Mana had texture, that was the strange truth Ares was slowly piecing together, one careful observation at a time.
It wasn't just the simple heat or pressure that most people described when they talked about magical energy. No, it was so much more complicated than that. Mana had flavor, like different types of honey on his tongue. It had rhythm, like heartbeats that told stories. It had weight that pressed against his skin in ways that had nothing to do with actual touch.
Take Junia, for example. Her presence was all flutter and fray, like a butterfly that couldn't decide which flower to visit. Anxious energy that never quite settled down. Distracted thoughts that jumped from one worry to the next. Her mana always felt scattered to him, like a flock of startled birds that someone had just clapped their hands at—all movement and panic, never landing in one place long enough to rest.
Beatrix was completely different. Her energy was soft and steady, controlled in a way that spoke of years of practice keeping her emotions in check. Like polished silk stretched over flexible steel, smooth on the surface but with real strength underneath. She had the kind of calm that barely rippled unless something truly serious happened to rattle her composure.
Over the past few months, Ares had started building a secret catalog in his mind, sorting people by the way their mana felt:
Loose and sloppy meant untrained, probably a servant or young child who had never learned to control their magical presence.
Gentle but firm meant refined, someone with education and discipline, like Beatrix or the castle's senior staff.
Scattered and jumpy meant emotional, people dealing with stress, fear, or excitement that they couldn't quite contain.
Still as stone meant dangerous, the kind of control that came from real power and the knowledge of how to use it.
'If mana really does reflect the soul,' he thought to himself during quiet moments, 'then learning to read it is like being able to eavesdrop on someone's deepest thoughts.'
'And I plan to become completely fluent in this invisible language.'
The idea excited him in a way that made his tiny hands clench into fists. Knowledge was power. Understanding was advantage. And he was going to collect every scrap of both that he could get his hands on.
---
That lazy afternoon in early spring, everything changed in the space of a single heartbeat.
He had been enjoying a peaceful nap in his favorite spot by the window, curled up on his side like a contented cat. The afternoon sun was sneaking across his soft blanket in golden stripes, warm against his cheek. His breathing was slow and even, his mana core humming quietly in that drowsy space between sleep and waking.
It was the kind of perfect, quiet moment that made him feel safe and content.
And then it hit him like a physical blow.
Not sound, his ears heard nothing unusual.
Not footsteps, the corridors were as quiet as always.
Pure, overwhelming pressure.
It felt like a mountain had suddenly materialized inside the room, taking up all the space and air. Like the very atmosphere had become thick as honey, pressing down on him from every direction at once.
His mana core didn't just react, it recoiled in what felt like genuine terror. The energy that usually flowed through him like a gentle stream suddenly froze solid, as if it had been given a direct command by something far more powerful than anything he'd ever imagined.
His breath caught in his chest. Every thread of ambient magical energy in the room seemed to hold perfectly still, waiting.
'What in the world is that?'
The thought hit him with crystal clarity, cutting through his drowsiness like a blade.
His eyes snapped open, pupils dilating as they adjusted to the light.
But here was the strange part, he didn't cry.
He didn't flinch or whimper or call out for Beatrix like any normal child would have.
Instead, he felt.
He reached out with senses he was still learning to use, trying to understand what had just invaded his peaceful world.
The air itself seemed thicker now, heavy with a presence that wasn't chaotic or violent or angry. It was just… immense. Like standing next to an ocean and trying to comprehend how much water it contained, or looking up at the night sky and feeling dizzy at the vastness of space.
But this wasn't wild power. This energy was structured, disciplined, impossibly dense and controlled. It was like trying to study the sun through a magnifying glass, too bright, too intense, too much for his young senses to fully process.
He reached inward instinctively, not trying to move his own mana or fight back, but just to protect what was his. To keep his core from cracking under the tremendous weight of whatever had entered his space.
'Who is that?'
'What am I actually sensing here?'
The questions tumbled through his mind as he tried to make sense of the impossible pressure surrounding him.
