The morning light bled softly through the high-arched windows of the estate as the elderly butler gently roused me from bed. In his hands, he carried my luggage — or rather, the modest, medium-sized case containing what little I owned.
"Good morning, young Ezekiel," he greeted with the same gentleness he always carried.
I offered a sleepy nod and murmured, "Morning," as I got up and readied myself. After dressing, I walked down the quiet marble hallway, letting my fingers brush against the polished wooden panels, committing the estate's elegance to memory — the chandeliers that cast sun-dappled patterns on the floor, the soft rustle of distant servants moving about. It wasn't home, but it had, strangely, grown familiar.
At the gate, the carriage awaited, already prepared for departure.
And then came Elowynn.
She approached with the grace of a noble born, her expression unreadable as always. Behind her trailed a small army of servants, each struggling under the weight of twelve full-sized luggages, stacked and strapped with impressive precision.
Twelve.
Compared to my single, worn-out case, it looked like a royal relocation.
I blinked.
She caught my glance and said flatly, "What? Preparation is a virtue. You were barely informed the day before."
"Right..." I muttered, scratching the back of my head. "I guess I'm traveling light."
"Light enough to be mistaken for a page boy," Serenya whispered in my mind.
I sighed.
Without further exchange, the doors of the grand carriage were opened, and our journey toward Aetherfall Academy — the center of power, prestige, and unknown trials — had begun.
The two enormous black horses pulled us along the stone road again, their hooves hitting the ground like muffled thunder. At least this time, I wasn't being carted off like some glorified package or paraded in front of a slave block. Small wins, I guess.
Maybe I should get back at that greedy bastard of a merchant. But... he wasn't entirely wrong. Staying in the Pale March would've only buried me deeper into obscurity. Being here might actually lead to something — anything.
I leaned against the carriage window, watching the passing streets come alive. This world was still unfamiliar, still unreal. People bustled with their own business. Traders yelled out prices. Guards patrolled the alleys. Everything had the scent of old stone, spice, and magic.
"Right," I muttered to myself. "Humans aren't the only race here. I figured as much."
"You're correct," Serenya answered smoothly, her voice trailing like a breeze through my mind. "Though humans dominate this kingdom, outside its borders, your kind are seen as little more than inconvenient pests — especially by the vampire clans."
I frowned. "So humans and vampires have some history?"
"A bloody one," she replied. "Humans were once nothing more than prey. To the vampire race, your blood was both food and currency. That changed only after the emergence of the First King of Mourning."
"First king of the mourning?" I echoed.
"Yes. While each nation now has its own king or queen, there exists one ruler who sits above all — the King of the Mourning. He did not rise from any kingdom... because there were no kingdoms before him."
"So... a king of kings?"
"Indeed. The one who ended the Age of Silence — when the world was untamed, raw, and ruled by endless conflict. He brokered the first peace between humans and vampires, forging a contract with the First Vampire herself. Without him, your kind might have never climbed past the role of livestock."
"...Why doesn't he rule a kingdom now?"
"Because the kingdoms you know were born after the Mourning ended. He was a ruler not by bloodline... but by miracle. The world remembers him not as a monarch, but as a savior."
I sat back, letting that sink in.
A king without a kingdom. A vampire who agreed to peace. A world that once had no borders, now divided by names and crowns.
This wasn't just a fantasy world. It was a place layered with its own histories, its own gods and failures.
And I, somehow, had been dropped into the middle of it.
I glanced out the window again, but the thought wouldn't leave my mind. Maybe Elowynn knew more — nobles usually had access to education and archives.
"Hey, Elowynn?"
She turned her head slightly, not quite meeting my gaze but acknowledging me nonetheless. "Yes?"
"Do you know anything about the King of the Mourning?"
A pause. "Did your spirit tell you that name?"
"Yeah… kinda."
"The First, I presume?"
I blinked. "There's more than one?"
She gave a faint nod. "Yes, but the first King of the Mourning is the one whose story shaped the foundations of our era. The others are either successors, imitators, or false myths."
"So what about him?"
"From what I was taught... he was a strange man."
"Strange how?"
"He didn't possess overwhelming strength or magical prowess. By most standards, he was ordinary — a natural human without a mana core, born with no special traits."
"Doesn't sound like someone who'd reshape the world."
"That's where it gets odd. Despite being 'ordinary,' he was responsible for the extinction of an entire race... not through brute force, but sheer strategy, charisma, and the one thing no one expected: spiritual resonance."
"You mean he was the first to form a spirit contract?"
"Precisely. Before him, spirits existed — revered, feared, worshiped — but never touched. It was he who reached across that threshold."
"Who was the spirit?"
"A first circle spirit, tied to the concept of a new beginning. Some stories say he fell in love with her — a love so profound it blurred the boundary between mortal and spirit."
