His body changed in an astonishing way during those three weeks. What had once been an ordinary child was transforming into something more, something different.
On the tenth day, he realized he could already hold the sword outstretched for several minutes without his arms trembling. It was a small achievement, but a meaningful one.
On the fifteenth day, his vertical slashes finally began to descend in a perfectly straight line. His hips rotated naturally, his shoulders remained relaxed, and the power no longer came solely from his arms. Exactly as Clavor had taught him.
On the twentieth day, he noticed something curious. While walking through the forest, he stopped feeling the weight of the sword. He looked at his own hand in surprise. It was still there, firmly held in his fingers. Yet it felt as natural as carrying his own arm, as natural as breathing.
He smiled to himself, a smile of genuine satisfaction. The training was working.
His appearance had changed as well. His shoulders had become broader, and his trapezius muscles had developed. His arms had gained well-defined muscles for someone only five years old, small contours standing out beneath his skin. His chest had become firmer, his pectoral muscles taking shape. His legs had grown stronger, his quadriceps and calves becoming more defined.
His childish fat had practically disappeared, replaced by compact, resilient muscles. His body was lighter, more agile, and stronger.
He was still a child, yes. But he was certainly no ordinary child.
...
His companions watched that growth through their own eyes as well.
Tilbo remained near the clearing almost every day, her enormous gray form observing from a distance. Whenever Lukas managed to complete a particularly difficult exercise, the giant ant let out that familiar deep hum of satisfaction. She seemed proud, as though her partner’s progress were also her own.
Prata continued alternating between hunting and long periods of watching the training from the tops of the trees. From time to time, he would silently descend to touch Lukas’s hand, a gesture of acknowledgment that had become part of his routine.
Astra rarely took her eyes off Rourke, maintaining her constant vigilance over the little rat.
And the little rat... was changing as well. He no longer spent his days hiding in his nest or inside Lukas’s pocket. He ran freely around the clearing, his tiny gray body moving with confidence. He climbed onto logs, exploring every surface. He sniffed at rocks, investigating every crack. He explored every corner of the clearing, as though the entire world belonged to him.
But all it took was for Lukas to call him.
"Rourke."
The little rat immediately abandoned whatever game or exploration he was engaged in. He hurried back, climbing up Lukas’s leg with swift and precise movements before settling into his pocket as though it were his true home.
One afternoon, Lukas checked the affinity once again. A small window appeared before his eyes, the numbers glowing in light green.
[93%]
His smile widened, a feeling of anticipation growing inside his chest. It was close. Very close. He could feel that something special would happen once that percentage finally reached 95%, as though an entirely new world were about to open before him.
...
Aurora watched all of those changes in silence, her mother’s eyes noticing every small transformation. At times, she found her son training alone in the garden, repeating slashes dozens of times even before dinner, his wooden sword slicing through the air with increasingly precise movements.
Other times, she saw him sleeping soundly while still holding the sword, his fingers wrapped around the hilt even in his sleep. Her heart tightened, a mother’s concern blending with pride. Yet she also felt immense pride as she watched her son’s determination.
Judite was even more straightforward. Almost every night, she approached her brother, her curious eyes fixed on his body. She grabbed his arm, squeezed his little bicep, her tiny fingers exploring his muscles. Then her eyes widened in amazement.
"You’re becoming just like Dad!"
Lukas laughed.
"I still have a long way to go. Years of training."
"But it’s already starting!" she replied with complete conviction, as though there wasn’t the slightest doubt in her mind.
...
On the twenty-second day, however, something finally changed. A new phase was about to begin.
The training proceeded normally that morning. Running through the forest while executing slashes. Sparring with Clavor, every movement more refined than the last. The sun was already high in the sky when Clavor blocked another attack from his son and stepped back.
"Stop."
Lukas immediately halted his movement, his sword freezing in midair. He breathed heavily, sweat running down his face and dripping onto the ground. Even exhausted, he continued holding the sword firmly, his fingers wrapped around the hilt with the natural ease of someone who had already done so thousands of times.
Clavor slowly approached, his eyes carefully examining his son. He observed his posture, upright and balanced. The position of his feet, steady and rooted to the ground.
The way he breathed, was controlled and rhythmic. The relaxation of his shoulders, loose and ready to move. His fingers naturally wrapped around the sword’s hilt, neither too tense nor too loose.
A small smile appeared on his face, one that Lukas rarely saw.
"In just three weeks... you’ve progressed more than many boys do in several months." Clavor’s voice was calm, yet it carried the weight of genuine approval.
Lukas remained silent, his heart pounding. Receiving praise from his father was rare. Precisely because of that, it carried tremendous weight, meaning more than any other form of recognition.
Clavor slowly raised his hand, his fingers moving with precision. Then he placed two fingers against his son’s chest, directly above his heart. Through the tunic, Lukas could feel the firm touch, the gentle pressure against his skin.
His gaze became profound, as though he were evaluating something invisible to ordinary eyes.
"Your body is almost ready."
He paused briefly, allowing his words to linger in the air.
"It’s almost time... to form your Mana Source."
Those words made Lukas hold his breath, his body freezing in place. This was it. All that training. All that pain. All that discipline. They had all been leading to this moment, to the very instant he had been waiting for since the first day.
His violet eyes shone with fierce determination, a flame that seemed to come from the depths of his soul.
"I’ll do it." His voice came out firm, without the slightest hesitation.
Clavor held his gaze for several seconds, his eyes meeting his son’s. Then, without hurry, he nodded once.
"I know."
...
That night, after the lotion restored his body once more and after a hearty dinner prepared by Aurora, Lukas returned to his room as he did every day.
The room was silent, illuminated only by the gentle moonlight streaming through the window. Rourke slept peacefully in his nest, his tiny body rising and falling with each steady breath. Tilbo remained motionless in her corner, her antennae relaxed. Prata watched the moon through the window, his bright eyes reflecting the silvery light. Astra remained perched atop the wardrobe, as vigilant as ever.
Lukas slowly lay down, his body sinking into the soft mattress. The wooden sword rested once again against his chest, his fingers still wrapped around the hilt even as he prepared to sleep.
Three weeks. Twenty-two days of relentless training. His body was stronger, his muscles more defined. His technique is more refined, every strike more precise. His sword had already become a part of him, a natural extension of his arm.
And his Mana Source... was about to be born.
With a small smile of anticipation, Lukas closed his eyes, sleep quickly arriving to wrap him in its comforting embrace.
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