Zephyr woke well into midday with a splitting headache, his skull throbbing as if a smith had smacked it with a hammer.
"Urgh... what was that stuff yesterday?" he groaned, rubbing his temples as he shuffled into the living room.
Old Bjorn stood by the window with his arms crossed, staring outside with an absent look in his eyes. The dwarf seemed deep in thought, barely acknowledging Zephyr's presence.
Zephyr cleared his throat. "Old man, what was that crazy wine you gave me last night?"
Bjorn's eyes refocused, locking onto Zephyr before scoffing. "Hmph. You don't even know the treasure you drank. That was Ragnar's Wine, boy. A dwarven speciality. Brewed from ember-fruits that only grow near magma pools deep underground. We don't drink it lightly, much less share it." He huffed, as if slightly regretting his generosity. "Be honored."
"Yeah, well, my head doesn't feel very honored right now," Zephyr grumbled.
Bjorn jabbed a finger toward the eating table. "There. Drink that and get some food down your belly. The drink will ease your hangover."
Zephyr sighed, dropping into the chair and taking a hesitant sip of the murky brown concoction. The bitterness made him wince, but warmth spread through his body, dulling the pounding in his skull almost immediately.
"Ahh... it's actually working." He looked up and found Bjorn staring at him with an unreadable expression. "What?"
The old dwarf let out a long sigh, scratching his head before turning toward the door. "Eat up and get moving. You still need to register at the town hall today. Get it done quickly."
Zephyr groaned. "Crap. I still have to do that?"
Every newly awakened in the kingdom were required to go through a compulsory military service. They had to serve under their regional ruling house for at least a year, whether in actual combat or support roles, everyone had to contribute in some way as part of the kingdom's continuous expansion into various rifts.
Bjorn gave him a sideways glance. "Yes. Yes, you do."
Zephyr hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "You do know I awakened a one-node mana core, right?"
Bjorn paused but didn't seem surprised. "So? Who says you have to be a combat mage? You could serve as a blacksmith or runic inscriptor. Not like you had any mana working with me all these years, and you're still a passable runesmith. Better than any kid your age, that's for sure." He waved a hand dismissively. "Be quick about it. I have something to show you later today." He said as he left for the forge.
The town hall stood in a vast open space at the heart of the outer district, a massive stone structure with intricate carvings of the ruling house Ryvelin's emblem decorating its facade. Inside, the air buzzed with activity. Rows of wooden counters lined the hall, each manned by officials handling various registrations, requests, and legal matters.
Zephyr made his way to the section designated for newly awakened recruits. A long queue stretched ahead, filled mostly with kids between the ages of twelve and fourteen, accompanied by their parents or guardians. There were a few older individuals, but Zephyr was clearly an outlier, drawing occasional glances from those around him.
Zephyr ignored them, keeping a stoic expression as he waited his turn.
Finally, he reached the front.
"Full name?" The clerk, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and an air of efficiency, barely looked up from her paperwork.
"Zephyrus Sol Ra'elis."
That made her pause. She glanced up, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer. "Ra'elis? You've got elven blood?"
Zephyr nodded. "My mother was a half-elf."
The woman's brows furrowed slightly, and she gave him a once-over, seeing very few features that pointed to elven heritage, "And you just awakened?" There was genuine surprise in her tone. Elven blood was basically equivalent to high magical talent. The idea of someone with elven heritage— even if watered down— awakening his mana core so late was unusual, to say the least. Zephyr looked at least fifteen to her, she was sure he might even be older.
"Yeah..." he said simply.
"Hmm..." She shook her head then continued filling out the necessary paperwork.
Minutes later, she handed him a small, engraved token. "Take this. It contains your name, core classification, and regional stamp. Keep it safe. You'll need it when reporting for duty."
Zephyr examined the token before slipping it into his pocket. "Thanks."
As he turned to leave, he hesitated. "Oh, one more thing. I'd like to serve in the runic inscription branch."
The clerk raised an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity in her expression. "You're a rune inscriber?"
"Yeah."
"Well, you'll have to wait until the second half of your camp starts. Let your superiors know then, and they'll test you to see if you actually have the skills."
She was already waving him aside, motioning for the next in line. "Next!"
Zephyr sighed and left the hall, stepping into the bustling streets. One hurdle down. Now, he just had to deal with whatever Bjorn wanted to show him.
Zephyr dusted his shoes he got back to the forge. Old Bjorn was already hammering away at a new piece, his short burly frame moving with practiced efficiency.
There wasn't much for him to do here. Instead, he moved to the front to handle the shop.
