Years passed quietly.

  By the time Auren turned five, he was fluent in the local dialect, could read simple glyphs, and had learned to pretend he wasn’t studying everything around him.

  His parents were none the wiser.

  They thought he was simply precocious.

  But inside?

  He was building a framework.

  Not just magical. Scientific. Functional. Repeatable.

  And he was ready to test the world beyond his home.

  It happened at the village well.

  A boy—perhaps six, stocky, with a shaved head and fists like bricks—was shoving a smaller child into the dirt.

  “Get up, tree-brain,” the boy sneered.

  Auren frowned.

  He recognized the victim—a quiet kid named Kell, with a soft stutter and a love for birds. Harmless. Kind.

  Auren approached.

  “Leave him alone.”

  The bully turned. “What’re you gonna do about it, twig?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer.

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  Auren didn’t back down.

  But he didn’t fight, either.

  He watched.

  Measured.

  Waited for the moment the bully reached forward again.

  Then he snapped his fingers.

  A pulse of warm air pushed out.

  Not strong. Just enough to throw the boy’s balance.

  The bully stumbled. Fell on his rear.

  Gasps echoed.

  Auren didn’t smile.

  He just helped Kell up.

  The other children looked at him differently after that.

  Some in awe.

  Others in suspicion.

  And the bully?

  He looked at Auren like something cold had crawled up his spine.

  That night, Lira sat him down.“I heard what happened.”Auren stayed quiet.“I’m not angry. He deserved it. But... was it worth it?”He met her gaze. “He would’ve hurt Kell.”She nodded slowly.“But power draws attention, Auren. Even tiny power. People talk. People wonder.”He lowered his eyes.“Next time,” she whispered, “make sure no one sees.”

  That month, Auren discovered something new.He was wandering behind the village elder’s storehouse when he tripped over a sunken stone. Curious, he brushed away the dirt.Beneath it: a symbol.Not just a carving. Not decorative.It resonated.Auren traced it with his fingers.A sudden pulse rippled through the air, like the world had hiccuped.A hatch groaned open nearby, hidden beneath old planks.He peered inside.

  A staircase.

  Dark. Cold.

  Breath held, he descended.

  What he found below was not a dungeon.

  It was a workshop.Old, abandoned. Dust-thick and cobwebbed.But it had tools. Diagrams. Preserved scrolls. Runes carved into copper plates.

  He recognized one term etched into stone:"Conduction Array — Failed Stabilization."

  Someone else had tried to bridge science and mana before.He wasn’t the first.And that meant something dangerous.It meant there was a reason this place was hidden.

  He spent weeks sneaking back to the workshop, copying diagrams, reverse-engineering the failed conduits.One scroll mentioned a concept that chilled him:“Mana Degradation Cascade. Result: Subject collapse. Warning: Pure mana must be stabilized.”

  Pure mana.That was his Hollow Core’s domain.He understood now. Hollow Cores weren’t just rare.They were dangerous.Because without elemental structure, raw mana could collapse in on itself—like a star going nova.Or a failed experiment.He sat in the dust, heart pounding.

  “I have to be careful,” he whispered.

  But also...

  “I have to go further.”