The hover train hummed, a silent, powerful beast devouring the kilometers. Zaylan pressed his face to the cool viewport, watching the world outside warp and stretch.
The blur of green forest gave way to sprawling farmlands, then the geometric sprawl of industrial zones. This wasn't just a bigger version of Earth; it felt… deeper. More ancient, yet impossibly advanced. Dylan's fragmented memories, whispers of a world far vaster than Zaylan's own, flickered through his mind. "Landmasses," not continents, stretched beyond the horizon, connected by shimmering hover routes that crisscrossed the sky like glowing spiderwebs.
Aethelburg. The name felt like a sigh and a challenge. As the train finally glided into the immense, glass-domed station, the city unfurled before him, a breathtaking tapestry of shimmering skyscrapers, ancient stone structures that seemed to defy gravity, and bustling, vibrant marketplaces.
The air itself thrummed with a nervous energy, a constant hum that was distinct from the quiet, almost gentle mana he'd sensed in the forest. Here, it was amplified, a palpable current that prickled his skin. It felt… alive.
He disembarked, a tiny figure lost in the swirling currents of people. Faces blurred, a kaleidoscope of expressions – hurried, stressed, curious, some even a little dazed.
The port, a short hover-cab ride from the station, was a chaotic symphony of creaking ships, the shouts of dockworkers, and the rhythmic clang of cargo being loaded and unloaded. The smell of salt, fish, and machine oil hung heavy in the air. He needed work. Fast.
The meager BECs left after the train ticket, a paltry sum he guarded fiercely in his pocket card, wouldn't last a day in a city this size.
He approached a man named Kael, a burly figure with a weathered face, a grizzled beard, and arms like knotted tree trunks.
Kael was directing a crew of equally muscular workers, his voice a gravelly rumble. "Any work, sir?" Zaylan asked, trying to sound confident despite the tremor in his voice.
Kael scoffed, his eyes, the color of a stormy sea, raking over Zaylan's thin frame. "You? You'd snap in half trying to lift a single crate, kid. Go on, run along."
A cold shroud of doubt wrapped around Zaylan.
But then, a strange defiance flared within him. He remembered the ease with which he'd moved those flour sacks, those heavy crates of produce back in the village.
The whispers of an unknown strength pulsed in his veins. "Just give me a chance," he insisted, his voice firmer than he expected.
Kael, perhaps amused by the boy's sheer audacity, pointed a calloused thumb at a precarious stack of heavy-looking fish crates, glistening with ice and smelling faintly of brine. "Alright, runt. Move those to storage bay seven. If you break anything, you pay for it. And don't think I won't know if you try to slack off, my eyes are everywhere."
Zaylan nodded, a grim determination setting in. He approached the first crate. It was larger than any he'd moved before, slick with condensed moisture.
He gritted his teeth, focused on the strange, subtle hum within him, and lifted. It was heavy. Much heavier than he looked capable of. But it wasn't impossible.
He grunted, strained, muscles coiling and protesting, but he lifted it. And then another. And another. His movements were slow, deliberate, but undeniable. The dockworker's eyes, initially dismissive, slowly widened.
Other workers, taking a break with their synth-beverages, paused, their chatter dying down as they watched the scrawny boy move crates that seasoned laborers often struggled with. A few shared knowing glances.
By the end of the day, Zaylan was bone-tired, his muscles screaming with a satisfying ache, but a strange sense of accomplishment filled him. He had moved every single crate.
Kael, though still gruff, tossed him a handful of BECs, 150 BECs to be exact. "You're a strange one, kid," he mumbled, a hint of grudging respect in his tone.
The pay was enough for a few days' worth of cheap nutrient bars and a cot in a crowded, noisy dormitory above a bustling eatery. It was a step up from sleeping under the stars.
Over the next few days, Zaylan continued working at the docks. He found that the more he pushed his body, the stronger the peculiar hum within him became.
His strength, already beyond what a boy his age should possess, seemed to increase with each strenuous task.
He attributed it to his unique ability, a raw, undefined power that manifested as sheer physical might. He didn't understand how it worked, only that it did. It was a question mark, a mystery, but a powerful one.
News of the spatial cracks and the pervasive mana was everywhere in Aethelburg. Giant holographic screens in public squares displayed endless loops of strange geological formations, impossibly vibrant new species of plants, and even hazy figures seen near the largest "spatial drifts" – cracks thousands of meters wide that seemed to swallow mountains.
The government, through official channels, maintained a façade of calm, but their wariness was palpable.
Press conferences hinted at "unprecedented atmospheric shifts" and "energy fluctuations," urging citizens to remain vigilant.
Scientists, their faces often appearing grim on news channels, spoke of complex theories involving quantum entanglement and interdimensional leakage, but admitted they were in uncharted waters.
Dr. Aris Thorne, a leading theoretical physicist, grimly predicted on a popular news channel, "We are witnessing a fundamental shift in reality. The very fabric of our world is changing."
Social media was a cacophony of fear and wonder, and outright manipulation. Conspiracy theories ran rampant. Some claimed it was a global experiment gone wrong, others, a divine intervention.
There were even whispers of alien invasions. But more insidiously, ambitious individuals and organizations began leveraging the confusion.
False reports of "mana-rich zones" or "miraculous healing springs" would surge, often linked to shady investment schemes. "My grandad's old radio suddenly works again!" one user posted, alongside an ad for "Mana-Infused Water." "Is this magic for real? Anyone else feel… different?" another asked, unwittingly fueling speculation.
The air in Aethelburg was thick with anticipation, a collective holding of breath as the world grappled with its sudden, inexplicable transformation.
Zaylan, moving crates and stacking cargo, felt the mana pulsating around him, a tangible, almost visible force.
It was strange, exciting, and terrifying all at once. The world was awakening, and he was right there, living it.