The air shimmered—subtle at first, like the mirage over sunbaked asphalt. But then it thickened, pulsing with unseen energy, as if the space itself held its breath.
A low hum stirred the silence.
Without warning, a translucent interface blossomed before Arin's eyes, lines of luminous script and rotating glyphs weaving into shape like constellations aligning. Each symbol pulsed with deliberate rhythm, spiralling outward in sync with his heartbeat—as though the system itself was watching, waiting... responding.
Something ancient had just awakened. And he knew what it is.
[Please pick a name for the skill...]
"Arcane Frame," Arin said with unwavering certainty.
[Skill 'Arcane Frame' has been created.]
(Rank settled at 'Random' by system evaluation.)
[State the use of the skill.]
"I want to create a passive skill," Arin said, his voice steady, shaped by weeks of study, sleepless notes, and countless hours combing through ancient doctrine and modern techniques.
"A limit-breaking passive skill. Name: Arcane Frame."
[Confirmed: Arcane Frame.]
[Classification: Passive Skill.]
[Skill Rank: Random by default.]
[Begin trait description…]
Arin exhaled through his nose, slowly. His gaze narrowed, focusing not on the glowing system screen before him, but inward—on every lesson learned in the last twenty-one days.
"First trait: Adaptability.
In any environment, the user's body will automatically adapt to ensure peak survival. High temperature? The skin will self-regulate, perspiring efficiently, or adjusting its thermal output to prevent overheating. Cold? Blood vessels will constrict appropriately; cellular insulation will increase. In low-oxygen areas, or poisonous zones, the body filters toxins and reduces oxygen demand. If submerged, it will mimic aquatic respiration by processing dissolved oxygen through the skin and lungs."
[Description accepted.]
"Second trait: Evolutionary Absorption.
The user's body will passively absorb ambient mana or elemental energies from the environment, whether from ley currents, battle residue, or simply background atmospheric mana. The process is subconscious and continuous. When the body's internal energy cap is reached, the skill will initiate compression, increasing efficiency. Once compressed storage saturates, the body will enter a forced evolutionary cycle—enhancing mana channels, strengthening organ resilience, and increasing total energy capacity.
This process repeats infinitely. No active command required. The body changes in response to its environment. Always growing."
[Description accepted.]
[Calculating structural integrity of combined traits...]
[Warning: Skill complexity exceeds standard parameters for S-Rank skills. Compatibility risk: 12%.]
[Skill Rank stabilised as SS-Rank]
[Would you like to proceed?]
"Proceed," Arin said, without hesitation.
[Congratulations! You have successfully created and learned the SS-Rank Passive Skill: Arcane Frame.]
The chamber pulsed.
Arin flinched—his instincts screamed, but his body froze. Not out of fear, but awe.
The air collapsed inward, as though a void had opened inside his chest. Mana—pure, formless, colourless—rushed toward him from every direction. It wasn't violent. It wasn't forceful. It was... hungry. Like the world had been waiting for this moment. For him.
It slid across his skin like silk, soaking through his pores, vanishing into his abdomen regulating in his body from toe to head and converging into circular colorless core. Not in torrents—but in a slow, steady, dignified stream. The kind of energy that did not need to roar to be felt. The kind that commanded by existing.
His spine tingled. His breath caught.
And then… a heartbeat.
No, something deeper than that. Like the world itself had acknowledged his evolution.
The Arcane Frame had activated.
There was no chant. No light show. Just... a change. He was still Arin. But the version of him from five minutes ago already felt obsolete.
He stood slowly, flexing his fingers, rolling his shoulders. His breath didn't fog in the cold chamber air—it was already adjusted. His body temperature? Optimal. His heartbeat? Steady. Mana? Flowing in, saturating, coiling like a serpent ready to strike—efficient and controlled.
This wasn't just power.
It was potential unchained.
And the mana… it was colourless.
It was potential unchained.
Most Awakened, naturally bonded with an element. Their mana would tint itself—crimson for fire, deep blue for water, forest green for wood, and so on. This elemental affinity not only defined their magical prowess but also shaped their identity within the arcane hierarchy. But Arin? He hadn't awakened an elemental class. Not yet. His mana remained raw, unaligned. Pure. Colourless. This lack of affinity made it slower to manipulate, harder to define… but it also meant one thing:
It was adaptable. Unlocked. Free to shape.
In one of the novels he'd read back on Earth—an obscure cultivation web-novel with a loyal but small fandom—Arin remembered a passage that had captivated his imagination. The protagonist theorized that mana was not just energy but a form of dimensional scaffolding. Not merely a fuel, but a cosmic blueprint underpinning reality itself.
The main character had constructed something called a Singularity Core—a condensed, rotating sphere of mana within his body. It wasn't located in the heart, lungs, or brain but suspended in an internal dimensional field carved through the manipulation of spatial mana. A space within body itself. A bubble reality.
Arin recalled the vivid description: "Like birthing a universe inside your gut."
This Singularity Core didn't just accumulate mana; it grew exponentially. Compressed. Stabilized. Evolved. Each depletion of mana was followed by a replenishment from this inner mana universe. The protagonist dubbed it the "Big Bang Protocol."
Arin had never forgotten that chapter. He'd even doodled designs in a physics notebook once—lines and glyphs tracing rotational orbits of mana particles. In school, it had been a dream.
Now?
Now it was a prototype.
His body was beginning to simulate that process.
No class. No element. No bounded form.
Arcane Frame was not merely biological. It was metaphysical. With every drop of ambient mana it absorbed, it traced paths across his veins, embedded circuits into muscle memory, and etched arcane pathways into the architecture of his being.
Already, Arin felt his inner mana channels widen. Pressure didn't build. Instead, the mana compacted—like coiling a spring without tension.
And the most astonishing part?
He didn't have to do anything.
No breathing patterns. No focus exercises. No meditation.
His body did it on its own. Just a skill—a single, passive skill—laying the groundwork.
—