Cycle 22,841 of the Dragon Era — Day 129
The sun sat high and warm above the clearing.
The pack wasn’t hunting today — instead, they were sparring, movements sharp and fluid, aura flickering like breath.
I was strictly told by Kael:
- No mana control.
- No healing practice.
- No experimenting.
Fine.
I planned to spend the morning exploring — but the moment that thought even existed, Kael shut that down too.
So now?
I was on supervised existence mode.
I could still feel the aftermath of yesterday — not pain, but weakness.
Like the sluggish heaviness after a fever.
But beneath that… there was a new feeling.
Mana.
Not just floating around me — but inside me.
Real. Present. Alive.
I washed at the stream, letting the water cool my skin, then went to gather fruit for breakfast.
Halfway through picking, I turned — and saw Lyra behind me.
Pretending she wasn’t following me.
Her head turned sharply toward a tree, as if studying a leaf was her entire purpose in life.
“…Really?” I muttered.
Her ear twitched — busted.
Since she was stalking me anyway, I decided to go deeper into the territory to gather more cooking supplies.
She immediately closed the distance — walking beside me now.
Lyra:
“Where to?”
Me:
“Ingredients. The food will taste better if I find the right ones.”
Her tail flicked — approval, or curiosity… maybe both.
We searched for a while until I spotted a familiar-looking berry bush.
Small red berries.
Cherry-sized.
Suspiciously harmless.
I picked one.
Lyra immediately blocked my hand with her paw, narrowed her eyes, took one herself—
and swallowed it.
Her expression stayed neutral for exactly one second.
Then tears began rolling down her face.
I froze.
Was it delicious?
Powerful?
Transcendental?
She sniffed — then shoved one toward me.
I put it in my mouth.
Chewed once.
And my soul left my body.
Fire.
Pure fire.
Ten times hotter than the strongest chili pepper back on Earth.
I didn’t think — I sprinted to the stream and shoved my face into the water, drinking like I was dying.
It took a full minute before I could think in words again.
When I looked back, Lyra was on the ground, laughing.
Actually laughing.
She then casually used magic — purifying the heat from the berry — and ate the rest like it was normal fruit.
I stared at her.
I needed to learn that trick.
Immediately.
On the walk back, I tried walking faster to make her stop following me.
She matched every step.
Of course.
Back at the den, I set the chili berries to dry in the sun and began preparing the herbs.
Some were familiar — some new — all powerful.
By the time I finished, I had the equivalent of:
- one burned the tongue like chili
- one tasted salty with a hint of sweetness
- one smelled smoky and earthy
- one was cooling and mint-like
- one was fragrant and golden
- one was sharp and peppery
- one was fresh and savory, like thyme and oregano combined
Today…
I was going to cook with them.
As soon as I returned, I started working.
I crushed berries into a paste, simmered them over low heat, mixed the powder from dried herbs, added water from the stream, and slowly reduced everything until it thickened.
Then came the oil.
I pressed and ground nuts between smooth stones, extracting a clear, fragrant oil drop by drop. Once enough gathered, I mixed part of it into the sauce—turning it glossy and rich.
When it was done, I separated the batch into smaller bowls:
- one mild
- one mixed with the fiery red berry
- one sweetened
- one purely savory
Each smelled wildly different—but all powerful.
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That’s when I noticed it.
The scent wasn’t just pleasant—it travelled.
Slowly at first… then carried across the clearing like a signal flare.
One by one, the wolves lifted their heads.
Then—like gravity reversed—the entire resting hunting party drifted toward me.
I had only planned to hunt something small today—maybe a skivet, a giant squirrel-like creature, enough for myself.
But apparently, my cooking had declared a feast without asking me.
Kael watched me for three seconds—then gave a short command.
The hunting group left.
They returned almost immediately.
No noise.
No struggle.
Just a massive body dropping to the ground in front of me.
The Tempestrunner leader.
Massive. Heavy. Muscular. Still faintly crackling with leftover lightning along its horns.
Kael had clearly stepped in this time.
A message, not a request:
You cook. We will bring the world to your fire.
