The wind whipped mercilessly against my saving sphere of air, a howling beast trying to tear down the walls of my sanctuary. I could feel my strength draining away, trickling out of me like sand through an hourglass, leaving me hollow and trembling.

  A groan drew my attention. It was Idris. He was slowly coming back to his senses, his eyelids fluttering as the warmth finally began to penetrate his frozen stupor. I saw his cracked, blue lips moving, trying to form words, but nothing came out except a rasping, pained breath. His face twisted in agony as sensation returned to his extremities—the excruciating prickle of thawing nerves that I knew all too well.

  I wished I could do more for him, maybe push a bit more heat his way, but I was running on fumes. If I lost focus for even a second, the sphere would collapse, and the blizzard would swallow us whole. Without this wind shield, we were dead. Just two frozen statues on a forgotten mountain pass.

  And all this while a powerful mage—my so-called mentor—was probably snoozing comfortably inside the carriage, wrapped in blankets and indifference. What a shitty irony.

  But I couldn't afford the luxury of anger. Not now.

  I closed my eyes, narrowing my world down to the sensation of mana flowing through my veins. Every ounce of concentration was dedicated to efficiency. Don't waste a drop. Sweat beads formed on my forehead, rolling down my temple despite the biting cold outside.

  If this sphere breaks now, I thought grimly, those sweat drops will turn into icicles before they hit my chin.

  Pip’s POV

  My eyes went wide as I watched the poor, dead flower.

  Slowly, impossibly, it began to fill with life. A vibrant, juicy green chased away the grey, brittle death of the leaves. The bent stalk straightened with a silent snap, standing proud once more. Tiny buds swelled and burst open, petals unfurling in seconds to reveal a splash of brilliant blue.

  I had given the dead plant life. My life.

  The energy left me in a rush—a distinct drain, like running too fast for too long. A wave of exhaustion washed over me, settling deep in my bones. It wasn't a sharp pain, exactly, but a dull hollowness. A sense of being less than I was a moment before, as if a cup that had been full was suddenly half-empty.

  “You shared your life so that this flower could one day share its life with nature, restoring the Balance,” the voice said. Her tone was loving, but there was a hardness underneath it, like stone hidden under soft moss. “But I wish to ask you something. You are strong, Pip, more than you could possibly know. But what will you do if, one day, you encounter an injury that requires more than you can give?”

  The answer was instant, rising from a dark memory. The stone cave. The sickness. The fading. If I gave more than I had, I wouldn't just sleep. I would fade away completely. And worse… the person I shared my life with, my human, would probably sleep forever too.

  The wind blew gently over the beautiful field of flowers behind me, rippling through the grass like invisible water. But in front of me, the scar of destruction was widening. The black, burnt earth was hungry. With sadness, I watched as healthy flowers yielded to the death-bringing fire, wilting and turning to ash before my eyes.

  “This place is a Well of Creation,” the figure explained, her hand sweeping over the devastation. “A plane permeated by mana, sheer and endless. Here, you will learn to use Mana instead of Life Force. And together, we will heal this place.”

  Grim’s POV

  My teeth ground together so hard I tasted the bitter tang of iron. My entire body was shaking, vibrating with the effort to hold the spell together. I felt like I was on fire from the inside out, my veins burning with the friction of overused mana.

  And then, suddenly, it was as if someone had pushed me into a deep, dark hole.

  Snap.

  The connection severed. The sphere collapsed.

  Instantly, the biting cold slammed into me like a physical blow. Drained of all strength, I slumped sideways. Tumbling from the carriage seat, I hit the frozen ground with a bone-jarring thud. My consciousness was fading fast, spiraling down a drain, but just before the blackness took me completely, I heard a voice cutting through the wind.

  “Not bad, kid. Perfect landing.”

  A throbbing pain in my skull was the first thing to greet me as I drifted back to the land of the living.

  Groaning, I reached up to touch my head, expecting frost or snow, but… I was warm? My fingers brushed against dry skin, not ice.

  Suspicious, I forced my heavy eyelids open.

  I was staring at a wooden ceiling. Warm light flickered against the beams, casting gentle, orange glows.

  What the hell?!

