Cycle 22,841 of the Dragon Era — Day 124
I woke when the first sunrise brushed against my face.
Cool morning air drifted through the forest, carrying the scent of damp earth and wildflowers. Somewhere above, unfamiliar birds called in soft, echoing tones.
Today felt different.
Not fear.
Not panic.
Not loneliness.
I woke up feeling safe.
Varya and Fenn were already awake, keeping watch. Their fur shifted gently in the morning breeze, ears alert and eyes steady.
It looked like they’d taken turns guarding through the night—part of their natural rhythm, an instinct older than history.
…Strange. I never imagined waking beside wolves would feel… normal.
A memory surfaced—people in the old world once used certain branches to clean their teeth.
I already collected many from yesterday, so I tested them one by one until I found one with a refreshing taste.
Good enough.
I cleaned up at the stream. Lyra and Icelan followed—not protectively, but curiously, almost studying me.
After they drank, we returned.
The pack was preparing to hunt.
I greeted them, and they greeted me back—subtle tail flicks, nods, low rumbles.
The younglings were full of energy, tumbling over each other in the morning light.
I reviewed the words carved into the bark—once, twice—letting the sounds settle in memory.
Kael spoke to me. I understood fragments:
“Go… hunt.”
I gave a nod and a quiet, “Got it,” even if the words meant nothing to him.
Through gestures and tone, I understood the rest:
Stay near the den.
Grey and Umbra would remain with Cira and the younglings. Lyra too—one of the stronger wolves—assigned as protection.
After the wolves left, silence settled over the forest — not empty, but alive in a quiet way.
Soft rustling leaves whispered overhead, and distant bird calls echoed somewhere deep in the canopy.
I stood, preparing to gather resources.
Lyra stepped forward, her posture alert.
She spoke a single word:
“Where?”
I pointed toward the forest and replied slowly, trying to match her tone:
“Forest. Return.”
She leaned closer, as if studying my intention.
Her body language shifted — she was ready to accompany me.
But I shook my head.
She needed to stay with the young ones, not follow me.
I was different — invisible to creatures in this world.
She wasn’t.
Through gestures and small fragments of the language I practiced, I made my meaning clear.
She hesitated… then stepped back, reluctantly agreeing.
After eating a few fruits for quick energy, I prepared to move.
Today, I felt stronger — probably from yesterday’s bear meat.
I’d moved along branches before—slow, clinging, careful.
This time, instead of crawling, I began leaping between them.
The wind brushed against my face as I moved—the leaves cool and damp beneath my hands.
I slipped once—twice—but each time my reflexes caught the branch before I fell. It surprised me.
Confidence was growing.
Not from bravery…
but from necessity.
This world was harsh — and I was adapting.
While moving through the branches, I reached the trees where I’d found the sour leaves and the spicy ones yesterday. I collected more and stored them carefully in my bag.
The forest air was cool and fresh, carrying the faint scent of moss and wet bark. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in broken beams, making drifting mana particles glow faintly like floating dust.
As I continued searching, something caught my eye near a cluster of roots — a flat stone.
Perfectly smooth.
Thick.
Sturdy.
A possible pan.
I lifted it and tested its surface with my thumb. Yes — this could work for cooking.
The problem was carrying it all the way back.
I sighed and set it aside, marking its location in my memory. I would return later.
I moved deeper into the forest, but then stopped.
My awareness sharpened — not visually, but through the faint sense of aura I’d started relying on.
There were many signatures ahead.
Stronger.
Unfamiliar.
Not the pack — something else.
I hadn’t reached the edge of Kael’s territory.
His domain stretched far — massive and claimed, even if I couldn’t gauge its true size yet.
But this part of the forest…
felt different.
Here, the wolves didn’t patrol as often.
Here, their scent markings were weaker, faint, almost distant.
Not unprotected — just less watched.
And the creatures that lived here weren’t like the ones near the den.
Closer to Kael, predators sensed the pack’s dominance through aura and instinct — and because mine was nearly nonexistent, they dismissed me entirely.
But here?
It wasn’t the same.
