MARTON LIORA - First-Person Perspective
2012 - Present Time
When I got the reports from a few of the boys, I didn't think much of it. Kids lock themselves in their rooms after losing games all the time.
But then they told me who he lost to.
Kaiser.
Honestly? That was… surprising. I'd never even seen the boy pass an exam with more than a 40%. Veyren must have underestimated him. I probably would have, too.
Still, it was nuts of Veyren to accept a challenge from him in the first place. He's always been competitive, but losing to someone with such a poor academic record? That must've hurt.
Because he didn't know Kaiser always holds himself back.
I walked up to his door and knocked.
"Veyren, dear, please open up."
Silence.
"Veyren?"
No reply.
I sighed, raising my hand and weaving a small spell—thin strands of wind to lift the latch while a subtle push of air nudged the door open from within.
The moment the door creaked, I wished I hadn't looked inside.
The room was dim—only a faint, flickering glowstone in the corner. And there, hunched in the far end, was Veyren. His back against the wall, knees to his chest… and walls—no, every surface—covered in scribbles.
Not drawings. Not notes.
Equations. Thousands of them.
"…Veyren, dear—what is wrong?!"
His head twitched up, eyes shadowed. His voice was cracked, stumbling over itself.
"I… I m-m-must… figure it out."
"Figure what out?"
"How… he… won."
I took a slow step forward, and that's when I noticed the desk. Four notebooks, completely filled, torn apart into loose pages scattered across the floor. His handwriting layered on top of itself in some places—feverish, desperate.
His friends had told me he'd been trying to figure out how Kaiser beat him at astral chess. I didn't think it would… be this.
He must've stayed up the entire night.
"It's… impossible…" Veyren muttered, crawling across the floor toward the far wall.
And then I saw it—the largest equation sprawled across the plaster in jagged charcoal lines:
Σ{P(n,x) * (Qy - μ)^2} + ∫[0,∞] e^(-λt) (R(t) + Δc) dt = lim(k→∞) Σ [M(k) * χ(k-3)] / φ(n)
I couldn't make sense of it. Even a trained mathematician would have needed weeks—months—to try.
Veyren's hand trembled as he pointed to it.
"Calculated… every… piece transition… random chance variables… my own moves inserted into his probability map… he calculated forty-eight moves in advance. Since the start of the game."
I froze. Forty-eight. From move one.
Veyren swallowed hard, voice shaking.
"And… he played them… in a pattern. T8… i17… every move spelled a message."
He turned his gaze to the floor, whispering:
"This is your last warning. Make Elfie cry again… and I'll put you in your place. You're nothing but inferior trash."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Veyren's eyes went wild, and he started muttering—spelling out each part:
"T… twenty. H… eight. I… nine… S… nineteen…"
His voice cracked further, until he collapsed forward, slamming his palms against the floor.
"I'm… nothing… compared to him. He played me like a fool. And he… he didn't even make the best moves… so I could figure it out!"
And then the genius boy—the pride of the orphanage, the magical prodigy—buried his face into his arms and wept.
I just stood there, staring, unable to move.
Because now… it made sense.
It made perfect sense.
I pulled Veyren closer, careful not to hurt him as his body shook with silent sobs.
He didn't need this. No one did.
But Kaiser… Kaiser didn't want to destroy him outright.
That twisted mind of his had left the pattern on purpose. A taunt. A mental blade to cut deeper than any magic or muscle could.
He knew Veyren would obsess over it, try to decipher every move, every hidden letter.
He wanted him to break himself—mind and body—chasing shadows and second-guessing every thought.
And Veyren fell right into it.
Because he doesn't understand that Kaiser's real strength is hidden.
Even I know the boy's academic scores are fake. Miss Clara mentioned yesterday how Kaiser could lift weights twenty or thirty kilos heavier than most adults. Quietly, secretly, he trains himself—both body and mind.
There's no way Veyren could beat him now. Not until he's willing to lose everything to reach that level.
And I don't think he's ready.
I'm afraid for Elfie. Not because of her—she's strong, gifted beyond belief—but because of what Kaiser is capable of.
He doesn't have mercy.
Veyren made Elfie cry, yes, but then Kaiser used that pain to fuel his game against Veyren. Manipulated him like a puppet, driving him to the edge of collapse—mentally shattered and physically drained, with dark circles under his eyes and a hollow look I've never seen before.
I don't know how anyone can stand as his equal.
And I fear what happens to anyone who dares to hurt Elfina.
I held Veyren tighter as his sobs quieted to shaky breaths.
There was no comfort in it. Just a quiet dread settling deep inside me.
The future wasn't going to be kind.
Kaiser's Perspective:
I got up pretty late today. It's strange, really—no familiar tap-tap of Elfie's footsteps, no soft voice coaxing me awake like usual. It felt empty. Too quiet. So I went looking for her.
