Ivor's eyes fluttered open slowly.
The first thing he felt was pain.
His body tensed on instinct before his mind fully caught up. Muscles protested as he shifted, a sharp throb running through his shoulder and down his leg. He inhaled carefully, jaw tightening, and forced himself not to move too much.
He had fallen asleep.
That realization alone made his pulse spike. Sleeping inside a Scar felt reckless, even stupid, but exhaustion had dragged him under while he was reading. He scanned the forest canopy above him, listening for movement. Nothing stirred. No clicking bone. No distant footsteps. Just the soft rustle of leaves and the slow rhythm of wind through branches.
Only then did he let himself breathe properly.
The book rested against his chest. He lifted it with stiff fingers and continued from where he'd stopped.
The pages covered mana circulation, skill structures, core grades, and how attuned nodes determined what kind of skills a person could safely sustain. He read slowly, rereading sections when his head began to throb, forcing the information to stick despite the dull ache behind his eyes.
Nearly two hours passed before he finally closed the book.
The ache hadn't faded. If anything, it felt deeper now, a pressure that sat behind his eyes like something waiting to be acknowledged. He leaned his head back against the trunk and drew in a long breath, letting the smell of the forest ground him.
The book had made one thing very clear.
Scars were not just battlegrounds.
They were sources.
Mana inside Scars condensed naturally, forming impure mana crystals like the one now resting in his bag. Over time, that same mana warped plants, animals, even the land itself, giving rise to mana fruits, regenerative growths, and crude artifacts formed by prolonged exposure rather than craftsmanship.
Some accelerated mana recovery. Some strengthened the body. Others healed wounds that should not heal.
And all of them were dangerous.
Treasures in Scars were never unguarded. They existed where mana was thickest, where creatures were strongest, and where mistakes were fatal. The book made no attempt to romanticize it. Most awakened died chasing shortcuts.
Ivor exhaled slowly.
The problem was obvious.
He had mana, but no skills. And once a skill was formed, it was not something you simply undid. A bad choice could cripple his growth before it even began.
His gaze drifted to the other book.
Scar Survival.
He picked it up again, thumb resting on the worn edge.
There had been a single line in the Mana book that lingered in Ivor's thoughts.
Scars provide enough opportunity to change destiny.
He turned the pages again, this time with purpose, searching for anything that could help his injuries before they worsened. It didn't take long. One section was dedicated entirely to flora altered by mana, plants that grew only within Scars and carried limited but reliable healing properties.
Nine were listed.
None promised miracles. Most offered neutral recovery at best, slowing bleeding, easing pain, accelerating natural healing. Some came with warnings. Others with side effects. Ivor read through each entry carefully, committing their shapes, smells, and properties to memory. Out here, forgetting meant dying.
When he finished, he closed the book and took a small sip of water, careful not to waste it. His throat still felt dry, his body heavy. He slid all three books back into the bag and rested for a moment, then pulled out the crystal.
An impure mana crystal.
The book had been clear about its drawbacks. Absorbing from one would push impurities into the body, strain the core, and make future refinement harder. But it was still mana, and right now, mana meant survival.
He didn't have the luxury of waiting.
Another line surfaced in his mind, one he hadn't been able to ignore since reading it.
Every ten attuned nodes increased physical strength by roughly twenty-five percent.
That became his target.
Not skills. Not techniques. Just a foundation strong enough to keep him alive.
Ivor closed his fingers around the crystal. Its surface felt uneven and warm against his palm. He slowed his breathing, steadying himself, and turned his focus inward.
Mana responded.
Thin streams began flowing out of the crystal, seeping into his core. The sensation was rougher than before, less clean, like swallowing water mixed with dirt. He gritted his teeth and held on, guiding the flow as best he could while the crystal slowly dimmed in his grasp.
He stayed still, injured and exhausted, drawing mana in silence.
Time slipped by without him noticing. By the time he finally stopped, the light filtering through the canopy had begun to soften, the forest shifting toward evening. The crystal in his hand had dulled into a lifeless shard, its warmth gone.
Ivor focused inward.
The mana inside his core had increased, not by much, but enough to feel denser than before. It wasn't ready yet. He had no intention of rushing attunement blindly. Compression came first. Stability before risk.
He crushed the empty shard between his fingers and let the fragments fall. After strapping the bag securely to his back, he adjusted the bone sword behind him and checked the dagger at his belt. Every movement pulled at his injuries, but he ignored it.
Staying still any longer wasn't an option.
He climbed down the tree slowly, testing each grip, careful not to slip. When his feet finally touched the forest floor, he paused, listening.
His goal was simple. Go deeper. Find healing plants. Learn what kind of Scar this was before it learned too much about him.
Dagger in hand, he began moving forward at a measured pace, eyes fixed ahead, ears strained for anything out of place. He kept his steps light, placing his feet where the ground was clear, avoiding roots and brittle leaves.
As he walked, a familiar awareness settled over him.
He remembered when it had first begun. He had always seen farther than other children, picking out movement at the edge of vision that no one else noticed. Sounds reached him that felt too distant or too faint for others, even for grown adults. Later came scent, subtle changes in the air that told him when someone was near, and after that, a constant awareness that warned him when danger was close.
It hadn't been normal.
While others learned these things through training or awakening, Ivor had lived with them since he was young. His childhood had been hard, but more than that, it had revealed something different about him, something that set him apart long before mana ever entered the picture.
He hadn't been walking for more than ten minutes when sound reached him.
Shouting.
Metal striking bone.
Ivor dropped low instantly and slipped behind the nearest tree. He listened carefully, narrowing down the direction. The noise came from straight ahead.
He didn't approach directly.
Instead, he shifted left, moving at an angle, circling toward the source while keeping cover between himself and the sound. He advanced slowly, pausing often, until the scene finally came into view.
Four humans were fighting two skeletons.
Three boys and one girl, all armed, all moving with urgency. The skeletons pressed them hard, bone blades flashing as the group struggled to hold formation.
Ivor's gaze locked onto the fight.
Behind his eyes, the familiar pressure stirred.