Where Magic Awaits

River awoke with a start, the memory—or lack thereof—still clawing at the edges of his thoughts. The question echoed like a whisper behind his eyelids: What are you hiding, Isen? He sat up, rubbing the crust from his eyes, jaw tense. The morning air was crisp.

He couldn't just sit there and sulk, not when there was work to be done. Testing his newfound abilities seemed like a better alternative than spiraling into another night of insomnia.

Throwing on his coat, River stepped out of the hut. Not far from his door, he noticed several Amazonian warriors clustered around the cages—feeding the withered, pale figures locked inside.

River narrowed his eyes. "Why are they in a cage, anyway?" he muttered to himself.

"Because it's contagious!" chirped a voice beside him.

River flinched.

It was the smaller guard from last night, the one who had laughed at his smolder—Yves. The contempt from yesterday was gone, replaced by an unsettling cheeriness that made her words even more disturbing.

"C-contagious?" River repeated, stomach twisting.

Yves nodded enthusiastically. "Yup! One touch and your limbs start to ache, then bam! You lose all your insides. Like, all of them. Super gross."

River laughed nervously, already mentally reviewing every time he'd been within three feet of the infected. The Matriarch knew this. She knew. And she still let me handle it?!

Yves tilted her head. "Anyway, where are you going so early?"

"Research," River said quickly. "You don't have to come, um..."

"Yves," she said, offering a sly grin.

Of course, River already knew her name. It was practically floating above her head like an in-game tag, courtesy of the system. Still, he nodded like it was news.

"Right. Yves. Well, have a good morning," he added, walking briskly toward the treeline. The moment he was out of earshot, he muttered, "Contagious my ass... why didn't anyone say anything sooner?"

He needed to figure out which abilities he actually had access to—and how they worked. The last thing he needed was to accidentally disintegrate someone instead of healing them. This was starting to feel more like playing a gacha game where you rolled random loot boxes and prayed it wasn't a cursed sock.

He scanned the woods for a smaller target. A squirrel. Maybe a bird.

But fate was, as always, a spiteful brat.

There, standing just ahead, was a boar. Not the mountain-sized beast from the night before, but still large enough to make River's blood run cold. Easily three times his size, tusks sharp and angry.

The beast snorted and charged.

Panic flared in River's chest, but this time—he didn't run. Didn't dodge. He faced it head-on, heart hammering against his ribs.

"Please work," he whispered, raising an arm.

A translucent, shimmering shield bloomed into existence in front of him.

The boar slammed into it—

BOOM.

The force of the impact cracked the air like thunder. A shockwave burst outwards, hurling the boar several feet back. It hit the ground hard, dust rising in a thick cloud.

River gaped. He stared at his own arm, then the dissipating shield. "Holy crap, it actually worked."

Triumph swelled in his chest.

Until the boar stood up. Shaking its head. Pawing the earth again.

"Oh come on."

This time, River did run. Or rather—screamed like a schoolgirl and bolted in the opposite direction.

Branches slapped his face. Roots tried to trip him. He didn't care. Survival mode engaged.

Then—

A silver flash cut through the air.

A clean slash. The boar collapsed.

River stumbled to a stop, wheezing.

Alara stood there, sword at her side, expression unreadable.

"What are you doing?" she asked, one brow arching like a blade drawn half out of its sheath.

River coughed, straightened his spine, and wiped dirt off his coat like it was all intentional. "Practicing."

"Practicing what?" she deadpanned. "Sprinting while screaming like your soul was on fire?"

"It was part of the plan," River said without missing a beat, raising his chin. "Distraction tactics. Highly advanced, extremely misunderstood by common warriors."

Alara didn't smile. But something in her eyes twitched, like she was fighting the urge to smirk. "You're not sure how to heal them, are you?"

River hesitated. Then dropped the act.

"No. I'm not," he said, tone honest for once. "And you already knew that. I was powerless when I first arrived. And yet—somehow—I still managed to knock you off your feet."

She tilted her head slightly. "Only because I let my guard down."

"Yeah, yeah. That's what they all say."

Alara rolled her eyes, exhaling. "Come. There's something I want you to see."

She turned and moved deeper into the forest. River followed, careful not to trip over roots while trying to look cool.

Soon, he heard it—a soft, melodic chiming, like a wind chime kissed by moonlight. It wasn't just a sound—it was a call. Faint and beautiful.

Alara scaled a massive tree like she was born to climb it. River, not so much. He struggled, cursed, slipped, and narrowly avoided falling to his death at least three times before joining her on a thick branch halfway up.

She pointed toward the far horizon.

River followed her gaze—and forgot how to breathe.

There, nestled between the Western trees and wrapped in sacred-looking mist, bloomed a flower that defied reason. It towered above the treetops, its petals long and flowing like silk caught in a breeze, shifting through hues of silver, violet, and soft sapphire. The air shimmered around it, thick with power and impossible beauty. Light pulsed from its core, slow and rhythmic, as if the flower itself had a heartbeat. And that sound—the chiming—was coming from it, pure and holy, like the very soul of the forest was singing.

"What is that?" River whispered.

Alara's voice softened, reverent. "The closest we can get to magic. It's called Myrracenta. Some kind of divine chalice. A relic from the old gods—if you believe in that."

River stared, transfixed. The flower sparkled as if kissed by stardust, and the leaves curled and unfurled in slow, deliberate movement, like it was alive in a way no flower should be.

"It's in the Western Territory," Alara continued. "We can't cross. The boundary is sacred, and breaking it could start a war."

River didn't answer immediately. He just watched.

For the first time since arriving in this world—since the system, the cages, the arena, and the strange skills—something pulled at him. Not fear. Not urgency. But awe.

"Even the powerless can conjure magic with it," Alara said quietly, eyes shining with wonder. "If only from a distance."

Then it hit River.

A jolt—not of fear, but clarity. Like the Myrracenta's glow had seeped into his bones, illuminating the path he'd been fumbling toward all along.

Alara watched him, the corner of her mouth lifting with dangerous intent. "That's right," she said, voice low and laced with challenge. "So... what do you say, Sir Isen? Shall we trespass on the sacred?"