Kiyoshi stood by the edge of the forest, watching the snowfall as if lost in thought.
The soft crunch beneath his boots grounded him in the moment.
He shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the clothing Ceng-tae had given him.
The door to the cabin creaked open, and Ceng-tae stepped outside, his breath visible in the cold air.
He didn't speak at first—just watched Kiyoshi in silence.
"Do you feel it?" Ceng-tae's voice broke the stillness, soft and measured.
Kiyoshi blinked, confused. "Feel what?"
"The air. The mana flowing through the trees. The earth beneath us."
Ceng-tae gestured around them.
"This forest is alive with magic. Can you sense it?"
Kiyoshi furrowed his brow and closed his eyes.
He tried to focus—tried to reach out—but there was nothing.
Just a void.
"…No," Kiyoshi admitted quietly. "I don't feel anything."
Ceng-tae studied him, gaze softening.
Of course he wouldn't. Not yet.
The boy had been through too much—his memories gone, his power buried deep within.
Yet even now, Ceng-tae could sense it: a presence stirring faintly beneath the surface.
After giving him the name Kiyoshi, subtle shifts had begun—faint ripples in the air, an aura unlike any human's.
He'd confirmed it only a few nights ago, while Kiyoshi slept.
The power surrounding the boy wasn't just strong.
It was demonic.
Ceng-tae knew that chaotic signature too well… but never had he seen it in someone so young, so innocent.
And there was something else—a contradiction that gnawed at him.
The demonic energy wasn't pure.
It was tainted by something unfamiliar, something he couldn't yet name.
He kept these thoughts to himself.
Kiyoshi didn't need to know.
Not yet.
Better ignorance than awakening a darkness he wasn't ready to face.
Still, the question lingered in Ceng-tae's mind—
how long could he protect the boy from what lay within?
How long until Kiyoshi felt it for himself… and broke free?
"Patience," Ceng-tae said aloud.
"In time, you'll feel it. Mana flows where it's meant to. For now, don't force it."
He stood, brushing snow from his coat.
"Everyone has a connection to mana—some stronger than others. But you…"
Kiyoshi looked up, curiosity flickering in his eyes.
"Me what?"
Ceng-tae hesitated, then smiled faintly.
"You'll see when the time is right."
Kiyoshi frowned, still unsatisfied. "Okay… but why did you name me Kiyoshi?"
Ceng-tae leaned against a nearby tree, eyes thoughtful.
"When I found you, you were silent—lost in a cloud no one else could understand.
Kiyoshi means 'pure and quiet.' It felt right."
Kiyoshi lowered his gaze, the words echoing in his mind.
The name felt warm, like a small light in the fog—a gift.
And yet, unease clung to the edges of his thoughts.
A whisper that something deeper was buried beneath the silence.
Maybe, in time, that feeling would fade.
Maybe this small, new piece of himself would finally feel real…
even if it didn't fit just yet.
Ceng-tae's voice pulled him back.
"You should rest. Tomorrow, we'll continue—and you'll start learning more about your connection to this world."
Kiyoshi nodded slowly, turning toward the cabin.
Snow crunched under his feet as he stepped back inside.
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"The Next Morning."
Kiyoshi's heart pounded as Ceng-tae led him deeper into the forest, the wind howling softly through the trees.
They stopped in a clearing where the snow lay untouched, save for their footprints. Ceng-tae turned to face him, his expression serious.
"Mana isn't just power. It's life."
His voice was calm yet firm as he guided Kiyoshi through his first lesson in controlling mana.
"To wield it, you must understand it.
To suppress it, you must understand yourself."
Kiyoshi frowned, uncertain.
"I don't even know who I am."
Ceng-tae met his gaze, unwavering.
"Then this is the first step in finding out."
He knelt down, motioning for Kiyoshi to do the same. The air was still, save for the distant rustling of branches.
"Close your eyes. Focus on your breathing—nothing else."
Reluctantly, Kiyoshi obeyed. His eyes fluttered shut. A minute passed. Then another. His breath fogged before him, but his mind remained restless.
And then—
"Now, feel the mana," Ceng-tae said softly, as if sensing the shift.
Kiyoshi furrowed his brows, staring at his hands, willing them to respond. He tried to hone in on the energy Ceng-tae swore was buried within him—and something stirred.
Not warmth exactly, but a pressure deep in his chest.
Like thunder wrapped in cloth.
His fingertips tingled faintly, as if brushing the edge of a flame that refused to ignite.
Ceng-tae stepped back without a word, watching him with quiet patience.
Kiyoshi closed his eyes again, syncing his breath with the rhythm of the wind.
Inhale. Exhale. Let go.
Minutes passed. Sweat beaded on his brow. His hands trembled. The energy coiled in his chest refused to take shape.
No flicker of light.
No form.
Just… silence.
Frustration broke through his focus. His eyes snapped open.
"I… I can't feel it," he said, voice taut. "It's like I'm reaching for something that's not even there."
Ceng-tae smiled faintly.
"Not yet. But that doesn't mean it's beyond you.
Even rivers forget their course when the earth shifts beneath them.
In time, they remember—and so will you."
"Trial & Error."
Over the next few days, they repeated the same exercises.
Ceng-tae's patience never wavered, and slowly—hesitantly—Kiyoshi began to respond.
First came flickers of light in his palms.
Then, brief flashes of shape.
By the end of the week, he managed to form something whole: a small, rough sphere of light that pulsed like a fragile heartbeat in his cupped hands—unstable, but undeniably real.
Under the twilight sky, Kiyoshi stared at it, barely breathing.
"I… I really did it," he murmured.
He turned the sphere in his fingers as though it might vanish at any moment. For the first time in days—maybe longer—he didn't feel empty.
Something inside him stirred.
Not certainty.
Not strength.
But a spark of something close.
Ceng-tae clapped him on the back with a wide grin.
"See? Told you it was in there. That's worth celebrating, boy."
Kiyoshi's messy black hair, tied into a loose bun, whipped slightly in the evening breeze. The peekaboo blonde streak at the back caught the fading sunlight.
His shoulders dropped, the tension he hadn't realized he was holding finally easing. When he turned to Ceng-tae with a small smile—the first since they'd met—it felt real.
Ceng-tae placed a hand on his head, playfully ruffling the newly trimmed strands.
"You've earned it, kid. Tomorrow, we'll go to the village."
Kiyoshi blinked, caught off guard.
"The village?"
Ceng-tae nodded, his face softening.
"There's more to life than just training. You'll see."
For the first time, the emptiness inside Kiyoshi felt a little less like a void—
and a little more like a space waiting to be filled.
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