Morning light slipped through the cracks in the wooden window, nudging at Elira's swollen eyelids—swollen from sleep... and maybe something else she refused to admit.
She groaned softly, pulling the blanket up to her nose. There was a lingering warmth—not just of the bed, but of someone who'd left too recently.
So warm. So comforting.
But...
…it wasn't hers.
She opened her eyes fully.
"Kael?"
The room was empty. The mat beside her had gone cold. The coat was gone. Only the damp scent of wood and last night's dew hung in the morning air.
Silence.
Her body stretched lazily, but her heart beat a little harder.
Was that all just a dream? But… there's no way I'd dream something that strange…
She could still remember it.
That gaze. Those words.
"You're warm. I want to know what that feels like."
And his face, slowly leaning in. His breath brushing her lips. But it never reached her—left only a space too empty to ignore.
Why did he say that? Why did he look at me like that?
Elira had no answers. She wasn't even sure she'd be able to speak if Kael ever did it again.
She sat up, staring at the floor where Kael had laid. Empty. Neat. As if the boy had left no trace at all—except in her mind.
"Don't tell me… he just left like that?"
Elira stood, her hair a mess, her nightgown wrinkled.
But her face… confused. Annoyed. And just a little… worried.
"Why didn't he say anything? Was he… embarrassed?"
"Of course. He got embarrassed… and slipped away without a word."
She walked to the window, looking out over the still-quiet street. In the distance, kitchen smoke began to rise from neighbors' homes.
"That boy… he's enough to drive someone mad."
She pressed her chest lightly, as if trying to hush a thought that had no words.
"so stupid…"
Elsewhere.
Kael's footsteps were steady, calm.
The morning air in Rosandale still held a touch of mist, but the city had begun to stir.
Kael passed through a small market, watching vendors setting up their stalls.
He approached a middle-aged man hauling a sack of rice.
"How do you use mana?" he asked flatly.
The man scowled. "Mana? What do you think it is, hot tea? You can't just brew it on a whim."
Kael only stared at him.
The man sighed and pointed toward a wooden signboard near the alley's edge. "Figure it out yourself. There's a map. You wanna learn magic? Go to the Adventurer's Guild. They deal with that sort of thing."
Kael walked to the signboard. He studied the rough carvings on the map of Rosandale—building symbols, canal paths, the town center—all tangled like a thread waiting to be unraveled.
His eyes landed on one emblem: two crossed swords above a sun. Adventurer's Guild.
Smack in the center of town.
Kael made his way through Rosandale's streets.
His steps were quiet—like a shadow passing through noise, but his eyes took in everything. The smell of burnt bread, the clanging of metal from workshops, street kids shouting curses at each other. Every alley whispered of pain—some loud, others buried behind old brick walls.
He crossed a small bridge over a sluggish, dirty river, passed a stall selling half-rotten fruit, and saw an old woman spit at her own reflection.
None of it stirred him.
The world shouted its chaos. But Kael listened only to silence—because only silence ever told the truth.
Now and then, a few people glanced his way. His face was too clean, his body too composed, his eyes too hollow—out of place in a city that crushed anything that stood out.
Kael pulled his hood lower.
He followed the directions he'd memorized: Adventurer's Guild—Town Center. The symbol of swords and sun still etched vividly in his mind. But as he approached the center of town, his steps slowed.
Something was happening.
People had gathered, shouting:
"EXECUTION IN THE TOWN SQUARE!!"
In the open plaza stood a raised platform. Three executioners. Twelve hanging corpses. And one man still on his knees, hands bound, face bruised.
Kael stopped at the edge of the crowd.
He recognized their faces.
The ones who had beaten that drunk guard last night.
Thirteen of them… including the one still kneeling.
He had never counted them precisely. That night had been nothing more than a game. Just a small trigger to unseal the memories of the dead.
And now,
Their deaths were the price of his presence.
The crowd murmured. Some prayed. Others stared blankly.
One executioner raised his sword.
The man on the floor cried out, "I didn't kill the guard! I was just trying to help that boy! He—he was being beaten!"
The executioner stayed silent.
"Do you have proof?"
The man opened his mouth. Closed it again. His hands trembled.
Then… his eyes caught something.
Kael.
Standing among the crowd. His hood covered half his face, but not enough to conceal his small figure—the one the man remembered.
Their eyes met.
The man's expression changed. Not anger. Not vengeance. But… a smile. Faint. Fragile. Like a flower that bloomed too late—just to be crushed.
"That boy… he—"
The blade slashed his throat.
His body collapsed to the floor as the crowd gasped. Some turned, trying to see who he'd pointed at.
