In.  

Out.

I closed my eyes and focused.

My father stood a short distance away, watching me closely—too closely. I could feel his attention like weight on my back.

The use of ki depended on understanding and will. Or physical strength. Or some combination of all three.

Understanding wasn’t my weakness.

I was smart.  

I had studied.  

I had read every book I could get my hands on.

If all I needed was concentration, then this shouldn’t be difficult.

All I had to do was feel nature.  

Feel it flow toward me.  

Ask it.  

Maybe even talk to it.

I reached outward with my senses, trying to feel the air, the ground, the warmth of the sun. I tried to listen—not with my ears, but with something deeper.

Nothing responded.

My target was simple.

A piece of paper tied to the trunk of a tree.

My father had said not to aim for destruction. Just a faint glow. A thin thread of ki through my palm.

The paper was only there to help me focus.

I meditated for a while longer, breathing slowly, steadying myself.

Then I stepped forward.

I raised my fist and slashed it through the air, chanting the words my father had taught me.

“Nature, trust and let the door open.  

Guide my ray—burst and scream out with will.”

My father straightened, eyes sharp.

I waited.

Nothing happened.

No glow.  

No warmth.  

No resistance.

Just silence.

Disappointment hit me like a hollow ache in my chest—but I wasn’t ready to stop.

I tried again.

And again.

I repeated the chant, focused harder, poured everything I had into it.

It felt like screaming into an empty room, my voice swallowed by rigid walls that refused to answer.

My excitement drained away, replaced by something heavier.

Desperation.

Work.  

God-damn it, work.

A hand rested gently on my back.

“That’s enough, Aren,” my father said softly. “It’s fine.”

I was breathing hard, chest tight.

“I’m very proud of the effort you put in today,” he continued. “Let’s try again tomorrow. You still have time.”

He smiled—calm, steady.

But I could see through it.

The next day, I tried again.

Harder.

Nothing.

The day after that, my father tried different methods—breathing exercises, focus drills, posture adjustments.

Nothing worked.

“Why?” I muttered under my breath. “Why won’t it work?”

Tomorrow, my father had to return to town to meet the chief.

The thought made my chest tighten.

I couldn’t stand it.

I couldn’t stand disappointing them.

I didn’t want them to worry about me.

I wanted them to be proud.

That night, I practiced alone.

Long after the sun had set.

My mother watched quietly from the doorway and stayed awake until I finally stopped.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” she said, pulling me close and gently stroking my hair as my head rested in her lap. “I know you’ll get it tomorrow.”

Her voice was warm. Certain.

“My baby will shine tomorrow.”

I swallowed.

“I hope I do, Mom.”

Tomorrow came.

And I failed again.

I tried everything I knew—everything my father had taught me, everything I had read.

Nothing changed.

My father watched me closely, then broke into a smile.

Too wide.  

Too cheerful.

“Oh well,” he laughed. “Maybe this just isn’t the time. Haha.”

He was leaving tomorrow.

I didn’t say anything.

That night felt heavier than all the days before it combined.

I felt lost.

Everyone around me was cheerful. Supportive. Trying to make me smile.

Misa danced around me, telling me I’d do better next time.

But it didn’t feel right.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought, when my mother came in.

“Sweetie… you’re still awake,” she said gently.

I didn’t answer.

She sat beside me and placed my head in her lap.

“Come here.”

She stroked my hair slowly.

“Don’t worry, Aren,” she said. “I know you’ll do well.”

I stayed silent.

“Nature chose Misa,” she continued. “But that doesn’t mean it neglected you.”

She paused, choosing her words carefully.

“Think of it this way—some people are chosen for their paths early. Others must find their path themselves and earn it.”

“But Mom…” I whispered. “Why can’t I do it?”

The question surprised even me.

She smiled softly.

“To summon great magic, you need a great reason,” she said. “Work hard with a pure heart. Don’t beg for reward.”

Her hand rested warmly on my head.

“When you know you’ve done enough,” she continued, “take what is yours.”

I felt my throat tighten.

“You can be anything, my sweet boy. Anything. I haven’t stopped trusting you.”

She leaned closer.

“So please… don’t stop trusting yourself. For us.”

I didn’t reply.

I just cried quietly in her lap while she gently tapped my head.

Then she began to sing.

“The moon sings you to bed,  

Hush, hush, sleep now my prince.  

The stars twinkle, dance on your head,  

Sweet dreams wait—time for bed.”

Her voice was soft.  

Soothing.

I fell asleep before the song ended.

“Sleep well,” she whispered.

Morning came.

My father was ready to leave.

He was probably waiting for me, but when I didn’t show up, he started toward the door.

“Dad!”

I ran in.

He turned. “What is it, Aren?”

“I know I couldn’t awaken,” I said quickly. “I know I couldn’t do anything.”

I clenched my fists.

“But that doesn’t mean I’ll give up. I’ll work hard. I will achieve it.”

I met his eyes.

“Just wait and see.”

He looked stunned.

Then he smiled.

“I know you will,” he said, brushing my hair.

“Hey!” I protested. “You’re ruining my hairstyle.”

He laughed.

So did I.

I didn’t care how long it took.

I will work for it.