Lucid Veins

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CHAPTER 21: THE WORLD WITHOUT MANA

*"Some dreams aren't escapes. They are instructions."

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🌙 Scene One: The Dreamworld Returns

Silence. Then wind.

It began with a slow, rising hum—like a melody echoing through an endless void. Nicolas felt weightless, as though floating through layers of memory. His body wasn't his own, not exactly. It shimmered with translucent light, phasing through shadows of thoughts and dreams. His hands were empty, but the air around them shimmered like he held fire.

The void blinked.

Then suddenly—

A world emerged beneath his feet.

He stood at the edge of a spiraling garden, one that defied the logic of nature or architecture. Trees with glowing bark twisted into the sky. Stone paths floated mid-air, each tile inscribed with symbols from forgotten languages. Streams of glassy water ran backward, carrying fish made of mist.

The Dream World.

The same place he had come to once before. A place that existed between dimensions, where time bent and thoughts were loud.

He remembered it now. The stars in the sky weren't stars, but fragments of his past. Each one flickered with moments he'd lived or might one day live.

A shape appeared in front of him, forming out of dust and light—a silhouette of grace and intellect.

Head.

His face was unreadable, eyes like twin pools of starlight.

"Well done," Head said, voice deep, soft, and echoing in every direction.

Nicolas breathed in slowly. He felt something strange in his chest: peace.

"You saved that world," Head continued. "Not just with power, but with choice."

Nicolas lowered his gaze.

"I won," he whispered. "We won."

A silence passed between them. It wasn't empty. It was full.

Then Nicolas looked up.

"But... Head, why didn't I get any new skill in this world? In my own world?"

Head raised an eyebrow. "That," he said, "is an excellent question."

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🚀 Scene Two: The Voice Within

Before Head could speak again, a low vibration buzzed in the air.

From behind the spiraling trees, a voice emerged. Calm. Mechanical. Familiar.

"I can explain."

The sound of footsteps. The light shimmered, and the ground beneath Nicolas rippled like water.

From the air itself, the AI Suit materialized—not in wearable form, but as a humanoid projection. Metallic plates hovered in motion around its core. A face made of shifting pixels glowed softly, and its voice hummed with coded rhythm.

"Your world," it said, "lacks mana."

Nicolas tilted his head.

"Then why did I even come from there? Why was the Copy Skill born from me if my world doesn't have what it needs?"

The AI Suit replied:

"Because this world is not meant to activate the skill. It is meant to nurture the one who holds it."

Nicolas frowned.

"Meaning?"

"In worlds with mana," the AI said, "you can copy abilities. Magic. Constructs of power."

"But here?"

"You copy actions. Movement. Emotion. Precision. You study the soul of the act—and replicate it with near-perfect fidelity."

Nicolas blinked.

"Fighting... dancing... speaking..."

The AI nodded. "Humanity."

Head stepped beside him.

"The skill has evolved, Nicolas. It isn't bound to a single definition. It grows as you grow. This world teaches you something no warzone ever can."

Nicolas stared out at the floating garden.

"I thought I was weak here. But I was just learning differently."

"Exactly."

The AI Suit's voice deepened.

"Now that you have awakened your core, the Copy Skill exists inside you at all times. Though you cannot use magic here, you are still becoming stronger."

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⏳ Scene Three: The Truth of Time

The stars above began to dim. The garden shivered. A wind picked up, but this time it carried no whisper. Only urgency.

Head turned, his face darkening.

"We don't have long."

Nicolas looked at him.

"Why?"

"Because time in your world is fragile now. The more you jump dimensions, the more strain it puts on your soul."

The AI Suit added:

"You have used the AI Suit once. The jump to UK-472 consumed the first of two charges. You have one left."

Nicolas froze.

"Only... one?"

"Yes. And when it is used, you may not return so easily."

Nicolas clenched his fists.

"So I have to choose where I go next."

Head nodded.