Their instinct would sense nothing — no threat, no identity, no presence…
…but if they saw me?
If their eyes landed on my body instead of my aura?
They would react — attack, investigate.
To their instincts, I was nothing.
But to their eyes, I was something unfamiliar.
A contradiction.
And contradictions draw danger.
The environment reflected that shift.
More variation.
More mana-rich vegetation.
Richer resources, stronger life…
…and far greater risk.
My eyes landed on a tree with clustered nuts hanging from thick branches.
Immediately, an idea sparked.
Oil.
Back on Earth, I cooked most of my meals myself — not because I loved cooking, but because I had to follow a strict routine. Everything was measured: calories, protein, oil, salt. Months of that turned me competent in the kitchen — not a chef, but someone who knew how to make food taste good.
If I could extract oil from those nuts…
I could season meat properly.
Cook evenly.
Preserve food longer.
The thought alone made my pulse quicken — not from fear, but something close to excitement.
Progress.
A small part of me — the part that used to take seasoning seriously — stirred awake.
I needed those nuts.
…For cooking.
Not obsession.
Probably.
I decided I was getting those nuts no matter what.
As I moved farther ahead, I sensed several small auras scattered in front of me — likely birds and tiny creatures.
But in this world, even birds were terrifying.
To test things, I tossed a small rock into the brush.
Instantly—
A chorus of shrill screeches exploded through the forest. The sound was sharp and metallic, nothing like Earth’s birds.
My pulse jumped.
If I was seen, I was dead.
The screeching paused… then started again — louder this time.
This time, it felt like those calls were directed toward me.
A cold wave of dread crept up my spine.
Before I could move, I sensed another presence behind me — approaching fast.
I turned, tense—
but relaxed when I recognized the aura.
Lyra.
She must have tracked me by scent. Wolves had memorized mine since I left no aura trail.
So even though I told her not to worry…
She came anyway.
She glanced at me, then at the danger ahead, reading the situation faster than I could explain it.
As she stepped forward, her aura expanded — not aggressively, but with calm dominance.
The smaller creatures felt it.
The screeching cut off.
Then silence.
Just like that, the forest obeyed her.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Taking advantage of the moment, I hurried forward and gathered as many nuts as I could, stuffing them into my bag before retreating back toward the safer, well-patrolled part of the forest.
Once we were away from the unsettled area, Lyra turned to me.
Her expression was clear:
You should NOT have done that.
If wolves could scold with just a look — that was it.
But then her posture softened.
She wasn’t angry.
She was worried.
I went to retrieve the flat stone I’d seen earlier and lifted it awkwardly, struggling under its weight as I began walking back toward the den.
Lyra watched me for a moment — ears twitching — then stepped forward.
She made a short sound and gestured for me to stop.
I tried to insist I could manage, but she ignored it and pointed sharply to the ground.
Fine.
I set the stone down.
She placed her paw near it—and—
A thin crack appeared beside her in midair — as if space itself had split open.
Not a tear — more like a doorway of pure nothingness.
She lifted the stone effortlessly and placed it into the crack.
It vanished.
The tear sealed itself silently.
I blinked.
Rubbed my eyes.
Looked again.
Nothing.
Lyra tapped my bag, then pointed to the space where the crack had been, repeating a word in her language.
Storage.
Dimension.
I didn’t know the exact term —
but I understood the concept.
This world wasn’t just dangerous.
It broke physics casually.
The more I learned…
The more I realized how little I understood.
I exhaled slowly.
I have a lot to learn.
On the way back, I decided not to waste the trip.
I gathered more of the cotton-like fiber from the tree, then filled several shells with water from the stream.
Only once everything was secured in my bag did Lyra and I return to the den.
The moment we arrived, the younglings ran toward us—tails wagging, eyes bright. They nudged my legs and hands, whispering small, incomplete words through their mental link.
Progress.
For them… and for me.
I set the flat stone—now stored and retrieved by Lyra—onto a ring of rocks at a careful height above the fire pit.
Once the wolves sparked the flames, I placed the leaves I’d collected on top to dry.
Then came the main task.
The nuts.
