The Power of Creation
Copyright© 2026 by Vasantrutu
Chapter 2: Awakening
Let us return to the present.
It was evening—the same day I turned six.
In our village, this marked the Awakening of talent.
I stood in front of the altar alongside three boys and four girls. The stone structure loomed quietly before us, weathered by time and stained by countless rituals. It did not glow or pulse dramatically. It simply existed, ancient and indifferent.
The ritual itself was simple.
A thin mattress was placed before the altar. One by one, we were to sit upon it and meditate. The altar continuously released an ambient energy known as mana, saturating the area. It was the safest place for a child’s first contact with magic.
Mana, in this world, does not deplete permanently.
No matter how much mana one uses, the body replenishes it naturally. One can use skills freely without fear of lasting harm. The only danger is mana fatigue—a condition caused by complete depletion. It is not deadly, but it brings with it a crushing headache and an irresistible sleep that can last for hours.
Because of this, the altar is considered the ideal place for Awakening.
Along with the eight of us stood our parents, a handful of villagers, and a single elder tasked with overseeing the ritual.
The first to step forward was Liora.
She walked to the altar, sat on the mattress, and closed her eyes. The area fell silent. After a few minutes, she opened her eyes and smiled faintly.
The elder asked gently how she felt.
“I’m fine,” she replied.
Then came the real question—how did her magic feel?
Liora hesitated before answering. “I ... I can sense wounds.”
The elder nodded calmly and motioned for someone to step forward.
A villager brought a small cage containing a rat. The elder placed it beside Liora, drew a knife, and made a shallow cut along the creature’s side. The rat squeaked weakly.
Liora closed her eyes and focused.
Before our eyes, the wound began to close. Slowly. Carefully. The torn flesh knitted together until only a faint scar remained.
A healer.
Murmurs spread through the crowd.
Next was Seren.
She followed the same steps, her expression calm. When asked, she explained she could feel the pull of nearby resources. The elder smiled knowingly.
A gatherer, just like my sister.
The third was Elwen.
Her Awakening manifested as raw physical reinforcement. When tested, she lifted a stone slab meant for grown men.
A tanker—a bearer of immense strength.
The last of the girls was Kaia.
Her senses sharpened unnaturally. She could track movement, feel changes in air, and detect presence beyond sight.
A scout.
Then came the boys.
Darin went first. His mana surged violently, wild and aggressive. When asked, he admitted feeling an urge to fight, to release his strength.
A berserker.
No one was surprised. Darin had always been short-tempered.
Thomas followed.
Calm. Steady. Balanced.
His Awakening granted him precise control over his body and strikes.
A fighter.
It suited him perfectly.
Then came Eryk.
My friend.
He loved the mines, always following his father underground, fascinated by stone and metal. When he finished meditating, he explained that he could sense ore veins and structural weaknesses in rock.
A miner.
I smiled for him. He looked proud.
Finally, it was my turn.
I was last.
And I was terrified.
As I approached the altar, my legs felt heavy. My mind raced with possibilities—what if something went wrong? What if my skills were exposed? What if the village realized what I truly possessed?
When the time came for me to sit, I stopped.
“I ... I don’t want to step onto the altar,” I said quietly.
The crowd murmured.
Before the elder could respond, a hand rested gently on my shoulder.
Warm. Steady.
I turned and saw Mira.
She smiled at me—not teasing, not worried—just reassuring. Her eyes told me everything words did not.
You’re not alone.
Be brave.
Taking a slow breath, I nodded.
And stepped forward.
The stone beneath my feet was purple, the same muted shade as the altar itself. It did not feel cold, nor was it burning hot. Instead, it carried a gentle warmth—steady, reassuring, almost welcoming.
I took measured steps forward and finally sat down on the mattress.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath.
Almost instinctively, calm washed over me. My racing thoughts slowed, and I began to meditate. Not long after, I felt something move inside my body. It was subtle at first—like becoming aware of my own heartbeat, or the sensation of water flowing through a narrow canal.
When I focused on it, I understood.
This was mana.
It entered my body naturally, flowing through unseen pathways, spreading warmth as it moved. I followed its current carefully, tracing its path with my awareness. After a short while, the flow split into two, each stream moving toward a different point deep within me.
There, I sensed them.
Two orbs.
When I attempted to move closer to the first, an invisible force pushed me back. I tried the second with the same result. No matter how I approached, I was denied entry.
After several failed attempts, I stopped forcing it and simply observed.
That was when I noticed the change.
From both orbs, thin threads began to form. I waited, patient and silent, watching as they extended outward. The process was slow but deliberate. Soon, the threads spread throughout my body, weaving themselves into every limb and organ.
Only then did I realize something strange.
One orb produced black threads, dark and heavy, while the other released threads of shifting colors, shimmering faintly like refracted light.
When the threads reached every part of my body, they stopped expanding and began to thicken, becoming solid, stable—almost like veins.
I hesitated.
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