Flames raged and spread like wildfire, devouring everything in sight. Blood had been spilled, dyeing the ground in a deep, haunting crimson. Swords and broken weapons lay scattered, painted red by the carnage. And at the center of it all stood a lone young man—frozen in place amidst the horrors of what could only be described as a battlefield of shattered hearts and satisfied vengeance.
He stood there, dazed. Confused. Terrified. His eyes scanned the scene in disbelief, a desperate desire to escape clawing at his chest—but his body refused to move. Not a single finger twitched. It was as if invisible chains held him down, like some cruel hand had reached out from the earth itself and anchored him in place. Chains of wrath and grief wrapped around his neck and limbs, binding him like a prisoner of war.
With every passing second in that nightmare of a place, sanity chipped away bit by bit. He could feel it—the slow, agonizing unraveling of his mind.
He couldn't look away. Couldn't even blink. His eyes, like blood, stared blankly at the blood-soaked hell surrounding him.
"...I... can't...!"
His breathing turned ragged, desperate—like a fish flopping helplessly on dry land.
His body no longer obeyed him. The chains wouldn't even let him collapse. So he shut his eyes, hoping—praying—that doing so might numb the overwhelming dread swallowing him whole.
Of course, it didn't.
The crushing weight in his chest only tightened.
And then... after what felt like an eternity—though it was likely just a few seconds—a voice echoed in his ears. A voice that sounded both strange and terrifyingly familiar. Deep. Gruff. Piercingly clear.
"Blood shall stain the hands once dormant.
Judgment stirs, its blade thirsting for the breath of all things.
Ruination walks, eyes blind yet all-seeing—
Awareness is no mercy.
Awaken… and remember what was buried beneath the flesh."
"Wh-what...!?"
The words hit him like a curse—no, a spell. A forbidden chant to awaken some ancient beast meant to destroy the world.
With each repetition, agony stabbed through his chest and skull. He trembled violently, chains rattling as he tried—failed—to break free.
Again and again, the voice chanted. Again and again, the pain surged.
"Shut up...!!"
He clenched his hands, struggling to bring them to his ears, to shut it out—to block that voice from tearing his mind apart.
But it was inside.
Inside him.
Finally, he let out a scream—an unholy, soul-ripping cry that could shatter eardrums if anyone had been nearby.
And just like that—
The world shattered.
The voice vanished.
Everything faded into a suffocating, eternal darkness.
---
Then, in the very next instant, he woke up.
Gasping.
His body soaked in sweat, chest heaving like he'd been running for hours without rest. He clutched his chest, panting desperately for air, eyes wide with confusion and panic.
He looked around.
An empty room.
Just a bed... a wardrobe... and nothing else.
"Haah… haah… a dream?"
That was the only explanation that made sense.
"..."
"Huh?"
He felt something shift beside him. Something small.
Turning his head slowly, he found a young girl standing by his bedside, clinging to him.
"Ah…"
He didn't say anything else. Just stared at her.
Her honey-brown eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. Her face was twisted in an expression of deep fear and concern.
"B-Brother...? What's wrong??"
Her voice trembled, soft and fragile. She looked at him like he'd just come back from the dead—like he'd faced a monster and barely made it out alive.
The boy, her brother, just sat there, eyes darting across the room, down to his own body—half-expecting to find some bullet wound or hole in his chest.
That only made her worry grow worse.
"Brother...?"
She called out again, more gently this time.
He finally blinked. Once, twice, three times—coming back to reality little by little. And then, his gaze settled on her once more, noticing the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.
Quickly, almost too quickly, the expression on his face vanished—swallowed whole by a fake smile.
"Ah, good morning, Alia. I didn't notice you there. Were you watching your big brother while he slept? That's not a very proper thing to do, you know."
He was trying to diffuse the tension, playing the situation like he always did—lighthearted teasing to make her argue back, to shift the mood, to anchor things in normalcy. Something familiar.
But, perhaps he had misunderstood the situation entirely.
"Shiro? Are you alright? You look pale... Do you need a doctor? You were screaming in your sleep just now."
Alia ignored the morning greeting entirely. Her voice was soaked in worry, trembling just slightly at the edges.
Shiro couldn't respond—not to the questions, not to the fear in her tone. He hadn't seen what he looked like while he slept: the way he'd been sweating, convulsing, barely held in place by her tiny hands clutching his arms, stopping him from rolling off the bed.
Of course, Alia hadn't seen the dream. But she knew. She knew pain when she saw it.
Meanwhile, trapped inside that nightmare, Shiro hadn't known who was beside him, hadn't known what his body was doing at all.