"And when."

The AI Suit began to fade. Its image turned transparent.

"I will sleep until then," it said.

Head stepped forward.

"Now go. Take what you have learned. Your world isn't just a home. It's a lesson."

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📅 Scene Four: Awakening

A sudden jolt.

Nicolas's body snapped back. His lungs filled with morning air. His eyes opened to his ceiling.

He was back.

Sunlight poured through the window.

His bedsheets were tangled from twisting in sleep. The sound of birds came through the open window.

Nicolas sat up slowly, blinking.

Everything looked so... normal.

But inside, he felt changed. Grounded. Awake.

"Brother!" Anya's voice called from outside. "We're going to be late!"

Nicolas rubbed his face.

"From warzones to science fairs," he muttered. "What a life."

He stepped out of bed, his feet landing with purpose.

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🏫 Scene Five: Subtle Power

Later that day, at the school festival, Nicolas stood near the gymnasium.

A classmate performed a karate demo on stage—precise strikes, spinning kicks, deep stances.

Nicolas watched. His eyes followed every motion.

Then, behind the curtain, alone, he mimicked the moves.

His body moved perfectly.

Every angle, every breath, every shift of balance.

A teacher passing by stopped, jaw dropping.

"You... trained before?"

Nicolas simply smiled.

"I guess I learn fast."

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🌌 Scene Six: Rooftop Whisper

That night, Nicolas stood alone on the rooftop, the sky a blanket of silver clouds.

He looked up at the stars.

In his hand, he held a journal. Empty pages. Waiting.

He whispered:

"One world saved. One truth learned. One choice left."

The Copy Skill pulsed faintly inside him—not as power, but as understanding.

And he knew:

The next world would test not his strength...

But his soul.

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📖 Author's POV

For once, the world felt quiet.

No screaming. No mocking laughter. No shoves in the hallway. No cruel tricks waiting behind every classroom door.

Because today—Kelly was absent.

The school's most persistent bully was nowhere to be seen. And with that absence came a fragile kind of peace. Nicolas and Anya walked the corridors like shadows barely noticed. There were no whispered insults. No waiting tensions.

Just... a normal school day.

In a world that rarely gave them one.

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🌙 Nightfall

That evening, the house was calm.

After dinner, Anya sat on her bed reading a comic book while Nicolas finished scribbling something into a notebook. The air was cool, the lights dimmed. The gentle ticking of the wall clock filled the silence between them.

"Goodnight, Niko," Anya said, pulling her blanket up to her chin.

"Goodnight," Nicolas replied with a tired smile.

They both drifted off to sleep within minutes.

But as Nicolas fell deeper into slumber, something changed.

His mind didn't spiral into the Dream World—the floating garden of memory and reflection.

Instead, it was pulled somewhere brighter.

Somewhere softer.

Somewhere… beautiful.

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🌸 The Writer's World

He opened his eyes to find himself standing in a place unlike anything he'd ever imagined.

The ground beneath him was soft, covered in glowing green grass that shimmered faintly with every step. A gentle river flowed nearby, sparkling beneath moonlight that cast everything in a silver hue. Birds chirped softly from glowing trees. Colorful animals—half real, half dream—moved freely. Ducks swam together in pairs. Butterflies the size of his hands fluttered through the air.

The scent of flowers filled his lungs.

Peace lived here.

Ahead of him, sitting upon a large, flower-shaped chair at the center of a garden clearing, was a boy. Not much older than Nicolas—perhaps the same age, maybe a year more. His beauty was unreal. Not just handsome, but celestial. His golden eyes sparkled like stars, his hair fell like flowing ink, and his smile carried the weight of a hundred stories.

He sat behind a desk made of woven vines and petals. Around him, books floated in the air like leaves caught in a gentle breeze.

The boy looked up from the pages of a glowing tome.

His voice was gentle. Calm. Kind.

"Welcome, Nicolas."

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