A sliver of pale morning light cut through the small cottage window, slicing across Alph's face. He opened his eyes.
There was no grogginess, no lingering phantom of the deep exhaustion that had claimed him the night before. His mind was a calm, clear pool, the emotional storms of the previous evening settled into a profound stillness. He felt… rested. More than rested. He felt remade.
He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The air in the room was crisp and cold, but the chill did not bite at his skin in the usual way. It felt less like an external temperature and more like an extension of the quiet, cold energy that now resided deep within his own chest.
Curiosity piqued, he closed his eyes and focused inward. He found it instantly. It was not a heart of flesh and blood, but a core of quiet cold, a still, crystalline point that hummed with a silent, steady power. It was the source. His source.
He opened his eyes again and looked at the frost that traced delicate, fern-like patterns on the windowpane. He did not just see the ice. He could perceive it, a faint, resonant hum of silver-blue energy that answered the call of the a core within him. The world had not changed, but his perception of it had been fundamentally, irrevocably altered.
He remembered his doubt in the void, the easy dismissal of the vision as a lucid dream. A fantasy of a tired mind.
But a dream did not leave this behind. It did not grant a new sense, the ability to perceive the silver-blue song of the frost on the windowpane. It did not install a humming core of quiet cold where a boy's heart should be.
The evidence was irrefutable. The starless expanse, the choice, the infusion of knowledge… it happened. It was real.
A new thought, sharp and clear, cut through his calm introspection. A puzzle.
The knowledge of the awakening requirements—the empathy for a Druid, the senses for a Hunter—it had been delivered to him as pure, absolute concept. A clear roadmap of potential. If every person who awakened in this world experienced the same infusion, how could the nature of these 'Professions' remain shrouded in folklore and vague tradition? Why didn't everyone share this fundamental knowledge?
He dismissed the most obvious answer first. Secrecy born of human nature, the desire to keep an advantage hidden, felt wrong. In a small, interdependent community like Oakhaven, sharing such knowledge would only strengthen the whole. It would allow parents to better guide their children, to nurture their innate talents towards a fitting path. Hiding it served no logical purpose.
The alternative was a more unsettling thought.
Perhaps his awakening, the journey to the starless expanse and the choice he had made, was not the norm. Perhaps it was fundamentally different from how others found their path.
He considered the possibility of his bloodline. The Frostmoon gift was rare, potent. Could it be the reason for his unique experience? He discarded the theory almost as soon as it formed. Elara shared his blood, and while she was a powerful budding druid, she had never spoken of such a thing. If her own awakening had been a journey to a starless void, she would have mentioned it last night.
That left only one variable. The most outlandish, yet most logical, conclusion. His soul. The fact that he carried the memories of another life, another world. Could the nature of his very consciousness be the key that unlocked this different path?
It was a compelling theory, but a theory nonetheless. He had no evidence, no way to prove it. It was a question for another time. Right now, pondering the unanswerable was a luxury he could not afford. What he could do, what he needed to do, was understand the tangible results of his awakening.
It was time to test his newfound abilities.
He slipped out of bed, dressed quickly in the quiet pre-dawn chill, and went out into the small, snow-covered yard behind the cottage.
He stood still for a moment, letting his new perception spread out across the small clearing. He felt the latent frost in the air, the cold clinging to the pine needles, the deep, ancient chill locked within the stones. He reached out with his mind, not to the world, but to the crystalline core within his chest. He drew upon its energy, a cool, clean surge of mana, and extended a single, open palm.
Frozen Armament. The knowledge of the ability was innate, as natural as breathing. Use mana to guide the surrounding elements, to give them form and function.
He issued a silent command.
The snow on the ground stirred. It did not lift, but slithered, its individual flakes drawn together into a swirling current that spiraled up his arm. A wave of intense cold washed through the air as the loose powder compressed, its structure changing, hardening.
In seconds, the swirling snow solidified into a blade of opaque, milky-white ice. It was a perfect replica of a short sword, its edges sharp, its surface so cold it seemed to suck the light from the air. He held a weapon born of snow and will, a tangible manifestation of his newfound power.
A giddy rush of excitement flooded him. It worked. His first real act of magic, and it had worked perfectly.
The joy was a sharp, sudden spike that shattered his focus. The steady flow of mana from his inner core sputtered and died. The intricate command holding the snow together broke.
The ice sword in his hand lost all cohesion. It dissolved in an instant, exploding into a soft, dense cloud of snow dust that shrouded him completely.
Alph squeezed his eyes shut in a reflexive panic, a curse on his lips as the cold powder billowed around him.
Through the soft whoosh of dissipating snow, he heard a faint, sharp gasp.
Someone's here? The question rang, sharp and sudden, in his mind.
The snow settled around him. He blinked the last of the fine powder from his lashes and opened his eyes.
They stood near the low wooden fence that marked the edge of the yard, frozen in place. It was Astrid and Emil.
