Germination - The Day the Seed Sprouted
Things were fucked. No, they were thoroughly fucked. I brought the beer mug back to my lips. Even as that intense bitterness slid down my throat, my gut didn't churn. Maybe because it was already burning more bitterly than the beer.
I'd thought I was a genius, but ten years ago, my head got cracked open. I'd thought I was a prodigy, but five years ago, that got cracked too. And even the idea that I was a talented scholar? That got shattered today. Nothing left now. Yeah, it was time to admit it. I was just an ordinary schmuck. It took crashing into the wall ten times—eleven, now—to finally see my limits.
"Maybe it's not the university rejecting me. Maybe I'm the one rejecting the university?"
The words slipped out in my drunken haze, met only by a lonely chuckle. Now I was spouting nonsense. Damn, the me from twenty years ago couldn't have imagined this.
Yeah, once upon a time, I'd been sure I'd become a great mage. I raised the mug and poured it straight down my throat. The booze-soaked dreams slowly soaked into my body. Special stuff, supposed to give you happy dreams. I'd saved it for passing the exam.
Damn.
My body slumped naturally onto the table. A gentle comfort, like someone stroking my head, slowly pulled me into the world of dreams. Dreams—the happiest ones.
Then, from somewhere, a stench began to rise. At the same moment, something yanked at my feet. Like sinking into a mud pit, my dream of happiness plunged into that reek.
The dream approached. The dream. The one from before I ended up like this, back when hope filled me to the brim.
"Let's go to the continent, get into the university, and become true mages!"
With those cursed words I'd shouted twenty years ago, I tumbled into the past.
It was around the time I turned seven. By the clan head's order, all the young kids gathered in the clearing. I was one of them. The clan encircled a young man in a circle. He wore a bizarre coat made of crow feathers and smiled at us. Introducing himself as Ojo, he lit a flame on his fingertip. The moment I saw it, I was hooked by its fierce intensity—that strange, bizarre power transcending the laws of the reality I knew.
"Everyone has the potential for magic. But it's just potential, hard to awaken. By contract, I'll teach you. If someone's exceptional, they'll naturally germinate the seed. Once one awakens, the others can learn from them. I'll teach only one."
From that moment, I started learning magic from the mage along with the other kids. Ojo's stories were fascinating. Mages on the continent all grew a tree in their chests, he said. With that, he taught us the "Rooting Breathing Method," said to have been created by a grand mage. It gathers ambient mana into the chest—believed to hold human potential—forming a kind of soil.
As Ojo guided the mana, a strange sensation began. Following his breathing lead, unknown energies from my whole body gathered in my chest. Ojo called it mana.
"The mana in this world is full of impurities. Use it directly in magic, and it won't hold. But if the potential in your chest sprouts a seedling, it filters the mana into pure power. So, if you want to be mages, make that sprout."
Mage—what a resonant word. I gave it my all. Eating, sleeping, always maintaining the breathing. At first, the weirdness of the mana threw me off, but I adapted.
I'm different, I thought, watching the other kids. They struggled just to keep the breathing going. Some gave up easily. But unlike those brainless idiots, I excelled in every way. I drew in mana effortlessly, to Ojo's surprise, and kept up with his theoretical lessons easily.
It was my thirteenth birthday. Same routine: woke up, sat, practiced the method until breakfast. Then my chest started wriggling. No warning—just pain that floored me, clutching my chest.
The seed! An unknown seed vibrated in the foundation built by my breathing. I couldn't even breathe. My nanny rushed out, calling for help. Ojo arrived amid the commotion, placed a hand on my chest, and infused mana.
As his mana entered, the seed thrashed harder. Pain—I couldn't breathe from the agony.
"It's trying to take root. Focus. No matter how bad, don't lose consciousness. Steady your breathing, gather mana."
Ojo's firm words snapped me back. I recalled my first breaths. How did I breathe then? Even unable to, I swelled my chest as if inhaling. Air rushed in, clearing my head a bit. Keep breathing. Ignore the pain.
Finally, the vibrations stopped. Then came the moment I'd never forget till death.
The hard seed sucked in endless mana, swelling. The foundation dried up around it. The seed pulsed like it had life—a second heartbeat. Then cracks formed. Organ-splitting pain made me writhe. Mana leaked through the fissures, growing in volume until the seed split in two.
I felt split too. Later, nanny said I'd actually died—vomiting blood, breath stopped. But I felt more vividly alive than ever. My mind, detached from flesh, lingered in my chest.
The split seed unleashed vast mana. I controlled my breathing within it. The mana seeped into the crumbling foundation, hardening into roots. The shock shook my body; bloody foam surged from my mouth.
As the halves rejoined, pain returned to my mind-only state. Is this taking root? The unprecedented agony muddled me. Half-gone, Ojo's words flowed like wind—faint, but enough to stir me.
Take root. Instinctively, I did. The roots devoured the foundation. Six years' mana seemed too little. It collapsed; the seed thrashed. Breathing—only that to trust. I drew external mana, feeding it. Unsatisfied, the seed hijacked my breath, turning my body into a conduit.
Not just nose and mouth—my whole body breathed. Mana seeped everywhere. At its limit, the seed expelled mana into the void. It solidified into a line, thickening into a stem. Leaves sprouted.
Then it devoured more fiercely—not just mana, but life force rushed to my chest. My body burned. Bones cracked, muscles tore inside.
"Stay calm always. Slowly, forget the pain. Recall what you've learned."
Ojo spoke. The Rooting Breathing Method—simple breathing to build nutrients and root—was shallow knowledge. True method: inhaling mana through the whole body.
I guided the roots deeper, wider. First, revive the body. Roots stretched straight, replacing drained life force. Withered flesh regained vigor. Now touching outside, roots pulled mana strongly. Gradually, they reshaped flesh into tree-like form.
The seed slowed intake. Leaves completed. Pain vanished; refreshing newness flooded me. Mental exhaustion was huge, but my body felt ready to fly.
Opening my eyes, I saw nanny's worried face. Ojo stood arms crossed. I smiled weakly; he nodded. Sensations sharpened incredibly. Even eyes closed, I sensed the room.
"Didn't expect the seed to thrash so big. You're quite talented compared to the others."
"Others... go through this to become mages?"
Ojo nodded. This is becoming a mage? Near-death agony.
"Becoming a mage transcends species. Deaths are common. Without me, you'd be gone."
True. Without his reminders, I'd have died un-sprouted. I bowed in thanks. He waved it off.
"Worse pains await. Transcending realms means becoming a different being."
Worse? Unimaginable.
"Today, observe your body calmly. Root deeper. Rebuild foundation. Bind it tight with roots, or magic won't complete."
I focused inward. A new organ? No—more like discarding old flesh for new. Ojo left; nanny tucked me in. I shooed her worried gaze away—better alone.
Eyes closed, I delved. Roots deep in flesh, mana flowing. Unlike ambient mana, this felt like limbs—comfortable, natural. I teased it out: levitated, lifted a cup. Effortless as always.
Excited, I played—till root mana bottomed. Roots greedily sucked ambient mana. Yeah, restraint, as Ojo said. Stabilize the sprout today.
Thus, at thirteen, I became a mage. The most brilliant time.