I placed a handful between two flat stones and began smashing them, slowly grinding the shells and kernels into a thick paste. The smell grew warm, rich, earthy.
Once crushed fine, I scooped the paste into a bowl shaped from tree bark.
I used the cotton-like fiber as a filter, pressing the mixture between my palms.
It was slow—primitive—but effective.
Drop by drop, a thin golden liquid began to gather at the bottom.
Oil.
Not much… barely a few spoonfuls.
But it was oil.
When the last drop fell, I removed the fiber bundle—now soaked with crushed nut residue—and set it aside.
The spices were drying.
The oil was extracted.
Piece by piece, things were coming together.
The sun climbed higher and warmed the forest canopy.
By afternoon, Kael and the hunting group returned earlier than usual — they must have caught prey quickly today.
A massive boar hung from the strange spatial crack beside Kael—bigger than any normal animal should be. Its hide was thick and dark, lined with faint natural ridges that looked like layered armor. Two long tusks curved outward, sharp and dense like polished stone, and patches of coarse fur bristled along its spine.
With a flick of mana and a faint ripple in the air, the carcass dropped to the ground—heavy enough that the earth trembled beneath it.
Kael’s spatial storage was much larger than Lyra’s—more stable, controlled, and refined.
He placed a paw on the boar’s thick hide and spoke a single word with weight and familiarity:
“ .”
Then he began cutting the meat with clean, practiced motions—precision built from years of hunting, not hesitation.
He set a portion in front of me.
I nodded in thanks.
I began preparing the spices I’d dried earlier—grinding them separately:
- one mix spicy
? the other sour and salty
The oil sat in a small bowl—not much, but enough.
As I washed the meat, something made me pause.
I expected it to be tough—hard like stone. Everything in this world was absurdly durable: thick hides, dense muscle, reinforced bone.
The first creature I killed nearly shattered my hands just trying to even make a dent in its body.
Yesterday, when I cooked the Gorrath, I noticed the same softness… but I was too hungry to question it.
Now—clearer mind, steady hands—I finally processed it.
The moment water touched the meat, the flesh softened even more.
Tender. Almost… normal.
My brows furrowed before I could stop myself.
Kael noticed.
He tapped the meat lightly with his paw, gaze steady, and spoke—slowly, deliberately simplifying his speech for my level:
“Living flesh… strong. Aura and life… protect.”
A short pause.
“Death… no aura. Strength fades. Flesh soft.”
The meaning clicked.
Aura wasn’t just some glow or presence.
It was life force—what humans on Earth would’ve called ki—fused with mana.
I stared down at the meat again, the realization settling deeper.
Creatures here weren’t terrifying because of muscle alone.
Their strength came from that fusion of mana and life force woven through their bodies—an invisible armor holding everything together.
And once that force vanished…
Strength disappeared.
Only meat remained.
“So… mana and ki together make… aura.”
I said it slowly, more to myself than to anyone else.
Kael’s ears twitched.
“Ki?” he repeated—not questioning, but tasting the unfamiliar sound.
I tapped my chest, trying to explain the only way I knew.
“Ki… life force. Strength. Power of the body.”
Kael watched me — not confused, but analyzing the word I’d used.
He repeated it once, tasting the unfamiliar sound:
“Ki…”
A moment passed, then his eyes narrowed with understanding.
“Ki is… flesh-strength,” he said slowly.
“Strength of body. Bone. Muscle.”
He tapped his own chest where his heart was.
“That is aura too.”
He pointed at the air — where mana flowed through everything unseen.
“Mana… breath-strength.”
Then he brought both gestures together, overlapping them.
“Both are one. Aura.”
Not separate.
Not two forces.
Just two sides of the same strength, unified in this world.
I nodded slowly — but something inside me shifted.
Back on Earth — in martial arts and cultivation stories — ki was the strength of the body.
Life.
Instinct.
A force rooted in flesh and will.
And mana — in fantasy stories— was the power of magic.
Creation.
Elements.
The supernatural.
Two forces.
Two categories.
But here?
There was no divide.
