Morning.
Voren sat cross-legged on the thin mat in the corner of his room, back straight, eyes closed, hands resting lightly on his knees. The world outside was already awake. He could hear faint movement from the house, the soft creak of floorboards, distant footsteps, the muted sound of wind brushing against the walls.
Inside the room, everything was quiet.
Mana drifted toward him in slow, invisible streams. It wasn't something he could see, not exactly, but he felt it all the same. A gentle pressure against his skin. A faint warmth gathering in his chest. The sensation was subtle, but familiar.
His mana pool was nearly empty.
He had spent most of the night experimenting, testing the limits of his awakened affinity. Simple manipulations. Minor conjurations. Things that wouldn't impress anyone but mattered to him all the same. Each attempt chipped away at his reserves until there was almost nothing left.
A soft chime echoed in his mind.
[Host is Cultivating...]
The system's presence settled around him.
He focused.
Mana trickled in.
MP: 10 / 120
It was slow at first, like trying to draw water from dry soil. Voren steadied his breathing, inhaling through his nose, exhaling through his mouth. He pictured the flow the way his mother once described it to him, like guiding a stream instead of forcing a flood.
MP: 12 / 120
The number ticked upward.
His brow relaxed slightly.
MP: 20 / 120
The warmth in his chest grew steadier, spreading through his limbs. The ache left behind by yesterday's training dulled, replaced by a light buzzing beneath his skin. Mana circulation always felt like this in the early stages. Gentle. Almost comforting.
Time passed without him noticing.
The sun climbed higher outside his window, as shadows shifted across the floor. His breathing deepened, falling into a natural rhythm.
After an hour.
MP: 100 / 120
The flow finally slowed, mana settling into his core like water filling a basin. Voren opened his eyes slowly, exhaling as he did. Sweat dotted his forehead, but his expression was calm.
He stared at his hands.
Alive.
The memory came uninvited.
The arena.
The weight in his chest.
The blade forcing its way into his body.
Pain flared in his mind so vividly that his fingers twitched. He could almost feel it again. The way his insides burned. The way his soul felt like it was being dragged downward, gripped by something cold and final.
Death.
He swallowed.
Steal By Death.
The skill hovered at the edge of his thoughts. Dangerous. Cruel. Absolute. The ability to take the awakened skill of the one who ended your life. Power bought with suffering.
He didn't want to feel that pain again. Didn't want to die just to gain strength.
And yet…
Aiden Hartwright's cheat now belonged to him.
Skill Weaver.
The ability meant for the hero. The protagonist's unfair advantage. The thing that allowed him to grow faster, stronger, and more versatile than anyone else.
Now it was Voren's.
He hesitated only briefly before testing it.
A faint glow appeared before him as he focused, the system responding immediately.
He imagined a skill. Simple. Brutal.
A sword strike that could end an opponent in a single blow.
The moment the thought solidified, the interface flickered.
[Skill Creation Failed.]
A second message followed,
[Minimum MP requirement not met.]
[Required MP: 350]
Voren let out a breath and shook his head.
"So that's how it is," he muttered.
Three hundred and fifty mana points. Far beyond his current limits. That meant the first time Skill Weaver activated had been a first time try. A one-time miracle fueled by death itself.
If he wanted to use it again, he'd need to grow. A lot.
He closed the interface and shifted his focus.
If he couldn't rely on cheats yet, then he'd do what he could with effort.
Voren stood and moved to the far end of the room, retrieving a practice arrow from beside the wall. He held it carefully, fingers steady, and raised his other hand.
Mana stirred.
He focused on darkness first. The Umbral Ether responded readily, coiling around his palm like smoke. Then came heat, not from light, but from something deeper. A controlled burn. Shadow and flame intertwined, unstable at first, resisting one another.
He tried again.
The first attempt fizzled.
The second scorched the air and vanished.
The third nearly burned his fingers.
Hours slipped by.
His MP dropped steadily as he experimented, adjusted, failed, and tried again. Sweat soaked through his shirt. His breathing grew labored. His concentration wavered more than once.
But he didn't stop.
Finally, something clicked.
The flame didn't lash out this time. It wrapped around the arrow's tip, dark and steady, flickering like a black candlefire. The heat was there, but restrained. Focused.
Voren's eyes widened slightly.
It held.
A chime rang softly.
Ding!
[Technique: Shadow Flame Arrow (Rare) Mastered LVL. 1]
He let out a slow breath, relief washing over him.
Rare rank.
Not bad. Not bad at all.
The flame dispersed as he lowered the arrow, his mana nearly spent again. He was smiling faintly when a knock echoed from the door.
"Go away," he said without looking up. "I'm busy."
The door creaked open anyway.
He turned, ready to complain.
And then he froze.
The person standing there wasn't his sister.
And just like that, the exhaustion left his face, replaced by something lighter. Something warmer.
His expression brightened.
It was someone he was very much happy to see.