Time flew by. The sun was already beginning to hang low, casting long streaks of orange through the windows. A few customers trickled in through the day, inspecting weapons and armor, but business was slow. He leaned against the counter, lost in thought.
It had already been about a day since his mana core awakened. A turning point, supposedly. But he didn't feel that much different. Sure, he could feel his mana core absorbing ambient mana around him now, but it wasn't like he suddenly gained the power to throw fireballs. If anything, it actually felt… underwhelming.
The forge quieted down as the sun eventually dipped past the horizon. Zephyr was already closing up when Old Bjorn's voice called from inside the house.
"Boy. Come here."
Zephyr paused. This was it.
He crossed the short distance to the house and stepped into the dimly lit living room. Bjorn sat in his usual chair, but there was something different in his expression. On the table in front of him sat a small, round object, black as midnight.
Zephyr frowned. "What's this?"
Bjorn studied him for a moment before answering. "Your father left this for you."
"My father?" His voice came out in surprise. It was unexpected because his father had never left anything behind. Not a single thing. For someone that was always seen writing, not even a single piece of paper was left. He disposed of everything he had. Almost like he knew he was going to die.
Bjorn nodded. "He told me to give this to you if you ever awakened your mana core."
Zephyr stared at the orb, his thoughts moving at a mile a minute.
'What really happened to my father? He actually planned this ahead…?'
The idea sat uneasily with him.
Bjorn sighed, giving Zephyr's shoulder a firm pat before standing. "Take your time with it," he said before heading for the door.
Zephyr barely registered him leaving, too focused on the orb. It was unnervingly smooth, yet the upper half was marked with precise, intricate patterns. The rest was a pure abyssal black, absorbing the flickering light from the lanterns.
He hesitated before picking it up. It was heavier than it looked, the cool surface pressed into his palm. He turned it over, searching for any markings, any clue as to what it was.
He found nothing of note until his finger brushed against a faint indentation.
His pulse quickened as he pressed it.
...
At first, nothing happened, then suddenly his fingers began to sink into the surface.
Zephyr's breath hitched. He tried to pull away, but the sphere clung to his skin, shifting like liquid. The obsidian blackness rippled, crawling over his fingers, then his wrist.
"What the—?!"
He lurched back, nearly toppling the chair behind him. He jerked his hands violently, but the substance did not come off. Instead, it continued to spread, slithering up his forearm like a living shadow.
"Old man! What the fuck is this?!" He shouted.
Bjorn rushed back in, eyes widening as he took in the situation.
"Calm down! Calm the fuck down!" He stepped forward cautiously, hands raised. "It's not hurting you, is it?!"
Zephyr breathed in short breaths as his body's instincts screamed at him to rip the thing off, but his mind eventually calmed and he realized he wasn't actually feeling any pain. The sensation was only just strange. It was cold and slick, like oil sliding across his skin.
He swallowed hard. "No… but it's moving on its own!"
Bjorn's jaw tightened. He didn't move to interfere, only watching closely.
They both watched tensely as the black substance reached his shoulder, slithered up his neck, and finally stopped at the base of his skull.
Zephyr went rigid as they waited in silence for anything to happen.
"Ow!"
A sharp sting pricked the back of his head.
"What?!"
"This thing just—"
Pain.
Raw, burning pain exploded through his body. Zephyr barely registered falling. His back hit the floor, limbs convulsing as if every nerve had been set on fire.
It was the worst pain he had ever felt, a searing pain that tore through him and burrowed deep into his bones. His body convulsed and thrashed, desperation and instinct taking over as he fought against the overwhelming surge of pain.
Bjorn's voice reached him as if from miles away.
"Don't fight it, Zeph… Don't fight it…"
Fight...?! Fight what?! He was already struggling to keep sane as is! He just wanted it to end.
His muscles spasmed violently as his vision blurred.
Somewhere in the chaos, something else spoke;
"Initializing…"
"Vitals dropping. Host experiencing critical pain levels. Requesting permission to disable pain receptors."
Zephyr couldn't even process what that meant. All he knew was that he wanted the pain to stop.
The moment he willed in assent, the pain was gone.
Not dulled. Not numbed. Just… gone.
It was so abrupt, it almost felt wrong. He could still see his chest rising and falling rapidly, his body still spasmed, but the agony had vanished as if it had never existed.
His vision remained hazy, his thoughts sluggish. He couldn't move, but he was relieved that the ordeal was over. Exhaustion began to press on his mind as he slowly sunk into darkness.
Just before unconsciousness took him, a final thought surfaced.
'What was that in my head anyways…?'
"...I am—"