Beyond Realities

In the vast stretch of Greendale Forest, where the trees towered like ancient giants and the air smelled of pine and earth, a group of young awakened warriors had set up camp beneath the open sky. The flicker of firelight danced in the middle of a circle, where five promising talents from noble families gathered—young, bright, and brimming with energy (well, most of them).

Among them was Vaelenor Vaelen, twenty years old, a noble by name, and a walking contradiction by nature. Despite his intimidating surname and sharp yellow eyes that looked like they could see through a man's soul, he was… well, currently wrestling with a burnt fish he failed to cook properly.

"I swear this fire hates me," Vaelenor muttered, poking at the blackened mess skewered over the flame. The fish wobbled and fell into the fire with a sad sizzle.

"You hate the fire. The fire hates you. That makes you two even," said Lance Caelum, the ever-hyper, ever-smiling energy ball of the group. He was bouncing on a log like it was a trampoline, tossing a knife into the air and catching it while laughing at his own jokes. "Ten points for the flame! Zero for Vael's dinner!"

"Shut up, Lance," Vaelenor grumbled, hiding the red crawling up his neck. "Some of us didn't grow up with a private chef."

"I didn't either!" Lance grinned. "I had two!"

Across the fire, Seraphina Emberlyn sat with her legs crossed, her long hair glowing faintly in the firelight. She was gracefully carving a rune into a piece of wood, calm as always—elegant, mysterious, and completely unaware that Vaelenor's gaze had drifted to her for the seventh time that night.

He quickly turned back to his ruined fish.

She probably likes guys who can cook... or summon stars. Not guys who burn fish and trip on roots.

Beside Seraphina sat Alcred Grantz, arms folded and cloak half-draped across his shoulder like he didn't want to be part of the group—but hadn't left either. His eyes scanned the forest silently, always alert, always quiet. He gave off the vibe of someone who had seen too much for his age, but also had the patience to endure idiots like Lance.

"Oi, Alcred!" Lance called, waving. "Bet you can't eat a glowing mushroom and stay standing!"

"Bet you can," Alcred said without looking up.

Meanwhile, the youngest in the circle, Simon Vaelen, sat with a straight back, polishing his sword with careful precision. The light from the fire glinted across his serious face. At eighteen, he was already a prodigy in swordsmanship—but he was still annoyingly stoic.

"Simon, do you ever smile?" Vaelenor asked, watching his younger brother with mild irritation.

Simon looked up. "I smile when it matters."

Lance leaned in, whispering loudly to Seraphina, "Translation: He smiles twice a year."

Simon ignored him.

Despite their clashing personalities, the five made up the youngest branch of an elite unit—The Spade Team. Greendale was their current training site, a calm before the storm, or so they were told.

And while the others bantered, ate, or sharpened their weapons, Vaelenor kept stealing glances at Seraphina, every now and then trying to fix his posture or pretend to be thoughtful whenever she looked his way.

"Vael, you're burning your other fish," Seraphina said softly, not looking up from her carving.

Vaelenor jolted. "W-What?!"

Smoke rose from the stick beside him, confirming her words.

Lance howled with laughter.

"Hopeless!" he declared, pointing. "Seraphina notices your fish, not your face, bro!"

Vaelenor sighed and covered his face with one hand. He really hoped the forest would swallow him whole.

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(Vaelenor's POV)

So there I was—surrounded by legends. The Spade Team. The kingdom's elite. And me?

Yeah, I'm Vaelenor Vaelen. The eldest son of the noble Vaelen family, bearer of the greatest surname in Archeon… and the weakest awakened among them.

We were gathered deep inside Greendale Forest, camping in a circle like some perfect storybook team. There was Seraphina Emberlyn, beautiful and composed as ever, her eyes glowing with soft fire. I swear I heard violins when she smiled. Ugh… control yourself, Vaelenor. She might actually notice you drooling.

Alcred Grantz, our silent swordsman, leaned back against a log, looking like he could slice a boulder in half with his eyebrow.

Lance Caelum, the hyperactive lightning bolt of the group, was juggling glowing stones, screaming, "Hey hey hey, look at me!" while his younger brother Simon Vaelen—yes, my younger brother—watched him with the same face he uses for battle: calm, unreadable, disgustingly perfect.

And me?

I was poking the dirt with a pickaxe.

"Do I even belong here?" I muttered, half-hoping the ground would just open up and swallow me whole. The only thing I've awakened is my talent for feeling useless.

The team was laughing, telling stories, enjoying the fire—and I was off to the side pretending to admire moss just to avoid being reminded I'm the extra.

But then—

A breeze passed. My skin crawled.

Something was coming.

"Guys…" I stood up, suddenly alert. "Something's approaching."

I could feel it—danger, thick and heavy, like a storm coiling in the shadows.

