The cobbled path beneath their feet echoed faintly with each step as Kaelith led the way, guiding Souta through the quieter, less crowded edge of the kingdom. Here, the world felt muted. Structures leaned at odd angles, shaped by unfamiliar hands and stranger tastes. Roofs curved like waves; windows were set too high, or not at all. It seemed to watch them pass.

  Above, the sky stretched pale—an anemic blue that lacked the warmth of Souta’s home. The sun, too, was strange: a soft white orb, dim and ghostlike, not the blazing yellow disk he was used to. Everything felt slightly... off. As though the world here spoke a different dialect of reality.

  They walked in silence until Souta finally broke it. “You’re an alchemy nerd?” he asked, tone casual, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

  Kaelith blinked, momentarily startled. “Err... I’d prefer being called a student of refined natural sciences,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “But sure. Nerd works.”

  Souta laughed. “Alright, Alchemy nerd, then.”

  Kaelith offered a crooked smile. “I’m apprenticed to Master Selnar—one of the five accredited alchemists of Cael Brenin.”

  Souta squinted. “Kae-l... what?”

  “Cael Brenin,” Kaelith clarified with a chuckle. “The kingdom we’re in.”

  Kaelith tilted his head. “Are you from somewhere far away Souta?”

  Souta’s smile was thin, nervous. “You have no idea…”

  Kaelith looked confused but stayed silent.

  Silence returned, stretching out again. Only the sound of the wind threading through distant leaves kept them company.

  Uncomfortable with the quiet, Souta spoke up once more. “So... can I call you Kael?”

  Kaelith blinked, surprised. Then a small smile surfaced. “Where did that come from?... But sure, I don’t mind. But only if I can call you Sou.”

  “S-sure. I don’t mind,” Souta replied, the words catching slightly. “My dad used to call me Sou.” His voice dimmed near the end, eyes dropping to the ground.

  Kaelith glanced over, picking up on the shift in his tone. He didn’t speak for a few heartbeats. Then, gently, “Are you... okay? Do you not want me to call you that?”

  Souta blinked, pulled from whatever memory had swallowed him. “N-no, not at all! I’d rather have you call me Sou. Thank you, Kael.” A small, genuine smile broke through.

  They turned a corner and the house appeared—squat and wide, embraced on both sides by eerily symmetrical trees. Vines wound up the walls, curling around statues of birds mid-flight and dragons frozen in snarl. Kaelith opened the wooden door and it creaked opened, revealing a dim interior glimmering with glass vessels and herbs suspended from beams. The scent inside hit Souta instantly—sharp and earthy, tinged with something warm and familiar. Ginger tea. The kind he’d only recently started drinking in the mornings... with his dad.

  He lingered in that memory for a moment longer than he meant to, the world around him dimming. Then, with effort, he pulled himself back.

  Inside, the air was thick with the scent of herbs, burnt incense, and something metallic that tickled the back of Souta’s throat.

  Kaelith stepped in first, “We can leave the ingredients on the prep table,” he said, gesturing toward a cleared space near the center of the room. “Master Selnar won’t be back until sundown.”

  Souta dropped his bundle onto the table with a tired grunt. “So… you just sit here all day mixing potions and get yelled at when something explodes?”

  Kaelith didn’t even look back as he replied, “Sometimes I get yelled at before something explodes.”

  A short snort escaped Souta’s lips. “Sounds like school.”

  Kaelith made his way to a shelf sagging under the weight of jars and dusty flasks. With careful precision, he began reorganizing them—his hands moving like someone who had memorized the exact weight and placement of every bottle.

  Souta, meanwhile, wandered further in. His gaze caught on something strange etched into the stone floor—a chalk circle, drawn with tight, measured strokes. Inside it hovered a glass orb, suspended inches above the ground, flickering faintly with purple light. It pulsed, slow and rhythmic, like a quiet heartbeat.

  “Hey... what’s this?” he asked, crouching a little to get a better look.

  Kaelith glanced over his shoulder, tone casual but eyes sharp. “That? Oh, that’s a mana reservoir. We use it for controlled experiments—to draw out raw mana safely.”

  Souta leaned a bit closer.

  “But don’t get too near,” Kaelith added quickly. “That thing’s not just for show. It radiates mana—enough that it can react with your body and pull spells right out of you. Even ones you didn’t mean to cast.”

  Souta blinked and slowly stepped back.

