Ryo sat quietly, his legs crossed and his palms resting lightly on his knees. The wooden floor beneath him creaked faintly as the night air settled in the room. His grandfather stood nearby, the warm glow of the lantern casting long shadows across the walls.
"Ryo," the old man said gently, though with unmistakable firmness, "now we should start your mana core training. Are you ready for it?"
Ryo nodded, a flicker of determination lighting up his eyes. "Yes, I am ready."
"Good. Now close your eyes, and follow my instructions carefully."
"Okay," Ryo replied, his voice steady.
His grandfather paced slowly in front of him. "Now, Ryo, do you remember the sensation when you first felt your mana?"
Still keeping his eyes shut, Ryo nodded once more.
"There was a warmth in your chest the first time, right? That soft heat—it's your mana's resting point. Focus all of your mana there."
Ryo inhaled deeply and began to concentrate. He pushed his senses inward, reaching for the core of his being where he had once felt that gentle warmth. He visualized his mana, tried to gather it, and pushed it toward the center of his chest. Time passed. Minutes felt like hours. Frustration crept in, and eventually, he opened his eyes. Disappointment was written all over his face.
His grandfather noticed instantly. He stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on Ryo's shoulder.
"What you're doing," he said calmly, "is like holding a glass in your hand and trying to pour an entire river into it. The glass can only hold so much. If you want to contain more, you must expand the container first. Forming a mana core is just like that. You need to gather your energy little by little—condense it slowly, shape it into a circular form. Don't rush. Try again, and this time, take it step by step."
Ryo gave a firm nod and closed his eyes again. He adjusted his approach, drawing in his energy gently instead of forcing it all at once. First, ten percent. A soft hum stirred in his chest. Then twenty percent—the warmth grew stronger, more concentrated. At thirty percent, he could feel a distinct orb of energy beginning to form. But as he pushed beyond that point, his mana began to slip away, leaking from his body in erratic pulses.
He stopped immediately and opened his eyes. This time, pride replaced disappointment.
"I did it!" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "I managed to condense my mana!"
His grandfather smiled warmly. "Well done. Now, tell me—how much were you able to condense?"
"Thirty percent!" Ryo declared proudly.
"That's a good start," the old man nodded. "It's enough for now. Let's try to use a spell. But remember—control your mana output. If you don't, it will become unstable and may explode in your hand. Understand?"
"Yes!" Ryo said quickly, excitement bubbling within him. "What spell should I use? How about... a fireball?"
His grandfather raised a brow, then chuckled softly. "Very well. Try a fireball."
Ryo focused, channeling his gathered mana. A sphere of flame began to form in his palm. But within moments, the fireball began to swell, its edges flickering out of control.
"Grandfather! It's... it's growing!"
The flames pulsed wildly, growing far beyond what Ryo had intended. His control was slipping fast. His grandfather stepped forward, his hand glowing faintly.
"Disperse it, Ryo! Now!"
Ryo gritted his teeth, focused hard, and with great effort, dissolved the mana holding the fireball together. The flames vanished in an instant, leaving only the heat in the air and sweat on his brow.
He fell backward, breathing heavily. "I... I couldn't control it."
"You used too much power," his grandfather said, helping him sit upright. "You condensed your mana, yes, but you haven't mastered controlling the output yet. It's like lighting a candle with a bonfire."
Ryo wiped the sweat from his forehead. "So I have to balance how much mana I use?"
"Exactly," the old man replied. "Core training isn't just about storing power—it's about learning to use it with precision. Now, we try again. But this time, release only a fraction. Focus, control, and understand the flow."
Ryo nodded and closed his eyes, feeling the thrum of energy within his core. He drew just a sliver of it, guiding it carefully to his hand. A small flame formed—steady, calm, and perfectly shaped.
He opened his eyes, a grin spreading across his face. "I did it."
His grandfather nodded approvingly. "That, Ryo, is the first step of mastery."
And in that quiet room, beneath the steady lantern glow, Ryo took his first step on the path of true magical discipline.
His grandfather leaned in slightly. "Now Ryo, try to expand the size of your fireball a little and stop when you feel it starting to become unstable."
Ryo nodded and concentrated. Slowly, he increased the size of the flame in his palm. He watched closely, felt the balance begin to shift—and stopped just before it tipped.
"I think this is the limit right now," he said.
"Okay," his grandfather said. "Don't be disappointed. This is a good start. Now, you should rest. We'll continue training tomorrow."
And just like that, the night passed. A new day dawned, and training resumed.
That morning, his grandfather gave him a new task. "Release your mana from your hand without casting a spell. Try to control the amount of mana being released."
Ryo nodded and attempted the exercise. But no matter how hard he tried, increasing the output made the mana unstable each time. It surged wildly, defying control.
After several failed attempts, his grandfather stepped in. "Rest for a while," he said kindly.
Ryo took his advice and sat down, thinking deeply. He mulled over the problem, considering new approaches. Then, an idea struck him.
He stood up and tried again—but this time, he reversed the process. He began by releasing a high output of mana and then gradually decreased it, easing it downward with careful control.
It worked.
His face lit up. He could finally control his mana to some extent.
He looked at his grandfather, eyes gleaming. "I think I finally understand."
The old man smiled proudly. "Good. That understanding will guide you forward in your training.