---
Heavy boots echoed across the polished stone floor outside his room, each step measured and deliberate.
The door creaked open on its ancient hinges, the sound somehow both ordinary and ominous at the same time.
And then he saw him.
Alaric Eisenklinge stepped into the room like a force of nature given human form.
He was exactly what Ares had imagined when people whispered stories about the Lord of the Mountain, broad-shouldered and intimidating, with the kind of presence that made strong men step aside. His pale eyes were cold as winter frost, sharp enough to cut glass. He was a man carved from mountain stone and tempered steel, built for war and shaped by decades of command.
His jet-black hair was pulled back severely, not a strand out of place. His dark cloak trailed behind him like smoke made solid, seeming to absorb light rather than reflect it. Just his existence in the room made the walls feel smaller, as if the stone itself was bracing for impact.
But what struck Ares most powerfully was that his father didn't even look at him right away.
Alaric simply stepped inside with casual confidence, his overwhelming presence filling every corner of the space like flood water. The pressure that had woken Ares wasn't even intentional, it was just the natural result of sharing air with someone that powerful.
Ares stared up at him from his blanket, completely frozen in place.
Not with fear, exactly.
With pure, breathless awe.
'That's what true mastery feels like.'
'This... this is what real power looks like when it walks into a room.'
It wasn't raw energy crackling wildly like lightning in a storm. It wasn't the desperate, grasping hunger for magic that he sensed in some of the younger nobles who visited the castle.
This was power that had been tamed, trained, compressed down until it was dense as a collapsed star. Like the sharpest blade ever forged, sheathed so tightly that the very air seemed to bleed around its edges.
Alaric finally turned his pale gaze downward.
Their eyes met across the small distance between them.
Father and son, looking at each other for just a breath of time.
The moment stretched like a held note in music, full of weight and possibility.
And then Alaric spoke, but not to Ares.
His deep voice was directed toward Beatrix, who had appeared in the doorway behind him. Something about a report that needed reviewing, a brief visit to check on household matters, a passing gesture of acknowledgment toward his family responsibilities.
Ares didn't process the actual words.
His brain was too busy trying to understand what his senses were telling him.
His mana hadn't moved even once since his father entered the room. It was perfectly, completely still, not frozen with fear, but listening. Paying attention with the kind of focus that came from recognizing something vastly superior.
'He's not even trying to project power,' Ares realized with growing amazement. 'That crushing presence isn't him showing off or attempting to intimidate anyone.'
'That's just him existing in the same space as other people.'
The thought was both thrilling and terrifying.
---
When Alaric finally left, closing the door softly behind him, the silence that followed felt strange and hollow. Like the room had forgotten how sound was supposed to echo off the walls.
Ares lay back down on his blanket, staring up at the painted ceiling without really seeing it.
He didn't blink for a long time.
Didn't let himself breathe normally for several minutes.
His heart was still hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Then, slowly, carefully—
His mana twitched.
Just once. Then again, like a flower tentatively opening after a storm had passed.
The energy that had been frozen solid began to flow again, cautiously testing whether it was safe to move.
'He didn't even try to release his full presence,' Ares thought, the realization hitting him like cold water. 'That overwhelming pressure that made my core want to hide... that was just him walking into a room and breathing.'
'What would it feel like if he actually tried to intimidate someone?'
The question made him shiver, but not entirely with fear.
He stared at the painted clouds on his ceiling, his young mind racing with new possibilities.
'I need to reach that level someday.'
The thought wasn't desperate or rushed. It was calm, determined, already planning.
'Whatever path it takes, whatever time it costs, whatever sacrifices are required, I need to become something that can not just survive in the same room as that man.'
'I need to match it.'
'I need to become someone who can stand beside him as an equal, not just a child cowering under his shadow.'
For the first time since awakening his mana core, Ares had a clear goal that stretched beyond simple survival or curiosity.
He wanted to become the kind of person who could shake a room just by walking into it.
And he was willing to work as long as it took to get there.