Every creature carried both in abundance — but no one here ever bothered to separate them.
Not the energy moving through muscle and bone.
Not the power shaping elements or abilities.
To this world’s creatures, there was no boundary worth defining.
Together, ki and mana existed as one measurable presence — one reality:
Aura.
Suddenly, aura sensing made sense.
The overwhelming pressure I felt near powerful beings wasn’t just mana…
and it wasn’t just physical ability.
It was both — fused so completely the distinction didn’t matter.
No wonder everything here was terrifying.
No wonder even something tiny could kill me.
Their strength wasn’t just muscle.
It was energy woven into their bodies — reinforcing, sharpening, amplifying them in ways my world never imagined.
And to the wolves, this wasn’t a philosophy.
Not a theory.
Not something to define.
It was simply what existed.
Just… strength.
Kael watched me — not rushing, not helping — simply waiting to see if the understanding settled.
And it did.
Different language.
Different world.
But finally—
the meaning reached.
Using a leaf as a brush, I spread the oil across the flat stone pan, coating it evenly so the meat wouldn’t burn or stick.
Then I placed it carefully on the heated stone.
A sizzle rose — soft at first, then sharper as the surface heated more.
It worked.
The smell spread through the air — rich, smoky, warm.
Once the meat browned, I sprinkled both spice mixtures across it, letting flavor sink in.
My portion finished first, so I placed it aside on a large leaf.
Kael noticed — and surprised me.
He nudged his portion toward me — a silent request.
Trade.
Meaning clear.
So I cooked his next.
Then another.
Then another.
Soon I was cooking for all of them.
The oil ran low — but still, the meat turned richly golden and fragrant.
When all portions were finally cooked, the wolves formed a circle.
No one ate early.
Only when everyone had their food, including me, did they begin.
A ritual.
A rule.
A pack habit.
They took their first bites.
And instantly — their expressions shifted.
The same reaction Kael had yesterday — but stronger.
I heard scattered, mixed thoughts through fragmented telepathic bursts:
“Good.”
“Delicious.”
“Better.”
“Fire… perfect.”
Even if the words weren’t fully clear yet, the meaning was undeniable.
Seeing that response…
It made my chest feel warm.
Maybe pride.
Maybe belonging.
Maybe both.
Everyone ate until they were full.
I noticed something: they only ate once a day.
But I decided to save my portion.
Icelan helped — I wrapped the cooked meat in leaves, and she formed a layer of ice around it with her mana.
A working freezer.
My hunch was right — the bear meat yesterday and the bo—
I paused.
No.
Not bear.
Gorrath.
And today’s meal wasn’t just “boar.”
Kael had named it.
Drasven.
If I was going to live here — really live here — then I had to stop thinking in Earth’s words.
So I corrected myself quietly:
yesterday.
today.
Both made me feel stronger… almost charged.
Not just full — energized.
Like every fiber of muscle and bone was rebuilding itself faster, adapting, responding.
Food here wasn’t just nutrition.
It was fuel.
After the meal, Kael sat beside me.
He went still for a moment, his attention focused entirely on me.
A pulse brushed against my mind — faint, controlled.
He was speaking through the link.
“Vhal’ra esh drak’kun era.”
The phrase echoed with a weight that sent a chill down my spine.
I couldn’t translate any part of it — not a single syllable —
but the meaning behind it felt old.
Important.
Almost ceremonial.
I didn’t understand the language yet.
But I understood one thing clearly:
Whatever he said…
wasn’t casual.
It mattered.
So instead, he shifted to teaching— slower, clearer:
He spoke through the link again—simpler words, slower pacing, and small drawn symbols—making it easier for me to understand.
Bit by bit… the meaning began to take shape.
First, he drew two circles, then pointed to the sky.
The moons.
Then he drew the bigger circle overlapping the smaller — a lunar eclipse.
He repeated this gesture several times, making sure I connected it.
Then it clicked.
They measured time by the moons’ eclipse.
so when the blue moon covered the green, that meant a year had passed.
He drew another symbol — one I’d never seen — but now understood was a number.
Then another.
Then another.
He was teaching me their counting system.
