Tales of Neglected ones

A year and a half.

That's how long it had taken for the pieces to start falling into place.

Sylas didn't have access to grand libraries, formal teachers, or research teams. His knowledge came from salvaged books, incomplete notes, worn-out manuals, and—most importantly—his own experimentation. He studied where he could, worked with what he had, and observed everything with quiet intensity.

His interest had started with alchemy—basic mixtures, healing balms, low-grade enhancers. He worked slowly, cautiously. The results were unremarkable, but they were consistent. At least, at first.

Then the strange results began.

A strength-enhancing potion—supposed to boost physical power for a few minutes—had behaved differently. The user showed only a minor increase in strength, but it lasted. Not just longer than expected... it became permanent. Not dramatic. Not miraculous. But measurable. And repeatable.

Sylas had brewed the same potion five more times. Three worked exactly as expected. Two didn't. Just like the first, they offered small but lasting enhancement instead of a temporary surge.

It made no sense.

He began recording every detail—temperature, stirring pattern, ingredient origin, even his state of mind. At the time, he suspected contamination. Or maybe he had simply made mistakes.

Then he moved into magical engineering.

Not officially. Just pieces of broken gadgets he found and slowly repaired. Cracked mana lenses, burnt-out sensor nodes, and damaged frequency stabilizers. He took them apart, understood their structures, and started combining them.

That's when he noticed something even stranger.

Certain gadget combinations, when fused, would inherit both advantages and disadvantages from their components. That wasn't too surprising. But a few combinations produced completely unexpected results—like a vision enhancer fused with a mana filter forming a device that responded to intent. Not touch. Not magic. Intent.

The more he tested, the clearer it became.

This wasn't ordinary alchemy.

This wasn't regular engineering.

Something else was influencing the results.

---

Patterns in the Unknown

It took Sylas months of repetition and self-questioning before he accepted that the only consistent factor in the anomalies... was him.

Not his hands, or his magic—he had very little of that to begin with. But rather, the state he was in when the strange results occurred.

Calm. Immersed. Focused.

It wasn't emotionless work—it was quiet conviction. A steady intention. He wasn't trying to force results. He was simply in sync with the process.

That state of mind, of quiet presence, seemed to trigger something. A subtle force. One that he didn't see in formulas or diagrams but felt during his best moments of creation.

When he followed that thread—when he intentionally tried to maintain that internal calm during creation—the strange results became more frequent.

Potions altered the body instead of just empowering it for a moment.

Devices responded with more precision, more fluidity.

Even raw enchantments—runes etched onto copper scraps—began to display characteristics beyond what their input mana should allow.

So he gave it a name.

Spiritual Energy.

Not as a declaration. Not as a theory to publish.

Just a term in the margins of his notes. A placeholder for something he didn't fully understand yet.

---

A Private Revelation

Now, almost eighteen months after he'd started, Sylas sat beside a weathered table littered with parchment, vials, and broken tools. He was older. Not in age, perhaps, but in mind. Sharper. Quieter.

He opened his latest notebook. Page after page of comparisons, sketches, and symbols. Test results. Questions. Possibilities.

He tapped the word again.

> Spiritual Energy: An internal, passive force that subtly alters the result of creation—not through power, but through intention and resonance.

He still didn't know how to harness it reliably. He didn't know if others could feel it too, or if they'd ever even notice. Most people chased raw power. Loud magic. Obvious results.

But this... this was something deeper.

It wasn't about strength. It was about harmony. Balance. Quiet influence.

And no one knew about it but him.

Sylas leaned back, black hair falling slightly over his eyes, and stared at the flickering lamplight. There was still so much he didn't know. But for the first time, he felt like he was standing at the edge of something real—something new.

Not a weapon.

Not a breakthrough.

Just... truth.

He closed the notebook.

And began planning his next experiment.

End of chapter