Her room was empty. That wasn't right. I checked the dining room, the playroom—nothing. Then I stepped into the library and stopped cold. There she was, sprawled out on the floor, unconscious. Books scattered around her like fallen leaves in a storm.
I dropped to my knees and scooped her up. Her body was warm but her breathing shallow.
"Elfie, wake up," I said, urgency lining my voice. "Wake up!"
Slowly, her eyes fluttered open. When she saw me, her cheeks flushed pink, and she quickly wriggled free from my arms, stepping back like she'd just realized she'd invaded my personal space.
That was new. Elfie, shy? Usually, she's the one clutching my hand like a lifeline, not pulling away.
"What's wrong?" I asked, eyes narrowing with curiosity.
"I… you were too close," she mumbled, looking anywhere but at me.
Her blue eyes, usually so bold and piercing, now flickered with something softer—something uncertain. Her pink hair was messier than usual, strands sticking to her damp forehead. And then my gaze caught the cursed magic book lying open nearby.
"Elfie, what were you doing last night?" I asked, folding my arms.
She hesitated, fingers fidgeting. "I was… trying to make a new spell."
Her voice wavered, a stutter breaking through like a crack in glass. This wasn't the confident girl who'd dared to steal my eyes or claim me as hers with that fierce possessiveness.
No, this was someone else entirely—lost, fragile, almost overwhelmed.
"What kind of spell?" I pressed.
Her breath caught. "Self-revival. If I charge my celestial cores and mana into one singular entity, I might… be able to revive myself."
I bit my lip, intrigued despite myself. Self-revival? A forbidden art, whispered about but never mastered. Impossible by every known law of magic. And yet, here she was, trying.
I glanced at her hands, where the usual humming power of mana was faint, almost absent. "Elfie," I said softly, "show me. Use wind magic—with celestial link—to pick up those books."
She nodded, willing herself to act, and summoned the spell. But it was slow, clumsy, lacking the sharp precision I knew she possessed. It was as if the core of her power was dimmed—fractured.
Had she lost her gift? Or worse, a piece of herself? That fierce obsession, that burning drive that had been her fuel—was it gone now? Somehow, I didn't think so.
"Hey," I said gently, stepping closer but careful not to invade her space, "It's okay. Why were you trying to create self-revival in the first place?"
She looked up, shy and uncertain. "I—I just wanted to protect you. I thought if I could make the impossible possible, I could stay with you."
I smiled, soft but knowing. "I know you did your best, Elfie. And you don't have to prove that to me."
She bit her lip, then, slowly, she stepped closer and reached out—this time letting me take her hand.
"It… still hurts. But I feel safe now," she whispered.
"Yeah, safer," I agreed, squeezing her hand gently. "We'll figure this out together."
The whole day unfolded like a strange dream.
Elfie wasn't herself. At first, I thought maybe it was just exhaustion. But no, it was more. The sharp edge of her possessiveness, that fierce grip she always had on me—it was gone.
She let me talk to other girls, even joked with them, smiled like a normal kid. Not once did she try to pull me away or glare like she wanted to scorch the ground beneath anyone who looked at me.
It was… surprising. I didn't know what to make of it.
Even when we practiced spells, I noticed something else. Her magic was weaker. She fumbled over the incantations, her control missing the fluid grace she usually had. The way she once bent elemental and celestial forces to her will was muted, like a fire reduced to embers. She tried to create something new—a spell to reinforce her magic—but it failed again and again. I didn't say anything, though. Some things don't need words.
By afternoon, she was quieter, more thoughtful, but kinder, gentler. It was strange to see her like that, but also… peaceful.
Then came the call.
"Kaiser, Elfie, Marton Liora wants to see you both," a caretaker said.
I glanced over at Elfie, who looked up, cheeks faintly pink, eyes nervous but determined.
"Well, shall we?" I said, smirking a little.
She nodded, shy but with a flicker of resolve.
We walked together toward Marton's office.
"So," I started, voice low and teasing, "feel any less obsessive today?"
Elfie blushed, covering her face briefly. "No! I'm not obsessed. I'm just… being nice."
"Uh-huh," I grinned. "Nice. Right."
She gave me a playful glare. "You're mean! But you're my best friend, so I forgive you."
I laughed softly. "See? That's progress."
We arrived at Marton's office and stepped inside.
"Have a seat," she said.
Elfie sat down next to me, looking up with those wide, bright eyes.
I glanced at her, the quiet shift in her aura still lingering in the back of my mind.
"Ready for whatever comes next?" I asked.
Elfie nodded, a soft smile curling her lips.
I sat quietly as Marton Liora's calm voice filled the room, her words unfolding like a carefully woven tapestry.
"You two have been invited to join the Asura Empire's Solerenne Academy of Sorcery," she said.
My mind immediately shifted gears. The Asura Empire — a realm known for discipline, power, and ruthless ambition. The Solerenne Academy wasn't just any school. It was the academy for gifted children like us, handpicked every three years from across the empire and beyond.
