It’s been six years since the day I saw those mechas.

  Six years since I realized how far away my dream truly was.

  I’ve grown since then—well, as much as a six-year-old can. My body is still small, my limbs still weak, but my mind? My mind is sharper than ever.

  If I want even the slightest chance of reaching those skies, I need to get stronger.

  Right now, that means learning magic from my mother.

  I don’t know anything about what it takes to become a mecha rider. We can’t afford books, tutors, or even basic lessons beyond what my parents know. All I can do is train little by little, improving myself however I can.

  And so, one day, I asked her.

  “Mom, can I ask you something?”

  “Yes, dear, what is it?” she replied with a warm smile.

  “I want to learn how to use magic like you do.”

  Her eyes gleamed with joy, and before I knew it, she had pulled me into a tight embrace.

  “Of course, honey! I’ll teach you everything I know!” she said, her voice brimming with excitement.

  I wasn’t expecting such enthusiasm, but I wasn’t going to complain. This was my first step forward.

  We stepped outside, the fresh morning air crisp against my skin. My mother led me to an open patch of land behind our small house, where the dirt was soft, and the sun bathed the field in golden light.

  She knelt beside me, her hand glowing faintly as she spoke.

  “Magic is like water—it flows,” she said, stretching her fingers in the air. “It moves in and out of our bodies naturally. But to shape it, to control it, we need mana. Without mana, magic wouldn’t exist.”

  I nodded, soaking in her words.

  "Mana behaves like water… it flows through us. But where exactly does it come from? And how does it exist in the first place?"

  A thought nagged at me. Something about her explanation felt… incomplete.

  “Mom, where does mana actually come from?” I asked.

  She smiled gently. “Mana comes from all around us, and it exists within everybody. Everyone has mana, in one way or another.”

  That didn’t really answer my question. She was explaining that it exists, but not why.

  But before I could ask anything else, she lifted her hands.

  “Here, I’ll show you a simple water spell.”

  She chanted strange, flowing words, her voice carrying an otherworldly rhythm. Glowing magical circles appeared on her palms and beneath her feet, symbols pulsing with power.

  A sphere of water formed between her hands, hovering for a moment before it shot forward, splashing against a nearby tree.

  I stared, wide-eyed.

  That was awesome.

  “Wow, that’s so cool!” I said, my voice filled with awe.

  She giggled, pulling me into another hug. “Aw, thank you, my boy.”

  Determined, I clenched my tiny fists. If she could do it, then I could do it too.

  I took a deep breath and tried to mimic what she did. I chanted the words she had spoken, but the syllables tangled on my tongue. The harder I tried, the worse it got—like forcing my way through a locked door.

  It felt like I was trying to shit out a brick with how much effort I was exerting.

  “I… I can’t do it,” I finally admitted, my shoulders slumping. “It’s too hard.”

  My mother gently patted my head. “Don’t give up, honey. You’ve only just started. Magic takes time.”

  “…I guess so,” I muttered.

  After our short morning lesson, the rest of the day went by as usual.

  I helped my father log firewood, my small hands gripping an axe too big for me. I struggled, but I refused to stop.

  I helped plow the fields, the dirt rough against my fingers as we prepared the soil for planting.

  This was my life.

  We lived in a small village just outside the capital city of Zenith Prime—a sprawling metropolis known for its talented mecha riders and cutting-edge magical technology. The heart of Eldorath, a country famed for its military strength, technological innovation, and, most of all, its mechas.

  But despite the grandeur of the capital, the divide between the rich and the poor was massive.

  Nobles, scholars, and mecha pilots lived in towering skyscrapers, basking in wealth and luxury. Meanwhile, the outskirts—our village—were little more than a place to extract labor and resources.

  We weren’t warriors. We were farmers.

  And yet, even in this forgotten corner of the world, I refused to let go of my dream.

  That’s why, every month, when the village received shipments of scrap from the capital, I made my way to the scrapyard.

  To everyone else, it was a pile of useless junk.

