The valley was quiet.
No birds. No wind. Not even the rustling of leaves. Only silence — heavy and absolute.
Lucius stood at the edge, Aira sleeping again against his chest. The dragon crouched some distance behind him, watchful but still. It hadn't left since the cave.
The center of the valley was a hollowed crater, frost-covered and steaming. There — in the middle — was a single tree, black-barked and gnarled like veins. Its roots split the ground around it like claws.
At the very top of the tree, hidden among jagged branches, was the Elric Bloom — the fruit that would awaken his mana.
Lucius stared at it, expressionless.
"Wait here," he said quietly to no one in particular.
Then stepped into the cold.
The first step burned.
The second cracked the earth beneath his feet.
The third—
He dropped to a knee.
His veins ached. His breath fogged. His body screamed like it was being torn apart from the inside. And still — no light. No golden aura. No sudden burst of power.
Just pain.
The mana seal in his core was ancient, thick, and buried. Something even this body had carried for years — locked, like a cage with no key. No wonder it never awakened on its own.
Lucius didn't stop.
He reached the tree, fingers numb, heart pounding.
The Elric Bloom pulsed faintly, like a heart. Not bright — but alive.
He climbed.
Branches tore into his palms. Ice bit into his throat. His skin broke. Blood hit bark.
At the top, he plucked the fruit.
It pulsed once — then died.
Lucius bit into it.
The pain was immediate.
Not like fire — like drowning.
His vision blurred. His chest seized. He stumbled backward, crashing from the tree, body twisting as something inside him snapped.
The seal in his core shattered.
And his mana — unused, unformed, hungry — tore out like a storm breaking free of a prison.
Lucius screamed once.
Not in fear.
In fury.
When he woke, it was night.
The stars above spun slowly. The frost on the grass had melted into steam.
Aira was perched on his chest in her cat form, fur puffed in worry.
The dragon sat at the edge of the clearing, watching him — unmoving.
Lucius sat up slowly.
He could feel it now.
A faint thread inside his body. Unstable. Untamed. But real.
Mana.
Not refined.
Not shaped.
But his.
Finally.
He flexed his hand once.
Then stood.
No cheers. No tears.
Just quiet satisfaction.
"Let's move," he said.
And the three of them continued into the night.