James Carter stood over the corpse of the Gutter Maw, his chest heaving as the adrenaline slowly ebbed away, leaving a cold, sharp clarity in its wake.
The room was silent, but to James's new eyes, it was screaming with information. The Gutter Maw wasn't just a pile of meat and fur anymore; it was a cooling map of biological failure. He could see the fading heat signature drifting off the carcass like steam. He could see the residual mana in its muscles, a dirty, brownish-red energy that was rapidly dissipating into the air.
He knelt, ignoring the trembling of his hands. He needed to be practical. In the Rust Belt, nothing was wasted, not even the nightmare that tried to eat you.
James reached for a small, rusted knife he kept in his desk drawer. He didn't need to turn on the lights. The ambient mana of the city, filtering in through the window he had just closed, provided a blue illumination that was more than sufficient.
He made a precise incision at the base of the creature's skull. In the past, this would have been a messy, fumbling task guided by touch and smell. Now, it was surgery. He could see the density of the flesh, distinguishing between muscle, fat, and bone by the way the mana flowed—or didn't flow—through them.
He dug into the gristle until his knife hit something hard. With a wet pop, he pried it loose.
A Mana Shard.
It was tiny, barely the size of a fingernail, and cloudy with impurities. It glowed with a faint, sickly light. A Gutter Maw was a bottom-feeder, a Wild Beast that scavenged on magical refuse, so its core—or rather, this fragment of one—was worth almost nothing. Maybe fifty credits at a pawn shop.
But to James, it was beautiful. It was the first trophy of his new life.
He moved to the small sink in the corner of his room, washing the blood from the shard and his hands. He caught his reflection in the cracked mirror again. The golden irises still swirled, alien and intense. He concentrated, willing the flow of mana to his eyes to slow down. It was instinctual, like unclenching a fist. The golden luminescence faded, revealing his natural, milky-white pupils. To the outside world, he looked blind again.
"Good," he whispered. "One secret at a time."
He grabbed a fresh roll of gauze from his medical kit. He wound it around his head, covering his eyes. He tested his vision. The gauze was a barrier, yes, but mana didn't care about cotton. He pushed a trickle of energy back into his eyes.
The world resolved itself again. The weave of the bandage appeared as a translucent grid in front of his vision, barely obstructing the wireframe view of his apartment. He could see through it perfectly.
He was still weak. His body was malnourished, his mana core was a pathetic Rank 1 Novice, and he had no combat training. But he had an edge now. He could see the board.
The next morning, the walk to Oakhaven Academy was a revelation.
James navigated the cracked pavement of District 9 with his cane tapping a steady rhythm, but he wasn't feeling for obstacles. He was mapping the city.
The Rust Belt was a chaotic mess of energy. The power lines overhead leaked mana like dripping pipes, creating jagged streaks of lightning-blue in the air that only he could see. The people trudging to work were dim, flickering candles of life force, their mana cores barely visible specks in their abdomens.
But as he crossed the checkpoint into the mid-tier districts, the world changed.
The street became cleaner, the mana flow more regulated. The streets here were paved with composite stone that had minor hardening enchantments woven into them. To James, the ground looked like a vast paint of patterns, glowing faintly.
He reached the school gates just as the first bell rang. The Academy was a massive structure of steel and glass, designed to intimidate. Today, the courtyard was crowded with students preparing for the Written Exam.
"Move it, Mole," a voice sneered.
James didn't need to turn to know it was William Turner. He could see the boy's mana signature—a jagged, aggressive flare of orange.
William stepped into James's path, sticking a foot out to trip him. It was a classic move, one William had used a dozen times since middle school. Usually, James would stumble, fall, and endure the laughter.
James saw the leg extend. He saw the intent in William's muscles a split second before the motion began. He saw the exact trajectory of the trip.
James didn't stop walking. He didn't speed up. He simply adjusted the angle of his cane, planting it firmly on the ground just inches from William's shin, and moved his body around the obstacle.
William, expecting impact, overbalanced. He stumbled forward, his arms flailing to catch himself, looking ridiculous.
James continued walking, tapping his cane. "Watch your step, William. The ground is uneven here."
A ripple of laughter broke out from the nearby students. William's face flushed a deep, angry red.
"You got lucky, freak!" William shouted, but James was already moving toward the exam hall, a small, cold smile playing on his lips.
The exam hall was a cavernous auditorium filled with rows of desks, each equipped with a holographic interface. For James, there was a special station in the front row, equipped with an audio-haptic headset.
