Chapter 13 — The First Steps of Power

  Cycle 22,841 of the Dragon Era — Day 126

  I woke the moment the first sunrise brushed across my face.

  Warm light filtered through the leaves above, and for a brief second, everything felt quiet. Peaceful.

  My muscles ached from yesterday’s training and attempts at healing, but it wasn’t unpleasant—it felt earned.

  I moved through my morning routine: washing at the stream, brushing with the branch fibers I’d chosen, clearing my thoughts.

  Then the training began.

  Stretching first—slow and controlled.

  Then push-ups until my arms trembled.

  Pull-ups from a low branch until my grip slipped.

  Squats—steady, breathing sharp.

  Crunches.

  Sprint drills across the clearing.

  By the time I stopped, my chest was burning, sweat dripping, and my body humming with exhaustion and focus.

  Some of the wolves watched, curious—especially the younger ones.

  Lucan was the first to ask, tilting his head slightly:

  “Why… do this every day?”

  His tone wasn’t mocking—just genuinely confused.

  I caught my breath before answering.

  “It’s habit,” I said.

  “It’s like sparring — but against my own body. My own mind.”

  Lyra blinked as if trying to process the idea.

  For wolves, strength seemed to come from hunting, sparring, instinct, lineage, aura, and mana.

  Still… they accepted it.

  Soon after, the hunting group began gathering.

  Postures shifted.

  Auras sharpened.

  It was time for them to move.

  Kael paused before leaving and looked toward me.

  His tone carried quiet warning:

  “Do not go far today.”

  I frowned. “Why?”

  There was a short silence—then he spoke:

  “Your aura… is no longer invisible.”

  My stomach dropped.

  “What?”

  Kael nodded slowly.

  “Yesterday… when you forced mana into your wound… something woke. Your energy is beginning to show.”

  I didn’t know whether to feel shocked, proud… or worried.

  “Can others sense it?” I asked carefully.

  Kael flicked his tail.

  “Not clearly. Not yet. But soon.”

  The realization hit me:

  My invisibility—the one thing protecting me from stronger creatures—was fading.

  And it wasn’t because I grew stronger…

  …but because I had finally touched mana.

  Kael continued:

  “Do not panic. until you learn control, you must stay near the den.”

  I nodded.

  “…Understood.”

  Kael held my gaze a moment longer—making sure I meant it.

  Then, with a silent signal to the group, the hunting party disappeared into the forest.

  Leaving me with a new truth:

  I was no longer unseen by this world.

  My presence—my existence—was beginning to register.

  And that meant everything was about to change.

  I decided to stay close to the den today.

  Kael’s warning lingered in my mind — my aura was starting to show.

  That alone was enough reason not to wander.

  Borin and Grey remained as the day’s guards, while Lyra—as always—watched me with quiet judgment.

  Cira had joined the hunt again, leaving Lyra, Grey, and Borin here with me.

  After a moment of hesitation, I turned to Lyra.

  “…Rematch?”

  Her ears twitched.

  Her expression said everything before her voice did.

  “Rematch? Didn’t you get tossed yesterday?”

  She wasn’t teasing — just blunt.

  But I nodded anyway.

  “I want to try again.”

  For a moment she simply stared — then exhaled softly, almost like a silent laugh.

  “…Very well. No mana this time.”

  We stepped into an open clearing where yesterday’s spar had happened.

  The moment she lowered her stance, I felt the pressure.

  But I moved first.

  This time, my punches landed.

  My fist struck her shoulder — and pain shot up my arm as if I had just punched a stone wall.

  Lyra didn't even flinch.

  Before I could react, her paw moved — fast, controlled — and I was knocked back, rolling across the grass.

  I got up again.

  Attacked again.

  Dashed to the side.

  Tried to predict her rhythm.

  Tried to dodge.

  But she was simply too fast.

  Each exchange left another bruise, another scratch, another reminder of the gulf between us.

  My lungs burned.

  Vision blurred at the edges.

  The wound on my hand reopened, blood slipping through the cotton wrap.

  Still — I refused to stop.