I let that sink in. "So... the entire system we have now — kingdoms, contracts, mana theory... all of it started with him?"
"Yes. He didn't just form the first contract — he laid the blueprints for everything that came after. Scholars call him the Architect of Order. Without him, we'd likely still be in the Age of Silence."
"That's... kind of insane."
"It gets better." She crossed one leg over the other, arms resting calmly. "He was said to have recorded everything — all his knowledge, theories, secrets — into scrolls and tablets, scattered and sealed across the continents."
"And no one ever found them?"
"We found some. But deciphering them has proven nearly impossible. He didn't write in any known language. He used codes — layers upon layers of complex patterns, formulas, metaphors. They say even some spirits struggle to interpret his work."
"Why would he do that?"
"To keep it from falling into the wrong hands. Or perhaps, to test the worth of those who seek it. Only those who understand his vision, or share his burden, might be able to unlock what he left behind."
I stared out the window again, this time not at the world outside, but at the thought of it.
The king who fell in love with a spirit.
The one who gave birth to awakeners through legacy, not blood.
The one who seeded a world... and buried its truths.
"So what were the ones the royal nobles actually recovered?" I asked, leaning forward with curiosity.
Elowynn didn't hesitate. "The first and most foundational was the world system — the structure of kingdoms, economic frameworks, social hierarchies, even the concept of divine rule. He practically outlined civilization."
"That's... absurdly detailed."
"The second was the earliest documentation of magic — specifically, the formation of the mana core system awakeners use today."
That lined up with what I had been told before. "So he really created the foundation of awakeners."
"Yes. But the most remarkable of all," she added, a rare glint of admiration showing in her eyes, "was a discovery tied to one of his own personal creations... something he supposedly forged after venturing into the Realm of Life."
That name sent a chill down my spine.
"Realm of Life?"
"It's said to be the place where spirits of the virtuous are taken after death. A sanctified plane untouched by war or decay."
Sounds a hell of a lot like Heaven. I swallowed that thought down.
"And what did he bring back from there?"
"An entire language. Or rather, a system — the Runic Language."
"So… a language meant to be spoken?"
"No. Not quite. It wasn't meant to be uttered, but written. Each symbol, each rune, carries meaning. But more than that — power. The runes invoke reality itself when properly understood and applied."
"So the royals tried to use it?"
"They tried. They still try. But most of what he left behind is indecipherable. They only scraped together fragments. Even those are barely functional."
"Why? Is it that complex?"
She gave a subtle nod. "Incomprehensibly so. Even now, after centuries, we've only uncovered the meanings behind the most basic of elemental runes — fire, water, wind, stone... and even those we only teach at a foundational level."
"So what do they use it for?"
"Alchemy. Engineering. Some noble families use them as seals for ancient vaults or relics. But no one alive today fully understands the true depth of what each rune means."
"How long does it take to decipher one?"
Her voice dropped slightly, almost solemnly. "Three centuries."
"Three hundred years for one rune?" I blinked. "And how many runes are there?"
"Five thousand."
I nearly choked. "Five... thousand?"
She met my stunned gaze, unfazed. "Yes. Five thousand unique symbols, each layered with metaphysical, elemental, philosophical, and spiritual meaning. And that's just what's known."
I leaned back, overwhelmed. "That's like trying to decode reality itself."
She smiled faintly. "Exactly. The Runic Language isn't just a tool — it's an echo of something far older than any kingdom, than even spirits. It's a language of laws — not written by men, but by the one who dreamed of reshaping the world."
"Was there ever someone who truly mastered the Runic Language?" I asked.
Elowynn gave a rare nod. "Yes, indeed. One name echoes louder than the rest."
She paused, letting the weight of her answer linger.
"The Great Sage of the Silent Age — Jhenna Ferez."
That name alone sounded like something out of a myth.
"Silent Age?"
"It was an era marked by stillness and decay. No wars, no innovation, just... stagnation. Yet amidst that stillness, she studied what everyone else had abandoned. The Runic Language. And eventually, she mastered it."
"So she's still alive?"
"Yes. Jhenna is immortal — one of the few who forged her body and soul into something unbound by time. As far as anyone knows, she is the only active user of the Runic Language today."
I blinked. "Only? Why? Surely others would want that kind of power."
"They did. But the reality is... most gave up. The effort, the decades, the sheer obsession it demands — all of it eventually drove them away. In time, even kingdoms deemed it inefficient."
She leaned back slightly in her seat, her tone calm but resolute.
"They turned instead to the Mana System — a far more convenient and accessible source of magic. Structured. Easier to teach. Easier to wield. It became the foundation of modern spellcraft."
"So you're saying... people in this country also chose convenience."
"Just like in yours," she replied, her eyes narrowing slightly. "A common thread in all civilizations, it seems. Given the choice between slow mastery and immediate strength... people often choose what feels easier. Even if it means losing something greater."