I blinked.
They were all staring at me expectantly.
Some with discipline.
Some with impatience.
Some… drooling.
Borin and Fenn were already holding their bowls and staring at the raw meat like it was about to transform into divinity.
Kael and Cira sat calmly—but even they leaned forward slightly.
Lucan’s tail was wagging.
Umbra pretended not to care, but his gaze never left the sauce.
The pups had already climbed onto the rock to get closer.
They all volunteered to help—silent, coordinated, as if preparing for a sacred ritual.
I pointed toward the stream.
They moved instantly.
The Tempestrunner meat was washed, cleaned, skinned, and cut faster than any professional kitchen I’d ever seen.
Piles of meat formed beside me—enough to feed a small village back on Earth.
I looked at the cooking stone and realized:
It was nowhere near large enough for all of this.
“It will take a long time,” I muttered.
Before the words fully left my mouth, Fenn sprinted off.
For a moment there was silence.
Then—BOOM.
A distant thud echoed.
Fenn returned, dragging a massive slab of flat rock behind him—easily ten times the size of the cooking stone.
He dropped it like a gift offering and stared at me with wide eyes.
Like saying:
Now cook. No excuses.
I sighed.
“…Fine.”
The pack sat.
Silent.
Expectant.
Ready.
The upgraded stone slab held heat beautifully.
I spread the rendered nut-oil across its surface; it sizzled instantly.
The Tempestrunner meat hit the rock with a sharp crack — the fat searing, juices sealing in.
Steam rose in thick white ribbons, carrying the smell of spice, herbs, and charred fat into the air.
The wolves reacted like I had cast a spell.
Ears perked. Tails froze mid-swing. Pup mouths hung open.
Every time the fire hissed or a spice crackled, someone flinched like it was a signal.
Somehow… they believed watching made the food cook better.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
They just stared.
I flipped each piece carefully, brushing sauce over the surface. Flames kissed the meat and darkened the glaze to a deep amber, and every time the smell strengthened, Borin physically shook as if resisting the urge to pounce.
Even Kael wasn’t immune — his eyes never left the cooking surface.
Batch by batch, the meat finished.
And batch by batch, I plated it onto large stones the wolves pushed beside me — a makeshift dining table.
Finally — after what felt like hours — everything was cooked.
Kael stepped forward.
Silent.
Regal.
And began dividing the meat with surprising precision — making sure every portion was equal. Even the pups received equal shares.
Then… he handed me mine.
It wasn’t a small portion.
It wasn’t a token share.
It was almost the same size as his.
I blinked.
Kael didn’t explain, didn’t justify it — he just nodded once.
I passed the sauces around — bowls of red heat, mild glaze, sweet-savory mix, and simple seasoning.
Some wolves dipped cautiously.
Some poured aggressively.
Borin drowned his entire piece and swallowed it whole before I even sat down.
As I watched them eat, a thought tugged at me:
Something was missing.
Not flavor — but a layer.
Onion-like sweetness, ginger heat, maybe something like garlic or herbs that built depth.
I’d find them someday.
Not today.
But someday.
With that quiet promise sealed in my mind, I finally sat beside them — a plate of food in my hands, wolves gathered in a circle under the afternoon sun.
Together—
We ate.
After eating, the weakness in my body — the lingering dull ache from yesterday — vanished.
Not slowly.
Not gradually.
It was as if the Tempestrunner’s electricity had jumped into my veins and rewired me.
Strength returned.
Warmth spread.
My muscles felt alive again.
I couldn’t finish all of the meat, so I wrapped the rest in large leaves. The cold of night would freeze it naturally — the wolves did the same with extra hunts.
The sauces, thankfully, kept well — so I stored them safely inside the den.
Kael watched me with a calm but unmistakably impressed expression.
“Once again,” he said, voice low, “you never fail to surprise me.”
I wasn’t sure if that was praise or confusion at this point — probably both.
With energy restored, I gathered the seeds, stems, and roots from all the ingredients I had collected earlier and began planting them near the den — spacing each according to how they seemed to grow naturally.