He had no idea what it meant for a child like her to witness such a terrifying scene.
He couldn't grasp the weight it left behind in her small heart.
Still smiling—still clinging to the lie—he spoke again, trying to brush it all off.
"Oh no, don't worry. It was just a dream... A flying dragon! Yeah, a massive one! Wreathed in flames! It was trying to eat me!"
What a shameless liar.
Shiro had always lied to his little sister. Always with gentle words, soft tones, harmless stories. He told himself it was for her sake. That it was better she didn't know.
That he was terrified of his own shadow.
That darkness made his skin crawl.
That he once lost to a wild boar and ran crying through the woods.
He hid everything.
And of course, he never expected her to know things like… that they weren't even blood-related. Just a pair of children pretending to be siblings. But even then, Shiro didn't want to be seen as weak.
What would happen if his little sister thought he was a coward?
Wouldn't it be better to be her reliable, cool older brother?
Isn't that what we all want to be?
But what that master liar didn't know... was that Alia knew everything.
Yes—this twelve-year-old girl knew all of it.
Every lie he told, every time he tried to hide his fear behind empty words—she saw through it all.
And every time, she'd pretend not to notice.
Sometimes she'd wait, just to expose him later in the most dramatic, devastating way.
Sometimes, she'd just hold onto it in silence.
And in return, Shiro never noticed a thing.
Yes, she was a liar too—on a completely different level.
Should a twelve-year-old be capable of that level of deception?
Absolutely not.
But that was the kind of bond the two of them shared.
Of course she cared about him—of course she was terrified when he screamed and thrashed in his sleep. But because she cared, she pretended.
She faked being fooled, just to ease his heart.
A twisted way of showing love.
"A dragon?" she echoed.
"Yup! It was enormous!"
"And what did you do?"
"Well, I wanted to fight it, like the heroes do... but, you know, I didn't stand a chance. So I ran."
Aside from the part where he ran away and didn't fight, everything else was a lie.
A dragon that scared him that much? Enough to make him tremble and sweat like that? Sure, maybe. But she wasn't fooled—not by his trembling lips or the cracks in his voice.
Still, she played along.
She always did.
"...Coward."
Without mercy, she cut straight through him.
"!–I'm not a coward! I just—"
"Brother... you looked like a frightened kitten when you woke up. I don't know what kind of dream you had, but I'm not sure it was a dragon chasing you. Could've been a cat."
"…Huh?!"
She kept teasing him, deliberately brushing aside her earlier fear.
Shiro stared at her as she laughed—mocking her pathetic big brother.
And despite how weak he felt... it made him happy. Just a little.
To him, it looked like her fear had passed.
Like she had moved on.
And Alia, for now, decided not to push the matter further.
She replaced her tears with gentle laughter—for his sake.
Again, you'd wonder... is this really a twelve-year-old girl?
"Well, I just wanted to let you know that breakfast's ready—before you start trembling like a duck. Don't be late unless you want me to eat your share."
"Trembling like a duck...? Seriously, where do you even learn these lines?"
Their usual back-and-forth banter lasted a few minutes before his sister finally left the room, leaving Shiro behind, sitting in bed and still processing what he could only describe as either a bizarre dream—or an outright nightmare.
Tied to a pillar, standing in the middle of that square… what could that even mean?
"Maybe it's some kind of bad omen...?"
He gave up trying to make sense of it. With a sigh, he pushed the thought aside and got up from bed.
After making his bed, washing his face, and changing into his usual outfit—a worn-out brown pair of pants and a short-sleeved blue shirt that made him look like any other villager—he looked like your typical country boy. Nothing fancy. Just plain and simple.
And that matched everything else around him. The room. The house. His life.
The house was a modest two-story wooden home. Upstairs were three small rooms—his, his sister's, and a shared bathroom. Downstairs, a cramped kitchen sat tucked into a corner, and a small dining area held a round table with exactly three wooden chairs.
It was the kind of house you'd see everywhere in the village. Not poor, but definitely humble. In fact, almost all the homes in the village followed the same pattern.
"Another typical day in this place…"
Of course, he couldn't hide how bored he felt. He was a young man, surrounded by the elderly. Sure, there were other people his age in the village—but none of them shared his interests or way of thinking.
His daily life was… predictable. Work in the wheat fields from morning till sunset. Come home. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. That's how it's been for years. That's how it would be for many more.
Sure, there were seasonal festivals and the occasional event, but nothing truly exciting.
Shiro didn't care for them much either. But even he couldn't deny… this routine was slowly driving him insane.
