The evening air was calm. A golden glow filtered through the wide glass windows of the living room, painting the mansion in the kind of luxury that had become routine these past months. The curtains swayed gently from the spring breeze, and the faint sound of distant city life hummed in the background.
He was nestled in his mother's arms, a soft bottle pressed to his lips. To the world, he was just a baby—barely four months old, too young to notice much of anything. But his mind was sharper than blades, sharper than the glass chandeliers glittering above their heads. He watched, listened, and thought, all while his small body betrayed none of it.
Across from them, his father sat deep into the leather couch, a glass of amber whiskey swirling lazily in his hand. The TV mounted on the far wall dominated the room. Bright lights, bold letters, flashing headlines:
"AWAKENINGS SPREAD ACROSS THE GLOBE."
The anchor's voice carried urgency, edged with disbelief. "Reports continue to flood in of individuals across the world suddenly manifesting extraordinary abilities. What began as isolated incidents has now grown into a worldwide phenomenon. Governments are scrambling to investigate, and research institutions are working day and night to understand the source of these… awakenings."
Clips flashed across the screen: a man in France moving faster than the camera could follow; a teenager in Korea lifting a car with glowing arms; a woman in the United States walking through a wall as if it were mist.
The mother shifted uneasily, her hand tightening around her child. He felt the tremor in her touch.
The father, meanwhile, narrowed his eyes, leaning forward slightly. His gaze was calculating, the same gaze he used when dissecting business rivals or signing deals worth billions.
The anchor continued: "Early reports suggest that these powers are linked to what scientists are calling Spiritual Energy. Every living person appears to have some level of it, though most will never be able to awaken. For those who do, their Spiritual Energy manifests uniquely, forming what researchers are calling a Spirit Technique."
The camera cut to a demonstration: a government-sanctioned testing facility. A man in a lab coat stood before a crowd of reporters. Cameras clicked rapidly as he raised his hand.
At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then, a faint glow appeared around his fist—like heat shimmering above desert sands. He clenched it tighter, and the glow condensed, coating his skin in a visible aura. With a sudden motion, the aura ignited into flame.
Gasps erupted from the crowd. The fire burned steadily, licking across his knuckles, but not harming him. He swung his fist downward, and when it struck a reinforced block of metal, the impact left it scorched and cracked.
The anchor's voice resumed: "This demonstration shows the two components we now know about. First: Spiritual Energy Control, the ability to coat and manipulate one's body with Spiritual Energy. Second: the Spirit Technique, a unique manifestation tied to the individual—in this case, flame."
The feed cut back to the studio, where experts were debating furiously, their words overlapping.
The mother swallowed hard. "Spiritual Energy… ordinary people turning into this? That means anyone, anywhere, could suddenly…" Her voice trailed off, trembling. She looked down at the child in her arms, her brows furrowing. "Maybe the concept of safety is about to disappear. If anyone can wake up with these powers… how can we ever be safe again?"
Her words carried fear, not for herself, but for the small life she held.
The father gave a dry laugh, though it lacked real humor. He raised his glass, the amber liquid catching the glow of the TV. "Safety? Hah… no. What's disappearing isn't safety—it's power. Up until now, power meant money. I was powerful. We were powerful. Because wealth could buy anything—loyalty, protection, influence."
He took a slow sip, his eyes fixed on the screen. The flames replayed in slow motion. "But this… this is different. If a man with nothing can burn down a building with his fist, then what is money worth? The whole concept of power is about to change."
His words hung heavy in the air.
The mother said nothing, only rocking the child gently, as if her warmth alone could shield him from the world's chaos.
But the child was not ordinary. His infant eyes, wide and unblinking, fixed on the flames dancing on the screen.
Spiritual Energy…
He knew it well. Far too well.
So, this is what it has become here. Fragments. Shackles. A flame on a man's fist, treated as a miracle. Hah.
In his world, Spiritual Energy was not limited. It was boundless, a force that could shape reality itself. He had been born with oceans of it coursing through his veins, more than even the gods could comprehend. That alone had made him feared. But what truly set him apart was not just the vastness of his energy, but his ability to create more. Endless, inexhaustible, a tide that could not be stopped.
Techniques? He had no need to be bound to one. Fire, ice, shadow, steel, healing, creation, destruction—he had wielded them all. With enough control, with enough energy, there was nothing beyond his grasp.
And yet, here… these humans were shackled to single manifestations. A man could ignite his fist, but only that. Another could run fast, but nothing more. Each ability was a locked cage, fragments of a whole they could not even imagine.
It should have been laughable.
But instead, he felt… intrigued.
Because even shackled fragments could grow. Even distorted reflections could birth chaos.
The TV cut to footage of a city street in chaos: a man, half-mad with fear, had unleashed his Spiritual Energy in raw bursts. Cars flipped, windows shattered, and people fled screaming. Police sirens wailed, powerless against the destructive outburst.
The anchor's voice trembled slightly as she spoke: "Authorities warn that until more is understood, the emergence of Awakened individuals poses a significant threat to public order. Citizens are urged to remain calm, and report any unusual incidents immediately."
The father muttered into his glass, almost to himself. "Money won't stop that."
The mother's lips pressed into a thin line. Her arms tightened protectively around the baby, as if she could shield him from the entire world. "If things continue like this… then nowhere will be safe. Not even here."
The baby emperor blinked slowly, a faint curl tugging at his lips.
So, this world has birthed its own version of Spiritual Energy. Limited. Imperfect. But enough to shift the foundations of society. A world where power is no longer money, but something deeper. A world where fear and ambition will clash all over again.
His gaze lingered on the flickering flames one last time before his eyes drifted shut.
This world… is indeed interesting.
The infant's thoughts faded into silence as his eyes closed.
But as the flames flickered across the television screen, the narrator's voice cut through like a shadowed whisper:
He did not yet know it, but the moment mankind touched Spiritual Energy, history was rewritten. The age of money was ending. The age of power was beginning. And at its center lay a child cradled in his mother's arms—the source, the storm, and the spark of a new world.
End of Chapter 4