  Kaelith nodded. “So yeah—don’t touch it.”

  Back in his world, Souta had devoured dozens of isekai mangas. In nearly all of them, the word mana had been tossed around like candy—this ethereal, mystical force everyone just seemed to have. It always felt fictional, harmless. So naturally, when Kaelith mentioned it, the word stuck in his head like a tune he couldn’t shake.

  He stared at the hovering glass orb, its purple light throbbing faintly like a caged heartbeat.

  He still didn’t believe any of this was real. Couldn’t. If he started to, the walls in his mind might crack.

  So, against better judgment, he extended a hand—hesitant, trembling slightly. One finger breached the edge of the chalk circle.

  A low, unnatural hum surged through his fingertip. The orb flared. Then everything broke.

  Pain—sharp, electric, and cold—lanced through his skull like a lightning bolt piercing ice. He screamed, but the sound was torn from his throat before it ever reached the air. His vision blurred—then drowned in a flood of images.

  △▼△▼△▼△

  A burning village. No... a city. The line between the two erased by flames.

  Structures collapsed inward as fire clawed through wooden beams, devouring everything. Black smoke coiled like serpents into the sky. Screams shrilled, distant but relentless. Panic. Chaos.

  He found himself sprawled on the ground, a body lying just infront of him. Crumpled on blood-soaked dirt. Flesh split open like rotten fruit, bone exposed. He couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman—just that it had once lived. And now didn’t.

  Then a child—tiny, still, nestled in the arms of a woman whose eyes were wide with pure, primal terror. The only way he could tell she was a woman was due to her screams and calls for help. She screamed, ran, barefoot through ash, screaming for help that would never come.

  A shadow loomed. Black armor. A massive blade.

  The woman didn’t even have time to look up.

  A single stroke—clean, practiced. Her head detached with a wet sound, landing in the dirt just as her knees buckled. Her body collapsed beside the child. Blood gushed like a fountain, steaming in the cold air.

  And just as the head hit the ground—

  △▼△▼△▼△

  Souta snapped back.

  He screamed. A raw, piercing, soul-shaking sound that echoed against the walls.

  Kaelith turned just in time to drop a vial, glass shattering like brittle ice across the floor. “W-What happened?! Are you—did you touch it?!”

  Souta stumbled backward, slamming into the wall, gasping as if drowning. His heart thundered in his chest like war drums.

  “I—I didn’t think—shit—” He clutched his head, voice cracking. “I saw—”

  The visions were gone. But the nausea? The weight of what he saw? Still there. Heavy. Cold. Unshakable.

  Kaelith stood frozen, face pale. And the orb flickered—quietly pulsing, as if nothing had happened at all.

  Kaelith’s face fell into shadow, his earlier caution shifting into something graver. “You… saw something through that mana?” His voice was low, edged with something between fear and knowing.

  But then his eyes landed on Souta—slumped against the wall, trembling, pale, and broken. Whatever Kaelith had been about to say faded. His tone softened instantly.

  He moved closer, then knelt down and gently pulled Souta into a quiet embrace.

  “It’s okay… Don’t worry,” he whispered, voice steady. “Can you explain what you saw?”

  Kaelith guided him to a wooden chair and fetched a chipped cup of water. Souta accepted it with hands that shook violently, sloshing water over the rim as he tried to drink.

  “I—I saw… a city, or maybe a village—I-I couldn’t tell. There was blood. So much blood,” he stammered. His breath hitched. “A woman was screaming… she was holding someone… a child. Then a corpse. B-beheaded—”

  “Okay—okay,” Kaelith cut in quickly, placing a hand gently on Souta’s shoulder. “Calm down. It’s okay. None of that is happening. None of it’s real.”

  He pointed to the nearby window, where warm sunlight still filtered in through the leaves, casting dappled shadows across the stone walls.

  “See? Everything is fine. You're safe. Right here.”

  Souta turned his head toward the window. The light helped, a little. His breathing slowed, though his shoulders still trembled beneath the weight of what he had seen.

  “B-but… it was night,” he said, voice cracking. “In the vision—it was nighttime. H-How is that possible?”

  His hands clenched the cup tighter, the last drops of water inside rippling. He was still shaking. Still not convinced the nightmare hadn’t followed him back.

  Kaelith sat quietly for a moment, then spoke with a softness that barely masked the weight of his words. “Souta… do you know about the Sylor family? And what happened to them?”