I mean, come on. Spending your whole youth stuck in a cycle like that?
Who wouldn't want to run away?
There were only a few things that kept him going, and the biggest one of them—books.
Yeah, Shiro was a bookworm. Not the casual type either. He didn't read to kill time—he read because he loved it.
But that love? It was also part of his curse.
This village, with its barely-there education, only offered the most basic lessons to children. No libraries. No bookshops. Just a handful of old books scattered around, and none of them worth rereading.
Shiro was like a bookworm… without any books to munch on.
Once he was done getting ready, he headed downstairs.
Two people were already seated at the table, where three plates of fried eggs and three glasses of juice were neatly set out.
Yup. The classic setup.
One of them was his sister, Alia, smiling as usual while she dug into her food.
The other? An old man in his late seventies. Deep wrinkles lined his face, his hair and beard white as snow, and his dark eyes sharp even in old age.
Shiro gave the man a short greeting, calling him "Dad," before sitting down and joining them.
Three chairs. Three plates. Three rooms. One bathroom. A tiny kitchen no woman would approve of.
And no sign of a mother in sight.
The table was… quiet.
If you walked in, you might think these were strangers forced to live together. Barely any words. No small talk. No warmth.
But to them? This was normal.
In their house, it was polite to eat in silence.
Except… no one ever said why no one actually spoke.
That silence didn't last long though—not with Alia around.
"Daddy, Daddy! You should've seen Shiro's face when I woke him up! He looked just like a panicked chicken! Fufufu~"
"…Here we go again…"
Shiro muttered under his breath, already sensing the storm coming.
The old man didn't respond at first. You might think he hadn't heard her. But after a moment, he turned his head slowly—almost unnaturally so—and gave her a quiet smile before suddenly letting out a laugh so deep and loud it could terrify the dead.
Yeah, not exactly the kind of laugh that makes you feel safe.
"Hahhahaha! Oh really? Looks like Shiro still needs his cute little sister sleeping next to him so he won't get nightmares!"
Despite his gruff voice and scary looks, the old man cracked up at his daughter's joke—then took it a step further by throwing shade directly at Shiro.
Alia burst out laughing, just as Shiro tried taking a sip of his juice—only to snort it out of his nose.
"Ugh—am I the main course now?! What happened to 'no talking during meals'?!"
He protested as he wiped the spilled juice from his shirt, though he wasn't really mad.
Truth is, Shiro had grown used to being the family's punching bag.
No—more than used to it. It had become his job.
Yeah… he was the household clown.
"I bet you were being chased by a puppy in your dream! Or maybe it was a kitten!"
"Remember that time you screamed because a bat flew at you? You're even scared of animals! Fufufu~"
"I seriously don't know how I live with this kind of family… And who said bats play with humans?! They bring bad luck and chaos, that's what!"
He grumbled, keeping a bitter smile on his face.
You gotta respect the guy.
Being the family's clown? That's a tough gig.
Especially when you didn't choose it.
The family finished their meal rather quickly—naturally, not without the usual jabs and bursts of laughter directed at poor Shiro every couple of minutes.
Afterward, Alia decided to head outside and play. She was ten—just the right age to start attending school. And of course, their humble little village did have a small school building. But… there was one tiny issue.
"Dad... what did the school principal say?"
Shiro's tone was hesitant for some reason, like he already knew the answer wasn't going to be good. His eyes flicked toward his father, who gave him a dry, awkward smile in return.
"Ah, yeah... she said they don't accept 'little monsters' in their school..."
"Ah... I see. Makes sense, I guess. No helping it, huh. We'll just leave her be."
"Yeah... I guess so."
The old man placed a hand on his forehead, letting out a long, weary sigh like the weight of the entire parenting world was pressing down on him.
Now, of course, we've all heard stories about "difficult kids" or "rowdy troublemakers." But Alia? Alia was a different breed entirely.
On her very first day of school, she managed to break the fingers of a boy two years older than her... using nothing but a pencil.
"A pencil, huh... don't you think that's a little much?"
"Yeah... we really should keep an eye on her growth."
"No... Honestly, I think it's a little late for that."
What kind of child breaks someone's fingers with a pencil? Well, if you asked Alia, she'd tell you they were just playing. She stuck the pencil between his fingers and pressed down, hard. Of course, it hurt—but the boy didn't scream. No, that was the mistake.
He tried to act tough in front of a younger girl. Big mistake.
And Alia? That wasn't just a girl. That was a full-blown sadist in training. She knew he was hurting, and that's exactly what made it fun for her. But since he wouldn't show the pain, she kept pressing. Harder. Until he finally screamed his lungs out, calling for the teacher.