  To me, it was a treasure trove.

  I foraged through the scraps of metal and garbage. The smell was pungent and unbearable.

  "Man, this stinks. Literally. This smell is way too bad," I thought to myself, scrunching my nose in disgust.

  But I wasn’t here for comfort. I was here for treasure.

  I walked, jumped, and scouted for anything that seemed remotely valuable. Most of it was useless—a rusted gear here, a shattered mana crystal there. But then, as I kicked aside a pile of rotting fabric, something caught my eye.

  A book.

  It was old, its cover worn and covered in grime. The pages were thick and yellowed with age, and as I dusted it off, my heart skipped a beat. The cover had an image of a mecha.

  I flipped it open. Inside were detailed diagrams of mecha components—their inner workings, circuits, and power cores. But there was a problem.

  "Jackpot! I found a mecha manual or something!" I said out loud. Then, my excitement faded as I scanned the text. "...But I can’t read it."

  The words were written in strange symbols, characters unlike anything I’d seen before. They almost looked like Russian letters—just slightly off, slightly different.

  Even though I couldn’t understand it, I knew this book had value. If I could just figure out a way to read it, I might learn something useful.

  I spent the next hour searching for anything else worthwhile. I found a few bracelets, broken microchips, and dismantled power supplies, but nothing nearly as valuable as the book. I wasn’t a genius engineer or anything, so these scraps were just that—scraps.

  "Guess this is all I’m getting today," I muttered, tucking the book under my arm and heading home.

  As soon as I stepped through the door, my mother gasped.

  "Elfred! What on earth happened to you? You smell like a garbage pit!"

  I barely had time to react before she grabbed me by the arm and dragged me toward the washbasin.

  "But Mom, I—"

  "No dinner until you wash up!" she scolded.

  I sighed in defeat. After scrubbing off the filth, I sat at the dinner table with my parents. The warm stew smelled amazing after a long day of scavenging.

  Halfway through the meal, I decided to ask.

  "Mom, Dad, do either of you know what this says?" I asked, holding up the book.

  They both glanced at it, their expressions shifting from curiosity to discomfort. My father shook his head.

  "No, son. We’ve never learned how to read."

  I felt my stomach drop.

  I knew we were poor. I knew life wasn’t easy. But I hadn’t realized it was this bad.

  "Oh... okay," I replied softly.

  They returned to eating in silence. I didn’t press further.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  The next morning, I woke up early to practice magic again. My mother’s lesson still lingered in my mind.

  I stood in the same field as before, focusing. I tried chanting the spell multiple times, mimicking her exact movements, but nothing happened.

  Why isn’t it working? I thought, frustrated.

  Then I remembered what she said—Mana flows within everything. If that were true, then just existing should be enough to channel mana. So why were chants necessary? Wouldn’t the act of speaking just waste more energy?

  A thought struck me.

  What if instead of chanting, I simply imagined the spell? What if I visualized the magical seal in my mind and focused my energy into it directly?

  I closed my eyes.

  I pictured the glowing circles that had formed on my mother’s hands. I imagined the way the mana gathered, how it swirled and took shape. Then, I reached deep within myself, feeling for that same current of energy.

  I tried.

  Nothing.

  I tried again.

  Still nothing.

  But something felt different. The failure wasn’t as harsh. I didn’t feel drained or exhausted like before. The headache that usually followed a failed spell was weaker this time.

  This is possible. I just needed to keep trying.

  Same as yesterday, after finishing all the chores I was given for the day, I went off to dumpster dive like before.

  While other kids played with each other, running around and laughing without a care in the world, I found more enjoyment in something else—learning about mechas and searching for new finds in the junkyard.

  At some point, it became a hobby.

  I never thought I’d get into something like this, but I guess life has a way of leading you down weird paths.

  "It is what it is, huh?"

  With my usual scrap sack slung over my shoulder, I made my way to the scrapyard, eyes scanning for anything new or interesting.