  Souta blinked, still shaken, his voice barely a whisper. “N-no… I haven’t heard of them.”

  Kaelith nodded slightly, eyes distant. “Didn’t think so. Most people haven’t. Even here in Cael Brenin. If you had claimed to know about them, honestly… that would’ve scared me more.”

  The tension in the room thickened. The silence that followed was heavy—too heavy.

  Kaelith continued, voice low, reverent.

  “They were one of the Four Great Noble Houses of Cael Brenin. The Sylors—once revered… and feared. Entire nations tread lightly around them. Not for their wealth. Not for their armies. But for the powers they alone wielded.”

  Souta swallowed hard, eyes locked on Kaelith now.

  “They could use time magic,” Kaelith said slowly. “The ability to glimpse into the past—and the future. It wasn’t learned. It was their birthright. Etched into their very blood.”

  A chill crawled down Souta’s spine. His lips parted, but no words came.

  Kaelith’s gaze sharpened. “And that wasn’t all. The Sylors also wielded materialisation magic. From raw mana, they could forge weapons—living, breathing extensions of their will.”

  He paused.

  “They weren’t just warriors. They were artists. The weapons they created weren’t tools of war. They were masterpieces. Each blade carried history. Intention. Wrath.”

  Souta’s hands tightened around the cup in his lap.

  “Some called them Divine Blades.”

  The words hung in the air like a blade poised to strike.

  Finally, Souta whispered, voice dry, almost hoarse. “What… happened to them?”

  Kaelith’s eyes narrowed, his tone dipping into something closer to a whisper, yet it held the weight of a war drum.

  “Fifty-seven years ago, during the War of Severance… the Southern Kingdom, Velmora had to mobilize every military division just to bring them down.”

  Souta’s breath caught.

  “The Sylors weren’t just nobles,” Kaelith went on. “They were warriors. Swordsmiths of mana. Artists of death. Some were archers—hauntingly precise—but most danced with blades… or both. And they didn’t go quietly.”

  He stared into the distance, as if remembering a war he’d never seen. “They fought until the end. Relentlessly. Every last one of them was wiped out.”

  “…Except one,” Kaelith added, voice barely audible.

  Souta leaned forward. “Who?”

  “Kaelen Sylor,” Kaelith said, eyes meeting Souta’s. “He vanished seven years before the massacre. He, three mages, and a healer were sent on a mission, but they vanished. Eventually, they were declared dead.”

  He paused, then scoffed bitterly. “Some people think Kaelen used his time magic to see the massacre coming and ran away with his group like a coward. But those idiots forget—Sylor’s time authority only allowed visions five years into the future. There’s no way he could’ve seen something seven years ahead.”

  Souta hesitated, heart pounding. “W-What if… what if they lied? What if they could see further?”

  Kaelith’s jaw tightened, the air thickening with a flicker of emotion—was it grief, or anger?

  “Even if that’s true, they still didn’t run,” he snapped, his tone rising just slightly. “They stayed. Fought. Died. They had a whole year before the war started to escape—but they didn’t. They knew their fate. But they chose to stay—for us. To defy fate and try to change Cael Brenin’s destiny. And they succeeded, but at the cost of themselves.”

  His voice shook. “The least we can do is remember them and what they did for us.”

  Souta lowered his gaze, guilt pressing into his chest like a stone. He took a deep breath, the silence between them now filled with unease.

  “But…” he said, barely audible. “Here’s the thing that scares me, Sou…”

  He looked back at Kaelith, color draining from his face.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “If you saw something…” Kaelith said, his voice a cold blade, “That means you used time magic.”

  Souta flinched, eyes wide. “I-I d-didn’t use anything—I just hovered my finger in the circle—!”

  Kaelith leaned in slightly. “Remember what I told you? The mana reservoir radiates mana. That chalk circle marks its reach. And it doesn’t care what you intend—if there’s a spell within you, it’ll react. Even if it’s buried deep.”

  The words hit like thunder.

  Kaelith’s eyes scanned Souta’s face again. “And there’s one more thing, Sou…”

  He hesitated—then delivered the final blow.

  “You look exactly like Kaelen Sylor.”

  Souta froze, the breath in his lungs turning to ice. “W-What the hell—?” His voice cracked. The ground beneath his sense of reality began to crumble.

