikes came faster than I could think. I staggered back, barely dodging each one, my training sword flailing in defense more than attack.
Off to the side, Saul was still observing with that unreadable calm of his. Then came the sound of footsteps crunching over soil and Saul turned his head slightly and gave a respectful nod. "Ah, sir."
Thorskil approached, straw hat shading his eyes, cradling a pot of freshly planted seedlings. He looked every bit the humble farmer he chose to be.
"Oh, how's the training going?" my father asked with a smile.
"Pretty smooth," Saul replied, giving a slight bow before glancing back at the sparring match. "Your daughter has plenty of potential, sharp instincts, quick feet. She's definitely got your blood."
He paused, eyes flicking to me as I stumbled back again, barely avoiding a jab.
"Your son, though... well, he's still finding his footing. But he's four years younger than Lyra, so it's understandable."
Thorskil chuckled warmly. "Thank you again, Saul, for taking the time."
Saul straightened up. "No, no, sir—the pleasure's mine!"
Meanwhile, I sidestepped another blur of a swing and skidded in the dirt.
D-Damn, you're fast! I thought, sweat dripping from my chin.
Then, a thought slithered into my mind. My lips curled. Backing off from her next strike, I bent down, palm brushing the soil. Lyra blinked, slowing for just a second. She dashed in, wooden blade raised.
And squelch—
Just as I expected, she tripped. Her momentum sent her tumbling face-first into the dirt. Her Aura shimmered faintly at the point of impact, a soft burst of light cushioning the fall.
"Ow..!" she groaned, face half-buried. She blinked, then glanced down at her feet, now sunken in a small patch of suddenly muddy earth. I stepped forward, shadow stretching over her. With all the flair I could muster, I pointed my wooden sword down at her like a conquering general.
"HAH! I WIN!"
For a beat, silence. Then her fingers curled around the tip of my sword.
"...What are you—?"
YANK! She pulled my sword-dragging me along with it.
"W-Whoa—!"
BAM!
Her fist collided with my gut, knocking the air clean out of my lungs. I wheezed, trying to recover, but she was already on top of me, mud flying as she pulled her foot free and started pummeling me with righteous fury.
"OW—OW—STOP! THIS IS ABUSE! AH—!"
"I'LL SHOW YOU WHO WINS, YOU LITTLE CHEATER!"
From the sidelines, Saul and Thorskil looked over just in time to see their training session devolve into chaos.
"Lyra!" Saul shouted, rushing in. "He yields!"
Thorskil sighed, shaking his head as he gently dropped the pot and stepped forward too. "Just like her mother..."
***
The sting hadn't quite faded yet. I winced as a cold cloth dabbed gently against my cheek. My face still pulsed from Lyra's... passionate response to losing. Thorskil sat beside me, one knee up, calm as always. He was focused, his hands were gentle despite years of rough labor. From across the house, Reyna's voice cut through the walls like a thunderclap.
"Lyra Samsworth! What on Earth were you thinking?! Beating your little brother like that? You're grounded for a week! And no snacks after dinner!"
"I was holding back!" Lyra shouted from the other room. "He cheated with mud magic!"
"That is not an excuse to turn your brother into a punching dummy!"
Thorskil chuckled under his breath. "Sounds like she's getting the full lecture."
"Good..." I muttered, holding the cold cloth to my bruised cheek. "She deserves it..."
"Oh, come now. You did bait her," he said, raising a brow. "I saw that smug smile of yours when she hit the dirt."
I grinned sheepishly. "I was just... being creative."
"Mhm." He dabbed once more and set the cloth in the water bowl. "That wasn't bad, though. Using mana like that, in the middle of a spar.. Heh, it caught her off guard."
"... You're not mad?"
He leaned back, thoughtful. "Not mad. Surprised, sure. It's not every day a five-year-old figures out how to manipulate the soil mid-fight."
I puffed my chest just a little. "So... you think I did good?"
Thorskil gave me a look; half proud, half amused.
"You used your surroundings. You thought outside the box. That's what good fighters do." He smirked. "Even if it did end with your face being restructured by your sister."