A tiny farm.
The wolves circled me like curious children watching a strange ritual.
Eventually, Cira finally asked:
“What… are you doing?”
“A farm,” I said.
Silence.
Confusion.
Blank wolf expressions.
Right — wolves didn’t farm.
So I explained:
“That means growing food close to home. Instead of searching for it every time.”
Understanding slowly settled across their faces.
By the time I finished planting, the sky was shifting into evening — blue fading to violet.
I sat down to rest.
There was one more task.
Clothes.
I only had one set — and after hunting, running, cooking, and nearly dying multiple times… that wasn’t ideal.
I gathered the cotton-like fibers I’d collected from the trees and sat beside the den, twisting and stretching them into thread by hand.
It was slow.
Painfully slow.
My fingers cramped.
Fibers tangled.
The little bundle barely grew.
After a few minutes of me struggling, Cira quietly approached.
Without a word, the fibers lifted into the air — suspended by her mana.
They twisted, looped, stretched, refined — all with fluid grace.
Within seconds, every tuft had been transformed into smooth, perfect thread.
I just stared.
“…Mana can do this too?”
Before Cira could answer, Varya stepped forward.
“Not everyone can,” she said proudly. “This only proves how much control she has.”
That made sense.
Her mana hadn’t just moved — it had woven, refined, compressed, shaped.
She didn’t use power.
She used precision.
The thread now rested neatly coiled in a bundle beside me.
The hardest part remained—
Turning it into actual fabric.
And I had no idea how to do that.
I remembered only vaguely how the process worked.
Horizontal threads.
Vertical threads.
Pulled tight between two wooden beams — or whatever counted as a loom.
I wasn’t sure.
Still, I tried.
The first attempt collapsed immediately, the threads bunching into a useless knot.
The second attempt… held.
Barely.
So I continued — weaving one thread over, one under, tightening the pattern row by row.
It was slow.
Painfully slow.
Night fell while I worked.
The moons rose high, blue light spilling across the clearing.
Stars blinked awake overhead.
My shoulders ached.
My fingers cramped.
My eyes kept losing focus.
But still… I didn’t stop.
Because this wasn’t about survival or hunting or training.
This was something human.
Something familiar.
Every loop and pull, every correction, every mistake — it all reminded me that I wasn’t just adapting to this world…
I was shaping a place in it.
Eventually, my hands began moving on instinct — slow, clumsy rhythm becoming almost steady.
Fatigue crept in like a fog.
My thoughts blurred.
Just one more row.
Just a little longer.
My eyes drooped.
My body leaned forward.
And somewhere between one thread and the next—
Sleep finally won.
At some point… I must have fallen asleep mid-weave.
I didn’t remember lying down.
One moment I was threading fiber.
The next — morning sunlight was warming my face.
I jerked upright.
“The fabric—!”
My head snapped toward the frame.
And froze.
The cloth was finished.
Not just passable.
Perfect.
Even, straight fibers.
Clean edges.
Tight weave.
No way I did that.
My gaze drifted toward the wolves.
Lyra avoided eye contact, suddenly very interested in a pebble.
Cira pretended to stretch.
Varya’s tail betrayed her — flicking once, proud.
“…You helped,” I said slowly.
No response.
Just three wolves refusing to look guilty.
I exhaled, half annoyed, half amazed.
Mana was ridiculously useful.
Control over the invisible, shaping the physical with a thought…
I couldn’t help it —
A grin crept onto my face.
“I can’t wait until I can do that too.”
Now, all that was left was the final step.
I trimmed the edges, folded the fabric, and began shaping it into clothing. It wasn’t complicated tailoring — just careful cutting, measuring against my body, and tying seams using the same thread Cira had helped create.
Slow. Repetitive. But doable.
the rough shapes began to resemble actual clothing.
By midday — it was done.
A shirt and two pairs of pants.
Simple, sturdy, clean lines.
No loose threads. No tearing when stretched. The material felt softer than the spider-silk set I’d made before.
I held them up, staring for a moment.
They weren’t perfect.
But they were the first real clothes I’d made.