The younger ones were always the worst.

I crouched near the edge of the juvenile section, carefully measuring out a portion of mana-infused grain into the feeding trough. 

The moment the scent hit the air, a frenzy erupted. Half a dozen golden-hand monkey pups launched themselves toward the trough, their tiny hands grasping and swiping as if they hadn’t eaten in weeks—never mind the fact that I had just fed them this morning.

"Hey—hey! One at a time, you little gremlins!" I yanked the wooden scoop back before one particularly bold monkey could snatch it away. The little thief let out a chirping laugh before darting back into the pile, disappearing beneath a mass of writhing fur, tails, and flashing golden hands.

This section of the enclosure housed the youngest monkeys—barely a year old, still developing their abilities. They weren’t as dangerous as the adults, but they were far more trouble. 

They had boundless energy, unpredictable behavior, and absolutely no sense of restraint. If I wasn’t careful, they’d get into places they weren’t supposed to, steal whatever wasn’t nailed down, and somehow blame it all on me.

I sighed, adjusting my gloves as I reached for the next sack of feed. The enclosure was one of the biggest in the region, divided into different sections depending on the monkeys’ age, size, and stage of evolution.

 Further in, past the reinforced gates, were the adolescent sections, where the monkeys had grown larger and started developing stronger abilities. 

Beyond that, in the farthest and most heavily fortified area, were the adults—fully matured, fully evolved, and capable of devastating techniques.

No one entered the adult zone alone. Not even my father.

"Akul!"

I jolted at the sound of my mother’s voice. It carried over the enclosure walls, cutting through the usual noise of chittering, screeching, and the occasional crackle of stray magic.

"Coming!" I called back, but not before an opportunistic little monster took advantage of my distraction.

A monkey pup leapt onto my back, its tiny golden hands gripping my tunic as it used me like a climbing tree. I groaned, feeling it tug at my hair while its friends gathered around to watch.

"Oh, you think this is funny?" I reached back, grabbing the little troublemaker by the scruff. It let out a playful chirp, tail flicking in amusement. "You’re lucky I don’t put you in time-out."

I set it down, dusted off my sleeves, and quickly secured the feed sacks before any more of them got ideas. Then I made my way toward the outer gate, slipping through the sturdy wooden doors and locking them behind me.

My mother was waiting just outside, arms crossed, lips pressed together in that way that told me I had taken too long.

"You were supposed to finish half an hour ago," she said.

I winced. "They were extra greedy today."

"They’re always extra greedy. You give them an inch, they’ll take your whole boot." She gestured toward the house. "Come on. Your father’s waiting."

I followed, wiping my hands on my tunic.

The house sat just beyond the main enclosure—a solid stone structure, reinforced with enchantments to keep out any wandering beasts that got too curious. Inside, the scent of burning herbs and aged parchment filled the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of ink.

My father sat at the central table, an enormous book open before him. He wasn’t looking at it, though. His sharp eyes were fixed on me the moment I stepped inside.

"Akul," he said, his voice steady. "It’s time."

I felt my stomach tighten.

Today was my Awakening Day.

Most kids in the village dreamed about this moment their whole lives. It was the day you discovered if your soul was strong enough to manifest an artifact—a physical representation of your inner power. A summoner’s core tool.

Some would awaken weapons, like summoning rings or gauntlets that allowed them to channel mana into binding magic. Others would manifest tomes, pendants, or even familiars—artifacts that granted them the ability to call forth creatures of their own.

Not everyone received one.

Those who didn’t… well, they could still live normal lives, but their paths became limited. A person without an artifact could never become a true summoner, never forge a contract with a high-tier beast.

And in a world where summoning was everything, that meant they would always be left behind.

I swallowed, sitting down at the table.

For some reason, my mind wasn’t focused on the awakening itself. It was still lingering on the dream I’d had last night.

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A dream of… another life.