Suddenly, a pack of giant wolverines leapt from the trees, bigger than any beast I'd seen, their fur matted with mana and their claws gleaming with red light.

My instinct?

I froze.

But the others?

Lance let out a wild yell and launched himself into the fray, flipping through the air and slamming his feet into the first wolverine's face.

Alcred unsheathed his blade with a whisper of metal, eyes cold as frost.

Seraphina raised her hand, her aura shimmering like morning sun, and sent a shockwave that tore two beasts apart.

Simon moved like wind. No sound. No effort. One slash—one beast down.

...And here I was. Again. With my pickaxe.

One of the fallen wolverines' cores cracked open, spilling a faint glow.

"Well… if I can't kill 'em, might as well mine 'em." I grinned, digging the mana gem free. "Heh… who's useless now?"

Then I heard it. A deep growl.

I turned slowly.

A giant alpha wolf was behind me, breath hot against my face, its eyes burning like coals.

I curled into a ball and covered my head with both arms. "This is it! Lord, please let me die handsomely—"

But then—

A blade split the air. The wolf dropped.

I opened my eyes, blinking.

Standing there, sword out, hair slightly messy, eyes still sharp—

Simon. My little brother.

"Nyehhh…" I groaned. "Of course… it had to be him."

He offered a hand.

"Are you alright, brother?" he asked, looking genuinely worried.

Stop caring, damn it! That just makes me feel worse!

I stood up on my own, brushing myself off and refusing to meet his eyes.

Behind him, the rest of the Spade Team was clapping, giving Simon all the praise.

"Simon really is the future of Archeon."

"Strong, smart, composed…"

I stood there like a forgotten bookmark, arms crossed, expression frozen.

One day… I'll be stronger than all of you. Just you wait.

"No one respects the pickaxe," I muttered under my breath. "But soon… I'll mine destiny itself."

Alcred stretched. "We're heading back. Camp's done."

"Tch. That guy again," I muttered. "Always acting like he's my older brother… we're the same age, damn it."

We began our walk back to Archeon City—the great kingdom ruled by my family.

King Alaric Vaelen. Queen Lyria. My sister Sophia. My genius brother Simon.

And me? The eldest. The disappointment. Vaelenor Vaelen.

They say my mana core is "asleep." Sleeping? I'm right here, alive, breathing! Why's my power on snooze mode?

Whatever.

Let them praise Simon. Let them laugh.

I'll awaken. I'll rise. I'll explode like a phoenix swinging a pickaxe.

I smirked… and I tripped over a root.

Flat on my face.

Again.

After the Greendale forest trip, we finally returned to the capital—Archeon. The gates of the grand Vaelen Palace loomed tall and majestic, its gold-lined banners fluttering like they were mocking me for being a noble without power.

Everyone from Team Spade went their separate ways to rest. Simon walked with that usual calm confidence, greeted by the guards like some future king. Seraphina waved goodbye to everyone with her elegant grace, and my heart waved back like a fool. Alcred… well, that guy didn't even say goodbye. He just yawned and vanished—probably into someone's rooftop.

And me?

Of course, I didn't rest.

I dragged my tired body straight to the training grounds.

This is the place where I belong. Dirt. Sweat. Regret.

The sun was setting, casting a golden glow across the field. The air was crisp. Peaceful.

And there I was—standing alone, holding my one and only weapon…

A pickaxe.

Not a sword. Not a staff. Not even a proper dagger. Just a goddamn mining tool.

"Alright, old buddy," I muttered, patting the handle like it was my best friend. "It's you and me again."

SWOOSH!

I swung hard at a wooden dummy. The pickaxe bounced off like a spoon hitting a rock.

"Tch… still weak," I sighed, wiping the sweat from my forehead. My arms were sore, and my pride was even sorer.

But I didn't stop.

I swung again. And again. My muscles screamed, my breath grew heavy, but I kept going.

Day in. Day out. No fancy technique. No flashy aura. Just hard work and stubbornness.

The guards nearby sometimes stared.

"Isn't that the firstborn of House Vaelen?"

"Yeah… training with a pickaxe…"

"Does he… know he's a noble?"

Yeah. I heard you, bruh. I heard everything.

But I didn't care.

Because deep inside, I knew—one day, this sleeping core inside me will awaken. The psychic said so! Even though I still don't understand how the hell a 'sleeping core' works when I wake up every day before sunrise!

"I'm not weak," I said aloud, swinging harder. "I'm just… in my tutorial phase."

The pickaxe landed with a loud THUD, cracking a chunk off the training boulder. I blinked.

"Huh?! Did I… just break a rock?"

I looked around.

No one saw it.

No one ever does.

Typical.

But for the first time that day, I smiled. Maybe just a little.

"Watch out, world," I whispered, resting the pickaxe on my shoulder. "The Pickaxe Hero is coming."