A few days passed since our first encounter. I stayed near the lake with the mermaid.

  We barely spoke to one another. The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable—just... cautious. Two strangers keeping their distance, each wary of the other's intentions. Still, it was better than moving randomly through the forest, stumbling into territory after territory without any knowledge of what waited ahead.

  And it didn't seem like she intended to kill me, which was a significant improvement over most of my interactions in this world.

  For the past few days, I'd been trying to learn how to control that strange energy—the power that allowed creatures to use their abilities more precisely and strengthen their physical attacks. The energy I'd felt radiating from the goblin shaman, from the mermaid, from every strong opponent I'd faced.

  The more I tried, the more sensitive I became to its presence. I could feel it now—flowing through the air like invisible currents, pulsing in the earth beneath my claws, coursing through living things like rivers of light only I could sense.

  But feeling it and using it were two completely different things.

  I could use venom and piercing claw separately, but I still couldn't combine them. The venom would spray off mid-flight every time I tried. And as long as I didn't know how to use this energy properly—as long as I couldn't merge my abilities into something greater—I shouldn't move randomly through the forest.

  The creatures here were getting stronger. Not just physically, but tactically. They had, coordination. They hunted in groups, used terrain to their advantage. The Hob-goblins had proven that. The mermaid had proven that even more.

  If I don't get stronger, I won't survive the next encounter.

  I was practicing again—focusing on my claws, trying to will the energy into them, coating them with venom and attempting to launch them as one unified attack—when suddenly the mermaid, who had been watching me silently for the past few days, spoke.

  "It seems you cannot use mana, can you?"

  I stopped mid-motion and looked at her.

  She was floating just above the water's surface, tail coiled beneath her in that serpentine way, arms crossed. Her blue eyes studied me with that same analytical gaze she'd had during our fight—not mocking, just... observing.

  Mana.

  So that's what it's called.

  "So the strange energy is called mana?" I said slowly, meeting her gaze. "And you're right. I can't use it."

  No point in lying. She'd probably figured it out already—watching me struggle day after day, seeing me fail to do what came naturally to every other creature here.

  She moved closer, her tail undulating in a smooth, practiced motion that propelled her forward across the ground.

  Oh. So that's how she moves on land. She uses her tail like a snake to push herself forward.

  I'd been wondering about that ever since she'd carried me to the tree after our fight. Mystery solved.

  She stopped a few feet away, tilting her head as she examined me more closely. There was something in her expression—curiosity mixed with... was that concern?

  "You have unusual magic," she said thoughtfully. "Throwing your claws like Skynel attacks. And venom too—you were hiding that during our fight, weren't you? Planning to catch me off guard."

  "That was the strategy," I admitted.

  A faint smile tugged at her lips—the first real smile I'd seen from her. "So you're a venom dragon, huh? Who can also throw his claws. That's an interesting combination of magic."

  I blinked. "What do you mean, 'venom dragon'?"

  She looked at me like I'd just asked what water was.

  "Well, dragons are classified by their primary magic. Fire dragons breathe fire and command flames. Wind dragons control storms and currents. Ice dragons freeze everything they touch. Lightning dragons call down thunderbolts." She gestured at me. "Your primary magic is venom, so... you're a venom dragon. It's rare, but not unheard of."

  Primary magic.

  The words echoed in my mind.

  But venom isn't my primary magic. It's something I took from the lizardman. Just like the piercing claws came from the Skynels.

  "I wouldn't really say venom is my primary magic," I said carefully.

  She looked puzzled, her brow furrowing slightly. But instead of pressing the issue, she shifted the topic.

  "If you want to use mana, you have to train. And meditate."

  I perked up immediately. She's actually teaching me?

  Why? What does she get out of this?

  But I pushed the question aside. This was an opportunity I couldn't waste.

  "I have to meditate?" I asked.

  She nodded. "What you've been doing—trying to focus mana directly at your claws to combine those attacks, venom and your projectiles—it won't work. Not the way you're doing it."

  I frowned. "Why not?"

