The Power of Creation
Copyright© 2026 by Vasantrutu
Chapter 6: Journey to the Mountain
For the rest of the day, I moved as if in a daze.
I ate when food was placed before me. I answered when spoken to. I walked, sat, and lay down without truly registering any of it. Somewhere deep inside, my mind was still trying to accept a single, unbelievable truth.
The dream of having a place of my own—
something I had once thought impossible—
had become real.
The next day passed in a blur of preparation. We packed only the essentials: food, water, basic tools, spare clothing. I nearly wore my sister out by repeatedly asking if we could leave early. By midday, Father finally threatened to ban me from going altogether if I asked one more time.
That shut me up.
Night came, but sleep refused to follow. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, imagining the mountain over and over again—its shape, its silence, its distance. When morning finally arrived, I was already awake.
I was the first out of bed.
I barely tasted the food I shoved into my mouth during breakfast, chewing just enough to swallow. My sister watched me with an amused expression, shaking her head.
To me, she moved like a sloth that morning.
But eventually, at last, we stepped outside.
The village was still asleep. No voices. No movement. The air was cool and fresh, and the sky was only beginning to brighten. I felt like I might burst from my own skin with excitement, my legs itching to sprint forward.
Before we could leave the village grounds, my sister stopped abruptly.
She turned to face me, her expression suddenly serious.
“Before we go any further,” she said, “you listen carefully.”
I nodded immediately.
“First rule: while we’re out there, you listen to every command I give. No arguing.”
I nodded again.
“Second: if I say stop, we stop. Immediately.”
Another nod.
“Third: you don’t wander. Ever. You stay within my line of sight at all times.”
“I agree to everything,” I said without hesitation.
Satisfied, she turned and started walking again.
We followed a dirt road leading west. It wasn’t worn down like the paths near the village—less traveled, rougher, quieter. I didn’t care. This was my first time stepping beyond the familiar boundaries of home.
Later, she casually mentioned something that made my heart leap.
“I got permission for seven days,” she said.
Seven days.
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I just kept walking, my eyes drinking in everything around me—the trees, taller and denser than those near the village; birds darting between branches; the way sunlight filtered through leaves I had never seen before.
I must have slowed down without realizing it.
Suddenly, my sister grabbed my arm and pulled.
I blinked in confusion and looked up at her.
“We’re taking a break,” she said calmly.
Only then did I realize how far we had already come.
It had been an hour since we started walking.
And I hadn’t noticed a single step.
This pattern repeated over the next two stretches of the journey.
By the fourth leg, my excitement had finally settled into something calmer. My legs still moved eagerly, but my mind was no longer racing ahead. That was when curiosity took over.
I began asking my sister about everything we passed—the names of trees, why some birds avoided the ground while others hopped freely, why certain flowers grew in clusters while others stood alone. She answered patiently, correcting me when I made wrong assumptions and occasionally quizzing me in return.
At our fourth break, she summoned a water bag and some food.
“We’ll eat a little early today,” she said. “Midday meals are better taken before fatigue sets in.”
After we finished eating, she stood and stretched.
“I’m going to scout the surroundings,” she said. “Stay here. Don’t move.”
I nodded and sat where I was.
She returned a short while later carrying a handful of flowers. Sitting beside me, she laid them out carefully and began explaining each one—their names, where they usually grew, which could be used in salves, which were poisonous if mishandled, and which were valuable only at certain seasons.
I absorbed everything eagerly.
Then her tone changed.
“Rowan,” she said quietly, “I haven’t gone beyond this area before. This is the edge of the land I’ve explored. From here on, be alert. If you feel anything strange or see something off, tell me immediately.”
I nodded, suddenly more aware of our surroundings.
As we continued, her pace slowed and her posture shifted—more cautious, more deliberate. About half an hour later, an odd sensation settled in my chest. It wasn’t fear. It was more like ... tension. As if something unseen had tightened a string inside me.
I told my sister we should take a short break.
She studied my face for a moment, then nodded. “Alright.”
I sat beneath a tree and assumed a meditative posture, closing my eyes and letting my awareness drift inward.
As my consciousness deepened, I felt a gentle tug—not from my thoughts, but from my spatial core. Curious, I followed it.
When I reached the spatial orb, something immediately stood out.
There was a new vein.