  Kaelith moved silently toward a tall, dust-ridden bookshelf. His fingers brushed across cracked spines until they stopped on one—old, weathered, and forgotten. He tugged it free, blew off a cloud of dust, and brought it over to where Souta sat, still pale and shaken.

  The book’s maroon cover was plain save for a single word written: SYLORIA.

  Kaelith sat beside him, flipping to the back. His gloved hands moved carefully, page by page, until he landed on one titled: “The Lost Sylor — Kaelen Sylor.”

  Beneath the heading was a hauntingly clear sketch.

  Souta’s blood ran cold.

  The man in the drawing could have been his twin—middle-parted black hair, same lean face, even the calm but stormy expression. Dressed in all black. But two things stood out: one eye was red… and a long, vertical scar running down that same side.

  “He was the strongest among the Sylors,” Kaelith said softly, reverently. “Which makes him the strongest in the world.”

  Souta’s voice came out in a whisper. “T-this c-cant be me… it’s just a coincidence, right?”

  Kaelith didn’t blink. “I’ve studied this family obsessively since Master Selnar introduced me to them. And sure, it’s unlikely—you’d have to be immortal to still look like that after more than fifty-seven years…age reversal isn’t something all healers can do—only the rarest of the rare have that ability, and even they couldn’t fully achieve it. So you couldn’t possibly be him…”

  He paused, staring hard at Souta.

  “Unless Kaelen Sylor could do something no other Sylor could. Which… is possible, but rare. And not known to us. All we know is that he was a prodigy. Still—” his voice lowered, “We can’t ignore how much you resemble him. It’s terrifying.”

  Then, with a gentler tone: “So… Sou. Will you tell me where you really came from?”

  Souta hesitated, then nodded slowly. “You’ll probably think I’m insane but… I’m not from this world.”

  Kaelith’s expression froze.

  “I died… in my world. I was… crushed by a lot of metal pipes. As thick as my wrist. It happened so fast.” Souta’s voice trembled. “Next thing I knew, I was in this white void. I… I can’t remember what happened there. It’s all blank. But after that… I woke up here.”

  Kaelith just stared, stunned silent. Then: “You… died?” he asked, his voice nearly a breath.

  “Y-Yeah…” Souta said, his hands clenched tight in his lap. “It felt real. Then I woke up this afternoon, before meeting you. My body… it felt like it had been scorched. Every nerve felt burnt, like I’d survived fire.”

  Kaelith’s eyes narrowed. “Burns… from the void?”

  “I think so,” Souta murmured. “I don’t even remember what caused it. Just the feeling—like fire had kissed every inch of me. The pain’s gone now. But the phantom of it… it’s still there.”

  Kaelith looked down, lips pressed into a thin line.

  “I remember everything else though,” Souta added. “My name. My school. Even the dumb argument I had with my benchmate before I… died. I planned to apologize the next day. But instead…” He looked up, eyes glassy. “I ended up here.”

  “So,” Kaelith whispered, almost in awe. “You’re not from this world after all.”

  “I know how it sounds… but it’s the truth.”

  There was silence.

  Then Kaelith let out a slow exhale and stood up, brushing off his coat. “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling softly. “I believe you.”

  Souta blinked, surprised.

  Kaelith turned toward the door, tossing a grin over his shoulder. “But now that you’re here, let’s get you checked. Figure out what mana group you belong to.”

  “I’m a Group S, by the way.” He winked.

  That little spark of cheer in Kaelith’s voice made Souta’s heart steady for the first time all day. He stood—wobbly, but with resolve.

  “Sure,” he said, exhaling. “Let’s get myself checked.”

  They stepped out into the cool air, the world around them buzzing with life that felt both foreign and strangely vivid.

  “So… where are we going?” Souta asked, keeping pace with Kaelith.

  “To the hospital where I was born,” Kaelith replied, hands in his coat pockets. “I always go there—they recognize me.”

  Souta’s eyes flicked around. The structures curved unnaturally, glowing softly with magic veins. People walked by in elegant cloaks, floating sigils orbiting their wrists. Strange looking beasts pulled carts. Floating lights danced overhead.

  “This… world definitely isn’t Earth,” Souta murmured.

  Kaelith chuckled under his breath. “You’ll get used to it. Just don’t stare too much—you’ll draw attention. Someone might mistake you for Kaelen. I almost did when I first saw you.”

  Souta blinked. “Wait… you did?”

  “Yeah,” Kaelith smirked. “It freaked me out. But the scan should clear everything up.”