Their mouths were hanging open in matching expressions of pure, unadulterated shock. Astrid's jaw was slack, her usual playful smirk completely gone, replaced by a wide-eyed stare that seemed to be trying to process an impossible sight. Emil, ever the more serious of the two, looked as if he'd just seen a mountain get up and walk. His mouth was so agape, Alph idly thought, a person could probably shove a whole winter turnip in there without touching the sides.
Astrid's finger, trembling slightly, rose to point in his direction. "Th-that..." she mumbled, her voice a reedy whisper. "That was magic, wasn't it?"
Emil recovered first. His shock gave way to a sharp, intense curiosity that burned away his astonishment. He ignored Astrid's obvious statement and asked the far more crucial question, his voice cutting through the quiet morning air.
"Alph," he said, his eyes wide but focused. "Did you Awaken already?"
A small, weary smile touched Alph's lips. Realizing it was his friends, he gave a slow, deliberate nod in affirmation to Emil's question. He beckoned them closer with a slight tilt of his head.
Astrid and Emil exchanged a wide-eyed look, then quickly unlatched the simple gate and hurried over, their boots crunching in the snow.
"I did," Alph confirmed once they were together, his voice quiet. "Last night."
"So that's it!" Emil exclaimed, his voice a hushed burst of excitement. "That's what Grandpa was talking about with Uncle Borin this morning." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I overheard them talking. I only caught a little bit, but Grandpa said you were tired from last night and needed to rest. I thought something bad happened, so I came to check on you."
He glanced over at Astrid. "I ran into her on the path, and we came the rest of the way together."
Astrid's shock finally gave way, the dam of her astonishment breaking into a flood of pure, unfiltered curiosity. She lunged forward, grabbing Alph by the arms, her eyes sparkling with an intensity that replaced her earlier fear.
"You did! You really Awakened!" she said, her voice a rapid-fire whisper. "So what is it? What did you get? It was a Mage, right? You made a sword from snow! That's what mages do! Can you do it again? Make another one! Make a little snow-hare! Go on, do it!" She shook his arms slightly with each question, a non-stop barrage of excited demands.
A slight, amused smile touched Alph's lips at Astrid's childlike enthusiasm. He held up a hand to gently stall her barrage of questions.
The truth—Frost-Rune Scribe—was a dangerous weight. It was the legacy of a hunted family, a secret that had cost lives. Sharing it, even with his closest friends, was a risk he could not afford to take. Not yet. He needed a cover, something plausible that explained what they had just seen. The knowledge from his awakening offered a solution.
"It's a variant," he said, his voice calm and steady. "An Arcane Squire."
It was the perfect lie. A somewhat uncommon Tier 0 profession that blended the basics of a Mage with the weapon focus of a Fighter. It was known for its signature ability to conjure simple elemental weapons. It was believable. It was safe. And it neatly explained the snow sword without revealing the true, dangerous nature of his power. In the future, he could simply say he had a greater affinity for frost magic, only conjuring ice-based weapons because they were the most potent for him.
"Alright, alright, step back." Alph gestured for them to give him space. "I'll try again."
He focused, drawing on that cool inner wellspring of mana once more. He pictured a new form, more complex than the sword. The snow at his feet answered the call, swirling up his left arm. It compressed, hardened, forming an intricate, segmented gauntlet of milky-white ice that covered his arm from knuckles to shoulder.
"Whoa," Astrid breathed, her eyes wide with wonder. She reached out a curious finger.
"Astrid, don't!" Alph cautioned.
It was too late. Her finger brushed against the surface of the frozen armor. She snatched her hand back with a sharp cry of pain, tears instantly welling in her eyes. The tips of her fingers were already an angry, waxy red.
"Agh!" The sight of Astrid's tears, the sudden shock of her pain, shattered Alph's concentration. The mana flow ceased, and the gauntlet dissolved in another explosive poof of snow dust.
He rushed over to her. "Come on, let's get you inside."
Inside the cottage, Astrid sat sniffling by the hearth, her hand wrapped in a cloth soaked with a soothing herbal salve. Emil watched them, his expression thoughtful. "Was it because of that book?" he asked quietly. "The one you found in Grandpa's study?"
Alph, carefully dabbing more salve onto Astrid's reddened fingers, gave a slight nod. "That was part of it, yes." He decided not to go into any more detail. He turned his attention back to his friends. "It's like this," he began, trying to articulate the complex knowledge he'd received. "Every profession has a sort of... requirement. Things you have to be good at. If you meet the threshold, your chances of Awakening into that path increase."
He looked at Emil. "Think about Uncle Borin. His father took him on hunts since he was a boy. He learned the forest, he sharpened his senses, he practiced with a bow every single day. He met the requirements for a Hunter long before his ceremony."
This new revelation seemed to land with a heavy weight. Emil fell into a deep, contemplative silence, his gaze distant. Astrid, for her part, just sniffled, cradling her throbbing, frost-nipped fingers.