Mana Fracture: Chapter 7 – The Elven Dance
I. The Return
In the mist-veiled valleys of the ancient forests, the stone path leading to the elven palace shimmered under the first light of dawn. The wind whispered through the leaves, and pale mana veins beneath the earth pulsed faintly, as if something deep below was beginning to stir.
Lyra stood on the palace's high terrace, pulling her long, silvery cloak tighter around her shoulders. In her eyes was a blend of sorrow from the end of a short vacation and the gravity of what the day would bring. Yes, the holiday had come to an end—but this return was no ordinary relocation. Today, a princess of the Sylendôr Dynasty was returning to the land of her birth, to take her place in the heart of the Emerald Palace.
A calm voice rose behind her:
"Are you ready, Mother?"
Lyra turned. Her daughter, Elara, stood dressed in the first layer of her ceremonial robes. Her emerald-green hair, still unbraided, flowed in waves down her shoulders. Her eyes—mirroring her mother's, as deep as sapphire—held both nervousness and a barely restrained excitement. Today was her day.
The ceremony was to be held in one of the most sacred institutions of the elven continent—The Royal Emerald Academy.
This academy was not only a sanctuary of art but also a temple of elven grace, harmony with nature, and unity with mana. As the highest pillar of the elven education system, it sat at the center of a vast network spanning the entire continent.
The Royal Emerald Academy was revered as the most prestigious institution among all elven lands.
Its architecture offered a magical harmony between nature and artistry: living root systems ran through its halls, streams flowed along its outer walls, leaf-like skylights caught sunlight with dazzling brilliance, and mana-infused stone columns breathed silent wisdom. Every detail reflected more than education—it was a way of life. To elves, knowledge, mana, and beauty were born from the same source—and the Royal Emerald Academy was the sacred reflection of that truth.
III. The Depth of the Elven Dance
The Elven Dance is a sacred language—an ancestral bridge that carries the past into the future.
Performed before the awakening of the mana core, the dance deepens an elf's essence and draws the first delicate line of connection between soul and mana. For the elves, this dance is not merely tradition, but a spiritual awakening.
Before the age of eleven, performing the Elven Dance plays a crucial role in shaping one's potential. Typically, ordinary elves may reach the 8th or 9th tier of what is known as the "Mortal Realm." However, when this dance is performed in youth—especially before the formation of the mana core—it can elevate one's limits. In rare cases, it may even set the foundation to reach the legendary Saint Realm (Tier 10), or the mythical King Realm (Tier 11).
Thus, the Elven Dance is more than personal—it is a conduit of power and wisdom passed through generations. Through this sacred rite, the elven race has endured intercontinental wars and remained one of the most resilient and mana-synchronized races in the world.
Yet the dance does more than shape futures. In practice, it can be a formidable tool. When performed properly, it can suppress enemies, heal wounded forests, or hasten mana recovery during battle. Every step taken with mana is a silent contract with nature. This dance is not mere movement—it is a song offered to mana itself.
The most sacred chamber of the Royal Emerald Academy, The Leaf Dome, was cloaked in silence.
The air, thick with incense and the scent of old wood, crackled with tension. High balconies and floor-level rows were filled with noble members of the Sylendôr Dynasty, high-ranking mages, and dignitaries from great noble houses. All eyes were fixed on the circular ancient wooden platform at the center—the First Step Circle.
To the left sat the cold and distant representative of the Vael'tharon Dynasty, Luthien. Her emerald robes were trimmed with icy blue patterns. Her eyes were half-closed, seemingly indifferent, but behind those lids lay deep perception and scrutiny. She registered every tremor, every movement.
To the right was Teyran, the famed "Armored Mage" of the Elarion Dynasty. His silver armor gleamed even in the solemnity of the ceremonial hall, as if he stood ready for war. His gaze scanned like a battlefield commander's—measuring Elara's control over mana, calculating her worth as a future ally or rival.
Then, not far from the royal dais, nestled in his mother's arms, sat a child—
Aelion.
There was no expression in his platinum eyes. But his gaze pierced through the silence, locked unblinkingly onto the center of the platform.
A deep breath echoed through the hall.
Eyes turned toward the entrance.
Elara had appeared beside her mother Lyra. Her ceremonial attire—woven from silver and emerald silk, adorned with patterns of nature—transformed her into a woodland fairy. Her face was pale, but her eyes burned with fire. Lyra gently touched her daughter's shoulder—offering one last surge of love, one last transfer of mana.
Then Elara stepped forward—alone—toward the platform.
Her feet seemed to barely touch the ground. Each step was light, measured, ceremonial. The air in the hall shifted. The charged stillness turned into a palpable, sweet energy. Mana responded to her presence, preparing to embrace her.
The First Step. A graceful contact.
From the edge of the platform, a pale halo of earth green and silver light rose, spiraling toward the ceiling before fading. The hall inhaled as one.
The Second Step. A glide to the right.
Invisible mana flutes quivered. A note too high to hear yet felt deep in the bones echoed through the space. Hearts began to beat in rhythm with it.
The Third Step… and mana touched her.
A wave of warmth surged from her feet through her body. She was no longer alone.
The Dance had begun.
Elara's body moved not like a puppet bound to invisible strings—but like a river, flowing freely and with purpose. Her arms rose gently to the sky, fingertips reaching for stars. From her chest radiated a crystal-clear resonance. Even the stone floor responded, humming softly as ancient runes glowed faintly beneath her feet.
The wind did not toss her hair—it moved with her, becoming part of the dance, swirling her locks in elegant arcs. Her skirt did not merely twirl—time twisted around her, bending and stretching. Fast spins blurred like shadows; slow movements stretched into eternity.
With every motion, Elara wove the invisible threads of mana into the air. As she opened her arms like wings, lines of shimmering energy formed around her. With her next spin, these threads blossomed—momentarily forming radiant emerald flowers made of light that hovered around her.
It was nature's pure and joyful response.
The hall filled with a collective gasp of awe. Lyra's eyes welled with proud tears.
The magical aura Elara created only deepened with time. She was no longer guiding mana—she was mana. Each turn birthed brighter, more intricate energy patterns. The glowing flowers pulsed, faded, and reshaped into new forms. Giant crystals hanging near the dome ceiling absorbed and refracted her rhythm, changing color in harmony with her movements. Deep within the walls, the roots sang—a calming, ancient melody—mana's rejoicing reply to this young princess.
The final pose neared.
Elara stood in the center of the platform. Her eyes were closed, arms gently open. Her breath matched the rhythm of the entire hall. When all movement ceased, the invisible web she had woven through the dance became visible.
An emerald net of light surrounded her—then slowly folded inward, drawn toward her core. It settled just beneath her navel, where her future mana core would awaken. The glow pulsed… and faded.
Absolute silence.
Then, an eruption of applause and cries of reverence filled the hall. Petals—real ones, drawn in from the academy's gardens—rained down upon the platform. Lyra could no longer hold back her tears. Luthien's icy face softened in rare approval. Teyran had sunk into deep thought, replaying the raw power and control he had just witnessed.
Elara opened her eyes. A single bead of sweat sparkled on her pale face. But her sapphire gaze—deep and ancient—shone with more vitality than ever before.
Mana had accepted her. The blood of Sylendôr had been honored. The first bond was made.
The Elven Dance was complete. The path had opened.
All that remained was the awakening of her core—
And the beginning of her true journey..