Elias blinked, his groggy eyes slowly adjusting to the brightly lit room. He sat up in bed, blinking again as the gears of his mind creaked into motion. As awareness returned, he scanned the room in confusion.
Kitty had been beside him when he’d laid down for his afternoon nap—so… where was she now?
It didn’t make any sense. Was she hiding from him? That had to be it.
It didn’t matter.
Kitty was a good hunter–but he was better.
He’d find her, just like he always did.
Determined, Elias rose from bed to search for Kitty. Finding his mom would be fine too—or his dad. Either one was fine.
He crept out of his room slowly, walking just like Kitty did to make as little noise as possible. He closed the door behind him silently and shuffled toward the living room, eyes wide and ears alert for any sign of, well, anyone.
When he reached the living room, he heard noises coming from the dojo next door and shifted his course to head that way. His dad was usually there.
Sure enough, when he arrived, he spotted Kitty sitting quietly just outside the open door, watching as Peter trained inside. Elias knew not to interrupt his dad during training—but no one had ever said anything about watching.
He crept up behind Kitty and hugged her gently, whispering, “Found you.”
She turned to look at him, gave a soft meow, and licked his nose once.
Together, they sat and watched. His father moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm, punching and shifting like he was dancing to a song only he could hear. Elias could never quite put his finger on why, but something about the way Peter moved was mesmerizing. It reminded him of the shiny stones in his mother’s jewelry—flawless and beautiful.
Just as Elias was starting to grow bored and consider looking for his mom, Peter stopped and turned to him, flashing a wide grin.
“Dad, can you teach me how to fight like you?” Elias asked hopefully—for about the tenth time this week.
Peter chuckled, shaking his head in amusement.
“Aren’t you a little young to start training? You’re barely four years old.”
Elias’ shoulders slumped.
Seeing the disappointment on his son’s face, Peter sighed in defeat.
“Tell you what, Eli. I’ll teach you one move, okay? When you can do it perfectly, I’ll start training you for real–but you can’t ask me again until you’ve mastered it. Deal?”
“Deal!” Elias beamed, scrambling to his feet as if afraid his father might change his mind.
One move was better than none!
Peter chuckled and stepped closer, resting a hand on Elias' head and ruffling his hair. Elias didn’t even complain.
“Watch closely, alright?”
Peter spaced his feet apart, placing one hand at his side and the other palm-out in front of Elias' eyes. Then, slowly, he punched with one hand while drawing the other back to his waist. As the motion completed, his fist shimmered with iridescent light, the glow drifting forward to brush against Elias' face like a soft breeze.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Elias' eyes went wide with wonder, a joyous giggle escaping his lips. The pretty lights felt amazing on his skin—like glittering gems, polished perfection.
Unaware of the iridescent light now reflected in his own eyes, Elias mimicked his father’s motion. He punched forward, trying with all his heart to channel the wonder and beauty he’d felt from the lights just moments before into the strike.
His heart overflowed with joy and amazement. It felt as if he’d just discovered the most precious treasure in the world—something brilliant and incredible.
He imagined his punch was that treasure, and that he was offering it to his dad as a gift.
When his tiny fist cut through the air, a faint twinkle appeared.
It was just a flicker—like a single star shining in the night sky—not the dazzling light show of his father’s strike. And in the next instant, it vanished without a trace.
But it had appeared.
Elias’s heart leapt in his chest.
He looked up at his dad—only to find Peter staring back at him, mouth agape.
Elias swallowed the surge of pride rising in his chest.
“This means I get to learn how to fight, right?”
 
*******
 
“Damn it, Peter, he’s only four years old! How could he possibly have attuned to your mana?” Vivian demanded, disbelief etched into every word.
“I don’t know how, but that’s what happened,” Peter replied, struggling to keep his tone steady. “And it wasn’t a full attunement—not really. It was more like he emulated the frequency of the mana with his Spirit. It’s similar to how I trained to become a Spirit Dancer. It was faint, too—just barely noticeable.”
Vivian shook her head, still trying to process it. He understood her incredulity well. He’d never heard of anyone utilizing their Spirit this way before even obtaining a mana type.
“I think this is related to th—”
“Don’t say it!” she cut him off sharply, eyes flashing as she shot him a glare.
Peter sighed.
“We need to start training him, love. I know he’s young, but he’s showing interest, and that’s a good thing. We should be thankful something positive is coming out of his... condition.”
“I know,” Vivian whispered, her voice softening, the fight draining from her. “I just wanted him to have a normal childhood for a little longer.”
“I know,” Peter said gently, pulling her into his arms.
She didn’t resist.
He could feel the tension in her body slowly ease, and he held her tighter. He knew her worries too well—Elias’ frail constitution would shadow his childhood with bitterness and frustration. And with the System’s restrictions, there was little they could do. Not until Elias turned eighteen and could begin leveling his Vitality.
Vivian took a deep breath.
“I’ll start looking for a supplier,” she said. “We’ll need training supplements, recovery potions—whatever we can get our hands on. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.
If Elias is serious about training, we might be able to raise his Vitality by a level or two before he turns eighteen. It won’t be much, but it could ease the worst of the limitations that come from having the Vitality attribute at such a low level.”
“That’s all we can do for now,” Peter agreed. “But with his talent, we can at least shape him into a formidable fighter by the time he’s ready to begin dungeon delving. That way, once he starts improving his Vitality, he’ll already be way ahead of the curve.”
He paused.
“You know,” he said slowly, a gleam in his eyes, “if I’m right about this, I might be able to start teaching him Spirit Dancing.”
Vivian looked up, one brow arched skeptically.
He didn’t blame her—Spirit Dancing was notoriously difficult to master. Even gifted practitioners often took a year or more to complete the first foundational step. Most never made it that far.
“And how do you plan to do that?” she asked, curiosity edging into her voice.
“Well,” Peter began, a sly grin spreading across his face, “he’s already capable of emulating mana types, so it doesn’t matter that he hasn’t awakened his own yet. If I’m right, I can teach him to move with the rhythm of mana before he even reaches the Beginner rank. Once that groundwork is in place, all he’ll need is to awaken his Spirit.”
He paused, eyes bright with possibility.
“Hell, I might even get him to do that before he gets a mana type. Who knows what kind of edge that could give him?”
Vivian stared at him, hope flickering to life behind the doubt.
“You really think it can be done?”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Peter said, his grin widening.