  After some digging, I came across the same bracelets I had found yesterday. At first, I thought they were just useless trinkets, but after checking through one of the old books I salvaged, I realized something—

  They were in the book.

  One of the images had a bracelet identical to these. I had no clue what they were used for, but if they were worth being documented, they must be important.

  Without a second thought, I grabbed a few and stuffed them into my sack.

  I continued diving through the piles of discarded tech, shifting through rusted parts and shattered components. That’s when I found something more familiar—tools.

  A micro-screwdriver, a regular screwdriver, and some strange magical tools I’d never seen before. Some of them had engraved circuits glowing faintly with residual mana, while others looked like they had been custom-made for precise mechanical work.

  "These could come in handy."

  But just as I was about to move on, something really caught my eye.

  Lying partially buried under broken machinery was a mechanical glove.

  It had the appearance of iron, yet the surface looked smooth as silk. It wasn’t rusted, nor did it seem damaged like everything else in the scrapyard.

  I had to have it.

  I climbed up the pile of junk, carefully stepping over loose metal and unstable stacks of scrap. My fingers stretched toward the glove, about to claim my prize—

  Until another hand grabbed it at the same time.

  We both froze.

  Then, naturally, I did what any mature and civilized individual would do.

  "This is mine! Get your own! I ain't sharing anything! These scrapyards aren’t big enough for two of us—it’s all mine, mine, mine, mine!" I yelled, tugging at the glove.

  "NO! They’re mine! Get your grubby hands off of them!" the stranger shouted back.

  The voice that screamed at me was… horrible.

  Sharp. Shrill. High-pitched enough to make my ears want to rip themselves off.

  It was like nails screeching against a whiteboard.

  We kept pulling and tugging, neither of us willing to let go. It was a battle of pure willpower, fought atop the grand mountain of garbage.

  Then, with one final yank, I managed to wrench the glove toward me—

  But I also ended up pulling the annoying brat on the other side along with it.

  With zero balance and zero grace, we both tumbled down the junk heap, crashing into discarded metal and broken scraps until we finally hit the ground with a loud thud.

  And man, did it hurt.

  "Ugh! If you had just let go, we wouldn’t have had to fall, you know?!" I groaned, sitting up and shaking the dust off me.

  Then, I looked down—

  And saw a girl.

  She had short red hair, a simple brown dress, and her whole outfit was covered in the grime of the scrapyard.

  "Wait. A girl? In the scrapyard?"

  That was unexpected.

  The girl sniffled, wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye before glaring at me.

  "That hurt, you jerk! Is that how you treat a girl?!" she yelled, crossing her arms angrily.

  "My bad. I thought you were a boy. That’s my mistake," I admitted, shrugging.

  I didn’t even try to deny it.

  She just looked like one.

  As she got up from the fall, she looked like she was about to explode at me—her cheeks puffed up and red, her eyes brimming with anger.

  "You don't just go around pulling people down hills, you know! That's not nice!" she huffed, brushing the grime off her dress. "And calling me a boy? Rude! I'm obviously a girl. Do you even have eyes?"

  I shrugged, crossing my arms. "Well, how was I supposed to know? You dress like every other scrappy kid around here. And besides, you're the one who wouldn't let go of the glove. If anything, you pulled me down."

  She scoffed and dusted off her dress with exaggerated force. "Can’t believe I ran into an idiot scavenger."

  Then, straightening up, she jabbed a thumb at herself with a confident smirk. "My name’s Lyra, by the way. I have every right to be here. This scrapyard is like my second home."

  I raised a brow. "So, you live here or something?"

  She rolled her eyes. "No, genius. I come here to find parts and materials for projects. I build stuff. Fix things. Unlike you, who’s probably just here picking up junk without knowing what any of it does."

  I scoffed. "Pff, I actually know what I’m looking for."

  "Oh, really? Then tell me, do you know what those bracelets in your bag are for?" She leaned in with a smug grin, hands on her hips.

  I hesitated. "Ha! Of course, I do. They’re… thingys that help you transform into a suit for mechas."

