Rowan chose the forest.
Not far from the village—close enough that he wouldn't get lost, but distant enough that no one would notice if something went wrong.
That was the idea, at least.
Sunlight filtered through tall trees, scattering across the ground in broken patterns. The air here felt different—thicker, quieter. Rowan slowed his steps as he moved between the trunks, listening to the crunch of leaves beneath his boots.
He stopped when the village sounds faded completely.
"This should be far enough," he murmured.
Rowan stood still for a moment, breathing steadily. He could feel it again—the vast presence inside him. Calm. Endless. Waiting.
Mana.
He raised his hand slowly.
"I'll keep it small," he said to himself. "Just enough to understand."
Rowan focused—not outward, but inward. Instead of pushing, he imagined guiding. Like directing water through a narrow channel instead of letting it flood.
A faint warmth gathered at his palm.
The air trembled.
Rowan's eyes widened slightly. He hadn't intended for anything visible to happen yet—but the space around his hand shimmered, as if reality itself had grown sensitive to his intent.
"Too much," he muttered, pulling back instinctively.
The warmth vanished instantly.
Rowan exhaled slowly. "So that's how it is…"
Power wasn't the problem.
Restraint was.
He tried again—this time imagining less. Not force. Not control. Just presence.
The ground beneath his feet responded.
A thin crack spread across the soil, no wider than a finger, running forward several meters before stopping abruptly. Rowan stared at it, heart pounding.
"I didn't touch anything," he whispered.
That wasn't normal magic.
That was the world answering him.
Rowan stepped back quickly, scanning the forest. Nothing moved. No animals fled. No sudden wind. But the silence felt heavier now, as if the trees themselves were aware something had changed.
He lowered his hand.
"This is bad," Rowan said quietly.
If he couldn't even test his abilities without affecting his surroundings, how was he supposed to stay unnoticed?
Eiran's words surfaced uninvited.
All power carries consequence.
Rowan clenched his fist.
"I just want peace," he muttered. "Is that really too much to ask?"
A sudden pressure brushed against his senses.
Rowan froze.
It wasn't physical. Not sound, not touch—but something deeper. A resonance. Like two distant strings vibrating at the same frequency.
He turned slowly.
There was nothing there.
Yet the feeling lingered, unmistakable.
Someone—or something—had felt his magic.
Rowan swallowed.
"Okay," he said under his breath. "No more."
He turned and left the clearing without another attempt.
---
By the time Rowan returned to the village, his nerves hadn't fully settled. He kept his head down, moving carefully, avoiding prolonged eye contact.
But even then, he noticed it.
The way a few people glanced his way and then quickly looked elsewhere.
Not suspicion.
Awareness.
Rowan didn't like it.
He stopped near a wooden notice board set at the center of the village. Several sheets were pinned to it—requests, warnings, job notices. Most were handwritten, some torn at the edges.
One word appeared again and again.
Guild.
Rowan read a few entries quietly.
Escort requests. Resource gathering. Monster sightings in nearby regions.
Adventurers.
"So it really is like that," Rowan murmured.
A place where power had purpose.
Where magic wasn't strange—it was expected.
That should have reassured him.
Instead, it made something twist in his chest.
If this world truly revolved around strength, then someone like him—someone who couldn't hide his—was bound to be noticed eventually.
Rowan stepped away from the board.
That was when the pressure returned.
Stronger this time.
His breath hitched as the sensation washed over him—ancient, vast, and impossibly distant. It wasn't threatening. It wasn't hostile.
It was curious.
Rowan's vision blurred for a fraction of a second.
A whisper brushed the edge of his consciousness.
Not words.
A call.
Rowan staggered, catching himself against a nearby post.
"What… was that?" he whispered.
The presence faded as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving behind only a lingering warmth deep within his chest.
Rowan straightened slowly, heart racing.
This wasn't the god.
Eiran's presence had been calm. Detached.
This felt… closer.
Personal.
Rowan took a steady breath and looked up at the sky.
"I'm not ready," he said quietly. "Whatever that was—I'm not ready."
The sky offered no answer.
But deep within him, something stirred again—responding not to fear, but to recognition.
Rowan turned away and headed back toward the house he'd woken up in.
He needed rest.
He needed answers.
And most of all, he needed to understand one thing:
In a world where power echoed, staying quiet might be the hardest path of all.