Everyone said awakening brought a weight, a pressure in the chest and head that built for days before breaking like a storm. I expected that. What came for me was more. Heavier. Crushing.
On the first day, drills turned into torment. My body dragged as if shackled, each strike slow, every march twice as hard. Specialization was worse. Knots blurred under my fingers, splints slipped in my grip, and trying to focus through that pressure was like thinking through mud.
The second day brought fear. The heaviness vanished, replaced by sharp pain in my chest and behind my eyes. I tried the infirmary, but the healer there waved me off. Awakening jitters, he’d called it. Nerves. Pain is common.
The third morning was worse. The ache had sharpened into a constant throb that flared with every breath, every movement, every thought. I still joined the drills, mostly because if I was going to die, I would rather fall in front of others than slip away alone in my cot. Each step felt heavier than the last, but I kept moving, clinging to the noise and presence of the line.
By the time I sat down in specialization, trying to follow a lecture on acid burns from Tier Two lizards, my vision swam. The words blurred together, pain tearing through my chest. I tried to steady myself, to breathe, to endure as always,
And then the light went out.
One Day Later
The infirmary smelled of herbs and old iron. Edward lay on the cot, black hair spilling across the pillow, his features pale and drawn. High cheekbones and a sharp nose still lent him a scholar’s cast, but training had carved lean muscle into his frame, the wiry strength of marches and drills. His chest rose and fell steady, but he looked too still.
Lieutenant Clifford entered, boots striking the stone like a drumbeat. He stopped at the bedside, arms folded behind him, eyes narrowing.
“Alric” Clifford said, clipped and sharp, “Do we know what happened? Awakening Headaches I’ve seen. But fainting? That’s new.”The barracks healer, Master Alric, wiped his hands on a stained apron. Broad-shouldered, gray-bearded, he looked more blacksmith than physician. “This is my first time as well, Lieutenant. His pulse is steady, nothing broken or poisoned that I can tell. But I’ve requested aid from the Order of the White Mantle. A healing mage should confirm.”
Clifford’s jaw worked. “Hmm. The knight order of healers. I’ll be curious who they send.”
They didn’t wait long. After half an hour, footsteps echoed. A young man stepped in, no older than eighteen. His robe of deep blue was too new, the silver emblem of the Order polished bright. His face was smooth, unlined, still carrying the softness of youth.
“Good day,” he inclined his head slightly, “I am Mage-apprentice Seron, water-affinity, trained in healing. I was told a consultation was requested?”
Alric gestured at Edward. “The boy fainted yesterday. Close to awakening. His body shows no wounds. Pulse steady, breathing even. Nothing wrong I can see. So, we sent for you.”
Seron stepped closer, lifting his hands. Threads of water-blue mana shimmered around Edward’s body, a thin sheen settling over him. The apprentice’s brow furrowed as the spell deepened.
“I used Basic Inspection,” Seron said slowly. “His body is sound. But” he hesitated, “his mana absorption is a little higher than expected for someone who hasn’t awakened yet.”
He straightened slightly, eyes still on Edward. “Did he show any symptoms before he collapsed? Headaches, chest pain, dizziness?”
Alric rubbed his beard. “Yes. He came to me two days ago with a headache. I thought it was nerves, awakening jitters. Nothing serious.”
Seron’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I cannot be certain. But my master once spoke of rare cases. High nobles sometimes feed their young prodigies natural treasures to raise spiritual strength before awakening. In rare prodigies, those treasures push them beyond the Tier Two threshold early. When that happens, fainting and uncontrolled mana absorption are common signs.”
Alric frowned. “He’s no noble. He’s a commoner recruit.”
Seron shook his head. “Then it doesn’t fit. Those treasures are rarer than high-grade mana crystals. Even among great houses, only their brightest heirs ever receive them.”
Clifford’s shoulders squared, his voice turning cold. “Could he have stolen one?”
“I doubt it,” Seron said.
Clifford’s eyes narrowed. “Are you certain it’s because of a treasure?”
Seron shook his head. “I’m not a hundred percent sure. I’ve never personally seen such a case, only heard it from my master.”
Clifford straightened, face hard. “Alric, Seron, this is no longer routine. I want this area quarantined. The boy, anyone who came near him after he collapsed, all of them. The barracks will be locked down. Essential personnel only. Seron, see if your master is available, his expertise would be helpful here”
Alric scowled. “Lieutenant, these are drastic measures. For fainting?”
Clifford’s gaze cut like steel. “He passed our background checks. He should be clean. Yet the signs mirror what you describe, and there is no chance he had access to such treasures. That leaves me three possibilities.
“One, he’s a runaway noble whelp who stole what wasn’t his, slipped past our walls, and somehow cheated both the Intelligence Office and their skills. If so, then he’s not just reckless, he’s dangerous.
“Two, he’s a foreign noble spy. Foolish, yes, to send a spy already poisoned by such treasures, but not impossible. And if he fooled our checks, then someone abroad has found a way to blind our watchers.