  I was in a bed. A comfortable, soft bed in a cozy room. It wasn't luxurious, but it was homely, smelling of pine and dried herbs. A fire crackled merrily in a small stone hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls. There was a sturdy table with two chairs, and a wardrobe with a mirror standing next to the bed.

  I tried to piece together what had happened. I remembered the blizzard. The cold. The desperate struggle to keep the wind sphere active. And then… the fall. Hitting the ground.

  But where was I now? And more importantly, where were the others? How did we get here?

  I tried to sit up, but the room spun violently. Vertigo slammed into me, forcing me back onto the pillow. I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to retch. Phew… that wasn't just exhaustion; that was a concussion. Hitting the frozen ground from a moving carriage had evidently scrambled my brain a bit.

  But I couldn't just lie here. I needed answers.

  I focused inward, checking my reserves. My mana pool felt shallow, depleted, but recovering. Slowly, I pulled in the ambient mana of the room, filling the void in my chest until the ache subsided.

  As I felt a bit of saturation return, I reached for the magic that had become second nature.

  Gravity.

  I channeled the energy, wrapping my body in a subtle field. With a mental command, I reduced the earth's pull on my own mass.

  Instantly, my body felt ten tons lighter. I pushed myself up again. This time, it was much easier. The dizziness still waved at me from the corners of my vision, but without my full weight dragging me down, I could move.

  I took a deep breath, hoping my brain wasn't too damaged, and swung my legs out of bed. The wooden floor was warm under my bare feet. I wobbled over to the wardrobe, keeping a hand on the wall for balance. To my surprise, it wasn't empty. Beside my travel clothes—cleaned and folded—hung a selection of other garments.

  Confused, I reached for a noble-looking doublet. High-quality quilted fabric with intricate embroidery in silver thread. Did Patriarch Ainsworth prepare this for me? So I wouldn't shame him?

  I let go of the fancy fabric and looked at the rest. Sturdy leather gear that looked like a hunting or training outfit. Various shirts and trousers. Two cloaks. And… a thick, fur-lined winter coat.

  My eye twitched. Now I get a winter coat? Thanks. Really.

  Sighing, I dug further and found my boots, along with my knuckle-armored gloves. Good. At least my weapons were here. Shrugging, I grabbed some of the practical clothes and started to dress.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  With a jerk, my foot slid into the boot. I walked carefully across the room, testing my balance, and stood before the mirror. The reflection stared back—tired, pale, but alive. I’d decided on the leather boots and a matching pair of brown cloth pants. A leather belt, from which my knuckle-armored gloves hung, adorned my waist. I hesitated, fingering the fabric of the thick winter jacket, but opted for the forest-green gambeson instead. It offered protection and warmth without the bulk.

  Should I wear the black cloak?

  I glanced out the window. Outside, in a snow-covered courtyard, children in simple, rough-spun clothes were playing, their laughter muffled by the glass. Yeah… I probably already stuck out like a sore thumb for a—what was I? Nearly thirteen? Or was I technically nine months old in this world? Hm… let's stick with twelve.

  I shook my head, watching the children build a snowman. Hm. I didn't have a normal childhood in my first life, and it seemed I was destined to miss out on this one too. I was on a mission to fight monsters, get strong, and probably kill things. What a life.

  I turned away from the window, ignoring the pang of melancholy. Yeah, no cloak. That would be too dramatic.

  I opened the door and was instantly hit by a wall of sound. Animated conversations, the clinking of glasses and plates, raucous laughter. And the smell—roast meat, ale, and woodsmoke.

  Tavern, I concluded. Definitely a tavern.

  But the most important question remained: Where are Corbin and Idris?

  Stepping out into the hallway, I realized I was in the last room at the end of the corridor. I pulled the key from the lock, pocketed it, and headed towards the noise.

  Let's see what’s going on.

  Pip’s POV

  “You are doing great,” the voice said, soft and reassuring, as my glowing paws pressed against the dead earth.

  But then, a sharp pain spiked in my head, shattering my concentration.

  The flow of mana cut off abruptly. The life faded from the patch of earth I was trying to heal. I had failed…

  Disappointed, I looked up at my companion.

  “You did everything right,” the faceless figure said, her head tilting kindly. “This earth is dead and can remain so a little longer while you recover. Healing with Mana is fundamentally different from healing with your Life Force. Please do not forget that. Rest a while.”

