Chapter 2
Ashes Beneath Trees.
Dawn came slowly.
Grey light filtered through the forest canopy — cold, indifferent.
Sam had not slept.
The old elder's body lay wrapped carefully in layered animal hide, bound with woven grass rope. Tribal custom demanded respect in death.
No abandonment.
What the forest gives,
the forest takes back.
Sam stepped outside the hut.
The air carried a sharp trace of frost.
He picked up the iron shovel leaning against the wall. The metal was slightly bent. Old.
Like everything else here.
He walked toward the great oak behind the hut — the tree where the elder used to sit during quiet evenings.
"This is fine," Sam murmured.
A calm voice answered within his mind.
-AIRS
"Soil density: moderate."
"Root interference probability: 38%."
"Recommended digging depth: 1.8 meters."
(AIRS.
Artificial Integrated Reasoning and Research System.)
The voice was measured. Precise. Never intrusive.
Sam exhaled slowly.
"Not now."
Silence returned.
He began digging.
The earth was hard.
Each strike of the shovel felt heavier than the last. His palms tore open, skin splitting beneath the friction.
He didn't stop.
Pain steadied him.
Hours passed. Sweat mixed with the cold air. His breathing grew rough, but his rhythm never broke.
By midday, the grave was deep enough.
He carried the elder's body alone.
Carefully.
Deliberately.
He lowered him into the earth and stood there for a long time.
"You left me behind too… Grandpa," he said quietly.
"Just like the others."
His voice did not break.
"But don't worry."
His gaze hardened.
"I'll grow stronger. I'll survive this cruel world."
He wasn't sure he believed in gods.
But he believed in gratitude.
"Thank you… for saving me."
The wind moved gently through the leaves above.
Sam began covering the grave.
One shovel at a time.
Each dull thud of soil felt final.
When it was finished, he placed a flat stone at the head.
No name carved.
The forest remembered.
That was enough.
He sat beneath the oak as the sun slowly descended.
He remembered his past life clearly now.
The laboratory.
The accident.
The surge of dimensional energy.
But it changed nothing.
The attachment he felt toward the old man was real.
This life was real.
Loneliness pressed against him.
But this time, it did not overwhelm him.
A voice spoke calmly within his consciousness.
-AIRS
"Psychological instability detected."
"Recommendation: Cognitive stabilization protocol."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"You haven't changed."
-AIRS
"Correction. I have updated 4,312 core processes."
Sam paused.
"…You're adapting."
-AIRS
"Environmental variables require recalibration."
He looked at his hands.
Mana flowed faintly beneath his skin — unstable, inefficient.
-AIRS
"Analyzing local mana structure."
"Scanning."
"Mana density: low."
"Particle behavior inconsistent with established quantum frameworks."
"Preliminary conclusion: Mana functions as an auxiliary energy medium influenced by cognitive intent."
Sam's eyes sharpened.
Cognitive intent.
"So magic responds to mental structure."
-AIRS
"Affirmative. Current practitioners demonstrate inefficiency. Estimated energy waste: 63%."
He almost laughed.
This world called its mages powerful.
And they were wasting more than half their energy.
-AIRS
"Run optimization simulation."
"Processing."
"Projected increase in flame stability: 240%."
"Condition: precise oxygen channeling and thermal concentration."
Chemistry.
Basic combustion mechanics.
Magic here was crude.
Untested.
Unmeasured.
Unoptimized.
And that meant…
Opportunity.
The sun dipped below the trees.
Shadows stretched across the fresh grave.
Sam stood.
His grief remained.
It would not disappear.
But it no longer crushed him.
It hardened him.
"You once told me power is patient," he murmured toward the stone.
"I'll be patient."
A breeze stirred the leaves.
For a brief second, a spark flickered in his palm.
Not unstable.
Not weak.
Controlled.
Smaller than before — but denser. Refined.
AIRS did not speak.
It did not need to.
Sam lifted his gaze toward the distant horizon beyond the forest.
Kingdoms were fighting.
Nobles were greedy.
Magic was inefficient.
The world was flawed.
He would not rush.
He would observe.
Learn.
Adapt.
Then build.
The burial marked an ending.
But also the beginning of calculation.
And calculation — unlike emotion — did not falter.
End Of Chapter 2
To Be Continued....