  “I hope so…” Souta gave a weak smile, but the unease lingered in his eyes.

  “Oh, by the way,” Kaelith added casually. “Do you know what ‘S’ stands for in mana group levels?”

  Souta shook his head. “N-No?”

  Kaelith grinned. “It stands for Sylor. It means you might survive if you fought one. Barely. You’d still be in pieces though.”

  Souta’s eyes widened. “That’s… terrifying. Is there a group above that?”

  “Yep. SS. It’s given to only 1 in every 400 born into Group S when they turn eighteen. Who knows—maybe I’ll get it next year.” He flashed a confident grin.

  “Wait—does that mean you’re on the same level as the Sylors?”

  “Not even close,” Kaelith laughed. “It just means I might land a hit before I get cut down.”

  Souta frowned. “Then… what group were the Sylors and how did they even get wiped out?”

  Kaelith smiled faintly. “We never knew who they were. The orbs shattered the moment they got close.” The smile faded. “The war dragged on for years. Mana drains quickly in battle. They fought for four years—nonstop, without sleep. The ten Sylors—nine, without Kaelen—slaughtered millions from the Kingdom of Velmora and died defending this very land. That invasion… it felt like a setup to erase them. The enemy retreated right after.”

  Souta’s voice dropped. “That’s… intense.” Just then, something caught his eye—a girl with pointed ears walking past them.

  “Woah… that’s an elf!” he whispered excitedly.

  Kaelith raised a brow at the sudden shift. “You know what elves are? Had them in your world?”

  Souta shook his head. “No, but we had novels—stories about them. A lot of them were about people like me, getting sent to another world. I thought I was dreaming at first. But that shock from the orb earlier? Yeah… that was real.”

  Kaelith laughed softly. “I’d have thought the same. It’s natural. You’ll see all kinds here—elves, half-elves, demihumans, and us humans too. But Cael Brenin… it used to have more. Most of the elves were wiped out during the continuous wars, again caused by the Kingdom of Velmora. Survivors moved to eastern or western kingdoms. To safer lands. A few stayed.”

  He paused. “The war didn’t just take the elves. It took humans too. My parents… and the entire Valtor bloodline. I was only seven.”

  Souta’s breath hitched. “I… I’m sorry, Kael.”

  Kaelith gave a small smile. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” He looked ahead, pointing at a tall marble structure with arched glass doors and glowing inscriptions.

  “Oh—look. We’re here. Let’s step in.”

  They stepped inside the structure. Warmth greeted them immediately—thick, herbal-sweet with a sharp metallic tang, like the air after lightning. Robed figures moved about with purpose, scrolls in hand, glowing vials swinging from belts. Souta blinked rapidly, trying to take it all in.

  His eyes caught on a woman channeling a green light from her palms, her patient glowing in response. Magic, real and humming, was no longer fiction.

  “So… healing magic is real too?” he asked in awe.

  Kaelith nodded. “Mhm. I—The Valtors were mostly healers. Basic spells, potions, alchemical balms. Depends on the wound.” He paused. “But some things don’t heal. Like…” He trailed off, a soft smile forming. “Grief.”

  Souta looked over, words rising in his throat—but he let them die in silence.

  “You mentioned your Mana group earlier. How many of them are there?” he asked instead.

  “SS, S, A, B. It shows how much mana your body can handle, how well you cast, what kind of spells are safe for you. Even who’s allowed to train you.” Kaelith replied.

  They stopped outside a thick wooden door, glowing runes etched into its grain, pulsing faintly.

  “This is it,” Kaelith said. “an old half-elf runs this place. Owes Master Selnar a few favors. Be polite. She bites.”

  Souta raised a brow. “Literal or figurative?”

  Kaelith smirked and knocked.

  A sharp voice barked from inside, “Come in before I change my mind!”

  They entered a circular room. Arcane symbols glowed along the floor. In the center stood a woman with silver hair braided over one shoulder, youthful despite the century behind her. Her blue robes shimmered with runes. Her gaze—sharp and unflinching—landed on Kaelith first, then Souta.

  Her eyes widened. Then narrowed.

  “Who’s this?” she said dryly. “He looks like trouble.”

  “Uh… Souta,” Souta said, awkward. “I guess I am trouble, depending on who you ask.”

  “He’s here for a mana group test,” Kaelith offered. “Master Selnar sent us.”

