Chapter 132: Sand > book! what!!!!?
He didn’t rush it.
After that first clean step, Si Hon stayed where he was, eyes lowered to the open pages as he kept reading, letting the rhythm of the skill settle into him bit by bit. Once or twice, he tried moving again— small attempts, subtle shifts— but they weren’t as clean. A little off. A little late. His foot dragged once, his balance slipped the next. Not a failure... just unfinished.
"..Still sloppy," he muttered under his breath, more thoughtful than annoyed, flipping a page as if the answer might be hiding tucked somewhere between the lines.
Then—
"Dad!"
The voice came from behind him, loud enough to break his focus cleanly.
Si Hon paused mid motion, the book lowering slightly as he turned his head. Han stood a short distance away, already looking excited about something, energy practically spilling out of him.
Si Hon closed the book with a soft snap and walked over, expression calm, neutral as always. "Yeah?"
Han didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he straightened just a little, that familiar spark flickering back into his expression as his hands lifted instinctively— not quite steady, not fully controlled, but guided by something he didn’t need to understand to follow. His fingers hovered in the air for a brief second, like he was reaching for something invisible... and then his lips parted.
What came out wasn’t normal speech.
It wasn’t a language Si Hon knew.
It sounded older.
Structured.
Each word carried a weight that didn’t belong to casual conversation, syllables rolling off his tongue with a strange rhythm— uneven, yet deliberate, like something memorized by instinct rather than thought.
A chant.
Low.
Soft.
But steady.
"ᚨᚱᚲ... ᛋᚨᚾᛞ... ᚠᛟᚱᛗ... ᚲᛟᚷᚾᚨ..." (TR: Origin... Sand... Form... Define...)
The words rolled out in a strange rhythm, unfamiliar sounds layered with meaning that didn’t quite belong to any language Si Hon recognized. Each syllable felt placed, intentional— like it was pulling on something unseen.
Si Hon didn’t interrupt.
Instead he just stood there, watching, one hand lifting slightly as he tapped his chin, eyes narrowing just a fraction as he followed the flow of it. The sounds weren’t random— there was rhythm, structure, intent, and for a brief second, something in his head shifted.
Not a full realization.
Just a click.
A small, quiet alignment of thoughts.
Fragments of memory slipped in— lazy, uninvited, like they’d been waiting for a moment like this. Late nights in his own living room, stretched out across a couch that cost more than most people’s rent, the glow of an oversized eighty five inch TV screen < (important in the story I swear) painting the walls in shifting colors.
Random clips, shows he half paid attention to, scenes playing while he scrolled or dozed off— magic circles flaring to life, characters chanting in strange, made up languages, symbols hanging in the air as reality bent like it had rules you could just... rewrite.
Back then, it was just a background noise.
Cool to look at.
Easy to ignore.
Something you didn’t question because it wasn’t real— and more importantly, it didn’t matter.
But now—
Now it was happening right in front of him.
Same feeling.
Different weights.
His gaze sharpened just slightly, attention locking in as the pieces lined up, not perfectly, not completely, but enough to form a rough idea of what he was looking at.
"Runes?" he muttered quietly to himself, more curious than surprised.
The chant continued.
"ᛖᚾᚷᚱᚨᚢᛖ... ᛋᚺᚨᛈᛖ... ᛗᚨᚾᛁᚠᛖᛋᛏ..." (TR: Engrave the shape... manifest it into reality.)
The sand beneath him shifted.
At first, it was subtle— just a faint tremble, grains sliding over each other like something underneath had started breathing. Then it lifted. Slowly. The surface rising in uneven clumps before smoothing out, pulling together as if guided by invisible threads.
Si Hon’s steps slowed.
Then stopped.
His eyes locked unto it.
The sand gathered tighter, compressing, shaping— edges forming where there shouldn’t be edges, structure emerging where there had only been loose grains seconds ago!!! It folded in on itself, layers stacking, refining—
And then—
Poof.
The shape settled.
A book.
A comic book— freshly formed, hovering for a brief second in the air as if the world itself hadn’t decided whether to let it exist yet. It hung there, pages still, edges clean... like it had just been pulled out of nothing and told to behave.
Then—
Gravity remembered that "she" exists! And—
The book tipped, slipping downward—
And Han caught it.
Clean.
Natural.
Like he’d been expecting it all along.
His face lit up instantly, eyes bright as he pulled it close, excitement bubbling over before he could even hold it in.
"See?!" he said holding it up like a trophy, eyes shining brighter than before "Oh My God! Dad— this book is amazing!"
Si Hon didn’t answer.
Not immediately.
He just stared.
His gaze lingered on the book, then shifted to the sand beneath Han, then back to the book again— like he was trying to catch the moment it stopped making sense.
Nothing flashy.
No dramatic aura.
Just... sand turning into a book.
Clean.
Natural.
Like it wasn’t supposed to be impossible.
And that’s what made it worse.
Si Hon’s eyes stayed on the book for a moment longer than necessary, his expression not changing much— calm on the surface, unreadable— but something beneath him shifted, just slightly, like his thoughts were trying to catch up to what he had just seen.
(I know it’s a book that can manipulate reality but...)
"Huh."
The sound left him quietly, almost delayed, like his reaction had to catch up to what he just saw.
For a second longer, he said nothing.
Then he moved again, the stillness breaking as he reached out and gave Han a light pat on the head. "That’s..." he started, pausing briefly as if choosing the right word, "pretty good."
Simple.
But genuine.
Han lit up even more at that, immediately hugging the book closer like it meant twice as much now.
Si Hon’s hand dropped back to his side, his gaze drifting away again— just slightly, just enough for the thought to settle in where no one else could hear it.
(What the FUCK.)
His eyes narrowed a fraction, not in suspicion— just quiet disbelief.
(Is it just me...)
A short pause.
(Or is everyone around me either ridiculously strong... or just straight up talented?)