CH1 • Rise of Caelum

The Soul Crystal Gem was a rare artifact, a relic of ancient arcane science designed to predict the outcome measurements of a mage candidate's fundamental traits. Proven to be 98% accurate, it analyzed a host's mana in three core aspects—Mana Quality, Mana Quantity, and Elemental Affinity. The crystal's glow and resonance determined a subject's magical aptitude, its radiance a testament to their potential.

Selvine exhaled sharply, watching the dimming light of the Soul Crystal. The grand chamber, once imposing, seemed to shrink under the weight of disappointment.

Another wasted birth.

The crystal barely responded to the boy before her. No radiant bloom of color, no surging pulse of power—just a weak, feeble flicker before it faded into nothingness. She had witnessed failures before, but this… this was barely a whisper of magic.

Her fingers tightened around the staff in her hands. She had expected little, yet the sheer insignificance of the result left an ache behind her eyes. A child born with such weak mana should not have survived infancy. The mere act of breathing, of existing, should have drained what little energy he had. And yet, he stood there. Small. Silent. Watching.

It was almost cruel.

A boy born into a mage's domain yet possessing nothing of value to the arcane world. A tragedy in itself.

"He's weak," she finally said, her voice measured yet firm. "His affinity is even worse. It's a miracle he's alive."

A murmur of agreement swept through the observing mages. One scoffed under their breath, while others smirked, struggling to suppress laughter. The sheer novelty of his failure—the lowest recorded aptitude in history—was now a living proof standing before them. A few merely shook their heads in quiet dismissal.

Even those with weak mana could be trained. But without affinity? Without quality? Without potential? There was nothing to cultivate.

Her gaze flickered to the brown-haired boy with light-toned skin and golden-lit eyes standing at the doorway—half-hidden in shadow, hands clenched into fists. Did he understand what this meant? Did he grasp the weight of his failure? Impossible. Not that it mattered. He was protected until he turned seven. By then, he would be assigned to a life of servitude or sacrificed to the conduit mana ley-lines.

Perhaps it was better if he remained ignorant.

She turned to her attendant. "Mark his name in the records. Standard classification: Non-Mage, Null Protocol prospect."

The attendant nodded, already inscribing the unforgiving label in the registry.

Selvine looked at the boy one last time. A sheer glance of shame and pity. In all her years, she had never encountered such a case. There were no historical records of an individual overcoming such limitations. His only hope would be divine intervention—a blessing from the gods.

But the odds of him becoming a mage? They were too expensive to waste on him.

He was nothing more than a failed project. A child born out of duty, not love.

Pity had no place in the arcane world. And yet, for the first time, she felt it.

Tsk.

A Few Years Later…

Caelum was now five years old, along with many others. As a duty-born child—one of the many bred in the mage towers—he had been born within a cycle, alongside dozens of others, all within months of one another.

He had long noticed the shift in how the caretakers treated him. They no longer offered him warmth or attention. To them, he was already dead. While he still received meals, it was clear they saw him as nothing more than a waste of space.

Yet, he remained undeterred.

His quick wits ensured he never became a burden.

Then came the day of the academic trials—the first step in preparing the young initiates for their future roles in the tower. His peers, having learned of his situation, avoided him as though he carried a curse. Even among the other duty-born, he was an outcast.

A young female mage arrived, instructing them to form a line. While her voice remained kind, her eyes held quiet disdain as she glanced at him.

She led them to their new home—a large, fortified compound where they would live for the next five years. Upon arrival, she explained the rules. Thirty children, all of the same age. By the time their training ended, half of them would likely have failed.

Her gaze lingered on Caelum.

He was a definite failure.

Their education would cover language, etiquette, history, ranking structures, and the fundamentals of magic. Once their foundational studies were complete, they would begin formal magical training.

She motivated them with a simple promise—once they grasped the lessons quickly, they would be granted privileges. Free time. The ability to explore. A taste of the life that awaited them as mages.

Many of his peers were eager. But Caelum knew better.

The coming weeks revealed the truth.

They were duty-born children—those raised within the mage tower but without true family ties. Their purpose was singular: to serve. Whether they became mages or fell into servitude, their childhood was little more than preparation.

Their lives as young initiates were rigidly structured. From dawn until nightfall, every moment was spent conditioning their bodies and minds. The goal was singular—to awaken their mana cores and form their First Circle.

At the age of five, four months after our arrival, we were required to take the Mana Sensitivity Exam. Everyone else passed—except for me. As I stood there, the test itself seemed to snicker and giggle, mocking my failure, while the others moved on to the next stage. I was left behind for a remedial examination, isolated in my incompetence.

Most of the others had no trouble sensing and recognizing mana in the world around them—I could do that much. The next task required them to control a small stream of mana in their hands without losing focus—something I couldn't do. And since I failed that, the final task became impossible: infusing a glyph with mana to make it glow faintly.

