The stars hung low in the sky, glowing like seeds scattered across the heavens. I lay curled on a thick floor cushion, my belly full from Mom's galbi and my heart full from everything that had happened that day. My little sister, Ara, was sleeping nearby, tiny fingers twitching in dreams that I hoped were happy ones.
The hearth fire crackled softly, casting flickering golden light across the cottage. The smell of roasted meat mingled with the gentle scent of herbs Mom always tucked into the corners of the room, filling the air with warmth.
Dad sat by the window, sharpening a blade that hadn't seen use in years. The rhythmic scrape of steel against stone was the only sound besides the fire. His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable. He wasn't smiling.
Outside, I could feel the wind change. It was subtle at first, just a whisper through the trees, but it carried a weight I'd never felt before.
Mom stepped beside him, folding her arms. Her gaze traced the line of trees beyond the clearing. "You feel it too, don't you?" she asked quietly.
Dad didn't answer immediately. He turned the blade in his hands, catching a sliver of moonlight on its edge.
"I felt it the moment his core awakened," he said finally. "Something old stirred. Something that's been sleeping a long time."
Mom knelt by his side, her voice low. "They'll come, won't they?"
"Maybe not right away," he said, sliding the blade into its sheath. "But eventually."
Her eyes softened as they shifted to me, curled up and sleeping so peacefully. "He's still so small. Just a child."
Dad's gaze lingered on me, something distant in his eyes. "So was you," he said quietly. "When they came for you."
A long silence stretched between them, heavy with memory and warning.
Then Mom placed a hand on his shoulder. "We'll protect him."
He covered her hand with his. "With everything we have."
I didn't know what they were saying exactly, but I felt it. The weight of it. The unspoken danger pressing at the edges of the warm glow in our home.
Beyond the cottage, far into the shadowed forest, I felt something moving. Not an animal. Not a person. Something in between. Its eyes glowed faintly red, almost invisible, flickering like candlelight through the underbrush. It was watching. Studying me.
Not out of hatred. Not yet.
Out of recognition.
I shivered, though sleep was still tugging at my eyelids. I had awakened my mana core… and I wasn't the only one who had noticed.
The next morning, sunlight spilled over the cottage, turning the wooden floorboards warm beneath my bare feet. Birds chirped, and the smell of hot soup curled through the kitchen. I stretched, rubbed my eyes, and let out a lazy yawn.
"Mmm… Mom?" I mumbled.
"In the kitchen," came her cheerful voice.
I stumbled toward the table, hair messy and, still half-dreaming of glowing glyphs and winds that obeyed my command.
Dad sat at the table, his posture straighter than usual, his eyes serious. In front of him, resting on the wooden planks like a quiet promise, was a small dagger.
I froze.
Dad looked at me. "Today, we start your real training."
"With… that?" I asked, voice trembling slightly.
"It's not for fighting," he said. "It's for learning. You'll need to understand the weight of a blade before you ever hold one in battle. Mana is power—but power without discipline is just destruction."
I stepped closer, heart pounding. My fingers twitched, itching to touch it. "Can I hold it?"
"Only if you promise to respect it," he said. "Never point it where you don't intend. Never draw it unless you need to."
"I promise," I said, lifting it carefully with both hands.
It was heavier than I expected. The dark leather handle was worn smooth from years of use. My father's voice echoed in my mind: "This was mine when I was your age."
I stared at the blade, awe-struck. "Did you ever… fight with it?"
He didn't answer right away. His eyes drifted to the forest, distant and unreadable.
"Only when I had to," he said finally.
Far beyond the hills and rivers, past the trees that whispered to each other in the morning wind, I didn't know this yet—but something else was awake.
A cloaked figure stood in a hidden chamber lit by crystal torches. Before them, a mirror of silver flame reflected a child with glowing eyes holding a dagger. The figure leaned close, voice a whisper like rustling leaves:
"The child has awakened. The cycle begins again."
And somehow, even in the warmth of my home, I felt the weight of that sentence settle across the forest, the hills, and the life I'd just begun to live.
I looked down at the dagger in my hands. My chest swelled with a strange mixture of excitement and fear. Today… today everything would change.
And I was ready.