Mana Fracture: Chapter 4 – The Sleeping Aion and a New Dawn
A whisper lost in the void may find its echo after thousands of years.
An ancient breath may take form in a new body.
The world was on the verge of remembering what it had long forgotten.
His existence transcended heat and cold, time and space.
He was nothing but an ancient dream.
An unconscious dream.
A slumber that lasted thousands of years.
The First Saint of the Primordial Essences—Aions—had once fought nearly half of the world during the "Two Thousand-Year Endless War." The Aions were overwhelmingly powerful, yet tragically few in number.
Outnumbered and besieged by the united races, they were ultimately annihilated. But just before their fall, as the first being ever born from mana itself, he sealed his own core into the river of time—into the mana itself.
Velmora had entered its new age, ruled by the Seven Crowns. The oceans had shrunk. The continents had settled.
A fragile peace, yet a peace nonetheless, prevailed.
And it was during this relatively calm era that the ancient seal buried deep within mana began to stir from its slumber of eight thousand years.
The weakening seal was pushing Aion's soul toward physical form.
Yet, it was not a body that was sought—it was a new beginning.
As a being born from the very essence of mana, he needed no mortal womb.
His birth was the will of mana itself.
Far from the eyes of the Seven Crowns, in a place where Velmora's ley lines converged in ancient and dense harmony—perhaps a hidden spring in Aetherra, or the ruins of an old Aion sanctuary still leaking mana—mana began to gather.
The air trembled.
Colors danced.
The earth pulsed with the rhythm of mana.
And in a single moment… without the contribution of any living parent, a form began to take shape from the very core of mana.
First an ethereal light, then a faint silhouette began to emerge.
It resembled a human infant—but more delicate, more otherworldly.
Its long, elegant ears hinted at elves, yet the faint glimmer in its eyes, the shimmer on its skin, and the nearly invisible mana markings whispered something far older, far deeper—it was no elf.
The newborn Aion remembered nothing of his past.
He knew not who he was nor where he came from.
The title of First Saint, the tragic fall of the Primordial Essences, the rivalries with dragons, the wars with demons…
All locked deep within a sealed memory.
The infant Aion lay still at the site of his emergence—his body woven from the essence of mana.
This land was foreign to him.
He was living his first moments.
Everything around him was new—trees, sky, earth…
The constant whisper of mana sounded like a familiar melody, yet its meaning escaped him.
A shiver of loneliness and confusion coursed through his tiny form.
Driven by instinctive fear, his body suddenly faded into transparency, merging flawlessly with his surroundings.
This was a gift, bestowed upon him as the world's first Saint.
The "Concealment Manipulation" ability fully activated—his presence became utterly undetectable. Even his mana signature vanished.
Only beings above half-step King level might barely sense his trace.
Yet not even a half-step Saint could perceive his kind.
Hours passed…
Near the edge of a small lake, deep in the forest, a pair appeared—an elf man carrying a fishing net and a graceful elf woman walking beside him with a basket full of herbs.
Orin and Lyra.
Orin, strong and clad in hunter's gear, scanned the area with practiced eyes.
Lyra, a Saint, possessed extraordinary sensitivity to mana.
Orin was a Rank 9 hunter.
Lyra squinted at an unusual glimmer on the lake's surface.
"Orin," she whispered. "Look over there. The mana… it's overwhelming. It feels alive."
Orin raised his head and followed her gaze.
As elves, they were naturally attuned to mana—but never had they encountered such dense flow.
Uneasy but intrigued, they stepped toward the glow.
The density of mana made Lyra's Saint core tremble.
Still, the source remained elusive.
As they approached the mana-scented spot on the forest shore, Aion became aware of them.
His fear slowly ebbed.
Instinctively… he deactivated his Concealment Manipulation.
He was no longer fully invisible.
The elf couple couldn't quite trace his mana yet, but his silhouette became faintly visible.
Lyra's Saintly intuition now sensed his presence more clearly.
Her eyes widened as she stepped forward.
"A baby…" she breathed. "But this mana… it's unlike anything I've ever felt."
She knelt down and reached out.
The warmth radiating from Aion touched her fingertips.
The baby did not cry.
He gazed at them with deep, ancient eyes.
The mana markings on his skin screamed of a heritage beyond comprehension.
He reached out toward Lyra's extended hand.
Tiny fingers wrapped around hers.
Pure, warm mana surged through her veins.
The veil of concealment thinned further.
His form became more distinct.
The shimmer on his skin and the barely visible patterns set him apart from all known races—elf or human.
Tears welled in Lyra's eyes.
This was no ordinary child.
He was a being born from mana itself—an ancient soul.
Her Saintly intuition whispered of the profound wisdom and majesty resting within him.
"Orin," she said, her voice soaked in tenderness, "we must take him with us.
He is… a gift from the forest.
A blessing from mana itself."
Orin hesitated.
There was fear in his eyes.
To take in such a powerful being, a child with unknown origins… it was dangerous.
But when he saw the conviction in Lyra's eyes, he lowered his gaze.
"Lyra," he said softly, "this child… is no ordinary one.
He might hold a power even kings would covet."
Lyra gently cradled the baby in her arms.
Aion nestled into her warmth and closed his eyes in peace.
Orin remained stunned, but a voice inside told him it was right.
Perhaps it was the purity of the Aion race, its divine aura, that reached into the hearts of elves.
Orin and Lyra returned to their humble home hidden deep within the forest.
With them was a being born of mana's essence.
Lyra wrapped him in cloth, humming a soft lullaby.
"We should name him," she said, stroking his glowing hair.
"He came from the forest… from mana.
His name should reflect both."
Orin pondered.
"Aelion," he finally said.
"The Voice of Mana.
It comes from an old elven phrase.
It suits him—and the mystery he carries."
Lyra smiled.
"Aelion," she whispered, as if blowing the name into his destiny.
They did not yet know that what they held in their arms was not just a child…
but the key to Velmora's forgotten past and the turning point of its future.
The sleeping Aion had opened his eyes to a new life under the name Aelion.
This was not merely a birth—
but the rebirth of a whisper that once echoed through the world thousands of years ago