1 Journal entry: Mana journal
What is mana? This question has haunted my thoughts for an extensive period. I find myself repeatedly slamming my weary head against the table, seeking a breakthrough in my research. Grandiose mages and wizards have failed to provide satisfying answers, leaving me with naught but mere theories and baseless conjectures. It seems that if no human can satiate my relentless inquiry, then perhaps I have descended into madness. Thus, I turned to the mana itself, asking what it truly is, why it wields such tremendous power, and why we are utterly dependent on it. Silence was its response, but in that moment, I found myself unable to string together a single letter into coherent words, much less sentences. Has the mana communicated with me before, long ago, when I was still unaware of this world's wonders? As the world's sole Sage of Wizards, I am determined to unravel this enigma. My name is Diojo Kawn, the only living being who has conversed with mana and heard its echo. This journal shall be devoted to my relentless quest for answers, delving into the depths of my past. Should I stray, I must always return to the origins, never losing myself in the endless void that is mana. I must never forget…
Journal entry: Years 0-5
My origin can be traced to a humble hut nestled in the heart of the woods, where I resided with my parents. I often wonder how fate led me to be born in such a remote abode, yet miraculously survive in the company of my family. In those times, maternal mortality was commonplace, especially for women lacking mana. However, my mother, Riveria Kawn, was a formidable mage, a true prodigy, and her mana was not only potent but also life-giving, sparing me from a perilous fate.
Speaking of my mother, she was a sight to behold – a mage of unmatched beauty and skill. Her tresses cascaded like a river of azure waves down to her waist, and her turquoise eyes always gazed upon me with boundless love. Her legs were firm from her extensive groundwork, while her arms remained delicate, for she wielded no weapons. Riveria Kawn was not only my mother but also my esteemed teacher.
And the fortunate man who won the heart of this extraordinary woman was my father. Though plain in appearance, it was his spirited nature that molded me into who I am today. A seasoned veteran in his field, he possessed a rebellious soul, and his love for our family surpassed even his love for himself. It was this passionate devotion that often drove him to pursue ambitions beyond human reach. He would say, "How can the son of the renowned Lammus Kawn be a weakling?" as we sparred with swords. However, what sensible person could call beating one's own child "learning"? Perhaps that's why I grew to detest swords.
How did the descendant of these exceptional individuals become enamored with the arcane arts, particularly the elusive force known as mana? My initial exposure to mana transpired through my mother, who portrayed it not as a mere bauble but as a captivating spectacle for my diversion. Embers mimicked minuscule ethereal lights, imperceptible snowflakes swelled in size, revealing their peculiar beauty, and the majestic thunder, the sovereign of the heavens, transmuted into sparks—within her grasp, they all became the playthings of my childhood.
I reminisce that as soon as I could stand on my own two feet, I ventured into the great outdoors, greeted by an array of newfound sensations—the fragrant embrace of the enchanted forest, the melodious symphony of birds, and the coarse yet affectionate touch of the grass beneath my young, sensitive soles.
As I beheld the treetops swaying in the wind, I felt a gentle gust caress my countenance. An image of an indomitable force, undaunted by obstacles, delicately caressing the earth, materialized in my mind. A surge, a tempest in my heart, impelled me to attempt something hitherto unexplored. "Wind," I murmured. The experience was unforgettable, akin to infusing life into the very essence of the wind. It was unfathomable—I summoned and cast my inaugural spell at a time when my ability to articulate was in its infancy. Thus, commenced my perpetual journey into the enchanting realms of magic.
As the days unfolded, my penchant for the outdoors intensified. With the trees casting off their leaves, a new chapter ushered in. It was during this epoch that I encountered Mister Wind, a zephyr unlike any other. Dare I venture to declare it possessed sentience? In this secluded realm where playmates were nonexistent—perhaps, I owe my solitude to my parents, who chose to reside in such a far-flung locale—Mister Wind remained a steadfast companion. Day after day, I immersed myself outdoors, engaging in fanciful games with my ethereal friend. During the autumn, a favored pastime was a form of tag, albeit one played with whimsical twists. Mister Wind, in its capricious nature, would amass nearby leaves, and when about to be tagged, it would playfully ascend beyond my grasp, teasingly eluding capture.
