An eight-year-old like me, getting separated from home again — and all for just some studies. It felt unnecessary. She cares about me a lot... but wait, she's not even my real mom.
Why does it hurt then?
I looked out from the carriage. The trees were painted golden by the late afternoon sun, and leaves danced in the wind like falling feathers. Mountain peaks stood like silent guardians on the horizon. The sound of the horse's hooves was almost rhythmic. I had left home early in the morning, and now, the sky was turning a shade of orange.
I sighed.
The woman guiding the carriage — the disciple of my supposed tutor — was humming some tune as we rode. I couldn't say I hated the view, but my mind was stuck somewhere else.
Finally, the wheels came to a halt.
I stepped down... and stood frozen.
What the hell?
A castle — no — a fortress of marble, silver, and glowing banners towered in front of me. I didn't expect something this grand. Noblemen in crisp suits moved about, servants in lines, flowers aligned at every corner. The air smelled like perfume and bread.
"Oh my dear, you're only eight years old... and yet you've made it here," an old woman appeared beside me. She had a walking stick with a lion crest on it and moved slowly, like she'd lived through centuries.
"I've never seen a castle this big," I muttered without realizing.
She looked at me curiously. "And who might you be, little sir?"
"Ryan Nightveil."
Her face twitched. Just for a second — her smile fell. That name... it meant something.
But it returned quickly. "Well then, young Master Nightveil," she said, her tone suddenly more formal, "let's teach you how to greet like nobility."
I mimicked her posture, bowed exactly how she showed me, and she gave a soft clap.
She walked me through the halls. Her voice was saying something about noble etiquette or maybe the architecture of the castle... but I was completely lost. The ceilings were so high, I was half afraid they touched the clouds. Gold embroidery, gemstone chandeliers, and portraits of powerful-looking people lined the walls.
"Did you understand, Ryan?"
I blinked. "Uh... yes, Ma'am."
She smiled, stopped, and pointed to a cushioned bench. "Sit here. You'll meet someone soon."
A maid entered quietly. "Would you like some milk, sir?"
Milk? Seriously? I needed tea.
"Thanks for the milk," I replied politely.
Then — chaos.
"Whaaaat?! A partner? I don't want to study anymore!"
A voice echoed from the hall, sweet yet complaining.
The old hag chuckled and stood up. "Come now. Don't be rude."
A girl walked in. And wow\...
Silver-white hair. Turquoise eyes. She had the poise of a queen and the delicate movements of a trained dancer. Her presence felt... different.
"This is Luci," the old woman said. "You two will train together."
"Train with someone who probably has a poor mind? No thanks."
Ouch.
I smiled in my head. Poor mind? I'll show you.
I stood, bowed, and said my name with perfect noble greeting. The old woman clapped again.
Luci's eyes flared. "You never clap when I greet."
She stormed off.
"Leave her be," the woman said gently. "She's... like that."
Then softer: "Her mother died when she was born. Her father — a noble — barely visits. She's had no real friends. But... I'm happy you're here. Maybe things will change."
I tilted my head.
Friends?
I didn't come here for that.
If I can gain knowledge here — rare books, elite training — I'll stay. Nothing else mattered.
Luci or not.
The old hag said we'd start training tomorrow, so I could rest for the night.
Honestly... for the first time in years — yeah, years — I really missed home.
What was she doing right now?
She always acted strong, like nothing could break her. But I knew better. Even if she wasn't my real mother, even if I was just a kid in her eyes… her love felt real. Warm. Comforting.
I stared at the ceiling of this oversized noble guest room, the bed way too soft, the sheets too clean — it felt fake. Polished.
Back at home, the wooden floor creaked, the bed was scratchy, and the fireplace hissed like it was alive.
But it was home.
Still… I'm not the kind of guy who sulks forever.
So, I grabbed the book lying near the desk. The title was ancient, worn out. Something about mana roots and aura density. I'd probably read something similar before.
Funny. I've learned more in these eight years than I ever did back in my old world. I mean, who needs physics when you've got magic that bends the air itself?
I wonder… what's happening in the real world?
Was I missed? Probably not.
My classmates? Teachers? They'd move on.
And my death? A page in a local newspaper, maybe.
"Lonely genius dies in freak accident. No known family survived."
Heh… how poetic.
Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed through the room.
My head jerked up.
What the hell was that?
I placed the book down slowly, scanning the dim candle-lit room. The shadows on the walls danced, but something felt… off.
Too still.
"Who's there?" I said, trying to keep my voice steady, but my hands were already curling into fists.
No answer.
Then—before I could even react—something wrapped around my mouth. Fast. Cold. Firm.
"Mmmph—!"
I thrashed, but a voice hissed right into my ear.
"Nightveil."
My blood froze.
I twisted around, heart pounding.
It was the old hag.