  The woman snorted. “Of course he did. Tossing strays at me again.”

  She examined Souta once more, her expression unreadable. “Alright, boy. Over to the testing platform. Try not to breathe too hard near the instruments.”

  Souta glanced at Kaelith, eyes asking Is she always like this?

  Kaelith just whispered, “She likes you more than most already.”

  At the center of the room, the examiner pulled back a cloth, revealing a glass orb cradled in silver. Soft inner light glowed within, its base wrapped in pulsing runes.

  “Hand out. Index finger only. Close, but don’t touch it. Let your mana core respond.”

  Souta stiffened. “You know… I think I have orbphobia now.” he whispered.

  Kaelith chuckles “Don’t worry,” he whispered back. “Just get it over with.”

  The examiner snapped, “Less whispering. It won’t kill you.”

  Souta hesitantly extended his finger. A hum pulsed faintly against his skin—gentle, not violent like before.

  But nothing else happened.

  The examiner frowned. “Strange… there’s no mana flow at all.”

  Kaelith’s eyes widened. “That’s… impossible.”

  The examiner’s voice was calmer now, analytical. “It could mean one thing—his mana core hasn’t awakened yet. That’s why you were tested at twelve, Kaelith. After you’d practiced magic.”

  “Oh… that makes sense,” Kaelith murmured.

  The examiner stepped closer, eyes narrowing at Souta. “But for someone his age, this size… to have never practiced magic?” Her voice sharpened. “He looks like nobility. This shouldn’t be possible.”

  She let the silence hang, then clapped her hands once. “No matter. He’ll just have to start from scratch.”

  Kaelith tilted his head. “So, he’s starting from zero?”

  The examiner nodded. “Zero… or below it. But the core is there—I can feel the faint resonance. Dormant, but not dead.”

  Souta frowned. “Is that… bad?”

  “Not necessarily,” she said, circling him. “But rare. It means your body hasn’t even begun to harmonize with this world’s mana. It’ll be painful at first.”

  Kaelith shot him a sympathetic glance. “You’ll get used to it.”

  “Maybe,” the examiner muttered. “Or it’ll break you.”

  Souta’s stomach sank. “That’s… very reassuring.”

  She smirked. “Good. You’ll need that fear. It’ll keep you alive.”

  Kaelith stepped forward. “Can we begin the harmonization today?”

  The examiner nodded slowly. “Yes. I’ll guide the first flow. If his body rejects it, we stop immediately. If not… we proceed.”

  She moved to a side shelf, retrieving a flask of shimmering blue liquid and a shallow ceramic bowl.

  Kaelith whispered, “This’ll sting.”

  Souta eyed the flask. “Of course it will.”

  The examiner poured the liquid into the bowl. It hissed on contact with the air, releasing a low hum that made the runes on the walls faintly glow.

  “Dip your fingers,” she instructed. “Then close your eyes. Let the mana seep in. Don’t resist.”

  Souta hesitated—then obeyed.

  The moment his fingers touched the liquid, his nerves flared. A heat—not burning, but deep and aching—traveled up his hand, across his arm, and into his chest.

  His breathing hitched.

  Images flickered in his mind—flashes of white, fragments of a voice, and the cold silence of the void.

  Then—darkness.

  He collapsed.

  Souta hit the ground with a dull thud, the bowl tipping over beside him. The liquid spilled but evaporated instantly into thin threads of blue mist.

  Kaelith was at his side in seconds. “Souta!”

  The examiner didn’t move at first—just observed, expression unreadable. Then, calmly: “His core responded.”

  Kaelith glanced up. “Then why did he pass out?!”

  “Because it responded too fast.” She knelt beside Souta, placing a glowing hand over his chest. “The mana didn’t just harmonize—it surged. His body wasn't ready.”

  “Will he be alright?”

  The glow in her hand faded. She exhaled. “Yes. For now. But Kaelith, listen closely—he’s not normal. That surge… it’s not something an untrained body should survive. It means his mana core isn’t new—it’s sealed.”

  Kaelith’s eyes widened. “Sealed… like Kaelen’s?”

  “Possibly.” She stood, brushing her robes. “The only question is: who sealed it? And why?”

  Souta stirred, groaning. Kaelith helped him sit up.

  Souta blinked slowly, voice raspy. “Did… I die?”

  Kaelith grinned slightly. “Not yet.”

