The silence of the snowy forest seemed to weigh on Kris's shoulders as he waited for his father to speak again. Borel remained motionless for a long moment, his axe planted in the stump of the tree he had just felled, his gaze lost in the wooded depths as if searching for the courage necessary to reveal long-kept secrets.
Finally, he turned to his son and crouched down to meet his eye level, placing his large calloused hands on the child's small shoulders.
"Before I tell you everything, son," he said in a grave voice, "tell me... why do you want to learn to use mana?"
Kris blinked, surprised by the question. He had thought it was obvious, after his enthusiastic declaration the night before.
"Uh... it's because I want to be strong enough," he replied with the innocence of his five years. "To go on adventures! Like in the stories you tell me. I want to explore the world, discover new places, maybe even fight monsters!"
His eyes sparkled with excitement as he imagined the adventures that awaited him. But his father's expression immediately hardened.
"Forget that idea," Borel said in a cutting tone that made Kris jump. "The outside world is far more dangerous than you think. Infinitely more dangerous."
"But papa..." Kris began, disconcerted by his father's reaction.
"No, listen to me carefully," Borel interrupted, slightly tightening his grip on his shoulders. "What you need to understand is that the place where we live... it's just an island. An island called Paradise."
"Paradise?" Kris repeated, intrigued despite his disappointment.
"Yes. And that name wasn't chosen randomly," Borel continued, standing up and leaning against a tree. "This island is a sanctuary, a refuge. The monsters that live here are pathetically weak compared to what exists elsewhere."
He paused, observing his son's perplexed expression.
"You see, the creatures here are only mana users. But on the Bafou continent—the real world, where all the history actually took place—the monsters are Ether users."
"Ether?" Kris frowned. "What's that?"
A bitter smile appeared on Borel's face. "Ether is... how can I explain this simply... imagine that mana is a candle. Ether is a blaze capable of consuming an entire forest."
Kris's eyes widened. "Is it that powerful?"
"Ether is about a hundred times more powerful than mana," Borel confirmed. "I, for example, am a mana user. That's what allows me to wield my axe with the precision you admired earlier."
"Wait," Kris said, his small fists clenching with excitement. "If you're a mana user, does that mean I can become one too?"
"Yes," Borel nodded. "Mana is an energy that's omnipresent everywhere in the environment, as long as you can sense it, then using it won't be a problem."
Kris's face lit up, but his father immediately raised his hand to temper his enthusiasm.
"But don't get too excited too quickly. Being a mana user on the Bafou continent is like being a lamb in the middle of a pack of wolves."
"So..." Kris said slowly, his mind already searching for a solution, "how does one become an Ether user?"
Borel sadly shook his head. "It's impossible, son. At least, not for us humans."
"Impossible?" The disappointment was palpable in Kris's voice. "Even if we train really hard? Even if we reach the highest level?"
"Even if you reached the transcendence level—the pinnacle of power for a mana user—you couldn't use Ether," Borel explained. "It's a fundamental difference between us and monsters. They, when they reach transcendence, can indeed evolve toward using Ether. But not us."
Kris remained silent for a moment, digesting this cruel information. Then, his eyes narrowed with his characteristic determination.
"You said 'at least, not for us,'" he noted perceptively. "That means there's an exception?"
Borel looked at his son with surprise and a hint of pride. This child was definitely too intelligent for his age.
"You have a keen ear," he said with a small smile. "Indeed, there was a way. It's even how the majority of people currently living on the Bafou continent managed to use Ether."
"How?" Kris immediately asked, his eyes shining with renewed hope.
"But," Borel continued, raising a finger, "this method hasn't been used for about three thousand years."
"Three thousand years..." Kris repeated slowly, and his face suddenly brightened. "Wait! Could it be..."
"Yes," his father confirmed with a grave nod. "It's exactly the date of the Great Holy War."
"But why isn't this method used anymore?" Kris insisted. "What happened?"
Borel sighed deeply and sat on the stump of the felled tree, inviting his son to come closer.
"To understand that, son, you need to discover what really happened three thousand years ago."
"But you told me last night!" Kris protested. "The war between the Celestials and humans against the demons and dragons!"
"What I told you yesterday," Borel said in a voice heavy with implications, "is the official version. The one they teach children."
He placed his hand on his son's head, affectionately ruffling his hair.
"You need to understand something important, Kris. Never completely believe what's written in history books."
"Why?" Kris asked, genuinely perplexed.
"Because history books are always partly false," Borel explained bitterly. "The only people authorized to write history are the victors, and they always write it in a way that suits them."
This revelation struck Kris like a thunderbolt. In his previous life, he had studied history in school, naively accepting everything he was taught. The idea that historical accounts could be deliberately biased opened troubling perspectives.
"So... the true story of the Great Holy War..." he began.
"Is very different from what's told," Borel confirmed. "And I had the chance—or misfortune, depending on your point of view—to discover the truth."
"How?" Kris was now hanging on his father's every word.
Borel looked around as if he feared being overheard, then leaned toward his son.
"Five years ago, when I was still a researcher..."
"Researcher?" Kris interrupted, surprised. "You were a researcher?"
"Yes, I worked with Doctor Jacob on archaeological expeditions," Borel explained. "That's how we met, actually. Anyway, we discovered a cave on the Bafou continent."
He paused, his eyes clouding at the memory of that discovery.
"This cave was... special. Very ancient. And on its walls were carved inscriptions in a language that took us months to decipher."
"And what did they say?" Kris asked, holding his breath.
"The true story of what happened during the Great Holy War," Borel replied in a barely audible voice. "And also... how NEKO really created the living creatures that populate this world."
The silence that followed was so profound that only the distant song of wind in the bare tree branches could be heard. Kris felt that his father was about to reveal secrets that would forever change his perception of the world.
"Papa," he murmured, "tell me everything. I want to know the truth."
Borel looked at his five-year-old son for a long time, this child with a gaze too mature, too intelligent for his age. He took a deep breath, like a man about to cross a point of no return.
"Very well," he finally said. "But promise me one thing, Kris. What I'm going to tell you must never leave our family. Never. Do you understand?"
"I promise, papa."
"Then listen carefully," Borel said, looking his son straight in the eyes. "Because what you're about to learn will overturn everything you thought you knew about our world."
And in the silence of the winter forest, father and son prepared to share secrets that had been buried for three millennia..