For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
The wind had stilled. The glyphs carved into the earth no longer glowed, but faint traces of light still clung to them, like dying embers refusing to fade. My chest rose and fell, my breaths sharp at first, then gradually slower.
Father stood there… frozen. His eyes were locked on me, not with suspicion, but with something close to disbelief.
"You…" His voice trailed off, as if saying the words out loud would break reality. "Jae… you awakened it."
I blinked at him. "Isn't that what was supposed to happen?"
"Yes," he said slowly, "but not like this. No one—no one—has ever awakened their mana core in a single day."
The lines of magic that had spiraled around me shimmered faintly once more before sinking into the soil, vanishing like whispers returning to silence. I pressed a hand to my chest, over my heart.
It was still beating.
But it didn't feel like my heart alone anymore.
A second rhythm thudded beneath my ribs—slower, deeper, older. It wasn't just inside me… it was part of me.
I looked up at Father, my voice low. "What was that?"
He moved slowly now, like each step was weighed. His calloused hands brushed the dirt from his palms as the glow faded from his eyes, replaced by warmth and something else—something heavy.
"That," he said gently, "was the first breath of your mana core."
He stopped in front of me, kneeling until his face was level with mine. The air still carried a subtle hum, a lingering thread of the magic that had just filled the clearing.
"Inside you now is a flame that will never go out," he continued. "It's small for now, but it's yours. It will grow with you—just like your bones, your courage… and your choices."
My brows furrowed. "Will I be able to use magic now? Like you? Like in the stories?"
Father chuckled—not the mocking kind, but the warm, proud kind that makes you want to ask more questions.
"Eventually," he said. "But magic isn't really about throwing fire or lifting stones with your mind. Not at its core. It's about connection—between you and the world. Between you and others. Between your heart and your power."
I looked down at my hands. They were still the same—small fingers, dirt under my nails—but they felt different. Alive. Tingling, as if something in the air was brushing against my skin from the inside out.
Father straightened, offering me his hand. "Come. Let's head home before nightfall. Your mother's probably worrying already."
I took his hand, and together we began the descent down the hill. The sky above us was painted in deep golds and violets, the last light of the day spilling across the treetops like molten metal.
Halfway down, I couldn't help myself. "Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"Has anyone… ever messed up their mana awakening?"
He slowed, then stopped entirely. The lengthening shadows stretched around us, their edges blurring into the gathering dusk. For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer.
When he finally did, his voice was slower, quieter.
"Yes. Some awaken things they aren't ready for. Some carry burdens too heavy, too early. And some…" His eyes narrowed slightly. "…some choose the wrong path once the power answers them."
I swallowed. "Will that happen to me?"
He turned to face me fully. And for a heartbeat, there was something in his gaze—something ancient and unspoken—resting behind the warmth.
"No," he said firmly. "Because you won't be alone."
We walked the rest of the way in silence, the chirping of crickets filling the space between us.
Far above us, the Great Rise stood quiet again, the runes on its surface now erased by the wind. But in the air where the magic had burned brightest, a faint shimmer lingered—unseen by human eyes.
And something… noticed.
Something older than mana.
Something patient.
It had felt Jae Hoon's first breath of power.
And it would remember.