"'Restructured,' huh...?" I mumbled. "That's a fancy word for pummeled."
He laughed softly. "Next time, maybe run a little faster after you win."
"I thought I'd earned a dramatic victory moment!"
"And that moment cost you a front row seat to her right hook."
We both laughed. It hurt to laugh, but I didn't mind.
Then his voice lowered, more serious this time. "Kyro. You've got something special. I can see it. Just... promise me you'll be careful with magic, alright? Don't push yourself too hard just to prove something."
I paused, then nodded.
"Got it, Dad."
Thorskil ruffled my hair with a calloused hand. "Good. Now rest up. You'll need your energy if Lyra comes for a rematch."
I nodded. Just as he turned to leave, the door creaked open.
Lyra peeked inside. Her arms were crossed behind her back, eyes darting everywhere except at me. She hovered by the doorframe, shifting her weight from one foot to the other like the floor was suddenly very interesting.
Thorskil smirked knowingly. "I'll... go check on your mother," he said, making a strategic retreat.
As the door clicked shut behind him, silence settled like fog.
Lyra cleared her throat. "Soooo..."
I looked up from the cloth, already smirking. "Here to finish the job?"
She frowned. "No! I mean... maybe... No! I came to say..." She huffed. "Ugh, this is stupid."
I raised an eyebrow. "You, struggling to say something? Now that's rare."
She glared at me, then sighed.
"Okay, look, I'm sorry for turning you into mashed potatoes," she muttered, barely above a whisper. "It's just—! You were being all smug with your 'ha-ha I win' face, and I tripped, and it was embarrassing, and you cheated."
I blinked. "Is this your version of an apology?"
"I said I'm sorry!" she snapped, face flushing red. "Don't make me take it back!"
I grinned. "Apology accepted, oh mighty warrior who lost to a mud puddle."
She groaned. "Ugh. I should've hit you harder."
I laughed, and she finally walked over, plopping beside me with a thud.
"You really used magic for that?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Yup," I said proudly, puffing my chest just a little. "Figured if I couldn't beat you with speed or strength, I'd use my brain. Though, it may not look like it, it was pretty draining."
Lyra shot me a sideways glance, eyes narrowing, but then a little smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
"You gotta teach me that."
"What? Magic?"
"YES!" she practically bounced in place. Her golden eyes sparkled like they'd caught fire. "I wanna be the strongest! The strongest human—no, the strongest being in the world! I'm gonna surpass Father!"
I paused. That was... ambitious. I cleared my throat. "That's... quite a dream," I said, trying to sound supportive instead of mildly terrified. "Anyway, learning magic isn't as easy as you think. It took me months just to make anything happen. And when I actually learned how to do it... I passed out like, twenty times before I even got a flower to bloom."
She grinned, undeterred. "Pshh—I'm your older sister. Bet I could do it in a week."
I held back a snort. Yeah, right. You can't even read yet.
"Okay, sure," I said instead, with the most neutral tone I could muster. "Totally. You'll be conjuring fireballs by next Tuesday."
She didn't catch the sarcasm. "Exactly!" she said proudly, hands on her hips. "And then I'll make a flaming sword and duel Father and win and become a legend."
I raised an eyebrow. "Right after you learn how to hold a book the right way up?"
That got her. "Hey! I can read! I just... don't like to."
"Uh-huh."
"Reading's boring! I'd rather swing swords and punch stuff. That's real learning."
"Well, I'd rather not get punched in the face every day. That's also real learning."
She laughed, nudging me with her shoulder. "Alright, smart guy. Teach me then."
I looked at her, then at my still-sore cheek from earlier. "On one condition."
"What?"
"No punching me during the lesson."
She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Ugh, fine. No punching. But if I get bored, I might trip you into the mud."
I gave her a tired look. "Somehow, I feel like this is the start of a very painful teaching career."
Despite everything, I couldn't help smiling.
Maybe teaching her magic wouldn't be so bad... as long as I survived it.
[End]
[1] Institution of Chemical Engineers