Time flowed strangely in my new life. Days blurred into months, and months into years. My body grew, though my mind had long since surpassed that of any child. By the time I could walk and talk, I already understood far more than anyone around me.
My brother, Heracles, was the pride of our home. Even as a boy, he could lift what grown men couldn't budge. The servants whispered that he was blessed by Zeus himself. Everywhere he went, people bowed, praised, adored.
And he knew it.
Heracles was strong—undeniably so—but strength without humility is just vanity wearing armor. I watched him brawl with boys in the courtyard, boast before our father, even smirk when Mother scolded him. The arrogance was palpable.
"Brother," I said one morning, still small enough to look up at him, "what does strength mean to you?"
He laughed. "Strength is winning. Strength is never bowing to anyone. You'll understand when you're older."
Maybe he was right, by mortal standards. But I wasn't mortal—not anymore.
When the house slept, I trained in silence. I couldn't rely on chakra yet; my body was too young, too frail to handle the strain. But spiritual energy—that was different.
I sat cross-legged beneath the pale glow of a clay oil lamp, closed my eyes, and reached inward.
The world shifted.
The air thickened, heavy with unseen motion. I could feel the invisible pulse of existence—the breath of the earth, the hum of every living soul. Threads of energy shimmered around me like silver mist. Mana. Life essence. The fuel of the Shaman King.
Slowly, carefully, I drew it in. It flowed through me like cool water through parched soil. At first it hurt—a tingling pressure in every nerve—but soon it became natural.
With each night, I gathered more. I learned to blend it with fragments of my own soul, to weave it together until my spiritual core burned brighter. I could feel it shaping me, expanding me, making me more than human.
Mana flowed into spirit energy; spirit energy, in turn, nurtured chakra. The balance was delicate—physical strength feeding spiritual clarity, spiritual clarity awakening chakra.
And so I built my foundation.
One night, as I meditated, a faint shape appeared before me—translucent, flickering like fire. A wandering spirit, drawn by the mana I exuded.
It bowed, curious.
I smiled softly. "Don't worry. I'm not here to command you. I'm here to learn."
It tilted its head, and then—slowly—merged into me. My soul expanded, and the flow of energy doubled. My connection to the unseen world deepened.
So that was the secret of fusion: not dominance, but harmony.
By the time dawn touched the horizon, I could feel my chakra network beginning to form—thin streams of energy, still small, but growing steadily.
Days later, Hercules burst through the door, dragging the carcass of a lion twice his size. He grinned at me, his young muscles flexing proudly. "See, little brother? The world respects power."
I looked at him, calm. "Maybe. But true power doesn't need to shout."
He laughed, not understanding.
But I smiled. One day, he would.