  I pushed forward until my body finally reached its limit.

  My legs wobbled.

  My breathing turned ragged.

  And then —

  I couldn’t move anymore.

  Lyra stepped toward me — not as an opponent now, but almost like a teacher.

  Her voice was quieter this time.

  “Father expected this.”

  I looked up, tired and confused.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  She continued:

  “He told me: don’t heal his injuries. Let him learn. Let his body grow.”

  A strange feeling washed over me — exhaustion, frustration, and something close to respect.

  I nodded silently.

  She nodded back.

  Not pity.

  Not mockery.

  Acknowledgment.

  I lowered myself carefully to the ground and let the pain settle — not running from it, not resenting it.

  Just accepting it.

  Now…

  It was time to do the harder part:

  healing myself.

  Grey and Borin came closer and sat beside me.

  Lyra returned to the young ones, keeping a distant eye on us.

  Grey nudged my wrapped hand with his nose.

  “Again,” he said — simple, firm.

  So we sat.

  I closed my eyes and followed their instructions.

  Focus the mind.

  Locate the wound.

  Pull mana toward it — not everywhere, just there.

  At first, nothing happened.

  Then a faint warmth pulsed under the skin — like pressure building inside the wound.

  It hurt.

  A sharp, concentrated pain — not from injury, but from restoration.

  My breath shook, but I didn’t stop.

  Slowly, the bleeding slowed…

  Then stopped.

  But I wasn’t satisfied.

  I pushed again.

  More focus.

  More intent.

  My body trembled — exhaustion clawing at me — but I held on.

  And finally…

  The wound knit shut.

  A clean, thin scar remained — pale against my skin — and I knew healing was complete.

  The moment it finished, the strength bled out of me like someone unplugged a battery.

  My arms felt heavy, my head light.

  But this time — unlike last night — I refused to collapse.

  Grey let out a soft approving growl — the closest thing to praise in wolf language.

  Borin rose, disappeared for a moment, then returned carrying something in his jaws.

  Red berries.

  Bright. Glossy. Fresh.

  He placed them in front of me.

  I stared at them — the first fruit I’d seen in this world besides the ones near my den — and picked one up.

  The moment I tasted it, my eyes widened.

  Sweet — but not ordinary sweetness.

  Tart — but refreshing, not sour.

  And beneath the flavor… something else.

  Mana.

  Warm. Energizing. Subtle — but undeniably there.

  I ate another.

  Then another.

  And soon — every berry was gone.

  No trace left.

  “Where?” I asked, still catching my breath.

  Grey pointed his paw toward the direction of the healing sanctum — the same place I fought the inferior wolf on my first day.

  His voice carried meaning clearly now that I knew more words:

  “Many fruits there. Strong mana. Good for training.”

  I hesitated.

  That area… was where everything began.

  Where I almost died.

  Where I first realized this world was nothing like Earth.

  But now?

  Now going there wasn’t fear.

  It was necessity.

  I wiped my lips with the back of my arm and stood slowly — still shaky, but steady enough.

  “I’ll go.”

  My voice was quiet — not confident, but resolved.

  Grey and Borin exchanged a look — not worried, just… acknowledging.

  This wasn’t a reckless decision.

  It was growth.

  So, after resting a moment longer, I strapped my stone knife to my side and prepared myself.

  I waited until enough strength returned to my legs — then headed toward the old tree where everything began.

  Surprisingly, the exhaustion faded quickly.

  The berries Grey gave me weren’t just food — they fueled me.

  My body was still bruised and aching, but the buzzing energy beneath my skin felt… different.

  Alive.

  I reached the familiar clearing.

  The tree I’d first slept in towered above me — silent witness to everything so far.

  Near it, the faint, refreshing scent of the healing pond drifted through the air.

  And then I saw them.

  Berry bushes.

  Not one — not two — but many.

  Blue. Yellow. Green. Black. Pink. White. And the deep red I already knew.

  And farther back, near the water’s edge…

  Bright orange ones. Glossy. Almost glowing.

  Just looking at them made something in me recognize:

  Mana-rich. Flavor-rich. Valuable.