He sat down, adjusting the headset. He could see the teacher, Mr. Brooks, standing at the front podium. Brooks was a boring man in class, but looking at him now with mana-sight, James realized he had underestimated the teacher.
Mr. Brooks had a mana core that burned with a steady, dense green light. Adept Rank 4, James estimated. Maybe Rank 5. The man was hiding his strength.
"The exam will last three hours," Brooks announced. "Topics will cover Beast Taxonomy, Rift History, and Mana Theory. Cheating will result in immediate expulsion and a permanent mark on your record. Begin."
James activated the interface. The audio synthesizer began to read the first question in a monotone robotic voice.
Question 1: Describe the physiological changes that occur during a Beast's evolution from Awakened to Unblemished.
James didn't need to think. He had spent ten years in the dark, listening to every audiobook, every lecture, every scrap of information he could access on the public network. His blindness had forced him to develop a memory like a steel trap.
He typed his answers on the haptic keyboard, his fingers moving in a blur.
An Awakened Beast solidifies its core. An Unblemished Beast purifies it. The transition involves the expulsion of impurities through the skin, resulting in a harder carapace or denser fur, and the restructuring of the mana channels to support high-tier elemental usage...
As he worked, James let his gaze wander around the room. It was fascinating.
He could see the other students thinking. When they concentrated, blood flow increased to their brains, and their mana flared slightly around their heads.
He looked at Thomas Bennett, sitting three rows back. The prodigy was breezing through the exam, his posture relaxed. Thomas's mana was impressive for a teenager—a clean, bright blue that circulated through his body with rhythmic precision. He was already at the peak of the Novice ranks, knocking on the door of Adept.
Then James looked at William Turner.
William was sweating. His mana was erratic, spiking with anxiety. He kept glancing at his left wrist. James focused on the wrist. Beneath the sleeve of his uniform, William had taped a small, paper-thin data chip to his skin. It was emitting a faint, high-frequency mana signal—a cheat sheet projecting answers onto a contact lens.
James shook his head slightly. Amateur.
He returned to his own test. He finished in ninety minutes.
He sat back, listening to the hum of the room. He realized that for the first time in his life, he was bored not because he was excluded, but because he was ahead.
Lunch break was usually the hardest part of the day. It was unstructured time, which meant it was open season for bullies. Usually, James hid in the library. Today, he walked to the edge of the school grounds, to a small, overgrown park near the perimeter fence.
He sat on a bench beneath an old oak tree, taking a nutrient bar from his pocket. It tasted like sawdust and vitamins, but he ate it. He needed the calories.
He closed his eyes—his real eyes—and switched to his mana sight fully.
He looked at his own hands.
"Novice Rank 1," he muttered. "Pathetic."
His mana core was a small, dim marble in his abdomen. It was dwarfed by the cores of students like Thomas. But James noticed something strange.
The channels connecting his core to his eyes were massive.
Years of forcing mana to his eyes had eroded the natural pathways, widening them like a river carving a canyon. His core was small, yes, but his throughput—the amount of mana he could move at once—was extraordinary.
"I don't have a large tank," James realized. "But I have a fire hose."
He stood up and assumed the stance of the Iron Fist, the basic martial art taught at the academy. It was a simple style, focused on punches and stability.
James had always failed at it. He couldn't see the instructor, so his form was always slightly off, an imperfect copy based on verbal descriptions.
But now...
He remembered Thomas Bennett's movements from gym class. He visualized the blue mana flowing through Thomas's body.
Rotate the hip. Channel mana from the core to the shoulder, then snap it to the fist at the moment of impact.
James moved. He twisted his hip, guiding the mana from his gut. It rushed through his widened channels, hitting his fist instantly.
He punched the air.
CRACK.
The sound was sharp, like a whip breaking the sound barrier. A small ripple of air pressure blasted the leaves of the oak tree.
James stared at his fist. The punch hadn't been strong—he lacked the muscle mass. But it had been fast. And efficient.
"I can learn," he whispered. "I can copy."
"Talking to yourself, Carter?"
James froze. He recognized the voice. It wasn't William. It was softer, but carried an edge of authority.
He turned. Standing ten feet away was a girl with silver-blonde hair tied back in a severe ponytail. She wore the academy uniform, but hers was tailored, fitting perfectly.
Charlotte Hayes.
The daughter of the Hayes family. The family his mother had died serving.
James's heart skipped a beat, a mix of anger and old, suppressed pain rising in his chest. He pushed it down.
"Just practicing, Charlotte," he said, keeping his voice neutral.
