The practice ground grew quiet after Father left.

  I remained where I stood for a while, replaying every exchange in my mind.

  Every step. Every strike. Every mistake.

  The Coming-of-Age Ceremony was still months away.

  Which meant I still had time to improve.

  By the time I returned to our territory, the sun had already begun to descend.

  The mansion stood as it always had — calm, silent, and familiar.

  __

  After forming the singularity, there were some things I wanted to test.

  Unfortunately… curiosity didn’t outweigh common sense.

  The territory’s training ground was the worst possible place to experiment.

  Too many knights.

  Too many mages.

  Too many eyes that would notice if something… unusual happened.

  A singularity wasn’t something I could casually reveal.

  Even if they didn’t understand what it was, they would still know something was wrong.

  No… experiments would have to wait.

  At least until I could leave the territory without attracting attention.

  Still… there was one thing worth considering.

  Teleportation.

  Not every mage could use it.

  For everyone else, there were teleportation scrolls—artifacts prepared by specialists.

  Expensive artifacts.

  Ridiculously expensive.

  I let out a quiet breath.

  The reason was simple.

  Teleportation wasn’t just about moving quickly.

  It required accessing something called subspace.

  Subspace was… difficult to explain.

  The easiest way to imagine it was to think of the world as a sheet of paper.

  Normal movement meant walking across that sheet.

  Step by step.

  Distance existed.

  But subspace was like slipping under the paper itself.

  In that layer, distance behaved differently.

  Two points that were far apart in the real world could be almost touching inside subspace.

  A mage capable of entering it could step inside, move a tiny distance there… and reappear somewhere far away in the real world.

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  That was teleportation.

  The problem was that entering subspace required a natural connection to spatial distortion, something dark mana was uniquely suited for.

  Even then, most dark mages could barely touch its surface.

  True teleportation specialists were incredibly rare.

  I stared quietly at the ceiling.

  Kyle had lightning.

  Raine had ice.

  And I had dark energy.

  Our base elements were common enough—earth, water, and dark.

  But our derivative abilities were rare mutations of those elements.

  Even so…

  I still couldn’t access subspace.

  Not even a little.

  Subspace teleportation wasn't an option.

  I couldn't enter it.

  But that didn't mean teleportation itself was impossible.

  I had something else now.

  A singularity.

  The singularity wasn't just compressing mana.

  It was distorting space itself.

  Even if the distortion was subtle, it was undeniably there.

  And if space could be distorted…

  Then in theory, it could also be forced to connect.

  Two distant points in space didn't necessarily have to remain distant.

  If space between them was bent sharply enough, those points could momentarily touch.

  A wormhole.

  The concept itself wasn't new.

  But creating a stable one would require an absurd amount of energy—far beyond anything I could produce.

  A permanent tunnel through space was completely out of the question.

  However… stability wasn't necessary.

  I didn't need the connection to last.

  It only needed to exist for an instant.

  A fraction of a second.

  Just long enough for space to collapse and reconnect.

  The wormhole would form…

  And then vanish immediately after.

  No visible portal.

  No lingering distortion.

  Nothing that could expose what had happened.

  The key was the singularity itself.

  Since the spatial distortion originated from it, one end of the wormhole would always form where the singularity existed.

  Which meant…

  Me.

  I would always be one side of the connection.

  The other end would appear at the destination I selected.

  For that brief instant, the two points would become one.

  I wouldn't need to step through a portal.

  The moment the wormhole formed, the space I occupied would collapse into the entrance and reappear at the exit.

  My body wouldn't travel through normal space.

  Space itself would shift.

  From the outside, there would be no visible movement at all.

  No flash of light.

  No magical circle.

  Nothing.

  One moment I would be standing in one location.

  And the next—

  I would simply exist somewhere else.

  As if the world itself had skipped a frame.

  Of course… Distance wasn’t the problem.

  The real danger was opening the wormhole and the destination.

  Even the smallest miscalculation could be fatal.

  If the exit point formed inside solid matter… the consequences would be obvious.

  Which meant random teleportation was out of the question.

  At least for now.

  The exit would have to form somewhere I could clearly perceive.

  Somewhere within my sight.

  I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the far corner of the room.

  I steadied my breathing and focused inward.

  Forming a wormhole—even a tiny one—meant projecting part of the singularity through the vessel.

  Normal mana could cross the boundary of the soul without resistance.

  The singularity was different.

  Carefully, I tried to push the smallest fragment outward.

  The moment it touched the boundary—

  Pain erupted inside my head.

  It felt as if a steel drill rod had been driven straight into my skull, boring deeper with crushing pressure.

  At the same time, my entire nervous system felt like it was being stretched thin across a vast distance, every nerve pulled taut as if it might snap.

  My concentration shattered instantly.

  I recoiled on instinct.

  The fragment of the singularity withdrew and merged back into the center of the soul before it could fully pass the boundary.

  The projection collapsed.

  Then the aftereffects hit.

  A wave of nauseating vertigo washed over me. The room tilted violently even though I hadn’t moved.

  Then came the sound.

  A harsh mental hissing, like radio static flooding my mind.

  It wasn’t something I heard with my ears. It existed directly inside my thoughts—an abrasive psychological static that drowned out concentration.

  I sat there for several seconds, breathing slowly until the sensation faded.

  No mana had crossed the boundary.

  No distortion of space had formed.

  The wormhole hadn’t even begun to exist.

  I closed my eyes, trying to calm the tension, and reminded myself: this was just the beginning.

  That was enough for today.

  The first attempt had failed, but I had learned something important: the singularity could not be pushed recklessly.

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed, letting the tension drain from my shoulders.

  Rest was overdue.

  Pulling the covers over me, I closed my eyes and let sleep take me.

  Morning came quietly. Sunlight seeped through the curtains, painting the room in pale gold.

  I opened my eyes, muscles stiff but mind alert.

  The memory of last night’s attempt lingered — the needle-like pain of the singularity trying to escape the vessel.

  But today was another chance. Another opportunity to adapt.

  Distance wasn’t the problem. Opening the wormhole was.

  And I was going to endure it.