  This world wasn’t just dangerous. It was alive in ways Earth never was.

  I crouched and picked one of each, placing them carefully into my bag.

  Then I climbed onto a thick branch and sat — legs dangling — overlooking the pond.

  Time to taste.

  Blue berry:

  Sweet — but not simple. Deep. Dark. Earthy. Like sweetness with gravity.

  Yellow:

  Sharp. Bright. Electric. A burst of citrus that woke every nerve on my tongue.

  Green:

  Soft sweetness wrapped around a refreshing coolness — almost mint-like but gentler.

  Black:

  Sweet… but heavy. A taste layered like dark chocolate — bitter, rich, elegant.

  Pink:

  Light and floral. Like eating a petal. Sweet, soft, calming.

  White:

  Almost no flavor — and yet perfect. Clean sweetness, smooth like vanilla or coconut.

  Then finally… the orange berry.

  The moment I bit into it — I froze.

  Flavor exploded.

  Mango. Apricot. Passionfruit. And something magical layered under it all.

  Sweet — but balanced by a tang that made my whole mouth wake up.

  If taste could be energy, this was lightning.

  I swallowed — slowly — almost reverently.

  “…Okay,” I whispered.

  “These are dangerous.”

  I wasn’t sure if I meant dangerous delicious or dangerous powerful.

  Maybe both.

  I took a handful more berries — the bright ones, the subtle ones, the strange ones — and packed them into my bag.

  Not to eat now.

  To study.

  To test.

  To understand.

  If I was going to live here, I needed to learn what this world offered… and what it hid.

  With that thought, I began moving again — branch to branch, faster than before. The forest responded with sound and motion: leaves shifting, soft cracks beneath bark, distant calls.

  Then I noticed something.

  Auras.

  Many.

  Small, sharp, restless flickers — scattered across the canopy and forest floor.

  Unlike yesterday, the territory wasn’t cleared.

  The wolves must have left them on purpose.

  Either for balance…

  Or for me.

  I paused on a branch, watching the movement below.

  Tomorrow, I’d hunt one.

  Not just to survive — but to grow.

  Because yesterday’s fight proved one thing:

  Strength wasn’t optional here.

  It was law.

  I returned to the den with a full bag of berries and fruits — enough for my meal and dinner.

  Lyra glanced at the bag and nodded once, relieved that I hadn’t gone far from the den.

  Grey sniffed the berries curiously.

  and tried stealing one until Borin glared.

  Everything felt… normal.

  Routine.

  Pack.

  After eating, I sat and tried healing again.

  Just like earlier.

  Just like Kael taught.

  Focus.

  Direct mana.

  Command the body.

  The claw mark on my chest tightened — stung — then slowly stitched together beneath the skin.

  I watched the flesh pull itself closed.

  Not perfectly — but definitely.

  I exhaled.

  Quiet relief.

  Kael and the others returned while the sun was still high enough to wash the territory in warm late-afternoon light.

  Their shadows stretched across the clearing, and dust rose under their heavy steps.

  But my attention wasn’t on them — it was on what they were carrying.

  The creature dragged behind them was unlike anything I had seen so far.

  Large

  Its build resembled a bison, but its back was lined with thick bone plates, like natural armor. Its horns curved forward like hooked blades, and its legs ended not in hooves — but heavy claw-like structures built to crush stone or uproot trees.

  Despite its brutal appearance… there was no killing aura.

  A herbivore — but one that survived not by fleeing,

  but because no predator wanted to test it.

  I was told by the pack that this creature was a .

  For a moment, the pack stood around it in a circle, silently acknowledging the kill.

  No one ate.

  Kael stepped forward instead — gaze fixed on me.

  Something intentional. A decision.

  He stopped just in front of me and spoke clearly:

  “Many small monsters enter our territory now.”

  I nodded. I had sensed them earlier in the forest — swarming smaller auras gathering near trees and underbrush.

  Kael continued:

  “You will clear them.”

  The meaning settled slowly.

  Not a suggestion.

  Not a trial.