  Souta gave a weak laugh, then winced. “Feels like a dragon sat on my chest.”

  The examiner crossed her arms. “Good. That means it worked. You’ve taken your first step. But this path… won’t be kind to you.”

  Souta met her gaze, more serious now. “Nothing’s been kind so far. Might as well keep walking.”

  Kaelith nodded. “That’s the spirit.”

  The examiner turned toward the shelves again. “Come back tomorrow. We’ll begin training then. For now—go rest. You’ll need it.”

  Souta stood shakily. Kaelith offered a shoulder.

  As they stepped out into the hallway, Souta asked quietly, “Kael… do you really think I could be him? Kaelen Sylor?”

  Kaelith didn’t answer immediately.

  Then: “I think… we’ll find out soon enough.”

  They walked in silence for a while, the echo of their footsteps soft against the polished stone floors. The hospital’s warm light gradually gave way to the cooler glow of the setting sun as they exited.

  Outside, a breeze rolled through the streets of Cael Brenin, carrying the scent of distant pines and burning incense. Souta took a deep breath, grounding himself.

  Kaelith broke the silence first. “How much do you remember from… before?”

  Souta blinked. “My old world?”

  Kaelith nodded.

  “Everything,” Souta replied, voice quieter. “My name, my parents’ faces, the ramen shop I used to go to… it’s all still there. Like I left yesterday.”

  Kaelith stared ahead, hands in his pockets. “That kind of memory retention is rare, even in this world. Especially after a dimensional transfer.”

  Souta looked over. “So it’s happened before?”

  Kaelith shrugged. “There are stories. Old, almost forgotten ones. But Master Selnar told me not to dismiss them. Said one day someone like you might show up.”

  Souta gave a weak chuckle. “Great. So I’m a prophecy now.”

  “No,” Kaelith said, glancing sideways with a small smirk. “You’re a problem.”

  Souta snorted. “Thanks for the confidence.”

  They turned a corner. Kaelith stopped suddenly, his expression tensing.

  A man in obsidian armor stood across the street, helmet tucked under one arm. His eyes were silver—sharp, emotionless.

  He stared at Souta for a long second, then turned and walked away without a word.

  “Who was that?” Souta asked.

  Kaelith’s smile faded. “That… was a Blood Knight.”

  Souta frowned. “He looked like he recognized me.”

  Kaelith didn't reply immediately.

  Then, under his breath: “Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Souta’s footsteps slowed. “You think… he thought I was Kaelen Sylor?”

  Kaelith didn’t answer right away. His eyes followed the retreating figure. “Blood Knights don’t look at anyone like that unless they’ve seen them before. Or have orders to.”

  Souta swallowed. “Orders?”

  Kaelith turned to him, voice lower. “Let’s not talk here.”

  They picked up the pace, weaving through quieter streets until they reached an alley lined with ivy-covered walls. Kaelith leaned against one, arms crossed.

  “If the Blood Knights are watching you,” he said, “it means the Council suspects something. And if they suspect you’re a Sylor…”

  “They’ll kill me,” Souta said, voice barely above a whisper.

  Kaelith nodded grimly. “Or worse—experiment on you. Find out how you survived. How you returned.”

  Souta’s mind reeled. “But I’m not Kaelen. I just look like him.”

  “That may not matter to them,” Kaelith replied. “In this world, resemblance to a threat is treated like the threat itself.”

  A cold silence settled.

  Then Kaelith straightened. “We need to get you somewhere safe. I’ll talk to Master Selnar. He’ll know what to do.”

  Souta looked up. “Why are you helping me?”

  Kaelith smirked slightly. “Because… if there’s even a chance you are Kaelen Sylor—or tied to him—I’d rather be on your good side.”

  Souta gave a shaky laugh. “That’s… reassuring.”

  Kaelith motioned. “Come on. We’re going to the Citadel. Time to meet the man who raised me.”

  They moved quickly, ducking through winding lanes and stone archways until the skyline opened to reveal a towering structure in the distance.

  Souta blinked. “That’s the Citadel?”

  Kaelith nodded. “Yeah. Center of all magical authority in Cael Brenin. Also the safest place in the city—if you're not considered a threat.”

  Souta exhaled nervously. “Great.”

  As they approached, towering ironwood gates opened slowly with a deep groan. Two armored sentries nodded at Kaelith and stepped aside without a word.

