He stared at his hands.
"Creation… is this really all I can do?" he whispered. "Just mugs and plates? While Lyra can summon ice and blades…"
He clenched his fists. His heart burned, not with envy — but with frustration.He began experimenting, pushing his limits. He focused, imagined, shaped.To his surprise… things began to form.
Walls.Chairs.Even fragments of the ruined city began to reshape, brick by brick.
He froze in disbelief."What… is this?"There were no sparks, no light — only his will shaping the world around him. He realized then what his adoptive parents had said wasn't entirely wrong. His power was useless in combat.But they had never imagined what it could become in creation.
He could make anything.He just hadn't known how.
As the sky turned red with dusk, a sandstorm brewed on the horizon — a swirling monster of dust and wind.
Rafael saw it coming. Panic struck for a moment, then instinct took over. He raised his hand toward the broken house beside him and willed it to stand. Sand and stone bent under his command, rebuilding into walls — thicker, stronger, unyielding.
He stepped inside the shelter as the storm roared across the desert, slamming against his creation but failing to tear it down.For the first time in his life, Rafael smiled faintly.
That night, as the storm howled outside, he lay beneath a roof he'd built with his own hands.And in that moment, something stirred deep within him — a quiet certainty.
He was no longer the powerless boy from the mansion.The journey had just begun.