For the longest time, Luke had only seen himself as a guest in this world.
A strange, accidental visitor. A magician pulling cheap tricks in a realm where real magic reigned. A pretender, walking on eggshells, fearing every step would be the one where someone pointed and shouted, "Fraud!"
But now... this?
He was a key?
Luke stood still, his eyes fixed on Saint Cynthia even though his mind had floated somewhere far behind. The wind curled around him, gentle and cold, the kind that made you blink and stare harder, as though the chill could snap you back into yourself.
He was a key.
A part of the puzzle. Or rather, the way to solve it.
He had never once thought of it that way.
All his life, he'd thought of himself as the hand fumbling with the puzzle pieces. Trying to solve the problem. Trying to understand the rules of this world. Trying not to die. Trying to keep his illusions afloat long enough for him to survive another day.
And yet now… Saint Cynthia had spun the board.