Unlike the others—dark, black, and heavy—this one glowed a soft green. It extended outward, connecting directly to my right hand.
Confused, I followed the green vein.
My awareness slipped into the spatial domain, but instead of the usual emptiness, something else appeared. Floating in the void was a faint, translucent image—like a reflection on water.
A mountain.
And around it, land.
The image was weak, almost transparent, but unmistakable. As I looked closer, I noticed two small points of light near the edge—one golden, one orange.
I focused on the golden point.
Instantly, a lifelike image of myself appeared—standing exactly where I was in the real world.
Surprised, I shifted my focus to the orange point.
The image changed.
Now I saw my sister, her posture alert, her gaze sweeping the surroundings.
Understanding clicked into place.
The unease I had felt vanished at once, and the orange light slowly shifted to green, matching the vein connected to my hand.
It wasn’t surveillance.
It wasn’t control.
It was awareness.
A quiet, constant sense of where I was ... and where those bound to me were as well.
Satisfied—and slightly awed—I withdrew my consciousness and opened my eyes.
My sister was already watching me.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Yes,” I said truthfully. “Much better.”
And we continued forward—
the wild watching us,
and me finally beginning to understand how deeply I was connected to the land ahead.
After walking for a few more minutes, the mountain finally came into view.
I stopped without realizing it.
It was ... magnificent.
The mountain rose alone against the sky, its slopes broad and unbroken, the stone catching the last light of the day in muted shades of gray and blue. It didn’t look hostile, nor welcoming—just ancient, silent, and immovable, as though it had been waiting long before anyone thought to claim it.
At the right side of its base lay a lake.
The water was calm and clear, reflecting the sky like polished glass. Even from a distance, I could see faint ripples and flashes of movement beneath the surface—fish, undisturbed and unafraid. The lake hugged the mountain naturally, as if the two belonged together.
A dense forest surrounded the lower slopes, its trees taller and darker than those near the village. The air felt different here—cleaner, cooler, carrying the scent of pine, damp earth, and something faintly mineral.
We continued walking.
As the sun dipped lower, the shadows stretched, and the forest slowly changed around us. The trees grew thicker, their bark rougher. The flowers beneath our feet were unfamiliar—some glowing faintly in the twilight, others closing their petals as night approached.
Throughout the journey, my sister periodically disappeared into the trees, scouting ahead and circling back without a sound. Near sunset, she returned holding a rabbit, already still.
“That’ll be dinner,” she said simply.
We made camp near the lake, choosing a spot where the ground was firm and the wind gentle. The water was so clear that even as I knelt to wash my hands, I could see fish darting between smooth stones below the surface.
After the meal was cooked and eaten, we sat quietly before the fire.
The flames crackled softly, reflecting in the lake and casting long shadows against the mountain’s base. The night insects had begun their chorus, and somewhere deeper in the forest, something howled—distant, not threatening.
I stared into the fire, my thoughts heavy.
This place was mine.
And yet ... some things could not remain unspoken.
Taking a slow breath, I turned toward my sister.
“Mira,” I said quietly.
She looked at me, her expression relaxed but attentive.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
The fire popped, sending a brief spray of sparks into the night as I gathered the courage to finally share my secret.
“Mira ... I’m a two-slotter.”
For a moment, she said nothing.
She studied my face carefully—my eyes, my posture, even my breathing—as if searching for the smallest hint of mischief or exaggeration. When she found none, she let out a long, slow sigh. Her shoulders dropped slightly, and she shook her head, opening her mouth as if to speak.
No words came out.
I didn’t rush her. This wasn’t something that deserved haste.
Several minutes passed before she finally spoke.
“What’s your second skill?” she asked quietly. “And which one is dominant?”
Her gaze sharpened—not with fear, but with focus.
“Two-slotters are rare,” she continued. “And among them, one skill is always dominant. That’s the real blessing—and the real danger. A dominant skill doesn’t need training. It comes with complete knowledge from the start.”
I swallowed once.
“My second skill is spatial magic,” I said. “And it’s the dominant one.”
She didn’t gasp. She didn’t curse.
She simply nodded, slowly, as if something that had been bothering her for years had finally clicked into place.
“ ... That makes sense,” she murmured.
Then she looked at me again.
“Alright,” she said. “Anything else you’ve been hiding from me?”
I hesitated.
This was the line. Once crossed, there was no going back.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.