And even then, she didn't stop.
"Do you feel pain now? Huh? How does it feel, huh?!"
"They said she was... laughing."
Needless to say, she was expelled that same day. Shiro was called to the school and got chewed out like he was the one who broke the kid's fingers.
"It's literally that kid's fault. If he was hurting, he should've just said so. I would've stopped if he told me," Alia explained calmly afterward, as if what she'd done was the most reasonable thing in the world.
After the tiny monster was banished and the cursed topic was pushed aside, a sense of calm returned to the table. Well… a calmer kind of serious, this time.
As the father stood at the sink, washing the dishes, he glanced over and noticed the worried expression lingering on Shiro's face. Letting out a quiet sigh, he spoke, like someone who already knew the answer.
"So... the dream again?"
It was clear from his tone that this wasn't a one-time thing. This dream... kept coming back.
Shiro looked up, no hesitation in his voice.
"Yeah… still the same one. That damn blood-soaked field. Those cursed voices echoing through my head. I don't even know what it means! If I had any experience in magic—just a little—I might be able to figure it out... but right now? It's just some meaningless nightmare."
Magic, of course, existed in this world. In many forms, each with its own purpose and use. What Shiro was referring to was a particular type: Clairvoyance Magic. It could help interpret dreams with surprising accuracy. And as the name suggests, those who mastered it could even see beyond dreams—a glimpse into the future. Or so the legends claimed. No one had truly reached that level. Yet.
And despite all his time poring through every book in the village library—reading until his eyes stung—he hadn't found a single one that mentioned magic. Only volumes about politics, wars, noble lineages, military strategies... all useless to his current problem.
His father's face twisted into a frown as he looked at his son—clearly struggling, clearly desperate. He slowly approached and spoke in a soft voice.
"My boy… be patient. Neither of us knows much about that magic—or the chants or rituals needed to interpret your dream. Even though you have a magic seed, your knowledge is still lacking. And no one else in this village even has a seed."
That "seed" he mentioned—was the source of one's magical power. A core of energy that allowed someone to tap into and control magic. Each seed came with an element: fire, wind, water, earth, etc. Some rare ones allowed two—or even four—elements. But those were... almost mythical. Shiro only knew what he did from books.
It was a complicated world. Ridiculously so.
Shiro gave a bitter smile. He knew his father was right. No one in the village could help him. If he really wanted answers… he'd have to leave. But was it really worth leaving everything behind—his family—just to understand a dream? A dream that might be nothing more than a symptom of stress?
"You've always been like this, Dad. Straightforward and honest. But you know I'm set on this path. Even just learning the basics of magic would be worth it. In our era, the real useless ones aren't the people born without seeds. No, it's the ones who have them… and choose to do nothing with them. I'd rather leave this village—leave everything behind—than become that kind of person."
He never hid his desires. Of course he'd want to leave this place—this village he'd lived in for so many long, dragging years. And during all that time, not once did he complain. No matter how annoying or thankless the task, he'd always carried it out without hesitation, without a single grumble. Even little Alia knew he wanted to leave someday. And if he really decided to go? No one would stop him. It was his right, after all.
But that nagging sense of responsibility… it always held him back from making what could easily be called a reckless decision.
After hearing his son speak his mind, the old man laughed. Loudly. So loudly, in fact, that his voice practically echoed through the entire house.
Shiro blinked, frozen in place, puzzled and a little scared.
What's so funny? He didn't say anything laugh-worthy.
Was even his desire something to be mocked?
"Son, you're not wrong. Wanting to leave the village isn't shameful at all. In fact, I'll help you pursue that dream however I can."
Shiro felt a spark of joy ignite inside him at his father's warm words. But then…
'Help me'? What does he mean by that? It's not like he has political pull or secret magical powers he's been hiding all this time… right?
He shook it off. Probably just a nice thing to say. Nothing more. No need to overthink it.
But then, after a short silence, his father spoke again.
"Aren't you going to ask me what I meant?"
"Huh?"
'Wasn't that just… emotional support or something?'
That's what Shiro thought. Still, he answered Honestly.
"Maybe it's rude of me to say this… but I didn't ask because I didn't think you could actually do anything. I figured you were just trying to cheer me up a bit."
"Well, that's a little rude."
"…Sorry."
It was rude, no doubt. But it was also the truth. This old man had nothing to offer. Or so Shiro thought. But of course, who wouldn't get curious after hearing something so out of the blue?
"Say… do you know about Stalefort Academy?"
Wait, what?