  "Because you're trying to use mana directly from the environment without first internalizing it. That requires a medium—something to channel and focus the raw energy."

  I thought back to the goblin shaman—the way pressure had radiated from its staff, the crystal glowing with gathered power, the moment before it had unleashed that tornado of fire.

  "That shaman goblin used magic directly from the environment," I said.

  "Because shaman goblin use staff that act as a medium. The crystal acted as a focal point, channeling environmental mana into usable spells without needing to store it in its own body first."

  "So I need a staff to use mana?"

  "No." She shook her head, and I caught something in her expression—almost like she was remembering something painful. "You need a medium. And unlike that shaman, you should use your own body as the medium. You saw me using magic when we fought, right? I don't carry a staff. My body channels the mana naturally."

  I nodded slowly, starting to understand.

  "Properly speaking," she continued, her voice taking on a lecturing tone, "every creature has a core inside them. That core determines your mana capacity—how much energy you can store—and how efficiently you can utilize though utilization mostly its up to training and understanding mana and magic. The stronger you get, the more comfortable with mana you become, the more your core develops and changes. It shifts in colour, density, power."

  A core. Inside me.

  "So I need to focus on gathering mana in my core?"

  "Yes. At first, it will be hard. Painful, even. You'll have to consciously pull mana from the environment and direct it inward, forcing your core to accept and store it. But later on, it becomes second nature. Once you get comfortable with mana, you won't need to focus on it constantly—it'll circulate automatically, like breathing."

  Now I see what I was doing wrong.

  I'd been trying to manipulate external energy without first building an internal reservoir. Like trying to control water without having a container to hold it.

  "Thank you for helping me," I said quietly, genuinely grateful.

  She looked at me for a long moment—something unreadable flickering in her blue eyes. Was it loneliness? Regret? I couldn't tell.

  Then she turned and slipped back into the lake without another word, disappearing beneath the surface in a ripple of blue hair and scales.

  I watched the ripples spread across the water's surface.

  I wonder why she's helping me...

  Is she just bored? Curious? Or...

  Does she know what it's like to be alone too?

  But I didn't have time to dwell on it.

  Let's start training.

  I sat beneath a large tree, its twisted roots forming a natural seat. I closed my eyes and focused, shutting out the sounds of the forest—the distant calls, the rustling leaves, the gentle lap of water against the shore.

  Mana. The energy flowing through everything.

  I reached out with my senses, feeling for that familiar presence. And there it was—faint at first, like static electricity in the air, buzzing just beyond my perception. I focused harder, trying to draw it inward, trying to guide it into my body.

  The energy responded slowly, reluctantly, like trying to grasp smoke. I felt it entering through my scales, seeping into my veins like cold water trickling through cracks in stone. I directed it deeper, searching for the core she'd mentioned.

  And then I found it.

  A sphere. Black as obsidian. Sitting somewhere deep in the center of my chest, pulsing faintly with a dim, hungry light.

  My core.

  I guided the mana toward it, wrapping the energy around the sphere, letting it sink in—

  Immediately, pain exploded through my body.

  It felt like my veins were on fire—burning from the inside out. The core radiated heat, and every nerve screamed in protest. My muscles seized. My claws dug into the earth unconsciously.

  Don't stop. Keep going.

  I gritted my teeth and pushed through the pain, continuing to draw mana inward. The core absorbed it slowly, grudgingly, growing slightly brighter, slightly warmer with each pulse.

  Images flashed through my mind.

  Alice's hand slipping from mine.

  The red circle on the cobblestones.

  Her smile before everything went wrong.

  "I'll always protect you, Leon."

  The pain intensified, but I held on.

  I need to get stronger. I need to find her.

  I can't stop here.

  Time lost all meaning.

  I fell into deep isolation, the world around me fading into nothing. There was only the mana, the core, and the burning. Hours blurred into days. The pain became background noise—constant, but ignorable.

  Somewhere far away, I felt someone checking on me. Felt a hand—cool and smooth—touching my forehead briefly before pulling away.