With the advent of the cold season, our playtime waned, yet I still ventured into the outside, greeted by a playful cascade of snow. While my parents took delight in observing my escapades, I couldn't help but yearn for a more active participation in my outdoor endeavors. My mother, attuned to the arcane currents, harbored suspicions regarding the anomalous activities of the wind. However, she dismissed them, attributing the phenomena to lingering traces of her own mana activities.
By my fifth year of life, I had developed a strong sense of individuality. My actions and speech were well-controlled, prompting my father to enthusiastically introduce me to the art of swordsmanship. However, my mother swiftly curtailed his eagerness. Meanwhile, Mister Wind had matured into a full-fledged gale, finally earning the recognition. Intrigued by this phenomenon, my mother decided to investigate further. It was then she discovered that Mister Wind was an extension of my own individual mana, and I unbeknownst to her had cast my very first spell. She was simultaneously elated and concerned, promptly sitting me down for my first magical tutelage.
The teachings were simple, befitting a child of five. An enchanting tale of mana's origin, for what else could one impart to a young mind? Despite its resemblance to a bedtime story, it held profound significance. The tale began with the primordial void, from which emerged the Firstborn – a minuscule entity invisible to the naked eye. This was the essence of mana, possessing incomprehensible power, which expanded from one to many, ultimately becoming boundless. Over time, individuality arose within mana, forming pairs, groups, and eventually distinct beings. These beings took on various forms – solid, liquid, or gaseous. They gave rise to different planets and innumerable stars. On one such planet, the seed of life was sown, marking the genesis of not only humankind but all living and non-living entities.
From thence, the tale delved into the annals of mortal history, tracing the ascendancy and demise of grand realms and empire dominions. Yet, in the tender years of my youth, the intricacies of governance failed to ensnare my fascination, for it was the bewitching tapestry of arcane myth that ensnared the very essence of my being. A magical saga that gripped my soul with an unspoken enchantment.
Yet, I am compelled to ponder upon the origins of this arcane knowledge bestowed upon me by my mother. The chronicle seemed to lack a tangible foundation, yet it unfurled an unquestionable revelation about the hows and whys of existence. Why, I ask, was this mystic lore so intricately woven into the fabric of my upbringing? The conundrum persists, for as a child, I lacked the wisdom to inquire further.
In hindsight, I muse on how, with the passage of years, I might have sought elucidation from my mother. Alas, the seeds of curiosity had already taken root within me, their tendrils entwining my very being. As this embryonic desire for understanding burgeons within, I find myself inexorably drawn away from all that fails to satiate my inquisitive hunger. A journey unfolds, wherein I am determined to unearth the truths that elude casual revelation.
Until then, I had to go through something perhaps most traumatic for a child. My parents did not lead a secluded life, despite their love for tranquility. An ominous letter arrived, beckoning my father to arms, and inevitably, my mother as well. Gloomy clouds shrouded the sky as despair gripped my parents' hearts. They were torn, unsure of what course to pursue. They could easily ignore the call without being faulted, but that would offer an indisputable reason to trample their peaceful lives. And with what is at stake for my parents they painstakingly decided to comply.
In the face of an irrevocable decision, my parents prepared for their journey, leaving me ensconced in my secluded haven—a refuge deemed more secure than navigating a realm steeped in the echoes of blood and suffering. Abandoning a mere five-year-old to the whims of fate was unthinkable, and so my mother invoked the presence of a water spirit to stand as my guardian. Yet, her sacrifice was extraordinary; the spirit bore witness to a substantial portion of her ethereal mana. The passage of time was marked by the haunting melodies of my mother's lamentations, each day enveloped within the tender embrace of my parents.
I can still conjure the poignant recollection of their parting, a farewell resonating with an abundance of worries and contingencies. How my youthful mind managed to retain such intricacies remains a mystery. Nevertheless, the appointed hour arrived, and my parents vanished into the shadows of the ancient woods, heralding the initiation of my solitary existence.