  Inside, the Citadel was a fusion of arcane brilliance and ancient architecture—floating lanterns, rune-carved marble, and rows of tomes hovering midair.

  Souta’s breath caught. “It’s… beautiful.”

  Kaelith: “You should see the top floor. Master Selnar’s cabin is there. Most people never get invited.”

  They climbed a spiral staircase, eventually reaching an ornate door guarded by a pair of sentries with glowing red crests on their armor.

  Kaelith: “We’re here to see the Archmagister. Tell him it’s Kaelith.”

  One of the guards vanished behind the door. Moments later, it creaked open.

  A voice echoed from within—calm, but firm. “Enter.”

  Souta stepped in beside Kaelith.

  The room was wide, circular, lined with floating scrolls, and centered by a massive arcane globe. Standing before it was a tall man in layered dark robes, long white hair tied back, and eyes glowing faintly with gold light.

  Selnar turned. His gaze fell on Souta and his eyes widened.

  Selnar stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the polished floor. His sharp gaze locked onto Souta.

  “…Kaelen Sylor?” he said, voice low but edged with alarm.

  Souta stiffened. “I—no. I’m Souta, not—”

  “Don’t lie to me in my citadel,” Selnar snapped, eyes narrowing. His voice carried the weight of command that echoed through the stone halls.

  Kaelith stepped forward quickly. “Master, please. Look closer. He’s not Kaelen. His left eye—it’s normal. No scar. And no red pupil left eye either.”

  Selnar didn’t move for a moment, then slowly stepped around his desk, inspecting Souta with cool intensity.

  “…Too similar,” he muttered. “Far too similar.”

  Souta held his ground. “I understand why you’re cautious… but I’m not him. I don’t even know who he is.”

  Selnar studied him a second longer, then exhaled through his nose, the tension in his shoulders not fading.

  “This isn’t a tavern. People don’t just look like legends and walk into my domain by coincidence,” he said. “You’ll be watched. Closely.”

  Kaelith gave Souta a reassuring nod.

  Souta met Selnar’s eyes and said quietly, “That’s fair.”

  Selnar turned back toward his desk, but his voice carried over his shoulder:

  “Kaelith, keep him out of trouble. I don’t need another ghost stirring up the archives.”

  Selnar’s eyes, still narrowed, shifted from Souta to Kaelith.

  “…Why are you here? With him, no less?”

  Kaelith offered a small bow, trying not to flinch under his master’s strict tone.

  “We needed a place to keep Souta safe, Master. Word’s already spreading. If the knights catch wind of his mana reading, they’ll come for him. The examiner said his core hasn’t matured yet—showed no response.”

  Selnar exhaled sharply through his nose. “Couldn’t you wait until I got home? You barge into the Citadel with this at your side and expect me to drop everything?”

  Kaelith hesitated, then said, “Forgive me, Master. But I thought it’s urgent. You saw him—he looks just like—”

  “I know who he looks like,” Selnar snapped, cutting him off. His gaze flicked back to Souta, steely and unreadable. “But I also know Kaelen Sylor is dead.”

  Souta stepped forward slowly. “I’m not him. My name is Souta Minami. I came from… somewhere else.”

  Selnar stared for a long, tense moment.

  Then: “You’ve got three days. He stays at my house. Quietly. I want real answers. No more surprises.”

  He turned back to his desk without another word.

  Souta and Kaelith quietly exited the chamber, the heavy doors thudding shut behind them. Neither spoke at first. The weight of Selnar’s words still hung thick in the air.

  After a moment, Kaelith broke the silence. “That… went better than I thought.”

  Souta gave him a tired look. “That was better?”

  “At least he didn’t throw us out,” Kaelith shrugged.

  They walked through the Citadel’s torchlit corridor, their footsteps echoing against stone and silence.

  As they stepped into the cooling evening, Souta looked up at the moon overhead—dim and distant, just like the sun from earlier.

  Kaelith stopped beside him. “We’ll get your answers. One step at a time.”

  Souta nodded slowly. “I just hope I’m not becoming a danger to anyone…”

  Behind them, in the deepest level of the Citadel, Selnar stood alone. He lit a small crystal, revealing a sealed drawer carved with ancient glyphs. With practiced fingers, he unlocked it and pulled out an old parchment.

  A portrait sketch—faded, weathered—of a man with middle-parted black hair, and a scar over a red left eye.

  Selnar’s fingers tightened.

  “…This can’t be happening again.”