Three,” his voice dropped, heavy as stone. “Someone may have used a skill to mimic those symptoms. And if that is true, if he’s been marked by a contagious parasite-skill or some beast-born plague, then one slip could spread through this camp and cripple the army. One mistake could bring ruin to the city.”
The words hung like chains. No one spoke. Even the candles seemed to burn quieter, their flames shrinking as if they, too, had heard the weight in his voice.
Edward’s POV
The mist thickened, then cracked. Memories poured through me, sharper than ever before.
I was back in the training yard, boots pounding the dirt until my lungs burned. [Running (C)] – Level 25
A pack weighed on my shoulders, straps biting, feet blistered, but I marched in step with the column. [Marching (C)] – Level 25
A library shelf rose before me, pages spread under torchlight. My father’s hand guiding my letters, my mother’s voice on Earth shaping words into sense. [Reading (C)] – Level 25
A quill scratched parchment. At first clumsy, then steadier, reports, ledgers, and notes. [Writing (C)] – Level 25
Stones lined in rows, tallies marked in chalk. My mother’s voice reciting sums at the kitchen table. [Math (C)] – Level 25
Cross-legged in the yard, breathe slowly and steadily. Counting heartbeats, drawing calm from chaos. [Meditation (C)] – Level 25
The blur shifted, new memories striking like brands.
Grappling in the dirt, fists and elbows wild. [Hand-to-Hand Combat (C)] – Level 20
Holding a spear until my palms bled. [Weapon Conditioning (C)] – Level 21
Thrust, recover, thrust again. [Basic Spear Handling (C)] – Level 20
A shield slammed against my arm, the weight rattling bone. [Basic Shield Handling (C)] – Level 20
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Nights on the wall, staring into the dark beyond. [Guard Duty (C)] – Level 19
Pulling roots from soil, testing berries with care. [Foraging Basics (C)] – Level 15
Branches tied into rough shelters, barely holding out the rain. [Shelter-Building Basics (C)] – Level 15
Bandages wrapped clumsy but firm around a bleeding arm. [First Aid Basics (C)] – Level 15
Inhale. Exhale. The rhythm of a soldier’s breath. [Soldier’s Breathing (C)] – Level 20
Maps spread in torchlight, rivers and ridges traced by finger. [Geography (C)] – Level 10
Lessons about naming kings and wars long past. [History (C)] – Level 10
Sketches of fangs, claws, hides slick with venom. [Bestiary (C)] – Level 10
Stick figures marked with crude lines for veins and arteries. [Anatomy (C)] – Level 10
Words scratched in journals between drills. [Journaling (C)] – Level 10
A faint tingle, the first touch of mana on skin. [Mana Sensitivity (C)] – Level 5
Circles carved into wood, mana bleeding wrong more often than right. [Rune Carving (C)] – Level 10
Hammered nails, joints crooked but holding. [Basic Carpentry (C)] – Level 10
Flaws leaping out from sketches and diagrams. [Pattern Recognition (C)] – Level 10
Wooden tokens shifted on a map, lines of soldiers forming and breaking. [Battle Tactics (C)] – Level 10
The visions blurred, then fused.
Shield and spear in my hands together. The block and thrust one motion, not two. [Defensive Spearplay (C)] – Level 15
Forty men moved as one, boots thundering, voices rising. [Unit Cohesion (C)] – Level 15
Running and marching blended, a rhythm that carried me farther, steadier. [Soldier’s March (C)] – Level 14
Meditation bound to breathing, calm stitched into strain. My body knit itself in small ways as I pushed on, breath feeding both strength and mana back into me. [Minor Restoration (C)] – Level 14
Scavenging roots, binding branches, the wild offering food and shelter alike. [Wilderness Survival (C)] – Level 14
Chalk lines and carved wood, runes clearer with each pattern recognized. [Basic Rune Theory (C)] – Level 10
Maps and drills overlapped, formations shaping into real battles. [Battlefield Strategy Basics (C)] – Level 10
Bandages tied with precision, knowing the vein beneath, the angle that saved blood. [Field Medicine (C)] – Level 12
A map unrolled, rivers traced, wrong slopes corrected at a glance. [Map Reading (C)] – Level 12
Drills on the yard flickered into battles from old stories. History bound itself to formations, lessons alive again. [Tactical Memory (C)] – Level 12
Sweat dripped onto pages, words capturing every mistake, every weakness in drill. Writing sharpened into practice. [Combat Journaling (C)] – Level 10
Ropes bit into my palms, knots slipping until I learned their rhythm, pull, cross, tighten where the wood strained. The frame steadied, the sway gone. [Siege Rigging (C)] – Level 15
The memories and skills kept coming, a steady march through everything I had gained in this life.
Then, instead of my own memory, a figure stepped from the blur, an officer in uniform. His face was blank, smoothed away, as if the dream itself refused to show me who he was.
He moved with calm precision. In lamplight, he bent over maps, tracing rivers and ridges. By candlelight, he wrote ledgers and reports, the quill scratching fast. He tapped out supplies and distances, measuring lives in numbers.
He turned, recalling battles I had never seen. His gestures pulled threads between history and formation drills, each echo feeding the next. He studied sketches of beasts, pairing venom and claws with shields and spears. He tapped crude diagrams of bone, showing where a thrust ended life. And then he stood at the head of a spear wall, shields locked, the line moving as one body.
