BAM!
Icariel hit the ground hard, his long hair dragging through the dirt. His elven clothes, torn and ragged, clung to him in shreds—yet his body bore not a single wound.
"Tch, tch, tch…" he muttered, rubbing his sore shoulder.
Aelar stood in front of him like a mountain, holding a branch of hardened wood in his hand. With a grunt, he dropped the training branch to the ground and extended a hand toward Icariel.
"Congratulations on mastering Vital Surge, my student," Aelar said with a proud smile.
Icariel took his hand and stood up, smiling back. "Thanks, Teacher. It's all thanks to you. Really... thank you."
Aelar nodded. "To think you'd master Vital Surge in just one month..."
He glanced at the training field, now scarred by his recent efforts. A gust of wind passed, and with it, his thoughts drifted…
"One month has passed since I began training with Teacher. Honestly, I expected to master Vital Surge faster. I almost had it in the beginning, but controlling the density of mana across my body without sacrificing too much—it was harder than I thought. Still, I've gained an incredible card up my sleeve."
He clenched his fist with quiet pride.
"During the last month, I also learned a bit of hand-to-hand combat. I'm no expert, but at least now I know the basics… even if I hope I never need them."
His stomach grumbled slightly.
"I've snuck outside the tribe a few times to hunt—meat's not exactly permitted here—but even dishes like Jeprak aren't bad. I've managed."
He recalled the faces of the elves in the tribe—how often they smiled, how often they brought him food or clothes with no strings attached.
"I've been spending my free time around the village with Elif. The elves… they're good people. Kind. They have this positive energy around them. It's strange but comforting."
Then, his thoughts briefly darkened.
"That annoying princess has shown up from time to time. Sometimes she chats with Teacher… other times, I've felt her watching me train. Maybe she thinks I didn't notice, or maybe she just doesn't care. Either way, we haven't spoken since that day."
"Also… my White Sense has grown."
He focused on the energy in the air around him and felt it ripple like a spider's web.
"My detection range is now 22 meters—44 if I focus only on detecting. My body's mana capacity has grown too. I've come far, all thanks to Teacher… and the Voice."
Then his expression tightened.
"Something is happening. Teacher said a summit will be held in one week, but he didn't explain why. He's been pushing my training harder than ever, probably because he won't have the time soon. That's fine."
"Besides… the Voice told me something else."
"Tomorrow… I begin my Superhuman Awakening."
A voice suddenly broke through his thoughts.
"The food is ready! Come eat!" Elena called out, walking toward them.
"Yes, gladly!" Icariel replied, perking up as his stomach growled again.
"It's noon, after all," Aelar said from behind. "Go ahead. I'll be right there."
"Okay, but don't be late," Elena replied as she turned and walked alongside Icariel.
She glanced at his battered clothes. "Your clothes are a mess."
"I know, right? I'll change after we eat," he said, scratching his head.
Aelar watched the two walk away, then closed his eyes for a moment, thoughts stirring.
"One month already..."
He exhaled slowly.
"It really passed fast. That's why I love smart students—he picked up everything so quickly. To think a human—not even an elf—could master both healing magic and Vital Surge. I'm proud of him… truly."
Then he frowned just a little.
"If only I could fix that survival-obsessed mentality of his..."
A gust of wind blew past Aelar as he stood in silence.
"When I asked him why he trains so hard… his answer was simple:"
"I want to survive and protect myself."
That was it. No dreams of power. No glory. Just survival.
"He said healing magic was the most important to him—not because he wanted to help others, but because he needed it to avoid death. His honesty was sharp, almost painful. He said that he'd never take action if it risked his life."
"I'm sure he's terrified of death."
He'd told Aelar, in quiet moments between training, about what happened in his village. A superhuman had attacked—someone terrifying and monstrous. She had brought beasts with her, monsters under her command.
The village stood no chance.
And Icariel… he had done something that made her beyond angry. And instead of killing him, she spared him to savor for last—just so he could watch as she destroyed everyone else.
That day, the boy took a risk to escape. A risk that should've ended him. But it didn't.
"That boy… there's something broken in him. You can see it when he flinches—even when he tries not to. Especially when he tries not to."
"Still, beyond his obsession with survival and fear of death… he seemed fine.Functional. Quietly determined. Too mature for his age. But it was that same fear that made him sharp—focused."
And then Aelar remembered the flashback clearly, the way the boy had looked during one of their short breaks in training.
Icariel was seated on the ground, arms resting on his knees, catching his breath. Aelar sat across from him, brow furrowed with curiosity.
"Why do you fear death so much, Icariel?" he asked. "Why are you so obsessed with survival? It's not like someone is always coming for your neck."
Icariel didn't answer right away. Then he looked up, eyes dark and empty, a void without bottom.
"First," he said quietly, "I don't believe in the afterlife."
Aelar's expression didn't shift.
"Second... is there a reason not to fear it? The one who doesn't fear death is a fool."
He exhaled hard, something bitter behind his voice.
"There was a man in my village. He threw away his life just to avenge his son. No hesitation. No fear. I don't understand that. Not at all. And I think I never will."
Aelar remained silent, thoughtful. Then he spoke softly.
"The ones who stare into the dark and still move forward… they're not fearless. They're just tired of being caged by it."
Icariel's lips curled slightly. Not a smile. More like scorn.
"No. That's something people tell themselves to sound brave in their own stories."
He stood slowly, stretching out his limbs.
"Tired of the cage? Then they've already given up. They're not moving forward—they're falling, and calling it flying."
His voice was quiet but firm.
"You keep calling it courage. I call it surrender in disguise."
Aelar's voice dropped, quiet but unwavering.
"Think what you want, Icariel. You're young now. But there will come a time…"
He paused, just long enough for the weight of his words to settle.
"…a time when you'd give everything—your blood, your breath, your soul—just to go back. Just for one moment. One laugh. One voice you'll never hear again."
His gaze sharpened, not cruel, but clear. "And when you lose something that mattered more than you ever admitted… that's when life stops having meaning. That's when surviving starts to hurt more than dying ever could."
Icariel's expression cracked—just for a second. A flicker of something too human. Then he buried it, fast and sharp.
"For me, it never will," Icariel said.
"A strange boy," Aelar thought, returning to the present. "Even at his age, most never think about death, let alone fear it. But he… he's shaped by it. Driven by it."
And yet… he's talented. Incredibly so.
"If he had just a little more courage, a little more daring—he might become one of the greatest mage of his generation. But maybe… maybe that fear isn't a weakness."
It's the armor he chose.
Sometimes, the ones who fear death the most… are the ones who survive the impossible.
Aelar approached his home, the tall, ancient trees towering above, their leaves glowing under the sunlight piercing through the canopy. The wind blew gently through the branches, rustling the quiet.
He placed a hand on the bark of one giant tree, eyes still distant.
"Ah, I have so much work to do," he murmured to himself, "since that is coming soon."