The tribe gave me food. Shelter. More than I deserved. But at night, when the others slept, I sat by the fire, staring at those broken pages. The words mocked me—shapes without meaning, riddles without answers.
I began to copy them down, again and again. My hands blistered, my back stiffened. Days turned to weeks. Months.
Nine months of failure.
The tribe's children laughed when I mispronounced the sounds. Elders shook their heads. But I kept going, tearing the meaning apart, stitch by stitch.
And then, one night, something shifted. Beneath one fragment of text, I found a mark—not just words, but a command. An incantation.
It spoke not of gestures, not of offerings, but of will.
Focus. Endurance. Courage. The fire of a man who refuses to fall. That was magic's core. Not tricks. Not rituals. Will.
I whispered the words, voice breaking. My throat was raw. My body trembled as if the world pressed against me. Nothing happened.
But I did not stop.
Nine months became survival itself—breathing, failing, rising. My tongue bled from repeating sounds that tore my throat raw. My mind frayed, yet clung to one thought: I promised you. I will.
One morning, my body rose. Just a few meters, then the earth pulled me back. My face hit the ground, pain blooming across my chest. But I laughed. I laughed like a madman because for a moment, the world had bent.
Days later, I tried again, every muscle clenched, every thought burned into the incantation. My bones felt like they were being squeezed by fire, but I rose—ten meters, fifty—until the air thinned and my strength snapped. I crashed down, coughing blood, but alive.
The tribe watched. Fear in their eyes. Awe. Whispers.
At night, I looked at the stars. One by one they shimmered, like eyes watching. My chest burned with a question: What now? The book is nearly gone. Its secrets end here.
A falling star crossed the sky. My breath caught. My body moved before my mind. I rose, higher, higher, chasing the flame, wings of will alone carrying me.
Ten. Twenty. Thirty. A hundred meters. A thousand. The air screamed against me. My heart thundered, yet I refused to stop.
Then—pressure. Invisible, crushing, unyielding. The sky itself pushed me down.
Pain ripped through my bones. My skin blackened, charred. Blood poured from my mouth. My body became a cage of agony.
But I looked higher.
I swore into the void:
"I promise you—I will."
And somewhere, far away, in a world I could not see, thunder erupted. Lightning cracked across an unseen sky. The earth itself trembled, as if the oath had been heard