Everything tangled together, burning into a single thread that snapped into me. [Applied Military Theory (UC)] – Level 5
Awareness struck deep. Strategy was no longer books and barked orders. It was alive. Men were veins. Shields were bones. Beasts were sick, tearing at the flesh. I could see it, the battlefield itself, not as chaos, but as a body in motion.
The mist trembled, then split. Two lives collided.
On Earth, a classroom, chalk dust drifting in the air, my mother’s voice drilling words, my father’s hand guiding letters. Nights bent over books, formulas on paper, memories sharp enough to sting.
Here, the barracks library, parchment and torchlight, runes carved into splintered wood. Drills in mud, breath ragged, every lesson beaten into flesh and bone.
The two streams refused to stay apart. They pressed against each other, then locked, like iron striking iron. In that instant, something inside me gave way, not muscle, not bone, but deeper. A barrier I hadn’t known was there was shattered.
Light flared through the veil.
Achievement Unlocked: Threshold Breaker
By surpassing the spiritual threshold at the moment of Awakening, you have forged a bridge between memory and mana.
Reward: [Memory Recall (UC)] – Level 1
The weight of it sank in. Pages I had read years ago rose word for word. Voices long silent returned clear as if whispered now. My mind sharpened, each memory falling into place as though catalogued by unseen hands.
Select five skills to anchor your Class Specialization.
I knew what I had to do.
But focusing wasn’t easy. The memories pressed hard, two worlds refusing to stay apart.
Earth. My parents.
The kitchen table, numbers whispered in my mother’s voice.
At first, I had almost locked in [Memory Recall (UC)]. I could already see the benefits, using it to model my mana channels around the brain, to refine focus. On the battlefield, it could mean memorizing terrain, enemy patterns, or formations at a glance But in the end, I let it go. Memory Recall didn’t stop bleeding on a battlefield or keep me breathing long enough to see another sunrise.
That was why I replaced it with [Minor Restoration (C)]. It wasn’t flashy, and it would never rival a healer, but it mended small tears, steadied mana flow, and pushed back fatigue. On the field, that edge meant the difference between standing or falling.
Support could wait. Survival could not.
[Defensive Spearplay (C)] for attack and defense both.
[Soldier’s March (C)] for movement, endurance in the line.
[Guard Duty (C)] for perception, the watchfulness others let slip.
[Applied Military Theory (UC)] for strategy, the spine of command.
[Minor Restoration (C)] for support, the quiet strength to mend.
If I was lucky, one day I’d merge [Memory Recall (UC)] with a core skill at a higher advancement, shaping something new, something that turned insight itself into power. But for now, it would remain a General Skill.
Select seven General Skills to retain.
Unlike Class Skills, these wouldn’t anchor my core path. But they were no less vital. There was also the possibility of combining General Skills with Class Skills in future advancements. General Skills were the tools that filled the gaps, the habits and instincts that might save me where no class could.
I scanned the list again, weighing what would serve me best. After long thought, I chose:
- [Memory Recall (UC)] – Level 1
- [Field Medicine (C)] – Level 12
- [Basic Rune Theory (C)] – Level 10
- [Siege Rigging (C)] – Level 15
- [Map Reading (C)] – Level 12
- [Mana Sensitivity (C)] – Level 5
- [Hand-to-Hand Combat (C)] – Level 20
Each choice was deliberate. Memory Recall is useful both in the field and in daily soldiering. Field Medicine was built on what I’d learned in triage. Rune Theory kept the spark of craft alive. Siege Rigging kept bridges standing, walls steady, and shelters intact. Map Reading was the soldier’s compass. Mana Sensitivity gave me a first foothold in magic, the spark before control. And Hand-to-Hand meant no matter what I dropped, I’d never be unarmed.
The haze pulsed as the choice sealed, seven threads winding into me like anchors. My class would be my spine. These were my hands, my eyes, my tools.
The light dimmed again, softer now, like embers cooling after a blaze. Words shaped themselves in the air before me, glowing faintly, as if written in fire and smoke.
Class Options Available based on skills selected:
[Frontline Defender]
A shield against the tide. Hardened body and spirit to absorb punishment, hold the line, and keep allies standing.
[Soldier]
The backbone of every army. Adaptable, reliable, steady across drills and battlefields alike.
[Guard]
Eyes sharp, stance unbroken. Guards endure long watches, spot danger first, and anchor defensive lines.
[Spear Guardian]
Precision and discipline forged into a wall of steel. The spear becomes both weapon and bulwark, striking with reach and holding without yield.
[Junior Officer (Cadet)]
The first step on the officer’s path. A cadet cannot yet command troops but perceives the rhythm of formations and the flow of battle. With time, this foundation may grow into true leadership.
The choices burned before me, each one a path carved in iron and blood. Soldier. Guard. Defender. Guardian. Cadet. Each name carried weight, a future written in the mud and stone of battlefields. My heart pounded, the pressure in my chest tighter than ever. The dream waited, patient but unyielding.