  Shit. I have no idea what any of this crap does. I’m just assuming they’re some magical-girl-type transformation nonsense or something. I can’t be caught losing to another kid who looks about the same age as me!

  Lyra sighed. "Well, I guess you have an idea, but you're still wrong."

  This kid is a real smartass, ugh.

  "There’s a reason I’m here, you know. I want to become a mechanic for the Mecha Brigade one day, so I come here to collect rare parts and study them," she said.

  I narrowed my eyes at her. "Aren't only royalty or high-ranking nobles capable of getting into the Mecha Brigade? How are you going to do it?"

  She crossed her arms and looked off to the side. "I’ll figure it out… somehow."

  I smirked. "Well, I want to join the Mecha Brigade as a pilot. I want to learn as much as I can about mechas so I can make it someday!"

  Lyra burst into laughter. "Haha! There's no way you’re gonna make it. Nobles are super strong and dignified, and you’re the opposite of that!" she said, laughing mockingly.

  "Damn it! Just you watch! I’ll be the best damn pilot out there!" I shot back.

  "Yeah, yeah, sure you will," she said sarcastically.

  This brat is making me mad, ugh.

  Then she grabbed the mechanical glove from the ground and held it up to the light. "But first, I’m taking this."

  "Hey, no way! I found it first!" I lunged forward, grabbing onto the glove as she yanked it back. We struggled for a moment before she slipped away and ran off with the glove, her arm raised in a victorious pose.

  "Hehe, it's mine, and you can't have it!" She winked, stuck her tongue out at me, then spun around and dashed off, disappearing into the maze of scrap and metal.

  I watched as she vanished. "I hope I don’t have to meet her again. She’s too annoying for me to deal with."

  With the sun beginning to set, I decided to head back early. But before going home, I found a secluded spot to continue training my magic. I tried repeating the same process as in the morning, focusing my thoughts and envisioning the magical circles from before.

  For about an hour, I meditated, trying to conjure magic, but nothing happened.

  Then I changed my approach. Instead of forcing it, I tried to gather mana in a more natural way. I took deep, controlled breaths, imagining magic as something that existed like air particles or water molecules—elements with energy that could be shaped into symbols.

  To my surprise, a tiny blob of water, about the size of my fingertip, formed in the air.

  "Yes! I did it! I actually cast magic!" I shouted in excitement.

  Encouraged, I tried again, this time aiming for something bigger. The second water sphere was nearly as big as my palm, but it wobbled, barely holding its shape.

  "Well, I’ve got a long way to go, but this is still great progress," I thought proudly.

  After training, I headed home for the night.

  During dinner, as we ate the wild boar my father had hunted, my parents brought up something unexpected.

  "Alfred, we’ve been talking, and we think it might be a good idea for you to go hunting with your father," my mother said.

  I frowned. "Aw, but I don’t want to hunt."

  To be honest, I was way more interested in mechas than hunting.

  "Why would I need to learn that, anyway? A mecha pilot probably won’t use that kind of stuff in combat."

  "That’s not true," my father said. "Mechas use swords and magic staffs to operate. Hunting is also a good survival skill."

  The words "swords and magic staffs" echoed in my head. Mechas are supposed to be super weapons with guns, energy shields, proton swords, blazing turbine boosters, tracking missiles, transformation mechanics, and supernova blasts. Why the hell are they being used in such a boring way? That’s blasphemy to all mecha fans out there!

  "Hmm, I guess they kinda do, in a way," I muttered.

  "So, would you like to go hunting with me, son?" my father asked.

  I hesitated but nodded. "Okay, I’ll go."

  "Great! Then we’ll head out tomorrow morning. It’ll be your first time hunting, so get ready. We’ll be going with some of my friends and their kids."

  I didn’t miss the way my mother smiled at that. They weren’t just trying to teach me to hunt—they wanted me to interact with kids my age. I had never really made any friends, and I guess that worried them a little.

  Still, I wasn’t sure if running around in the woods with a bunch of other kids was going to change that.