Kael bowed his head. He stepped into the shadows, blending in, vanishing from sight.
"In a crowded city, the voice of truth lasts less than a second."
Kael walked through Rosandale's streets. Shops continued to open, the scent of bread and iron faint in the air. He ignored it all. He ignored everything else—eyes locked only on a single sign: the Adventurer's Guild.
After circling the area, he found it.
A two-story building filled with laughter, shouting, and the stench of alcohol.
Kael stepped inside.
The room buzzed with noise—rough laughter, clinking metal, the stench of sweat and booze mixing with the scent of ink and parchment. Adventurers of all kinds filled the space—some leaning on mugs of ale, others shouting at comrades while pointing at the mission board.
Kael stared at it all in silence.
Then his eyes locked on a desk to the right labeled Receptionist. Behind it stood a young woman in formal attire, hair tied neatly, wearing a smile that looked far too practiced—like someone used to dealing with chaos.
Kael approached. His voice was calm, nearly flat. "Where's the mage?"
The woman raised an eyebrow. "Sorry?"
"The mage," Kael repeated. "Someone who can teach mana. Or magic."
Her smile faltered slightly. "Usually, you have to register as an adventurer before—"
Kael didn't respond. He just stared at her.
That stare made her fall silent.
For a moment.
Then she sighed. "Fine, fine. See the far corner of the room? The one sitting alone, purple robe, buried in papers?"
Kael nodded.
"Her name's Nella. Don't talk too much. And don't take it personally if she's a bit… crazy."
Kael had already turned before she finished.
In the corner, he saw a woman in a purple cloak. Her hair had a lavender tint, and there was an old scar on her left temple. Empty bottles and magic scrolls littered the table around her.
Kael approached.
"I want to learn how to use mana."
The woman glanced up, then raised an eyebrow. A crooked smile formed on her face, like someone who'd just heard a bad joke.
"Hah? Mana?"
She leaned back, opened a bottle beside her, and took a swig without even looking at him.
She scoffed. "You know how many kids come here every month saying they wanna learn magic? A month later, most of them are gone. Dead, broken bones, or crawling back to their mothers, pissing blood."
Kael slowly pulled back his hood.
Pale white hair fell over part of his forehead, creating a stark contrast against his clear skin and pitch-black eyes—dark as a starless night.
The woman let out a small chuckle, but the sound caught in her throat. Her eyes widened. Her breath hitched for a fraction of a second.
"Y-You… are you from a noble family?"
Kael stared, expressionless.
"No."
The witch didn't believe him.
Something about him unsettled her.
He doesn't look like the others. No fear. Just... something trained into emptiness. Whoever trained him wasn't ordinary.
He must be from a noble house. In disguise. On the run. Or on some secret mission. Yes, that has to be it.
She stared at his face longer than she should have. Her eyes blinked rapidly, then she cleared her throat and adjusted her posture.
"Hmph. Fine. Sit here. I'll explain… a little."
Her tone shifted—still condescending, but now more cautious. Maybe even slightly bashful atau awkwardly respectful. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for a crystal orb.
Kael sat down, his face expressionless. "How does mana work?"
Nella observed Kael from behind her empty wine glass.
"What's your Core Path?"
"Core?"
Kael repeated, sitting up straight. His gaze was still flat, but sharpened slightly.
"What is that?"
The witch smirked faintly. She leaned back in her chair, raising an eyebrow like she was watching a chick stare curiously at a fire.
"Every human is born with a Soul Seed. But that's just... empty soil. What grows from it depends on how you live."
"It takes shape based on who you are. Not who you want to be—but who you truly are."
"Once your path in life solidifies," the witch continued, "that seed transforms. Becomes a Core. A fixed form that lets you manipulate mana. In short—your life path shapes your Core's form."
Kael squinted. "Mana follows the shape of my soul?"
The witch nodded. "And Your Core is carved by the wounds and the path you choose.
She scratched the table with her nail, carving out three lines.
"There are three main Paths: Path of Bloom, Path of Void, Path of Mirror."
Kael nodded. He waited, not interrupting.
"Path of Bloom is for those who believe in love, sacrifice, hope.
People like that usually become Healers, light mages, or those foolish enough to still believe in rainbows."
Kael didn't speak.
He pictured hands glowing with light, healing wounds out of love—love strong enough to risk pain again and again.
*What kind of soul keeps choosing hope?*
It felt distant. As if that path belonged to a world that had already ended.
Her tone dripped with bitterness.
"Path of Void," she said, her eyes narrowing as if remembering something painful, "is born from emptiness. From loss, from suffering that never healed. Those who walk it usually become Executors or Necromancers."
Something inside Kael shifted—just slightly.