  But I couldn't break concentration. Couldn't stop the flow.

  Just a little more. Just a little further.

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  When I finally opened my eyes, everything felt... different.

  Sharper. Clearer. Like a fog I hadn't even known was there had lifted.

  The colors of the forest seemed more vivid. I could hear the individual heartbeats of fish swimming in the lake. Could sense the flow of energy through the plants, the trees, even the stones beneath me.

  And inside—

  Mana circulated through my body now, flowing through channels I hadn't known existed, pooling in the core before spreading outward again in a continuous, rhythmic cycle. Like blood, but made of pure energy.

  I flexed my claws experimentally. Mana responded immediately, flowing into them, reinforcing them. They felt stronger—sharper, harder, more durable.

  This is incredible.

  I looked around and spotted the mermaid floating near the lake's edge, watching me with those unreadable crimson eyes.

  "I think I can feel mana in my body now," I said, my voice rougher than I remembered.

  She raised an eyebrow, and something that might have been amusement flickered across her face. "Well, obviously. You were in deep meditation for about a week."

  A week?

  I stared at her, stunned. "What?"

  "You didn't move. Didn't eat. Didn't even twitch." She tilted her head. "I checked on you a few times to make sure you hadn't died."

  She... checked on me?

  A week.

  For me, it had felt like hours—just focusing, gathering, ensuring the mana circulated properly. But a whole week had passed in the outside world.

  No wonder I feel so different.

  She moved closer, coiling her tail beneath her as she studied me with renewed interest. Her gaze swept over me—assessing, calculating—and I noticed her eyes linger on my scales.

  "You look different," she said quietly. "Bigger. Your scales are shinier. And your eyes..." She paused. "They glow faintly now. Like embers."

  I looked down at my hands—my claws. She was right. I had grown. Not dramatically, but noticeably. My body felt more solid, more real somehow.

  Is this what happens when you learn to use mana? Your body changes?

  "Why don't we have a fight right now?" she said suddenly, breaking my thoughts. "Let's see how well you can use your mana."

  I blinked. "A fight?"

  "First one to take damage loses." A small smile played at her lips. "Unless you're afraid?"

  A slow grin spread across my face. This is exactly what I wanted.

  "Sure. Let's do it."

  I stood and let the mana flow through my body, wrapping it around my muscles, reinforcing my limbs. It felt natural now—instinctive, like the energy had always been there and I'd just been too blind to see it.

  The mermaid did the same. I could sense her mana flaring, wind magic coiling around her like an invisible storm ready to be unleashed.

  It's like a different level of awareness. I can feel everything now—her power, the ambient energy, even the subtle shifts in the air currents around her.

  This is what I was missing. This is what made her so much stronger.

  I dashed toward her.

  My speed had increased dramatically. The mana enhanced every movement, every step explosive and precise. The ground cracked slightly under my claws as I pushed off.

  But as expected, she reacted in time.

  A wind barrier materialized between us instantly, absorbing my strike effortlessly. My fist slammed into it, and I felt the magic push back—not painfully, but firmly.

  That defense of hers is really something. She has perfect combination of offense and defense. She can attack while staying completely protected.

  She didn't waste a second. Her hand moved in a swift arc, and she chanted: "Wind Slash."

  A compressed blade of air shot toward me, cutting through the space between us with a sharp whistle—

  But this time, everything was different.

  I could perceive the magic clearly. Could see the shape of it—the way the wind compressed and sharpened into a blade. Could track the trajectory, predict the exact moment it would reach me.

  I can see it. Really see it.

  I raised my claw and fired: "Piercing Claw."

  The projectile met the wind slash mid-flight.

  CRACK.

  Both attacks collided and exploded, canceling each other out in a burst of dissipating energy and scattered wind.

  Not just physical strength—even my attacks are getting stronger. More precise.

  I didn't waste time. I launched a single claw at her, the projectile cutting through the air with a sharp whistle, mana reinforcing it, making it faster and deadlier than before.