While I was forced into one-on-one sessions to catch up, I learned that others had already progressed beyond the basics, attempting to manifest their first magic circles. Some had succeeded within just a few days. It turned out that the affinity test wasn't a pass-or-fail ordeal but rather a guiding tool for mages—one that was supposedly impossible to fail. And yet, from what I overheard in hushed conversations, I knew I had somehow managed to do just that.

"Two months!" my instructor raged one day, her voice echoing against the stone walls. "Even after two more months since the others have been attempting their first circles, and you aren't even close! This is pointless! I'm supposed to waste ten years watching you fail, knowing all along that you'll never amount to anything?!"

Tears welled in my eyes at her words. I hated how easily I let my emotions get the best of me, a side effect of being trapped in a child's body despite knowing I was more than that.

Each night, fragmented memories of my past life surfaced bit by bit. I had yet to fully recall my old self, but I knew my former name now. I was slowly catching up to who I had been, and at this rate, I wondered—how long would it take before I remembered everything? By the time I reached ten years old?

I knew I had died at the age of thirty-one. But without the memories that led up to that moment, it was nothing more than a still image in my mind—a picture without context, a story without its history.

My instructor, still seething with frustration, exhaled sharply and ran a hand through her hair. "Listen, Caelum," she spat my name with disappointment, "I'm done. Stay here and do whatever you want. I've explained everything I can, but it's pointless. Just bide your time until judgment. You're smart—at least that's what's kept you here this long. Maybe you'll be useful in some other way. Tsk." With that, she stormed out, leaving me alone.

Days passed. I tried—desperately—to grasp even a sliver of control over my mana, but it never obeyed me. It was weak. Small. No matter how hard I concentrated, I couldn't will it to move. Reality was settling in—I was doomed to be nothing more than a mere servant.

Then she returned.

Madam Selvine. I had seen her a few times before, but this time, I assumed the worst. Surely, this was the end—I was about to be cast out.

"Have you given up?" she asked.

I hesitated before answering. "…Maybe. I want to try, but—maybe I just don't have the wind to my wings in this reality."

Her sharp gaze bore into me, assessing. Then, surprisingly, she smirked. "That's a first…well you're a genius. Just born under unfortunate circumstances." She stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Tell me, what do you see, feel, and understand about what's within you? Paint me a picture."

No one had ever asked me that before.

"I… I feel my blood," I admitted. "But that's not right, is it? So logically… that must be my mana."

She stared at me for a long moment before suddenly sitting down. Her staff, which had been standing upright beside her, remained unmoving. When she finally spoke, her voice carried an eerie amusement.

"I see… hmm, yes… ohh, I see now!" Then, to my alarm, she burst into laughter, running a hand through her hair as if composing herself after a bout of mania. "Now that explains everything!"

I blinked at her, confused.

"That's why you couldn't manipulate your mana," she mused. "Logic, huh? Interesting… Everyone else understands mana innately. It's instinctual for them. But you? You are the opposite."

I tilted my head slightly in thought.

"…More or less, it means your innate sense aligns with uncommon practical reasoning rather than innate sense of common course," she continued, her interest clearly piqued.

She gestured toward me, and her staff shifted to her left hand. "I'm going to cast a spell on you. It will allow you to experience mana the way I do. If this works, then my theory is correct. If not… well, then I suppose I was wrong. Let's find out, shall we?"

I nodded, too afraid to refuse. The tip of her staff touched my chest.

At first, I felt nothing.

"Now," she instructed, "try channeling mana. You remember the practice, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am."

I closed my eyes and tried to focus. I had been through this routine countless times before, but this time—this time, something was different. A cold chill ran through my body, head to toe, like a shifting current. I latched onto that sensation, tracing it as it flowed down into my stomach.

Strangely, I succeeded.

I opened my eyes, half-expecting something but nothing seemed to had changed. But Madam Selvine was smiling.

"Good," she said. "Now, I'm going to remove the spell. Try again, but this time, rely on the sensation you just experienced."

The moment her spell lifted, the familiar feeling of my blood coursing through my veins returned. But now, I knew what to do. Focusing on that grasped sensation, I willed my mana to move—not through instinct, but through deliberate, logical reasoning.

And for the first time, it obeyed.

Madam Selvine smirked as she stood. "Infuse this glyph with that sensation now."

I pressed my hand against the wall and did as she instructed. Mana surged from within me, flowing into the glyph. A faint light flickered—then steadily glowed.

Selvine laughed, triumphant. "I'm sooo good. HEY! One of you lads—Harriet! Get in here!"

Later that evening, as I continued to demonstrate my newfound ability, the astonishment on the others' faces was undeniable. The glyph, which was only supposed to glow faintly for a few moments, remained illuminated even after three hours.

Not just one, but six glyphs now glowed before them.

"The soul crystal gem's margin of error is supposed to be less than two percent," someone murmured in awe. "And yet, standing before us is proof that it can be wrong."

"This isn't the decade era of the chosen one," another added, "…but we are all looking at a bona fide rare prodigy among us."