POV: Kael Lanpar
(Two years earlier)
I placed my hand against the window's glass and pushed it open slowly, letting the fresh morning air fill the cabin.
From this height, I could see how the clouds were beginning to cover the majesty of my kingdom. The castle was the last thing I managed to glimpse before it vanished into the mist.
I released a quiet sigh. I knew there was no turning back. This decision was for my own good… and for theirs.
A soft tingling brushed my lips as I thought of my family. A smile formed on its own—warm, like the sunlight touching my face.
Everything looked beautiful from above. Birds flew in formation over vast green fields dotted with trees swaying in the wind.
I stepped away from the window and closed it, settling back into my seat as the cabin swayed gently.
I had thought traveling by land would be easier, but the elves had other ideas.
I wasn't complaining: flying on the back of such a majestic creature was, in a way, a dream come true… though the motion sickness wasn't exactly pleasant.
"How are you feeling, Kael?" Darknight asked, crossing his legs in front of me. "I can tell this is your first time flying on a bird."
I nodded, resting my head against the seat.
"It feels strange," I admitted, my stomach still unsettled. "But I suppose I'll get used to it."
Darknight smiled calmly and pulled from his pocket a shimmering leaf; each fiber glowed with a different color, as if it breathed light.
"This will help with the nausea," he said, extending it to me. "The scent of Avella Citra helps relax the mind."
I took the leaf carefully and brought it to my nose. Its sweet fragrance spread through my senses, easing the nausea… though at the same time, a pleasant drowsiness washed over me.
"You should rest, Kael," he said with a warm, almost fatherly voice. "This journey will be long."
I obeyed. I closed my eyes and let out a yawn. The scent grew stronger. Suddenly, the wind faded… and with it, the entire world.
My breathing slowed and deepened; I could feel my chest rising and falling with each inhale.
Even asleep, my mind refused to stay still. When a faint light pushed through the darkness, I realized I had awakened… somewhere else.
(Mental Space)
Slowly, I rubbed my eyes and opened them with reluctance. Everything was blurry at first, but shapes gradually sharpened.
Standing before me was Vastiar, watching me with that stern look I could never ignore.
I stretched, feeling the rough bark of the tree I had been leaning against. In the distance, the gentle sound of flowing water from my mana waterfall filled the space with a calming murmur.
"Why do you look so annoyed?" I asked, scratching my head.
Before I got an answer, I felt a light tap on my head. I clenched my teeth, pressing my hand to the spot.
"Ouch!" I grumbled, rubbing the area. "What was that for?"
"The first thing you promised me," he said with a deep frown, "was that you wouldn't abandon Airis. And yet that's exactly what you've done—left her on her own."
"What are you talking about?" I protested childishly, crossing my arms. "I didn't leave her on her own!"
Vastiar scoffed, crossed his arms, and then dropped to the ground, sitting in a lotus position.
I remembered why I wanted to talk to him and sat beside him, plucking a white leaf from the tree shading us.
"Can you explain how you're here, inside my mental space?" I asked, incredulous. "You were supposed to be… already…"
"I'm not dead yet," he interrupted, raising his voice with a hint of irritation. "Trying to kill me off already, kid?"
I placed my hands on the ethereal ground and let out a short laugh, lifting my gaze toward the sky of my mental space.
In that vast, pure expanse, the blood-red moon—symbol of my corrupted awakening—cast a faint glow that fell like a veil over the mana waterfall.
The contrast between both elements made the place feel as if it were breathing with me.
"I'm glad you're here, Vastiar," I murmured, my voice softer than I intended. "I still haven't gotten used to being alone in this place."
I stood up with some effort and walked toward my father's grave, following the echo of my memories.
It was strange how pain could intertwine with tenderness. I had lost someone I loved… yet deep down, I knew his departure had been necessary.
I knelt before the stone where his name was engraved. As I placed my hand on it, the cold, rough surface crawled up through my fingers.
A bittersweet smile tugged at my lips. I sighed… just before Vastiar cut through my thoughts.
"Do you have any idea how this place works?" he asked in a monotone voice.
I turned toward him and found him analyzing every corner of the mental space as if he were dissecting its layers.
"I don't fully understand it, but…" I searched for the right words. "I know that everything here is made from what I've lived."
"It's like… a projection of my experiences," I added as I stood and rested my hands on my knees.
Vastiar kept his gaze distant for a few more seconds before speaking again.
"In part, you're right," he said calmly. "You have a basic idea of how it works, but not of what it truly is."
A spark of curiosity lit inside me. I had always believed this place was nothing more than my consciousness drifting in the void of dreams. But judging by his tone, there was something I had been missing.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Vastiar placed a firm hand on my shoulder.
"It's hard to digest, kid," he warned. "This place is your core."
I frowned, confused.
"The mental space is a canvas painted over time," he continued. "Every experience, every lesson, every wound… everything is imprinted here."
He lifted a finger toward the blood-red moon.
"But the core… the core is the brush," he explained. "That moon of blood, that mana waterfall, your type of awakening… all of it is born from your essence. This place doesn't just reflect your soul—it's shaped by it."
The moment I heard the word, I understood.
My soul wasn't just living inside this place… it was the artist shaping it. A truth I had begun to suspect, but now it had weight and a name.
