I stood before the professor’s door—
the only person I sohow believed could help .
The wooden plaque on the door displayed his na clearly, carved in deep, dark letters:
George Dargan.
I couldn’t stop the anxiety crawling into my chest.
Was he really the right person?
Would I regret this؟
Or was I simply overthinking... as always?
I took a slow breath, swallowed hard, reached out—hesitant more than confident—
and opened the door.
---
The mont I stepped inside, chaos welcod .
It looked as though a storm had swept through the room only minutes ago.
Stacks of books piled precariously on top of one another, papers scattered across the floor...
And in the center of that ss, he sat—
completely still, yet sohow radiating a presence like unspoken fire.
George was hunched over his desk, flipping through papers quickly, searching for sothing.
For a mont, I felt like my presence here... was a mistake.
Strangely, he didn’t even notice enter.
I knocked lightly on the door again.
Bam... bam.
He lifted his head instantly, as if the sound pierced through layers of deep focus.
With a flat, dry voice, he asked:
"Who are you?"
I answered quickly, trying to hide my nervousness: "Rion Taylor."
His eyebrows rose slightly, as if the na tugged at an old mory he didn’t want to revisit. "Ah... Arkith’s son."
I nodded.
"Yes."
He inhaled slowly, as though preparing himself for a conversation he didn’t want today.
Then he looked straight into my eyes and asked:
"And what brings you here?"
My back straightened from the tension.
For a mont, my voice refused to co out—
as if the words were slipping away before reaching my tongue.
But I didn’t co here to run away.
"I ca... to ask you to teach how to control Ania."
His eyes widened slightly—
a mix of disbelief and surprise spreading across his face.
"Teach you what?"
My heart pounded against my ribs, but I repeated with more firmness than I felt:
"Ania."
He shook his head slowly, as if he needed a mont to process what he heard.
Then, in a puzzled tone, he said:
"You must be joking. Aren’t you supposed to already know how to use it?"
That was the question I feared most.
But I had only one excuse—one that was weak, yet necessary.
"I... lost so of my mories."
A heavy silence settled between us.
I watched his expression shift.
Not surprise this ti... sothing deeper.
His eyes narrowed.
"You lost... what?"
I didn’t answer.
I stood still, trying my best not to show my fear.
But the air changed—
literally changed.
It grew heavier.
Colder.
Thicker—almost suffocating.
He lifted his eyes toward and stared.
A stare that sent a shiver through my entire body,
as if every cell scread the sa thing:
Run.
Then he spoke in a voice sharp with icy calm:
"Do you really think a child like you can deceive ?"
My entire body froze.
I couldn’t move my hands or my feet.
The killing intent radiating from him was overwhelming—
enough to make anyone collapse on the spot.
But—
I bit my lip, fought my trembling, and forced myself to look directly at him.
"I’m not lying."
He stared for several seconds...
seconds that felt painfully long.
Then suddenly, as though soone had switched sothing off,
the killing intent vanished.
Completely.
He finally said:
"Fine... et tomorrow at six in the morning."
Then he gestured toward the door without even looking at again:
"You may leave."
---
I stepped out of the room slowly.
As soon as the door closed behind , my breath collapsed.
I gasped, my chest burning for air, my clothes sticking to from the cold sweat.
And yet... I didn’t care.
Instead—
a small smile ford on my lips.
---
I woke up to the sharp sound of the alarm.
Jumped out of bed, took a quick shower, and dressed as fast as I could.
I left the room, the cold air stinging my face slightly,
and headed toward the private training room—
a place students weren’t allowed to enter without permission.
The hallway was dim... too quiet.
And as I reached the door, I saw him.
George stood there, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
He must have arrived long before .
He looked at the second I approached.
"You’re late."
I inhaled shakily. "Sorry... I didn’t wake up fast enough."
He didn’t react.
"Fine... enter."
He opened the door and went in first.
The mont I crossed the threshold—
It felt like sothing slamd into my chest.
A wave of energy—
massive and heavy—
so strong it nearly forced the air out of my lungs.
The Ania in the room was overwhelming.
It vibrated through the air...
even the tiny hairs on my arms rose on their own.
George stopped in the center of the room.
"This is what happens when Ania is concentrated in one place."
Then he turned fully toward .
"Before we begin, you must understand what Ania is."
He stepped closer before continuing:
"Ania isn’t just a force to be released.
It is the energy core of the body.
Located just beneath the heart—
a small point that controls everything."
He lifted his hand and pointed to his chest.
"It’s not a muscle, yet it behaves like one.
It expands, contracts... stores energy."
He walked slowly around .
"To use Ania, you must first sense it."
He pressed lightly on the left side of my chest.
"Once you feel it and activate it,
we move to stage two: gathering energy inside it.
Then, when it’s full, it travels through the magic pathways of the body."
He stopped in front of again, staring sharply.
"Then cos the hardest part: shaping.
Shaping the energy depends entirely on the image in your mind.
The clearer the image...
the stronger the result."
His voice was steady, carrying a strange gravity that made every word sink deep.
Then he said:
"Let’s begin."
---
He stepped back, giving space.
"The first training: strengthening your body’s endurance.
If your body is weak, you won’t be able to release Ania quickly."
He raised his right hand—
And suddenly—
An invisible weight crushed .
It felt like the ground beneath had grown twice as heavy.
My knees almost buckled,
and my heart pounded with unexpected force.
I struggled to stand straight, my back bending despite my efforts.
"Straighten your posture," he ordered.
I inhaled—
the air entering my lungs felt heavier than stone.
Slowly, painfully, I raised my body, resisting the crushing pressure.
He shook his head.
"Good... but not enough."
He raised his hand higher—
The pressure doubled.
A gasp escaped .
My feet pressed into the floor, fingers trembling.
"You must endure this before mastering Ania."
He stepped toward —just one step—
And that step made the pressure even stronger.
"You must stand still for ten seconds."
I was already shaking.
Ten seconds?
But I clenched my teeth, lifted my head, and said:
"I’ll do it."
And he began counting.
One...
The weight grew heavier.
Three...
My back nearly gave out.
Five...
My breathing quickened.
Seven...
My vision blurred.
Nine...
Sothing stirred in my chest—
a small point moving faintly...
Ten.
He lowered his hand.
"That’s enough."
The pressure vanished instantly.
My knees hit the floor as I gasped for air,
cold sweat covering my arms.
But sothing else was there—
a faint pulse inside my chest...
like a tiny heartbeat made of energy.
George approached.
"Good. You’ve begun to feel it... haven’t you?"
I lifted my head.
"Ania...?"
"Yes."
I stood, muscles aching everywhere.
"That’s all for today."
He turned around and walked away.
As I watched his figure fade into the distance,
I wasn’t paying attention to the pain anymore.
Because at that mont—
I was happy.
I succeeded.
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