Finally, he scratched a large symbol into the dirt — one that meant:
500.
A full moon cycle. A year.
I repeated the number aloud in his language.
He nodded.
So one year here wasn’t 365 days like on Earth —
it was 500.
Then Kael pointed to himself… and wrote another number:
811.
I froze.
Eight hundred and eleven moon cycles.
He was telling me his age.
Age Conversion (my thoughts racing)
1 lunar year here = 500 days
Kael’s age in days:
811 × 500 = 405,500 days
Convert to Earth years:
405,500 ÷ 365 ≈ 1,111.
Kael was over eleven hundred years old.
Older than most human civilizations.
Ancient wasn’t even the right word.
He was… prehistoric.
A living monument.
I swallowed, stunned.
I took a moment to calculate my own age.
My age on Earth: 19.
Earth days lived: roughly 6,935.
When I divided that number by their 500-day cycle…
the result was 13.87.
So I rounded it and carefully carved the number into the dirt the same way he had:
14.
His ears rose— surprised.
Then softened.
The others shared their ages next.
Borin and Fenn had witnessed 95 moon cycles.
Lyra and Umbra had witnessed 56.
Varya and Icelan had witnessed 32.
Grey and Lucan — the youngest — had witnessed 20.
And Cira, their mother, had lived through 681 moon cycles.
Then there were the pups.
Judging by size and behavior, they seemed about two Earth months old…
but their month system was different.
More complex.
I couldn’t fully grasp it yet.
Kael watched me closely, his expression unreadable — like he was measuring my lack of understanding.
A quiet frustration stirred inside me.
I didn’t want to stay ignorant.
I wanted to speak their language — properly, clearly — not in broken fragments and guesses.
More than anything…
I wanted to understand this world.
So I continued practicing — speaking with every member of the pack one by one.
They never complained, never grew visibly tired — but I learned when their attention drifted and moved on.
By the time the sun lowered again, my head felt like it was being squeezed from the inside.
Still… I was making progress.
When the pack gathered again to continue teaching me, the headache finally became unbearable.
I needed a release.
Instinctively, I dropped to the ground and began push-ups.
My arms burned, lungs strained — yet I felt like I could still push for another hundred.
When I looked up, Kael was watching — eyes slightly widened in surprise.
He spoke softly, and this time I understood nearly the entire meaning:
“Yuu… tiny aura.”
Then it clicked.
Aura wasn’t just some mystical presence.
It was ki and mana
Energy that could be trained, strengthened, refined.
Kael’s words echoed in my mind long after.
Aura is the foundation of this world.
Here, mana and life force weren’t separate; they existed as one, shaping muscle, instinct, and power.
This world — with its strange creatures, towering trees, monstrous beasts — wasn't “fantasy.”
Everything here had evolved with mana and ki intertwined from the beginning.
That was why everything was bigger.
Stronger.
Faster.
More dangerous.
And if that was the rule of this world…
then it wasn’t a limit.
It was a path.
And if that was true…
Then I wasn’t limited.
I could grow too.
I ate the food I stored earlier, along with a few fruits.
My appetite had grown after the push-ups — my body was craving fuel.
As night fell, darkness settled over the forest, and the soft glowing particles appeared again — drifting through the air like silent stars.
But tonight… something was different.
My body absorbed them.
Just like the wolves.
It made sense in a strange way — back on Earth, after a workout, the body absorbed nutrients faster.
Here, mana seemed to follow the same principle.
Protein after a workout always felt good.
Mana after adaptation felt… better.
I sat with the pack, practicing more words and phrases.
One by one, the wolves drifted into sleep — taking turns watching the surroundings.
During each shift, I practiced speaking with whoever stayed awake.
First Borin and Fenn — we spoke until nearly midnight.
They tried to teach patiently, repeating sounds until my tongue finally understood where each tone should fall.
Then their shift ended.
Next were Lyra and Varya.
We spoke — softly, slowly — until twilight approached.
My mind grew heavy.
My body relaxed.
At some point, I didn’t even notice when I stopped speaking.
I just… fell asleep.