beginning of magic.

"Teach me magic."

A simple phrase, yet one that carried a weight far greater than its words suggested. It was not born from greed, nor from simple curiosity, but from a quiet and persistent need that Hanabi himself could not fully understand. Ever since witnessing Mother Lilith cast magic, the image had remained in his mind, not as something beautiful, but as something certain, something real, and more importantly, something attainable.

For the first time, he felt as though the path ahead of him was not entirely fixed in hardship. There was something beyond survival, something he could reach if only he was given the chance. The thought alone stirred something unfamiliar within him, a fragile sense of hope that made his chest tighten as his heart began to beat faster, driven by a mixture of anticipation and fear of losing the opportunity before him. He understood, even without saying it aloud, that letting this moment pass would be a mistake he might never be able to correct.

The book responded without hesitation, as though it had been waiting for that exact moment. A circle slowly formed on the empty page, its shape precise and deliberate, followed by words that appeared above it in a manner that felt both natural and unnatural at the same time, as if they were being written by something that already knew what he would ask.

Description:

The training begins with feeling the magic output. Every living being possesses a natural affinity for magical energy, and because of this, the first requirement is not strength or control, but familiarity. One must first become aware of the energy that already exists within the body, the subtle flow that moves unnoticed beneath ordinary perception. This awareness cannot be forced through effort alone, as it requires observation, patience, and a willingness to recognize something that has always been present yet never acknowledged. Only by understanding this internal flow can one begin to guide it, and only through guidance can it eventually be shaped.

Instruction:

Place the palm within the circle. The circle will release a controlled stream of magical energy that will establish a connection with the individual, allowing the body to recognize, interpret, and respond to the sensation of energy flow. This process is necessary to awaken the individual's perception, as the body must first experience the energy directly before it can learn to control it.

Hanabi remained still for a moment longer than necessary, his eyes fixed on the page as he tried to make sense of what he had just read. The explanation was clear, almost too clear, yet it failed to answer the one thing that truly mattered to him, which was what it would feel like and whether it would be something he could endure. Doubt surfaced quietly within him, not strong enough to stop him, but enough to make him hesitate as he considered the absence of warning, the lack of reassurance, and the unsettling simplicity of the instructions.

Still, there was no sense of danger coming from the book, no trace of malice that would suggest harm, and for reasons he could not fully explain, that absence alone was enough for him to trust it. Slowly, as if giving himself time to reconsider, he placed his hand onto the circle.

The reaction was immediate. Light spread beneath his palm, and before he could withdraw, a force moved through him, entering not as something gentle, but as something deliberate and intrusive, as though it had found a path into his body that had never been opened before. His hand lost sensation almost instantly, not in the way it would from cold, but in a way that felt unfamiliar, as if it no longer fully belonged to him.

At the same time, he became aware of something deeper, a strange pulling sensation that did not come from outside, but from within, as though something inside his body was being drawn inward, gathering in a place he could not see or understand. He tried to pull his hand away, but his arm refused to respond, remaining fixed in place without any visible restraint.

The discomfort escalated gradually, spreading through his body in a way that felt controlled rather than chaotic, and it was that precision that made it more difficult to endure. Each nerve seemed to react individually, as though being tested, producing a sharp and persistent sensation that resembled being pricked repeatedly by something thin and exact. It was not overwhelming in a single moment, but it accumulated, building into something that demanded his attention whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not.

His breathing became uneven, not because the air had changed, but because his body struggled to maintain its rhythm under the unfamiliar strain. There was no wind, yet he felt pressure against him, as though something invisible was pushing and pulling at the same time, leaving him unable to determine whether he was being held in place or forced away.

By the time the process ended, the absence of sensation did not feel like relief, but like something had simply stopped before he could fully understand it. His body gave in before his thoughts could catch up, and he collapsed onto the floor, not entirely exhausted, but unable to continue, as if something within him was still adjusting to what had just occurred.

Even after standing, the effects did not disappear. Walking through the market felt unnatural, as each step triggered a sharp response that spread across his body, reminding him of the sensation he had just endured. The pain did not overwhelm him, but it lingered, waiting for movement, returning whenever he forgot about it for even a moment.

He eventually sat down, not out of choice, but because remaining still felt easier than continuing forward, and it was during that brief pause that something caught his attention. A woman passed by, dressed in the attire of a magician, a sight that was not uncommon in the market, yet something about her presence felt different in a way he could not immediately explain.

Despite the warmth of the day, a faint mist seemed to surround her, subtle enough that it could be dismissed as imagination, yet consistent enough that he could not ignore it completely. What unsettled him more was not the sight itself, but the lack of reaction from others, as though what he was noticing simply did not exist for them.

For a moment, he questioned whether the change was not in her, but in himself. He chose not to dwell on it.

The following day, the training repeated, and the experience remained unchanged, as the same process forced his body through the same sequence of sensations, leaving him once again lying on the ground, staring upward as his body slowly returned to a state he could recognize.

As his thoughts drifted, scattered by exhaustion, a question surfaced, one that had been present earlier but had gone unspoken. Forcing himself to sit up despite the lingering discomfort, he turned his attention back to the book.

"From what I remember, you said I have high potential for magic and mana. What's the difference between the two?"

The response appeared without delay.

Answer:

Magic potential can be developed through the manifestation of one's output, while mana is cultivated through physical conditioning and endurance.

The distinction was not what he expected, yet it made a certain kind of sense, suggesting that both were aspects of the same foundation, separated only by how they were used and developed.

"Is there a way to learn both at the same time?" he asked, driven more by instinct than caution.

The answer came just as quickly.

Answer:

The probability is low and highly discouraged, as attempting to develop both simultaneously results in reduced efficiency and diminished potential in each.

He understood the warning, yet understanding did not lead to agreement. The idea of choosing only one path felt limiting in a way he could not accept, especially when the possibility of both, however small, still existed.

"I will go with that," he said, deciding not based on logic, but on something quieter, something that refused to let him settle for less.

The book responded immediately, confirming his choice without hesitation. From that moment forward, the uncertainty that once surrounded his future no longer felt the same, as though the path ahead had already begun to take shape, whether he was fully prepared for it or not.

Rain soaked the streets as he scoured for scraps to sell at the junk shop. His sandals were threadbare, his wallet empty. Any sale only barely covered the day's meager meal, and the journey home pressed heavily on his body and spirit. His house offered no solace, dilapidated, oppressive, a reflection of the people within it. A father perpetually drunk and ready to strike, a mother drowning in neglectful complaints and bitter words. There was no room for imagination, no space for morality. Survival alone dictated every action, every thought, every heartbeat. Sleep came only as a brief respite before the next day's relentless struggle.

Hanabi awoke with tears wetting his cheeks, remnants of a dream that refused to release him. The nightmare clung to his mind with disturbing clarity, refusing to fade into the safe detachment of imagination. It had been too real, the fear, the hunger, the pain, all too vivid. His body trembled, his heart still racing, and a sense of dread lingered like a shadow at the edges of consciousness. He did not understand why the dream had been so forceful, so visceral, but it left him with a single undeniable truth: the world was unforgiving, and yet within him burned a determination that even nightmares could not extinguish.

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