The First to Touch Mana

The sky had returned to normal—or at least, that was the illusion. 

The sun rose quietly over the eastern cliffs, casting long shadows across the academy's damaged walls. Birds chirped. Students limped through the courtyard, bandaged and exhausted, helping instructors rebuild collapsed barriers. But beneath the surface of this fragile calm, something was broken. 

Younes sat alone near the edge of the crater where the mana beast had fallen. 

The ground still pulsed faintly, the same way it had in his dream months ago. 

He clenched a fist full of ash. Why does it feel like I've seen this before? 

"Are you waiting for the world to end again?" Laila's voice was soft behind him. 

He glanced back at her. "Just wondering why it hasn't ended already." 

She didn't laugh. Neither did he. 

Instead, she walked over and sat beside him. Her arm was wrapped tightly in a healing brace, fingers trembling. She had protected three younger students the night before and nearly got crushed in the process. 

"You fought like someone who already knew the outcome," she said quietly. 

Younes didn't answer. 

Because she was right. 

The moment that beast appeared… he knew how it would move. Where it would strike. His body reacted faster than thought—as if guided by instinct not his own. 

No… not instinct. 

Memory. 

But memory of what? 

That same morning, Instructor Hafez met with the Grand Scholar of the Academy—a recluse known as Master Idris, who had not left the Grand Library in over ten years. 

Hafez bowed deeply. "Master Idris. I bring urgent findings." 

The old man looked up slowly from behind an ocean of books. His beard was so long it spilled off the table like a silver river. His eyes, however, were still sharp. 

"You bring news of the First?" he rasped. 

Hafez nodded and presented a scroll, freshly copied from the stone slab in the vault. "The boy's power has accelerated. His mana is not only evolving—it's adapting to combat faster than we can measure." 

"Has he seen the Eye?" Idris asked. 

Hafez hesitated. "…He looked into the sky moments before it appeared." 

"Then it's begun," the old man whispered. 

He turned toward the largest book in his collection: a tome bound in dragonhide, sealed with seven locks. He tapped it twice and muttered an incantation. 

The locks clicked open. 

Within its pages were drawings—impossible landscapes, beasts made of clouds and stardust, and in the center: a symbol glowing faintly in gold ink. 

A circle with twelve jagged lines extending outward. 

The same eye that had opened in the sky. 

"This is the mark of the Mana Spirit," said Idris. "It appears only when a soul has been… chosen. And once it opens, the trials will begin." 

"Trials?" Hafez asked. "You mean more mana beasts?" 

Idris shook his head. "Worse. The Eye watches. But it does not judge. It waits for the candidate to become worthy—or to fail." 

"And if he fails?" 

"The world will not survive a second awakening without a guide." 

Later that day, Younes received a system prompt he had not seen before: 

[You have been acknowledged.]

The Eye watches your path.

Await your first Trial.

Countdown: 72 hours. 

He froze. 

Laila, who was tending to her spear in the courtyard, noticed the color drain from his face. 

"What is it?" she asked. 

Younes showed her the message. 

Her lips tightened. "This is what Instructor Hafez was afraid of, isn't it?" 

Younes nodded. "And it's coming in three days." 

He didn't sleep that night. 

Instead, he entered the meditation chamber, sat in the center, and reached out with his mana—deeper than he had ever dared before. 

He pierced through the veil of energy… and found darkness. 

Then suddenly, a golden room unfolded before him. Vast. Empty. Echoing. 

And at its center stood a single silhouette. 

A figure cloaked in golden threads, without a face. 

"You have awakened," the figure said, though its voice came from every direction. 

Younes stepped forward. "Are you the Mana Spirit?" 

The figure laughed. It was a soundless laugh—felt, not heard. 

"I am a fragment of what once was," it replied. "But you may call me the Watcher." 

"Why me?" Younes asked. "Why was I the first?" 

"Because you looked beyond strength. You reached into mana not to control—but to understand. And in doing so, you touched what others feared." 

Younes frowned. "You mean I asked questions." 

"Yes," the Watcher said. "And now, you must find the answers." 

The golden walls began to shift. Symbols floated into the air. 

"You have three days to prepare. When the time comes, your first Trial will begin. Not against a beast. Not against man. But against yourself." 

"And if I fail?" Younes asked. 

The Watcher paused. 

"You will cease to be." 

When Younes opened his eyes, the sun had not yet risen. 

But he wasn't afraid. 

Not anymore. 

He stood slowly, brushing dust from his robe. 

Three days. 

Three days to train harder than he ever had. 

Three days to prepare for a battle not of muscle or mana—but of the soul. 

And somewhere, high above the clouds, the Eye continued to watch…