The dawn crept quietly through the narrow windows of the monastery. The soft light brushed against Eli's face, rousing him from a restless sleep. His body ached with fatigue, but his mind was sharper than ever — alive with strange new sensations and the lingering echo of his nighttime vision.
He sat up slowly, his breath shallow, as if waking from a dream that was more real than reality itself.
The other children were already awake, moving in measured silence. They avoided his gaze, as if sensing the invisible weight that now surrounded him.
Master Raghav was not among them.
Eli felt a flicker of unease. The elder's absence was unusual, and today's lessons were his anchor.
Minutes later, the heavy wooden door creaked open.
Master Raghav entered with deliberate calm, his eyes brighter than usual. In his hands was a small wooden box, carved with intricate symbols Eli had never seen before.
He knelt before Eli and placed the box gently on the floor.
"This," the master said, "is the beginning of what you are meant to become."
Eli's fingers trembled as he reached out to touch the box.
Inside was a small, smooth stone — black as obsidian, yet pulsing faintly with inner light.
"It is a focusing stone," Raghav explained. "It will help you contain the power that lives inside you. Your gift is unlike any other. It is raw, unshaped, dangerous if left unchecked."
Eli studied the stone, feeling a strange warmth seep into his skin.
His mind raced back to the visions — the heroes he had seen, the worlds he had glimpsed.
What was his role among them?
Could he truly be the bridge between these universes?
Over the next days, training became more intense.
Eli was taught to meditate deeply, channeling his energy through the focusing stone. At first, the power was wild — a chaotic storm that threatened to overwhelm him.
But with time, patience, and endless practice, the storm began to quiet.
He learned to conjure faint lights that hovered like fireflies. He could manipulate small objects without touching them — lifting a feather, bending a blade of grass.
It was magic, yes — but magic born of thought, of pure imagination.
One afternoon, after a particularly grueling session, Eli stumbled into the monastery's vast library.
The scent of ancient parchment and worn leather filled the air.
Here, he felt a strange kinship.
He ran his fingers over the spines of dusty tomes, pausing on a thick volume bound in deep purple.
Its title: The Art of Creation and Manifestation.
He opened it with reverence.
The pages described ancient secrets — how the universe itself was a tapestry woven from the threads of thought and will.
The text spoke of "Creators" — beings capable of manifesting realities from pure imagination, but warned of the dangers inherent in such power.
"Creation," the book said, "is both a blessing and a curse. To imagine is to hold the power of gods — but only those who master their mind may avoid destruction."
Eli felt a chill run down his spine.
Was this knowledge meant for him?
As the sun set, casting long shadows across the stone floor, a new visitor arrived at the monastery.
She was unlike anyone Eli had seen — cloaked in a dark robe, her eyes sharp and intelligent, carrying an aura of quiet strength.
She introduced herself as Maya.
A sorceress from a distant magical order, she had been sent by a secret council to observe the child who walked between worlds.
Maya's arrival was the first sign that Eli's hidden life was becoming impossible to contain.
She saw potential in him — but also the danger of unrestrained power.
"Your journey is just beginning," she told Eli, "and the choices you make will echo across the multiverse."
That night, Eli lay awake, clutching the focusing stone.
His thoughts were a tempest — a storm of fear, hope, and endless questions.
But one thing was clear: the world he knew was only the beginning.
Beyond the monastery walls, beyond the familiar mountains and valleys, the vast multiverse waited.
And Eli Vire was destined to step into it.