  And then, pop, she was gone. I just blinked, and the floating figure was nowhere to be seen.

  Fear pricked at me. I was a little afraid of this creature, even though my instincts told me she meant no harm. I took a deep breath to steady myself and stretched my back, my claws digging into the soft, green grass of the safe zone.

  Will I be allowed to leave this place and see my child again once I have helped heal this land? Or am I stuck here forever?

  Uncertain, I looked around. I sat on the edge of the flower field, the dead wasteland stretching out before me like a dark ocean. It wasn't the first time we had to pause because I ran out of this power… this Mana. My companion had explained that even though this place was soaked in mana, I only absorbed a small part of it unconsciously. When my tank was empty, I had to wait for it to refill.

  But last time, in the real world, I had run out of life force while healing and kept going. That’s why I was here.

  How will I ever see my human again if I have to heal this endless wasteland, needing more rest than work?

  Depressed, I closed my eyes and laid my head on my paws. I missed him so terribly much. It felt like a constant pull… like a string tied to my heart was being tugged from somewhere far away.

  Sadly, I lay there, alone. Waiting for my strength to return.

  But then… something stirred in me.

  Beside the tug of the bond, I felt a sort of… flow. Was that the Mana?

  Curiously, I opened my eyes and looked around, but I saw nothing. The feeling vanished.

  Disappointed, I lay back down and closed my eyes. And a moment later, I felt it again. It was like a gentle breeze blowing through me, bringing strength back drop by drop.

  I inhaled contentedly. How nice it would be if I could collect this power consciously.

  Wait… maybe I can?

  I focused on that gentle river that was slowly refilling me. Where does it go? Where does the mana collect?

  I listened deep inside myself, trying to follow the flow. But it was hard. Mana was pressing in from every part of my body—my fur, my paws, my nose. Trying to follow the river upstream was like trying to catch a specific raindrop in a storm.

  Maybe I would understand it better if I felt how the mana flows OUT of me.

  Carefully, I built a picture in my mind. The dead earth I was lying near… I imagined it full of life. Grass growing. Little flowers sprouting.

  With this thought, I gathered a tiny amount of the mana I had regained and pushed it toward my paws.

  Slowly, I released the flow. I saw the faint glow leave my paws. Now, I had to trace that stream back. I concentrated, following the path up my arms, into my chest, and… somewhere deep in my belly, it got lost.

  Following the endless stream of mana was exhausting.

  Sighing, I opened my eyes. Now I need a break from my break. Sadly, I stared at the dead earth before me.

  Grim’s POV

  As I walked down the stairs, the noise hit me like a physical wave. The tavern was packed. Women were dancing on tables, singing bawdy songs. Men were drinking merrily, clapping in rhythm, and right in the middle of the chaos was Corbin Fucking Crownfield.

  He was chugging from a massive wooden tankard, foam spilling over his stubble-covered chin. He slammed it down on the table so hard the liquid sloshed everywhere. A booming laugh erupted from his throat.

  “HAHAHA! YES! THAT’S HOW I LIKE IT!”

  And the rest of the tavern, seeing his enthusiasm, roared in approval.

  “What the hell…” I stammered, confused, as I took the last few steps slowly. I stood there, utterly perplexed in the taproom, watching the madness.

  “BOY! THERE YOU ARE!”

  Corbin’s voice bellowed over the noise, cutting through the music and laughter.

  Oh no.

  Sighing, I braced myself for the worst and began to push through the dancing, drinking locals. As if my lingering nausea wasn't enough, the whole room smelled strongly of cheap schnapps, old sweat, and roasted onions.

  I dodged elbows, sidestepped barmaids who tried to pull me into a dance, and ignored the drunken jeers. Shaking my head, I squeezed past a mountain of a man before finally reaching Corbin’s table.

  “There comes your opponent! Hahaha!” I heard Corbin shout, pointing a finger directly at me.

  Opponent? What is the drunkard talking about?

  “HA! Why don’t you just give me the gold piece now, save the brat the embarrassment? What do you say? The offer stands.”

  I heard a deep, gravelly voice from behind me. A heavy, rough hand landed on my head, shaking me with enough force to rattle my teeth.

