After awakening, Arian found himself near the borders of Silandrin, at the Sacred Tree—the very place where he was born and where his parents had perished! Yet he remained unaware of this fact, and was astounded to see that in this storm-battered locale—where he could glimpse figures and hear the battle cries that made the hairs on his body stand on end—he had somehow arrived. "Surely the desert doesn't possess the power to teleport me such a distance... but how on earth did I get here?!"
For a moment, Arian's mind reeling with confusion, the scene before him shifted. He now found himself in an empty, boundless expanse where only one figure stood facing him: an Elf. "Who are you? Where is this place? I'm asking you—answer me quickly!"
The Elf replied, "You know, Arian, it is quite extraordinary that for the first time an eight-year-old boy ventures into the desert alone—a boy whose mental capacity is so vast! Now, to answer your first question: Who am I? I suppose Zinarphil—the female dragon who recounted a bit of this desert's history—told you. I am the Elf who created this place, though everyone gets the story wrong. What can you do?"
Arian retorted, "Hold on—why should I trust you? Perhaps you, too, are merely a test?"
The Elf answered, "I understand your doubt, but let me say this: the test is over—in fact, I finished the test myself. I thought it unwise to subject you to further risk, for your destiny is far more intricate than you imagine!"
Arian, incredulous, cried out, "My destiny? What do you mean? Where are you going now?!"
"Listen closely, Arian—I cannot reveal everything at once, but remember that all things will be made clear in due time. Farewell, King!"
"Speak up, man! I can't make out a word!"
After the Elf departed, Arian's senses gradually returned to reality. To his great astonishment, he found himself—and Shadowwolf—at the very spot where they had entered the desert. A gentle breeze stirred, carrying with it the faint aroma of Zinarphil's presence, and suddenly Zinarphil herself dashed toward Arian. "Hey, Arian, how are you? Congratulations on completing the desert trial. I'm truly proud of you—your father never finished it this quickly! But why are you so quiet?"
Arian snapped, "Quiet? Why am I quiet? I mean, I'm practically dying of hunger from all this, and you—you were nowhere to be found in that damned desert! Where were you?"
Observing Arian's flushed face and hearing his furious outburst, Zinarphil burst into hearty laughter—wiping tears of mirth from her eyes—and exclaimed, "Oh, my little chick, I said, 'What happened now?!' Now, tell me, whom did you fight in your visions?"
"Nobody!"
"What do you mean, 'nobody'? It can't be!"
Arian explained, "The visions occurred in my subconscious—initially near Silandrin, then in an empty void—until, all of a sudden, a tall Elf with white hair appeared by my side."
At these words, Zinarphil's expression turned serious and agitated. "What are you saying, kid? You saw that tall Elf—and why did he appear in your subconscious? Does that mean there was no actual battle?"
"No, Master," Arian replied, "he told me that he had ended the trial—it wasn't worth endangering you—and he said that my destiny is far more complex than you think!"
"Are you saying that one of the creators of the desert came to you and warned it wasn't worth killing you—he personally came?"
"Yes! How many times must I say it?!"
Zinarphil was visibly taken aback. Here was one of the most powerful Mana Users in history—whose own battles had forged an area that now posed a threat to others—gazing at Arian with eyes that conveyed both astonishment and recognition of something special within him. "You know, Arian, that Elf you saw is the mightiest sorcerer in the 23,000-year history of Mana Users. If he deems you special, then you undoubtedly are!"
"Now, it's best that we return to the capital, Calustia, for by then you'll be nine years old. With a little party trick, I'll enroll you at Crocealis Academy. Your initial training is complete... But mark my words, if what I suspect is true, your future will not be an ordinary one. And tell me—didn't they give you any other title, like Soldier, Commander, or Sage? No honor, then?"
Arian countered, "Master, you broke my hands a bit—but as for a title... I think in the end you said, 'Farewell, King!' Though your voice became somewhat indistinct as you departed."
Upon hearing these words, the ambient mana's flow became tumultuous, and Zinarphil was so astonished that her heartbeat's sound reverberated around them. "Arian, were you really told 'King'?!"
"What do you mean, 'What is a king?!'"
"Idiot! If a powerful sorcerer addresses someone as 'King', that indicates he is stronger than—or will become stronger than—the one he addresses. Understand? It means you are destined to be the new marvel of history!"
Arian retorted, "Master, I don't care if I'm to be a king or the strongest, because even a single scorpion could kill me. So let's go eat—please, by the goddess of fire, let's hurry; poor Shadowwolf is almost dead from hunger! Oh... by the way, Master, what species is Shadowwolf?"
After hearing Arian's remarks, Zinarphil shook her head and laughed at the simplicity of the young boy before her. "Well, kid, he's a Shadow Wolf—but more precisely, a 'half-wild wolf'. I never imagined that that cheap egg would hatch into such a rare creature. To put it simply, if you are to be the king of the Mana Users, then he is the prince of magical beings—only surpassed by the Black Phoenix."
"Wow, did you hear that, Shadowwolf? You're one of the strongest... well, not yet. With your small, puny body, you're more akin to a puppy than a proper wolf!"
"I promise, Dad, I'll grow stronger so I can protect you!"
"I know, my son."
Watching them from behind with a mixture of longing and pride, Zinarphil internally murmured, "Atrius, your son will one day change the world—just as you always said