A world of metal towers, glowing screens, and something called "social media" I could remember people dancing, short videos flashing one after another, the rush of instant gratification. It was all so bizarre, yet painfully familiar—like a memory that didn’t belong to me, but still clung to the edges of my thoughts.

And the older I got, the clearer these memories became.

I shook my head, forcing myself to focus. I didn't understand why those thoughts had to come now, in such an important moment. But that wasn’t my real life anyway—it was just a stupid dream.

Right now, the only thing that mattered was this moment.

I took a breath, placing my hands on the table.

The house was silent, save for the distant chittering of golden-hand monkeys in the enclosure outside. The smell of burning incense curled through the air, its faintly bitter scent grounding me in the moment. Across the table, my father sat, his fingers resting lightly on the open pages of his artifact—a thick, ancient grimoire that looked as if it had seen decades of use. The pages shimmered faintly, not with ink, but with living mana, shifting and flowing beneath the surface like a river of knowledge.

That book was the heart of his summoning.

My father’s grimoire hummed softly as he ran his fingers over the enchanted pages. Symbols flickered beneath his touch, shifting like living ink, responding to his will. The book wasn’t just a relic—it was an extension of his very being, forged through his own awakening decades ago.

I had always admired it.

And if everything went well today, I would have my own.

I swallowed, keeping my hands pressed against the wooden table. My mother stood off to the side, watching, arms folded but silent. She wouldn’t interfere. This was between my father and me.

"Listen carefully, Akul," my father said, his voice steady. "Awakening isn’t complicated, but it requires absolute focus. If your mind wavers, if your visualization is weak, your artifact will be weak as well. And you won’t get a second chance."

I nodded, inhaling slowly.

"You’re about to look inward," he continued, flipping a page in his grimoire. The symbols on the parchment glowed faintly, reacting to his touch. "Your soul is like unshaped clay, waiting to be molded. To forge your artifact, you must take hold of that essence and give it form. But it’s not just about forcing it into a shape. You must understand it, guide it, let it become what it is meant to be."

I exhaled, already feeling the weight of the moment settle over me.

"Akul." My father’s voice was calm, steady. "I will guide you through the process, but understand—this is your soul’s journey. I can only show you the path. You must walk it yourself."

I nodded, my hands pressed against the wooden table. I turned to look at my mother; she stood nearby, silent but supportive. I could see the nervousness in her eyes as she nodded in my direction, affirming that everything would be okay, but still she didn't say a word.

This was a long-standing tradition. The elders of the family, the one who bore an artifact, would be the guide. My mother was the one without an artifact.

My father lifted his hand, mana swirling between his fingers. "Close your eyes."

I obeyed.

A faint warmth spread through the air as he began to chant, his voice low and deliberate. The words weren’t in our common tongue, but in an ancient summoner’s dialect, a language that resonated not with the ears, but with the soul. The mana in the room thickened, like the air itself was vibrating.

Then, his voice reached its peak.

"Vas’tor unkai... Drenva solis... Uth kai’reth ven!"

"Now it's on you son, feel your breath. Your heartbeat. The mana in your veins. Let everything else fade."

For a few moments, I was just sitting in the dark, listening to the faint crackle of a candle, the distant chirping outside. Then, slowly, the world shifted.

A sudden pull—like something yanking me inward.

My breath caught, my mind tumbling, falling—

And then, I was somewhere else.

The darkness behind my eyelids deepened, turning vast, endless. I felt as if I were falling, weightless, drifting through something not quite real, but not quite a dream either.

Then I saw it.

A place that wasn’t here.

Tall steel towers, endless streams of light, the glow of screens flashing past my vision. It was familiar—so familiar it made my breath hitch. I had been here before. Or at least, someone had. A past me? A different me? The thought sent a shiver down my spine, but I couldn’t focus on that.

Because i had something more important to do.

It was to create A grimoire—not my father’s, not any book I had seen in this world, but something different.

A sudden panic hit me.

Was this okay?

Was I supposed to be remembering this? Should I fight it? Should I push it away?