  A responsibility.

  A task given to a member of the pack.

  I didn’t feel pressured — strangely, it felt right.

  Like this was the natural next step.

  I nodded again, firmer this time.

  Kael’s eyes softened — just barely — approval in the subtle way wolves express emotion.

  But then his tone shifted — stern, absolute:

  “You will not use the healing pond.”

  My breath paused.

  No external regeneration. No instant recovery. No magical shortcut.

  Only my body.

  Only what I could build.

  Kael’s voice carried weight — not cruelty, but expectation:

  “You must learn to heal yourself.

  A body that waits to be saved… will die.”

  My hand twitched — remembering how much effort it took to close a single wound earlier.

  One wound.

  And now I was supposed to fight multiple creatures… bleed… survive… and heal myself afterward.

  It sounded impossible.

  But so did fighting a Gorrath.

  So did learning a language of monsters.

  So did surviving in this world.

  Yet I did those.

  So I answered:

  “I understand.”

  Kael stepped aside, signaling the unspoken end of the conversation.

  The pack began dividing the massive herbivore for the evening meal.

  As I took my portion, one thought settled deep inside me:

  Tomorrow, those creatures weren’t just obstacles.

  They were training.

  A test.

  My path forward.

  For the first time, the task wasn’t about survival.

  It was about becoming stronger.

  After eating, warmth spread through my body — slow at first, then building into something strong and steady.

  It was different from the berries.

  Berries gave energy.

  Fruit gave clarity.

  But meat…

  Meat felt like fuel.

  Heavy. Dense. Strength-bearing.

  My body reacted instantly — like this was what it was truly made to process.

  I made a mental note:

  Meat as the base.

  Fruit and berries as support.

  And someday… maybe grains, if they existed here.

  This world had plants similar to Earth — berries, roots, even coconut-like fruit.

  So somewhere, there might be wild grain… or something close.

  If I found it, I could make real meals again.

  Bread. Oil. Seasoning.

  Food wasn’t just survival — it was comfort.

  After resting a moment, I tried healing again.

  This time, I focused.

  Not rushed.

  Not forced.

  Mana — the little I had — flowed like a thin stream toward the wounds.

  Then I let the world help.

  The particles in the air reacted — warming slightly — and began pushing toward me as if responding to intent.

  The claw marks on my chest tightened, the raw edges closing slightly.

  Not fully.

  But enough to see progress.

  Enough to prove I was learning.

  A soft voice reached me — gentle, patient:

  “Mana flows in you now,” she said.

  “But for now… you use only little — the mana in the air, and the little your body has absorbed.”

  I turned.

  Cira was watching — calm, observant, the younglings sitting beside her.

  Her next words were slow, spoken so I could understand:

  “If you continue… mana inside may grow.

  Channels may form… and if the body endures… a core may follow.

  For a brief moment, something flickered in her eyes — a softness, almost sad.

  A hesitation.

  As if she wanted to say more…

  …a truth she feared I wasn’t ready to hear.

  Then she closed it off, choosing silence instead.

  I didn’t understand why.

  My breath held.

  Cira continued:

  “The young—” Cira began, her eyes softening as she glanced at the pups,

  “are born with channels and a core. Unlike you.”

  One of the younglings nudged a tiny scratch on its paw, and a faint glow gathered beneath the skin.

  “They already begin healing. Small wounds only. But fast.”

  She paused, then added gently:

  “But for now… they use only the mana around them. Not their core. Just like you.”

  One pup, the smallest, nuzzled its paw — faint scratches glowing with faint light that slowly faded as the skin repaired.

  She added softly:

  “We learn early. We must. It is how our kind survived.”

  It made sense.

  In this world, even the young evolved with necessity.

  Strength wasn’t a privilege — it was expectation.

  I looked down at my partially healed wounds and felt something shift internally.

  Not fear.

  Not pressure.

  But responsibility.

  If even the young could learn this…

  So could I.

  And I would.

  From here onward, it will begin testing what Yuu can become.

  in a world that was never meant to function without them?

  Thank you for reading the chapter.