The First to Touch Mana

Rain pattered gently through the forest canopy, soft drops tapping leaves and stones, creating a hushed symphony in the underbrush. Younes walked slowly, his footsteps steady but heavy. His body still ached from the Third Mountain, from the escape, the cold river, the surge of raw mana. But the pouch strapped tightly to his chest held the reward: the roots of the Celestial Ginseng. 

And more than that… something inside him had changed. 

He was no longer the same boy who climbed the mountain with trembling hands and uncertain footing. 

Mana wasn't a distant whisper anymore—it was a heartbeat, a current running through his limbs. It hummed beneath his skin like a second pulse. The forest, once mysterious and overwhelming, now felt smaller, more familiar. As if nature itself acknowledged the shift in him. 

He paused by a fallen tree to catch his breath. With a focused thought, he raised his hand. 

A faint shimmer of blue light appeared in his palm—an orb of pure mana, swirling gently. 

No spells, no incantations. 

Just will. 

A smile broke across his tired face. Then a cough. He was still wet, and the cold wind of dawn chilled him to the bone. But he couldn't stop smiling. He'd done it. 

The walk back to the village was long and quiet. Birds scattered through the trees, wary of his presence. Twice, he noticed faint glows between branches—small mana beasts, their eyes shining softly in the dark. They didn't approach. Whether out of respect or fear, he couldn't tell. 

By late morning, the trees thinned, and the crooked rooftops of his village came into view. Mud-brick homes, straw-thatched roofs, crooked wooden fences. Smoke rose from chimneys. Life carried on, unaware of what had changed beyond the mountains. 

But he felt it. 

He was returning… as something new. 

"Is that… Younes?" came a voice from the fields. 

He turned. It was Rafi, the butcher's son. Short, broad-shouldered, with arms built from lifting livestock. 

"You're alive?" Rafi shouted, eyes wide. "We thought… I mean—no one comes back from the Third Mountain." 

Younes chuckled weakly. "Guess I missed the memo." 

Within minutes, others gathered—neighbors, elders, curious children. Whispers followed him as he made his way down the main path. 

"He went to the Third Mountain…" 

"They said he couldn't even control mana…" 

"Look at his eyes. They're… glowing?" 

He tried to ignore them, focusing instead on his destination: the village's lone healer, Old Mariam. 

Mariam's hut was on the edge of the village, close to the riverbank. Herbs hung from strings inside, the air thick with the scent of roots and drying petals. Mariam herself was nearly blind, but sharp as ever. Thin and wrinkled, she wore a necklace of carved bones and tiny mana stones. 

The moment he stepped in, she turned sharply. 

"You smell like lightning and river mud," she said. "And... something ancient." 

Younes bowed respectfully. "I need rest. But first... can you check this?" 

He placed the Celestial Ginseng root on her table. Her cloudy eyes widened. 

"By the old spirits..." she whispered. "This... this hasn't been seen in over a hundred years." 

She reached out slowly, fingertips brushing the golden root. "Did you eat any?" 

"I chewed part of the root. Brewed the leaves into tea." 

Her gaze sharpened. "Then it's begun." 

He nodded. "I can feel mana now. Like it's part of me." 

Old Mariam took a deep breath. "Then you've opened your inner gate. The first one. The Gate of Flow." 

She walked to a shelf, pulled out a dusty scroll, and handed it to him. "You'll need this. Techniques to manage the flow—unless you want to burn yourself from the inside out." 

He stayed the night in her hut, wrapped in blankets near the fire. In the quiet, he read the scroll. It described the Seven Internal Gates—ancient pathways inside the body through which mana could circulate. Each gate, once opened, increased one's affinity and control. 

Gate One: Flow. 

Gate Two: Root. 

Gate Three: Breath. 

He stopped there, overwhelmed. He had just opened the first. The path ahead would be long. 

But he wasn't afraid. 

By the next morning, a messenger arrived at the hut. 

A tall, robed figure with a staff tipped in jade. The sigil on his cloak marked him as a representative from the Capital Mage Academy. 

"You are Younes al-Karim?" the man asked, voice formal. 

Younes stood slowly. "Yes." 

"The surge of mana from the Third Mountain was... noticed," the man said. "Our seers traced its signature to this village. To you." 

Younes swallowed hard. 

"You are hereby invited to join the Academy's outer circle," the man continued. "Your potential exceeds baseline metrics. If you accept, a transport talisman will arrive in three days." 

The man handed him a small crystal, glowing faintly. Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and left. 

Younes stared down at the crystal, stunned. 

Mariam cackled behind him. "I told them the boy had fire in his bones." 

Three days passed in quiet preparation. Younes trained daily, walking through the exercises from the scroll. He learned how to circulate mana without overloading his muscles. He practiced forming orbs of energy, shaping them, stretching them into threads of light. 

But most importantly—he began to understand mana not just as power, but as life. Every tree, every stone, every breath—interconnected by the same flow. 

When the transport talisman finally activated, a portal of swirling silver light appeared in the clearing near the river. Villagers gathered again, murmuring with awe and fear. 

Younes stood at the edge of the portal, clutching his satchel. 

From behind, someone called, "Wait!" 

He turned. 

It was Lina, his childhood friend. Soft brown eyes, wind-tossed hair, and a worried look on her face. 

"Don't forget where you came from," she said quietly. 

He smiled. "I won't. I'll come back." 

She hesitated, then stepped forward and hugged him tightly. 

"Make us proud, Younes." 

He nodded, then turned to the portal and stepped through. 

Light enveloped him. The village faded behind. 

And ahead… a new world waited.