"Stalefort? That's… a private academy that teaches magic, right?"
"Is that all you know? Tch, you still have a lot to learn. But never mind that. What do you think of the place?"
Now Shiro was just plain confused. What did his father want with his opinion of a magic academy? Why even bring it up?
"It's not just a school… It's the school. The biggest, most prestigious academy for learning magic and its arts. But... I don't quite get your point. Could you clarify?"
Without answering right away, the old man walked over, his large frame coming to a stop right in front of Shiro.
Now don't go imagining him as a frail old man with a cane and a crooked back. That'd be a mistake. Despite his age, he was well-built, moved smoothly, and looked like he could wrestle a bear if he felt like it.
Never underestimate old folks.
He reached out, placing a large hand gently on Shiro's head, and looked at him with a strange softness in his eyes. That only made Shiro more suspicious.
Before he could ask, the old man dropped a bomb on him:
> "Since you know what Stalefort is… then I suppose it's fine to tell you.
You've been officially accepted to take the entrance exam."
"…HUH?!"
Shiro's eyes went wide, his jaw almost hitting the floor. It was the happiest thing he'd ever heard—and yet, too good to believe.
Stalefort. The most elite magical academy in the world. Every graduate was a legend, a name etched into history.
No wonder his brain short-circuited. He jumped out of his chair and fired off question after question like a madman:
"Wait—what does that even mean?! Did I mishear you?! How—how could that even—?! I'm sorry for yelling but seriously, WHAT ARE YOU EVEN SAYING?!"
The volume. The tone. The sheer panic in his voice. Yeah, he couldn't help it.
His father just nodded, not the least bit fazed.
After all, Stalefort's tuition alone could buy their entire village.
And that's if you even got the chance to take the entrance exam—rumor was, the exam itself had requirements. You had to be strong, knowledgeable in magic, and capable of taking down a small dragon… solo.
And Shiro? Yeah, no.
This kid probably couldn't take on a goat.
Not exaggerating.
But somehow, his father had gotten him in. Or so he claimed.
"I know, I know. Sounds like a dumb joke, right? But it's real. Let me put it properly."
The old man cleared his throat and suddenly spoke in a deep, commanding tone:
"Shiro Leonard! You have officially been selected to participate in the entrance examination for the greatest magic academy on the continent—Stalefort Academy!
You have one week to prepare before the examination begins.
…That's what the acceptance letter said, anyway."
Shiro's legs buckled a little, and he slumped forward, his head hanging low.
It felt like winning the lottery without even buying a ticket.
But, apparently, that was what happened.
Somehow.
"So, what do you think?"
Shiro took a deep breath and lifted his trembling hands to his face.
They were shaking—shaking from joy. His father's words had hit like a meteor.
He clenched his fists tightly, raised his head, and stared straight at his father, eyes blazing with passion.
>
"I don't know if this is a dream or not…
But yes! I'll take the exam—and I'll pass!
I don't know how you pulled this off, or what strings you had to pull, and I know you won't tell me even if I ask.
But no matter what it takes—I'll do it!"
"Ahaha… Honestly, I'm a little hurt by how fast you're ready to leave us behind. I expected you to hesitate, maybe say something like, 'But what about the village? Who'll help you with the work?'
I wasn't expecting you to completely forget about poor little Alia, but wow, way to disappoint me, kid."
Ouch. That was a direct hit to the chest.
But… was there really anyone who could take care of that sadistic gremlin?
"No… I didn't mean to—"
He'd gotten too carried away.
But seriously—who wouldn't? Being accepted into Stalefort, of all places?
For nobles, just qualifying for the exam was a huge honor.
"Haha, don't worry. I'm joking.
This is your chance, Shiro. Don't waste it. Forget this dying village full of old bones and go carve out your future!
And don't worry about me—I'm not that old yet. I can take care of myself.
Now go chase your destiny, boy!"
With those words, Shiro's heart burned even hotter.
But… what was Stalefort really? Why was it so expensive? What made it so special?
And what kind of test would it be?
Those questions haunted Shiro all week.
It was, without a doubt, the longest week of his life.
He dedicated every second of it to training his frail body—even just a little—and studying from a small notebook his father had handed him.
That notebook was packed with spell formulas, skill techniques, and magical theory—stuff he'd never even heard of before.
It even talked about the origins of magic itself.
Of course, there was no way he could finish the whole thing in a single week—it was thick, dense, and full of mystery.
And no, he didn't know where his father got it, or how.
And no, his father wasn't about to explain.
But finally, the long week came to an end.
And it was time to leave the village and face the test that would change his life forever.