Charlotte walked closer, her eyes scanning him. To James's mana sight, she was blinding. Her core wasn't blue or green. It was a pale, icy white. Ice Affinity. Rare. Dangerous.
"I saw that punch," she said, crossing her arms. "Your form is terrible. Your stance is too wide, and your chin is exposed."
"I'm blind," James reminded her, tapping his cane. "My form is usually guesswork."
"And yet," Charlotte said, her eyes narrowing, "the snap was perfect. The mana flow was... cleaner than I expected from a Rank 1."
She stepped into his personal space. She smelled of expensive soap and perfume.
"My father is sponsoring the top ten graduates this year," she said. "Full rides to the University of Aethelgard. Soulbonds provided."
"That's generous of him," James said stiffly.
"I'm looking for a sparring partner for the practicals," she continued. "Someone who won't just fall over. Thomas is too arrogant. William is an idiot."
"And you think the blind boy is a better option?"
"I think the blind boy just threw a sonic boom with a twig for an arm," Charlotte said dryly. "Don't pretend, James. I've watched you. You're hiding something."
James felt a chill that had nothing to do with her Ice Affinity. She was sharp.
"We all have secrets, Charlotte," he said.
She held his gaze for a moment longer—or stared at his bandages, at least—then shrugged. "The Practical Exam is in two days. Don't embarrass yourself."
She turned and walked away, her ponytail swaying.
James watched her go. He watched the white mana swirling around her, cold and precise. She was strong. Much stronger than him. If they fought now, she would freeze him solid in a heartbeat.
But he had seen something else.
When she walked, her left knee favored the right side slightly. The mana flow there was turbulent, a tiny knot of old injury scar tissue.
A weakness.
James smiled.
That evening, James didn't go straight home. He went to the Public Library in District 7.
He found a secluded terminal in the back corner and plugged in his headset. But instead of activating the audio mode, he opened a children's learning program on the screen.
Basic Literacy: Level 1.
"A is for Apple," the screen displayed, showing a red fruit and the symbol 'A'.
James stared at the symbol with his mana sight. He memorized the shape, the lines, the curves. He associated it with the sound.
He was a genius at memorizing audio. He just needed to bridge the gap.
He spent four hours staring at the screen, his golden eyes devouring the language. A, B, C... Cat, Dog, Run...
By midnight, he had a headache that rivaled the pain of his breakthrough, but he could read simple sentences.
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.
It was a start.
He left the library as the moons rose. He felt exhausted, hungry, and his eyes ached. But as he walked back toward the Rust Belt, passing a newsstand, he glanced at the headline of a discarded paper.
Rift Activity Spikes in Sector 4. Military on High Alert.
He read it. He actually read it.
James laughed, a harsh, rusty sound in the quiet street. He was no longer just a listener in someone else's story.
He returned to his apartment, the memory of the Gutter Maw and the encounter with Charlotte playing in his mind.
He opened the window and looked out at the city again.
Two days until the Practical Exam.
The Practical was divided into three parts: Physical Fitness, Mana Control, and Combat Sparring.
He would fail Fitness; his body was too weak. He would ace Mana Control; his channels were superb.
But Combat...
That was where they expected him to fail. That was where William Turner was waiting to humiliate him. That was where Thomas Bennett would look at him with pity.
James grabbed his cane. He assumed the stance again.
Rotate. Channel. Snap.
He practiced until his muscles burned and the sun began to bleed into the sky.
He wasn't going to just pass. He was going to break their expectations.
Status Report: Name: James Carter Age: 14 Rank: Novice Rank 1, Peak Affinity: Unknown Abilities: 1. Mana Sight, Stage 1, 2. Enhanced Mana Channels. Soulbond: None.
James collapsed onto his bed as the morning light touched the floorboards. He held the Mana Shard he had harvested from the Maw in his hand, feeling its faint warmth.
He closed his fist around it.
"More," he whispered. "I need more."
He brought the shard to his mouth and swallowed it whole.
It was reckless. It was dangerous. Raw beast cores were toxic if not refined. They could corrupt a human's mana, driving them mad.
But James's eyes were hungry.
As the shard dissolved in his stomach, a wave of heat exploded through his body. But it didn't go to his core.
It rushed up his spine.
James gasped as his vision flared gold, the wireframe of the world sharpening, expanding, revealing details he hadn't seen before. He could see the dust mites in the air. He could see the heartbeat of the spider in the corner of the ceiling.
His body convulsed, adapting, consuming.
The path of the cultivator was a steep cliff. James Carter had just jumped off.