Loss that never heals.
He remembered nothing. But somehow... the words scraped something raw inside him. A space too quiet. A name not remembered.
"Could pain itself become structure? Could absence shape magic?"
The thought chilled him more than the magic.
"And the last one," she pointed at Kael's forehead, "the Path of Mirror. The path of the introspective. Those who lose themselves within their inner world. Neutral—Not shadow. Not radiance. Only the echo of one's truth.
They usually end up as Rune Masters, formation experts, odd thinkers."
Kael blinked slowly.
*A mirror... not of dreams. But of truth.*
The kind of truth people refuse to face. The kind that speaks back.
He wondered: *If I looked into mine... what would stare back?*
Nella paused.
Kael narrowed his eyes. "Only three?"
"Of course not," she said. "But only three that... make sense."
She looked at Kael. "Kids aren't supposed to have one. Unless… you're not a kid."
Nella hesitated.
She stared into Kael's eyes again—not with suspicion, but something closer to... dread.
No ordinary child should remain this still after hearing all that.
Yet Kael didn't blink.
He was waiting.
"There are six more. But those...That... is a deviation. Something unnatural. Like a song played in reverse, trapped within the shell of flesh.
"What are they like?"
A sharp, dry chuckle slipped out. "Like the Path of Falsehood, Chain, Denial, Witness, Dissonance, and Reflectionless."
"So if someone wants to choose a class, that class must match the Path?"
"No." The witch smiled like someone who'd just aced an exam.
"A Core isn't just a path. It's a lens. The way you see the world—and how the world responds to you."
Kael touched the surface of the table.
"You mean magic works... differently?"
"Not just differently," Nella clicked her tongue.
"Magic from two people might look the same… but how they reach it, how they use it, its mechanisms, even its structure—come from entirely opposite worlds."
She pointed in the air, drawing invisible lines with her fingers.
"Take Healers, for example. Sounds simple, right?"
Kael nodded.
Nella raised three fingers.
"Path of Bloom. They heal because they love. Because they can't bear to see others in pain. Their mana is soft, wrapping wounds like morning dew."
She lowered one finger.
"Path of Void. They heal because they know what loss feels like. They don't heal to save—but so the pain won't be in vain.
Their mana is like rope—pulling the soul back from the abyss."
Another finger went down.
"Path of Chain. They heal... one person only. Usually their master. And not out of love. But contract. Or coercion.
Their mana binds, cold and unyielding—like chains forged in obedience. "
Kael fell silent.
Nella leaned back, eyes narrowing at Kael like she was trying to read him.
Kael's internal voice slithered in—calm and cold:
If Cores are shaped by life paths... then what was my path?
Nella spoke again.
"And that's just the beginning. You know, even a swordsman can have a Core. A blacksmith. A summoner. Everyone has one.
It's just the way they use it—and the kind of energy they draw from—that makes them so different. Core isn't about magic. It's about... who you really are."
Kael asked, "How do I find out?"
Nella gave a faint smile. "Simple."
She pushed the crystal orb toward Kael.
"Touch this. I'll read your Path."
Kael stared at the orb.
Its glow was faint. Almost dead. But inside... something stirred.
As if a tiny world was trapped within.
"Put your hand here. Slowly," Nella said. Her voice was steady—but her fingers tensed slightly.
Kael obeyed. He laid his palm against the orb's surface.
It lit up. Not gently. It burned—not with light, but with pressure, like a sun on the edge of rupture.
Ancient symbols erupted in a swirling vortex—spinning wildly inside like fragments of memory catching fire.
"This… isn't reacting like it should."
"Wait… this glow… it's not…"
"Stop! Let go—!"
But Kael couldn't move.
The orb pulsed. Once. Twice. Then—
CRACK! The crystal trembled as fractures spiderwebbed across its surface.
The glowing lines paused.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Nella exhaled. "It's... stabilizing?"
Kael began to pull his hand away, slow and cautious—
Then the orb twitched again. A low hum returned.
Too late.
BRAAAK!! A deafening explosion tore through the air, shards and light flying in all directions.
The orb shattered into shards—light and fragments scattering across the room.
Adventurers turned. Some dropped their glasses. Others stood up in shock.
While Kael stood amidst the broken glass… unscathed.
Only that same vacant stare.
Nella stared at what remained of the shattered orb. Her breath caught. Her face... wasn't fear. It was awe mixed with horror.
"No way… Not one of the major Paths… Not Void. Not Mirror. Not Bloom…"
She stepped back, her voice shaking.
"This... this isn't a normal case."
Kael looked at her.
Nella swallowed. Then, with a raspy voice:
"Your path is... it's the path of..."
End of chapter.