Even as I processed it, I felt my consciousness rising toward the surface. The journey was ending. We had arrived at the elven kingdom.
I sighed and extended my hand to Vastiar. He took it without hesitation, fully aware of what was happening.
"I hope this helps you," he said with a calm, almost fatherly tone.
I gave him one last smile. The sound of the waterfall faded behind me, slowly replaced by faint murmurs.
(Outside the Mental Space)
Even with my eyes closed, I felt the morning light seep through my eyelids. Blurred voices reached me, faint at first.
"Kael, we've arrived. Get up." Darknight's familiar voice pulled me from sleep.
I rubbed my eyes, letting my vision adjust, and the first thing I saw was the face of the elven king.
I inhaled deeply, trying to fully wake up.
I pushed myself upright clumsily, one hand braced against the wooden cabin wall to steady myself. I was still half-asleep, my movements unsteady.
Darknight noticed, and without warning, he lifted me into his arms and settled me onto his back.
I let out a small gasp of surprise. I had no choice but to wrap my arms around his neck and rest my head on his shoulder while the driver opened the cabin door.
We descended together and were greeted by a contingent of royal guards. Each one carried a spear of dark steel and stood in a perfect formation on both sides, opening a path for our arrival.
"Welcome home, Your Majesty," the driver said, removing his hat as he bowed.
It was impossible not to be amazed by what lay before me. I had read countless descriptions of the landscapes of each kingdom, but seeing them with my own eyes was an entirely different experience.
High above, enormous winged creatures glided across the sky. Their long tails swayed behind them, and their feathers shimmered under the sunlight as if woven from fragments of auroras.
Unlike Auroria, this kingdom was divided into floating districts.
For reasons I still couldn't understand, massive chunks of land hovered suspended in the air, as if held up by an invisible force.
From where I stood, I could see villagers crossing from one district to another using dark wooden bridges that swayed gently with the wind, hanging over the abyss.
"It's good to be home," Darknight exclaimed. "I see nothing has changed."
With slow, almost ceremonial care, Darknight knelt so I could climb down from his back and return to solid ground.
A drop of sweat rolled down my forehead when I noticed the tense stares of the guards. I didn't understand why until they muttered among themselves.
I channeled mana into my senses, and the world seemed to slow down. In the distance, I could hear the soft current of a river, the rustling of leaves stirred by the breeze, and even the faint creak of weapons gripped nervously.
"The king just knelt," whispered one of them, tightening his hold on his spear. "What a disgrace."
I grimaced.
I saw nothing wrong with Darknight's gesture, but I understood why they viewed it as improper. In this world, being a king carried a weight that went beyond power. It was symbol, pride, and tradition.
As we walked, accompanied by the metallic rhythm of the warriors' steps, a persistent thought began to disturb me.
If the main families of the three great kingdoms had been the founders of their own nations, why didn't that apply to the Lanpar line?
It wasn't a particularly clever question, but the comparison was inevitable. Unlike the Lankerman—the elven founders—or the Quintos, pillars of the dwarven kingdom, the Lanpar family had far fewer generations in power.
The human kingdom's past had been erased or manipulated over time. Not even in the royal library had I found clear records that explained that historical gap.
"You look deep in thought, Kael," Darknight said, pulling me from my thoughts. "I promised your father I would care for you as if you were my own family, and I intend to keep that promise."
His warm gaze managed to dispel my doubts, at least for the moment.
We walked for several minutes through the elven capital, passing through the marketplace where villagers sold their goods from wooden stalls.
The enthusiastic cries of the vendors filled the air, but they quieted the moment the royal guard advanced, marking our path with their imposing presence.
The crowd gathered along the sides of the road, eager to see who was passing. And when they recognized their king, they erupted into cheers and praise.
Unable to get closer due to the barrier of soldiers, many settled for brushing their fingers against Darknight's cloak, as if that alone were enough to grant them a blessing.
I remembered, thanks to my father's teachings, that monarchy in this world was inherited through what they called golden blood.
Kings were seen as gods; Strikers, as heralds of destruction; and mages, the first line of defense against any threat.
Suddenly, my body moved on instinct. A tomato grazed my cheek, thrown by one of the elves in the crowd.
The guards reacted instantly, pinning the elf to the ground as his shouts echoed among the stalls. We continued moving away, but his voice—filled with hatred—still reached us.
"Your blood is full of murderers!" the elf screamed. "You killed our people!"
A cold knot formed in my stomach. The atmosphere shifted in seconds: the cheers meant for the king turned into insults directed at me—at my race… at my family.
With my heightened senses, I could see how the auras of those around us twisted the moment they felt my presence. It was a visceral hatred, almost instinctive.
Before the guards could react, a mage rushed toward us, conjuring in his hand a compressed water bullet that vibrated rapidly.
This time, my reflexes weren't fast enough. If it hadn't been for Darknight, I would have been seriously injured.
My breathing was uneven. Darknight had grabbed me tightly, pulling me away from the attack with overwhelming speed.
"Are you all right, Kael?" he asked, concern in his voice.
"I think so," I replied, bringing a hand to my cheek.
When I moved it away, I saw it stained red. It was my blood.