She explained further, "The academy has three stages of progression. First year, you enter as a Mage stage student — the foundation, learning to control and expand your magic. Second year, Beyonder stage — where your gifts begin to truly manifest, where the extraordinary starts to take shape. And finally, the third year is Sorcerer stage — where the prodigies stand out, where power and control reach their peak."
Her voice softened as she looked at Elfie and me, "You will start as Mages. The details will become clearer once you're there."
Elfie's voice broke the silence, timid but curious, "Why were we chosen?"
Liora smiled faintly, "Elfie, you are gifted beyond what the Asura Academy expects. Your talents surpass even the highest benchmarks they set. They want people like you."
"Why?" Elfie pressed. "Why do they want that?"
"That, we don't know," Liora admitted. "They say it's to prepare for a great calamity."
Great calamity. The phrase sent a ripple through my thoughts, a cascade of possibilities spinning out in precise vectors.
Calamity. What could that mean? War? Political upheaval? The Asura Emperor isn't known for reckless conflict, nor does the empire usually strike first. Their borders are secure, their armies formidable.
Could it be the demons, elves, or dwarfs? Those factions have tangled with Asura before, but open war would be catastrophic for all sides — and the empire's self-defense measures are sufficient to deter most threats.
Maybe it's the archons or the dragonics — those ancient, powerful beings capable of devastation. But what reason would they have to disrupt the fragile peace? Is the threat external, or is it something internal, something brewing beneath the surface we don't yet see?
The ambiguity gnawed at me. Defense against an unknown enemy — but who? What? When? All questions spinning without answers yet.
I glanced at Elfie. Her usually confident expression was replaced by unease.
"Why was Kaiser chosen?" she asked quietly.
Wait, what? I wasn't just a bystander in this? I turned to Marton, incredulous.
She sighed softly, "We don't know. Kaiser himself can't use magic, you know that. Even I told them. Yet, they still insisted you must attend."
Elfie's lips curled into a small smile, relief mixing with affection. "That's good... I won't be lonely there without you."
I sat back, caught between surprise and curiosity. Why me? What did they see that I didn't? What role was I meant to play in this 'great calamity' they hinted at?
Questions lingered like shadows in my mind.
We left Marton Liora's office with that strange lingering tension still between us, but Elfie didn't say anything. Neither did I.
The night air outside was cooler than I expected—thin, almost fragile. The lanterns along the path lit our way in patches, but she kept glancing at the sky like she was trying to ignore the ground entirely.
We wandered toward the old playing yard, the one no one used at night. She slowed down every time a cluster of stars peeked through the tree gaps, and I realized she wasn't just killing time. She actually liked this.
Elfie—of all people—could spend hours just staring up there.
"You know," I said, "most people your age are still obsessed with playing and making friends. But here you are, looking at the stars imagining a future.."
She giggled. "They're… magical. Don't you feel it when you look at them? Like they're calling you?"
I raised an eyebrow. "No. All I feel is the cold wind and my slowly freezing ears."
She pouted. "You're so boring."
The path opened into the old courtyard. No lamps here—just the night, wide and heavy. Elfie tilted her head back, eyes bright even in the dark.
"I don't know why… but I just love the stars, Kai. They're so far away, yet they still shine for us."
Her voice softened, almost afraid of being too loud. "My dream was always to become the light of the sky."
I looked up with her. It was quiet except for the faint rustle of leaves. I didn't answer right away—mostly because my head was already running calculations.
Going wherever she wanted meant time I didn't have, risks I didn't want. I didn't have mana, wasn't a prodigy, wasn't special. Just a fast learner with no talents.
She turned to me. "I want to be able to reach them."
Her eyes didn't blink. She meant it.
She was my friend… maybe my only friend. No—best friend.
I knew her dream wasn't about glory. She'd told me before: she wanted to use her magic to help the weak and poor, to make sure kids didn't suffer like she had. She wanted the kind of power that could change the rules entirely. Stronger than most royalty. Strong enough to never bow.
Without a noble background, it was nearly impossible. But she was stubborn enough to try.
Then she asked it.
"Will you be by my side there? Please?"
Her voice was so small, like she was afraid I'd laugh at her.
I looked at her, then at the endless black sky.
And I smiled.
I raised my hand, pulled out my pinky, and said, "I, Kaiser Everhart, promise you, Elfie. No matter the cost, I'll make you the Celestial Empress—the light of our world."
I held her gaze. "No matter the sacrifice, I'll make you win."
Her cheeks flushed pink even in the starlight. She hooked her pinky with mine, the tiniest laugh escaping her. "Then I promise too! I'll always be by your side and help you, Kai."
We didn't need more words. The stars were enough.
That's how we stayed—two kids making an impossible promise under the silent witnesses above.
At the end. I am going to win. For her.
And then—The sky shattered.
The stars bled into nothing.
I felt the world collapsing around me, my lungs crushed, my bones pulled apart.
And I woke up.