  As expected, her wind shield materialized instantly, blocking it—the claw embedding itself in the barrier, held in place by swirling currents.

  But I was ready.

  Good. That's exactly what I wanted.

  I fired another claw from my other hand, aiming for the exact spot where the first claw was stuck.

  CRACK.

  The impact created a focal point of pressure. The wind shield cracked, fractures spreading across its surface like breaking ice, spider-webbing outward from where my attacks had concentrated.

  "Looks like one more attack and your proud defense won't stand," I said, unable to keep the grin off my face.

  She remained completely calm, just watching me with that slight, knowing smile.

  And then she whispered, so quietly I almost didn't hear:

  "Wind Magic: Reflect."

  My eyes widened.

  What—

  Both claws shot back at me with twice the force, moving faster than I could react, faster than I could dodge.

  One grazed my shoulder, tearing through scales and drawing blood.

  I hissed in pain, stumbling back and clutching the wound.

  "It seems I won," she said calmly, but there was warmth in her voice now. Almost... proud?

  I stared at the shallow wound, then at her, still processing what had just happened.

  "I would have never guessed that defensive magic could reflect attacks back," I admitted.

  "Keeping some hidden tricks helps in a fight." She smiled—genuine this time, not mocking. "Though you did extremely well for your first time using mana. Not to mention you deduced that concentrated attacks at a single point would help break through barriers. That's good tactical thinking. Most creatures just keep hitting the same way over and over, expecting different results."

  I caught my breath, letting the adrenaline fade, feeling the mana continue to circulate through my body even as I stood still.

  I lost. But I actually put up a fight this time.

  I'm getting stronger.

  She floated closer, her expression thoughtful, almost... hesitant?

  "So now that you've learned mana, what are you going to do?"

  I looked out at the forest beyond the lake—the glowing vegetation, the twisted trees, the distant sounds of monsters hunting and fighting and dying.

  "I'll train a little more. Get used to using mana in combat. And then I'll leave this place."

  Her expression shifted slightly—something I couldn't quite read. Disappointment? Concern?

  "You're not going to stay? It's safe here, you know. This territory is relatively stable. Most creatures avoid this lake because of me."

  "As much as I'd like to, I can't." I met her gaze directly. "There's something I have to do. Someone I have to find. And I need to get stronger. Fast."

  She was quiet for a long moment, studying my face.

  "This someone... they're important to you?"

  "Yes. Very important."

  The mermaid's expression softened slightly. She looked away, toward the lake, and for the first time, I saw something vulnerable in her posture.

  "I understand," she said quietly. "Having something to fight for... that's rare in this place."

  Silence stretched between us.

  Then, unexpectedly, she turned back to me and asked:

  "How about we travel together?"

  I stared at her, completely caught off guard.

  Travel... together?

  Why would she want to—

  But even as the question formed, I realized the answer.

  She's alone too. Just like me.

  Maybe she's tired of it.

  Considering the dangers ahead—and my extremely limited knowledge about this world, about mana, about how to actually survive outside this relatively safe zone—traveling with someone who actually knew how things worked wasn't a bad idea.

  It wasn't a bad idea at all.

  And maybe... maybe I was tired of being alone too.

  "Alright," I said slowly, meeting her crimson eyes. "Let's do it."

  She smiled—soft and genuine, and for a brief moment, the wariness in her expression disappeared completely.

  "Good. Then we leave in two days. That gives you time to practice controlling your mana in real situations." She paused. "And it gives me time to prepare."

  "Prepare for what?"

  "For leaving." She looked back at the lake, and something sad flickered across her face. "I've been here a long time. Longer than I care to admit."

  I wanted to ask more—wanted to know why she'd stayed, why she was leaving now, what she was running from—

  But I didn't.

  Because I understood.

  Some things were too painful to talk about right away.

  And for the first time since arriving in this nightmare, I felt something other than fear or desperation.

  I felt... hope.

  Maybe I don't have to do this alone.

  Maybe, just maybe, I can survive this world.