I gritted my teeth, trying to ground myself, to force the vision back into something that felt normal—something of this world, not the last. But the harder I fought, the more the memories pushed back, like a tide I couldn’t control.

I wasn’t winning this battle.

So I stopped fighting.

The moment I did it all felt more natural, like it ment to be.

I let it all in.

The moment I did, everything snapped into place. The swirling energy, the depth of my visualization, the sheer clarity of it—it was beyond what I had expected.

A Room From Another Life

The dim glow of a computer monitor bathed the small room in bluish light. A mechanical keyboard clicked softly beneath my fingers, my hand gripping a sleek, ergonomic mouse. On the screen—

A game.

Not just any game.

The Grand Codex System.

The title hovered in elegant, arcane lettering, the UI sleek and immersive.

 My character—a summoner clad in dark robes—stood in front of a floating tome, its cover intricately engraved, pulsing with energy.

I knew this.

I had played this.

The realization hit me like a punch to the chest. This was my past life. I wasn’t in a dream or some random vision—this was an exact memory, down to the faint hum of the computer fan, the half-empty soda can on the desk, the slight ache in my wrist from hours of clicking.

I had spent countless nights grinding in this game, theory-crafting builds, optimizing summon formations, perfecting my grimoire-based summoning style.

And now… it was here. This was also part of me, for some reason it felt very important to me. I felt like for many many years... this game was a big part of my life.

My past life and my current life were colliding.

I turned my attention back to the screen. The grimoire floated before my character, waiting.

I remembered this moment.

The moment my character claimed the codex after years of grinding, unlocking every achievement, and reaching the pinnacle of my summoner’s build.

I reached for the mouse.

Clicked.

And as my character extended his hands toward the grimoire—

The screen glowed brighter.

No—it wasn’t the screen.

The light was seeping out of it, engulfing the entire room, swallowing the desk, the monitor, the walls—

Everything fractured—

I gasped. 

A little overwhelmed by all that was going on. 

My mind now empty, the place serene, and calm. 

I now remember that i had to visualize the shape of my artifact core. 

Just when I thought of that… it happened.

I could feel the texture of the grimoire, the weight of it in my hands. The way the mana pulsed beneath the surface, forming intricate circuits of power.

And then—I knew what to do.

I took hold of the essence, this swirling mass of self, and began to shape it. The knowledge from my past life guided me, but my instincts, who I was now, gave it purpose. The book in my vision became real, its form solidifying, the engravings etching themselves in deeper, the mana circuits stabilizing.

It was mine.

It was me.

It was what I desired most for many years.

A flash. A spark. And then—reality snapped back into place.

I gasped, eyes flying open.

The air crackled with lingering mana. My father sat completely still, his gaze locked onto the table in front of me. My mother had stepped forward, her arms no longer crossed. There was a sharp intake of breath, a moment of utter silence.

And then, I looked down.

Lying on the wooden table, resting between my outstretched hands, was a book. It was comparatively smaller than my father’s, but it was not a crude, faintly forged artifact.

It was A masterpiece. A complex, solid creation. 

The cover was a deep, polished black, laced with glowing silver runes that shifted ever so slightly, like they were alive. The edges gleamed with a faint metallic sheen, and when I reached out to touch it, the surface was warm, pulsing as if it had a heartbeat of its own.

My father exhaled slowly.

"That's…" he murmured, the rest of the words left unspoken.

I swallowed, my hands trembling slightly as I lifted it. The weight felt perfect—balanced, right. A part of me, yet something beyond me at the same time.

I had done it.

I had awakened.

And somehow, I knew… this was just the beginning.

Side note For those curious 

"Vas’tor" → Open the gate (literally "unseal the passage")

"Unkai" → Gate (or portal, threshold)

"Drenva" → Enter (deeply, with purpose)

"Solis" → Soul (also can mean essence or life force)

"Uth" → And

"Kai’reth" → Forge (shape, mold, bring into existence)

"Ven" → What lies within (truth within, inner essence)