The square outside the arena was unrecognizable—a churning sea of chaos and despair. General Kassim, a man renowned for his composure under fire, stood at the epicenter of the carnage. His sharp commands cut through the pandemonium as he directed his troops, but even his steady voice couldn’t restore order. The arena, built to hold no more than 25,000 people, was overwhelmed by a staggering crowd of over 100,000. Among them were not just those with counterfeit tickets, but many without any tickets at all, driven by desperation or curiosity.

Adam stood near the edge of the fray, watching as the chaos unfolded. His chest tightened, though not from fear, but the violence was hard to stomach. Even as souls were torn from their bodies and drawn into the potion in his satchel, he couldn’t shake the unease curling in his gut. Every scream, every blow, every desperate cry felt like a scar on his soul, but he pressed on. He had a goal now. For the first time since arriving in this strange world, there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

The potion was nearly full. Over two thousand souls. Adam didn’t let himself dwell on the weight of that number. Instead, he slipped away, careful not to draw attention. The guards were too busy holding the line to notice a lone figure blending into the shadows. He moved quickly but deliberately, weaving through the narrow alleys that led out of the square. The chaos behind him dimmed with every step, replaced by a strange, oppressive quiet as he reached the edge of the forest.

The trees loomed before him, ancient and imposing. Their branches stretched high into the night sky, forming a canopy that blocked most of the moonlight. What little light trickled through created shifting patterns on the forest floor, a dance of shadows that seemed almost alive. The air here was thick, heavy with the scent of moss and damp earth. It was a different kind of silence—one that swallowed sound and made every step feel like a trespass.

Adam paused at the treeline, letting out a shaky breath. The weight of the potion in his satchel felt heavier now. He glanced back toward the distant glow of the arena. Smoke still curled into the night sky, carrying with it the echoes of the chaos he had left behind.

“OK” he muttered, turning back to the forest. “To a new chapter, here I come”

He ventured deeper, the soft crunch of leaves underfoot the only sound accompanying him. After some time, he found a clearing bathed in faint moonlight. It was a small space, bordered by towering trees whose gnarled roots jutted out like ancient scars. Adam set down his satchel, pulling out the potion. It glimmered faintly, its otherworldly light reflecting in his tired eyes.

He held it up, studying the liquid inside. “This is it,” he murmured to himself. His hand trembled as he pulled the cork free, the sharp scent of the potion filling his nostrils. He hesitated for a moment, then tipped it back and drank.

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It burned. The heat spread like wildfire, searing his throat and chest before radiating through his entire body. Adam staggered, his vision blurring as the world around him dissolved into a swirling haze. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, gasping as his senses overloaded.

“Badum.”

The sound wasn’t external—it was inside him, a thunderous beat that shook him to his core. His heart? No. It was something deeper, something fundamental.

When his eyes finally fluttered open, everything was sharper—too sharp. The moonlight, the shadows, the subtle movement of the leaves in the breeze—it all came at him with overwhelming clarity. He sat up slowly, clutching his head as the disorientation faded.

Then he saw it.

Perched on a low branch was a small bird, its feathers ruffled. But that wasn’t what caught Adam’s attention. Inside the bird, pulsing faintly, was a flickering flame. It wasn’t natural; it was something more, something alive. Mana.

Adam blinked, and the vision disappeared, leaving only the bird. He frowned, concentrating, and the flame returned.

“Mana,” he whispered, his voice tinged with awe. “I can see mana.”

He stood slowly, his legs still unsteady. The discovery filled him with equal parts excitement and dread. Could others see his mana? Would it mark him somehow? Expose him? Questions swirled in his mind, but he pushed them aside.

“Let’s see what I can do,” he muttered, stretching out a hand.

Magic was all about imagining, or so he had read in countless books. He conjured the image of a roaring fireball, focusing intently. But nothing happened. He frowned, shifting to water, then thunder, but the results were the same.

Finally, he thought of wind—sharp, cutting, invisible. The mana within him stirred, and a faint blade of air shot forward, slicing through the undergrowth. It struck a tree, leaving only a faint scratch on the bark.

Adam’s shoulders sagged. “That’s…uhh, ok, it’s fine” he muttered.

He tried again, focusing harder. This time, the blade was stronger, carving a slightly deeper groove into the tree. Still, it was far from the devastating power he had imagined.

“Okay, so this isn’t going to be as easy as I thought,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair.” uh.. I guess not “

He sat down on a nearby rock, staring at the tree he had barely scratched. Self-teaching was going to be a long, arduous process, but Adam had faced worse odds. The forest was quiet around him, save for the distant howl of some beast.

“First, I master this,” he said to himself, standing and brushing off the dirt. “Then… the elves’ continent.”

The faint glow of mana still flickered at the edges of his vision as Adam ventured deeper into the forest, the weight of the unknown pressing down on him. But for the first time in a long while, he felt ready for what lay ahead.