When he arrived home, the image of the white figure still spun endlessly in his mind. He didn't know what it was, but he was certain—it was not something ordinary. He went straight to his room and rummaged through shelves of old magic books, rolled-up scrolls, and even the medicinal manuscripts his mother kept hidden away. But not a single mention of that white presence appeared. None of the ancient legends or magical bestiaries spoke of anything like it.
In a final attempt, he turned to his parents. His mother, Zenith, and father, Arthur, noticed the seriousness in his eyes and hesitated. But both slowly shook their heads.
"No," they said. "We've never heard of such a thing."
That night, he stepped out into the backyard. Stretching out his hand, a yellow spark began to flicker in the center of his palm. It was small, weak… but it was there. For someone his age, it wasn't something to be dismissed. He could send small electric pulses several meters away and even ignite dry twigs. It was a gift he should've been proud of—but the emptiness inside wouldn't let him feel it.
The next morning at school, he asked his teacher about the white figure. But just like the others, he received no answers. No one knew. Not even Selion himself. The image still haunted him as he returned to his class. That glowing white presence... silent, yet powerful.
His thoughts were interrupted when a group of older students entered the classroom. With stern looks, they walked straight in and called Selion outside. He followed them to the training grounds, a mix of curiosity and unease in his eyes.
"Come on," one of them said. "Let's see what you've got."
Selion took a few steps back, took a deep breath, and extended his hands forward. From his fingertips, a small arc of electricity shot forward, cracking in the air before fading. When it was over, laughter erupted from the older students.
"That's it? That's all you can do?"
One of them clapped him mockingly on the shoulder before they all turned and walked away, their chuckles echoing behind them.
Selion stood there, staring at the ground.
He had a gift, yes…
But still, he felt powerless.
Without saying a word, he made his way to his teacher. Determination had settled on his face.
"How can I become stronger?" he asked.
His teacher studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Come. We're going to the training field."
They returned to the open grounds. The teacher pointed to a wooden training dummy.
"Show me what you can do."
Selion raised his hand again and focused every bit of energy within him. A large sphere of electricity formed, humming with power. In an instant, it flew forward and struck the dummy. The explosion echoed across the field, and the dummy was obliterated.
The teacher's brow furrowed. He had noticed something.
"Selion," he said softly, "Magic isn't shaped by technique alone. It's also shaped by emotion. The stronger your feelings, the more powerful your magic becomes."
He paused.
"Think of a memory… one that hurt you the most. One that fills you with rage."
Selion's eyes drifted away. The memory of Alice—her being bullied, her cries, her helplessness—rose unbidden in his mind. His fists clenched.
And then… the sky darkened.
A massive bolt of lightning crashed down from the heavens, as if carrying all the wrath of the storm itself. The training dummy didn't just shatter—it was reduced to ash. Dust and smoke filled the field.
But Selion couldn't hold the power any longer. His mana was drained.
He dropped to his knees—
And everything went black.