  “Stop whining, sit down, and say goodbye to your money,” Corbin waved dismissively, not even looking at me.

  I looked up to see who owned the hand on my head. It belonged to the gigantic pile of meat I had just squeezed past. To my horror, he slowly turned around and looked down at me. A broken, crooked, gap-toothed grin spread across his face.

  “You heard him, Princess. Get ready.”

  And with that, he pushed me—seemingly without the slightest effort—onto the empty chair next to him.

  Confused, I looked over at Corbin. “What is going on? What is this guy talking about?!”

  Corbin looked at me with feigned shock. “What do you think is going on? I bet a gold piece that you can beat this mountain troll here in arm wrestling. Hahahah!”

  I pointed a trembling finger at my chest. Is he serious?

  “ME?!”

  A twelve-year-old against this monstrosity? I would have had better chances challenging him to a drinking contest.

  “If you lose, you owe the Patriarch a gold piece. So you better try hard,” Corbin said cheerfully, promptly ordering another beer before the spectacle began.

  My palms started to sweat. What is this idiot thinking? We almost died yesterday, and now he’s throwing me into this shit? I don’t even know where we are, or how Idris is.

  But it was too late.

  The giant dropped onto the chair opposite me. The wood groaned in protest. He nonchalantly swept the table clear with one arm, sending empty mugs flying. He leaned back and unbuttoned his shirt.

  Beneath the fabric lay a landscape of muscle and hair. His upper arms were easily twice the size of my thighs. A shiver ran down my spine just looking at him.

  But then, two drunken barmaids threw themselves at him, stroking his arms. “Oh Otis, you’re sooo strong! Hihihi!” one of them slurred.

  Oh god, I’m going to throw up.

  Unconsciously, I rolled my eyes… and of course, he saw it.

  Annoyed, Otis shoved the women away and slammed his elbow onto the table. Bang. The wood cracked slightly. He was ready.

  Nervously, I looked at the gigantic hand waiting for mine. I shot one last desperate look at Corbin.

  He looked from me to the hulk, then boredly rolled his eyes and patted his yawning mouth.

  I almost facepalmed. Of course… I’m an idiot.

  I have no chance against this force of nature in a fair fight. But who said anything about fair?

  I placed my elbow on the table. Otis’s hand was hovering half a meter higher than mine. A ripple of laughter went through the crowd. “Otis, don’t kill the child, you hear? HAHAHA!”

  But the giant just grinned and pulled his elbow back, lowering his hand until we were level.

  I took a deep breath and seized the initiative. I grabbed the gigantic hand. Even that looked ridiculous; my fingers barely wrapped around his thumb. The crowd laughed again. His huge paw closed around mine, exerting a slow, iron pressure.

  My arm trembled under the weight as he effortlessly pushed me toward the table. I strained, pushing back with everything I had physically, but it was hopeless. It was like pushing against a falling boulder.

  Laughter roared through the tavern as they watched my desperate struggle.

  Otis looked over at Corbin and yawned. “Get my gold piece out. So we can keep drinking. Rounds on me!”

  The crowd erupted in cheers. Oh yes, I bet you love that… free beer, you drunks.

  It looked like it would be over in seconds. My arm was inches from the table. Defeat was imminent.

  The meat colossus looked at me with a sickeningly triumphant grin.

  But I just yawned back, mirroring his boredom.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  Instantly, his grin faltered.

  I triggered my mana.

  I flooded the muscles of my arm with strengthening Augmentation, reinforcing the fiber and bone. At the same time, I locked eyes with him and unleashed Gravity Magic.

  Heavy.

  The giant’s face went from confused to shocked to pained in the span of a heartbeat. His arm, suddenly weighing as much as an anvil, began to tremble.

  I slammed my hand down.

  CRACK.

  With immense force, aided by the sudden gravitational crush, I smashed Otis’s hand into the table. The wood couldn't take it. The table split right down the middle, splinters flying like shrapnel.

  Otis fell off his chair, scrambling backward on the floor, looking at me with pure, unadulterated fear.

  The entire taproom went deathly silent.

  I stood up, leaned over the broken table, and growled.

  “Hand over my gold, Princess.”