Gael let out a short laugh. "Ha! Good one, old man. Seriously though, what am I supposed to do?"
"I know you've only just met me, Gael," the wizard said, his tone calm but certain. "And I know it sounds ridiculous… but this will awaken your power."
"Awaken my power?" Gael scoffed. "What, the power of digging holes for dead people? Might as well dig my own grave while I'm at it."
The Grey Wizard's smile faded. His gaze hardened, the air around him seeming to still.
"Do it," he said firmly.
Gael waved his hands in the air, exasperated. "Fine, old man, I'll dig. You got a shovel? Or maybe a spell for digging holes faster?"
"I have no tools to give," the Grey Wizard said evenly. "I do possess a spell, but you lack the foundation to wield it. For now, dig with your hands."
"Okay, fine," Gael said quietly, shoulders slumping. His voice carried that tired, gloomy tone of someone already regretting their life choices.
Gael looked around the clearing, then sighed and walked toward a large stone jutting out of the earth. "Fine," he grumbled. "Here's as good a spot as any." He knelt down, brushing the dirt with his fingers before starting to dig.
As he dug, Gael's hands grew sore, the dirt caking beneath his nails. He let out a breathless laugh between grunts.
"Man… if I had some kind of system like in those games— y'know, one that tells you what to do, gives you stats, maybe even a shovel— this would be so much easier."
He scooped another handful of soil, tossing it aside. "Yeah, maybe I'll get lucky and punch a tree next— get some wood, craft a pickaxe."
He snorted, shaking his head. "What am I even saying? This isn't some sandbox game."
Still, a small part of him wondered— what if it was?
As if the world had suddenly flipped, something felt… off.
Gael blinked, looking around. The small pile of dirt he'd just dug up — the one he was sure had been there a moment ago — was gone. Completely gone.
He frowned, glancing back at the hole. The ground looked smooth again, as if he'd never touched it at all.
"What the hell…?" he muttered, brushing his hands over the spot. It wasn't just filled back in — it was undisturbed. Not a single grain out of place.
A cold shiver crawled up his spine. "Did the ground just… eat the dirt?"
He looked toward the Grey Wizard, who simply watched in silence, that same calm, knowing expression on his face.
The Grey Wizard chuckled softly, the sound deep and oddly warm. "No, Gael," he said, eyes gleaming like distant stars. "The ground didn't eat the dirt."
He took a slow step closer, resting both hands atop his staff.
"You used your gift."
"A gift?" Gael said confused.
"Yes, a gift," the Grey Wizard said in a tone so calm it almost sounded ordinary, as though this were something every child grew up knowing.
"A gift?" Gael repeated, glancing down at his dirt-caked hands. "What, the power to make piles of dirt vanish into thin air?"
"Not vanish," the old man corrected gently, the corners of his mouth lifting. "You moved it—just not in the way you think."
Gael blinked. "Moved it? Where could it have possibly gone? There's a hole, but there's no pile, nothing!"
The Grey Wizard's gaze sharpened, curiosity flickering beneath his calm exterior. "You need to focus, Gael. Don't just panic — think. What were you doing when the soil vanished?"
Gael blinked. "I don't know! I was just digging like you told me, and then poof— it was gone!"
"Poof?" the wizard echoed with a small smirk. "Interesting choice of words. Try to remember the feeling. What you wanted to happen."
"What I wanted?" Gael frowned, thinking back. I just wanted it out of the way, he thought. Cleared.
"Good," the wizard said, watching him carefully. "Now focus on that thought again — on the dirt you moved. Picture it."
Gael hesitated, feeling ridiculous, but closed his eyes anyway. He pictured the patch of earth he'd dug up — its weight, its texture, the way it had scattered.
Then something flickered behind his eyelids.
Not light — information.
A translucent panel blinked into existence before him, hanging in midair like a projection made of thought. The text wasn't written in any language he knew, yet somehow he understood it instantly — the words forming meaning as they appeared.
[Storage: 1 Item]
- Loose Soil (x1)
Gael's heart skipped a beat. "What the…?"
He blinked, and the interface followed — adjusting with his gaze, almost waiting for input. The dirt wasn't gone; it was listed there, suspended in a quiet, endless void behind the glass of his mind.
Tentatively, he focused on the word Soil.
[Retrieve Item?]
Before he could think twice, he mentally confirmed.
A pulse of light flashed — and the mound of dirt materialized in front of him, collapsing over his boots with a dull thud.
He staggered back, breath catching in his throat. "No way… I saw it. Like—like a menu. A system."
The glowing panel flickered once, then dissolved into the air, leaving only silence and his racing heartbeat.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the ground in front of him trembled.
With a low thud, the mound of dirt reappeared, spilling across his boots in a messy heap.
Gael froze, staring down at it, his pulse hammering in his ears. "I… I actually saw it," he whispered. "It wasn't gone—it was somewhere else."
He lifted his gaze, eyes wide and unblinking. "Like it was waiting for me."
The Grey Wizard's brows lifted in surprise, then softened into something like understanding. "Ah… a spatial gift," he murmured. "Rare, but not unheard of. You can store matter in a personal space — a pocket between worlds."
"Wait, what? Space storage?" Gael looked at his hands as if they weren't his own. "You mean I have… a backpack dimension or something?"
The wizard gave him a puzzled look. "Backpack? I assume that's your world's word for a container. Yes — a very special one. You must've brought it forth through instinct."
Gael barely heard him. He stared into empty air, trying to trigger the vision again. And there it was — that strange, translucent layer in his mind, with the dirt hovering neatly inside it. Not magic, he thought. Something else. It responds to thought, to commands — like a… system.
He blinked the image away and looked up. "So… I can just put things in there? Anything?"
"In theory," the Grey Wizard said thoughtfully, stroking his beard. "Though I would advise caution. Space itself has limits — and rules — even for those gifted by the beyond."
Gael nodded absently, still lost in his discovery. The space pulsed faintly at the edge of his awareness, waiting, ready.
He clenched his fist, a grin tugging at his lips.
(So it's not magic… it's something else. Something I can understand.)
Gael folded his arms, still staring at the patch of ground where the dirt had reappeared. "What are these gifts you keep talking about? And how are they different from magic? Can't magic do the same — if not more?"
The Grey Wizard chuckled, the sound low and knowing. "Ah, a fair question. Many think them the same — they are not."
"Then what's the difference?"
"Magic," the wizard began, tracing faint circles in the air with his staff, "is learned. It's the shaping of the world's energy through study, focus, and will. Anyone with enough patience can grasp it — though it takes years of practice, discipline, and more sleepless nights than most care for."
He lowered his staff and looked at Gael. "A gift, however, is not learned. It's born within. It doesn't come from the world — it comes from you. A reflection of your nature, your desires, perhaps even your purpose."
Gael blinked. "So… mine is making dirt vanish?"
The wizard smiled faintly. "Yours is command over space, perhaps — or the link between what is held and what is seen. The dirt was merely your first whisper to this world."
Gael exhaled sharply through his nose. "Great. My first whisper is a shovel command."
The wizard chuckled. "Mock it if you must, young one, but the smallest gift can become the strongest tool — if you learn to listen to it."