"So this is what it feels like to die…"
In the nameless darkness, Ren sneered. There was no feeling, no sound, only a vast and silent emptiness—as if the universe had swallowed him without a trace.
"I thought… I would drown forever. But why… does it still feel warm?"
Then something pierced his consciousness.
Light. Soft. Warm. Like the breath of mother earth herself.
He blinked.
And the world greeted him…with a cry.
His own cry.
His body felt cramped, weak, and foreign. He tried to speak, but only a baby's voice came out.
"Aaaa… uuaa…!"
"What is this…? I… am crying?"
Then a hand touched his cheek—gentle and loving.
"Look, he's crying! He's alive! The sky gods bless him!"
A woman's voice echoed. Her hands trembled as she held Ren's small body. A man stood beside her, wiping away her tears with rough but sincere hands.
"My child… you have come to this world… In the midst of a stormy night, you bring hope."
Ren slowly opened his eyes. This world… was different. The ceiling of the house was old wood, the lamps burning with a strange light that pulsed slowly like a living heart. The scent of herbs and wet earth filled the air.
And behind the cries… his soul began to awaken.
He realized one thing:
"I… have been reborn."
But as his consciousness began to merge with his new body, he heard a voice—not from outside, but from within his own heart. A voice that was like an echo, but it felt old… too old.
"Heir to the old body… Awake in a new form… This world knows you, though your name is buried in the sea."
"You are not just a surviving soul. You are the last spark of forgotten magic."
Suddenly, his baby's body shook weakly. A spiral star-shaped symbol appeared faintly on his chest—then disappeared in a flash. No one saw it… except Ren.
"…What was that…?" he thought. But he couldn't say it.
The mother who was holding him sighed softly.
"Your name is… Luciel. Hoshizura Luciel"
His father nodded. "In ancient language, it means 'Little Light'. You came when we were almost giving up hope. May you grow strong… and become a light for this country."
Luciel…New name. New world. But my soul… Still me.
And in his new soul, faintly… the ancient magic began to burn slowly—not with the flickering of numbers, but with the whispers of a dead age.
Five years had passed since that little light was born into the world.
Luciel grew up like any other child in a small village called Thalrin, a village surrounded by vast grasslands and misty mountains in the distance. But in his tiny body, there was a thirst for something unseen. Something far older than the world itself—though he himself did not yet understand its form.
Every morning, after helping his mother grind wheat or sweep the yard, Luciel would run to the open field on the edge of the village—alone, accompanied only by the wind and the rustle of the weeds.
There, he would stand upright, close his eyes, and move his hands in strange movements. Like trying to draw something in the air.
"In the shadow of the soul… form a flame…"
He opened his eyes.
Silence.
There was no fire. No spark. Only ordinary air and a gentle breeze that mocked him softly.
Luciel bit his lip.
"I know I used to… know how. I know magic isn't just a fairy tale. I used to… live in a world that understood it."
---
The father, Luika, a stiff, former magic soldier farmer who never talked much about feelings, often watched his son silently. He stood at a distance, leaning against a rotten wooden fence while watching with an unpredictable gaze.
Luciel tried again. His small hand opened to the sky.
"The light of heat, burning in my form…"
Nothing happened.
The father sighed, not too loudly but deeply. In his heart, he muttered:
"At only five years old… how can you use fire magic?"
He turned around, about to return to the fields.
But—right as he took a step—a red light appeared briefly from Luciel's fingertips. The father turned his body quickly.
"What… was that…?"
Luciel looked at his hand, surprised but also shining with joy. A small fire, a speck of red flame the size of a wheat grain, danced on the tip of his index finger. Not hot. Not wild. But real.
"Heh... finally it appears..."
And right after he smiled proudly, as if an invisible door inside him had opened wide, the flame exploded into a large ball, as big as an adult human head.
"Wow!"
Luciel chuckled, then exclaimed:
"Wow, great!"
But the fireball didn't stop there.
It began to shake, rising and falling, like a small creature that couldn't be controlled. Luciel tried to put it down, but its small body was unsteady.
"Eh, eh—wait, wait—!"
The fireball shot towards the forest, hitting a tall, dry old tree.
In an instant
"BOOOM!!"
Fire licked the tree trunks. Small explosions made birds fly. A tree fell and started to ignite two other trees.
The father immediately jumped from his place, running to the field, panicked but also… amazed.
He picked up Luciel who had fallen.
"Are you okay!?"
Luciel nodded quickly, his eyes sparkling and a little amused.
"I can control it… maybe. But it was funny when he exploded."
Luika stared at the forest that was starting to smoke. Her face was stiff. But not because of anger.
Because of amazement.
Because of fear.
Because of… hope.
"He… has never been taught. But can produce fire… that big? Hmpph… is my son a genius?..."
Luike stared at his son in silence. Then, in his heart, a decision grew like a seed watered by admiration.
"This child is better off living in the city. It would be a waste of his talent if he still lives in the village….."
"He… Maybe I should send him to the Magic Academy."
"But before that, maybe I should teach him some fighting techniques and basic magic training so he can take care of himself in the capital."
Luike asked Luciel.
"Hey kid, do you like magic?"
Luciel paused, then nodded quickly. "Yeah. I don't know why, but… I feel like I know it. Even before I've seen it. Magic is really great."
Hearing that his son had an interest in magic, Luciel immediately stood up and got excited.
"Do you want to learn fighting techniques and basic magic techniques?"
Hearing that, Luciel answered excitedly. "Yes, please teach me, Dad."
"Yosh, tomorrow afternoon," he said. "Come to this field after I get home from the fields. After you help your mother. I want to show you something."
---
The next morning sky was washed with purple. And the dew hanging on the leaves seemed to remind him of the promise of the coming afternoon.
That afternoon, as the shadows of the trees lengthened across the ground and the birds began to fly home, Luciel was already waiting. He stood in the middle of the field, carrying a small staff made by hand from a plum branch. Luika came with tired steps, but her gaze was sharp.
"You came just in time," she said matter-of-factly.
Luciel nodded. "I'm curious."
"Then, from now on... you are not just my son. You are my student."
And from that moment on, the days of training began.
Luika was no ordinary father. In his youth, he had been a magic soldier in the kingdom's border troops. He had seen cities burned by wild magic and forests destroyed by failed rituals. He knew that magic was no child's play.
"Magic is a shadow of the soul. And an unstable soul will lead its magic to destruction. You must learn to control yourself before you can control magic."
Luciel listened to everything intently. Every movement, every basic spell, and every philosophy about caution and strength, he kept deep. Their training was not just repeating movements or imitating words. It was an inner journey—to know yourself, accept your imperfections, and align your breath with the world.
Luika taught him how to fight with a stick, read the wind, understand your body's center of gravity, and how to channel energy from your chest center to your fingertips.
Luciel began to be able to light a small fire without burning the grass. He learned to channel heat into his palms without scalding his skin. And on a calm evening, he managed to make a small flame float above his hand for a full minute without shaking.
"Amazing," whispered Luika, who had never praised before.
And from that night, when that small fire lit between them, Luciel knew that the world that awaited him... had begun to notice his presence.
---
The following weeks became days of training that formed an irreplaceable foundation in Luciel.
Every afternoon, as the sun began to lean west, Luika took him to the same place. In the silent meadow, the sound of wood hitting, breathing, and the whispering of basic mantras became their daily music. Luika taught not only technique, but also spirit, rhythm, and inner peace.
"Straight slash technique. Don't aim at your opponent's body, aim at his intention," said his father as he twirled the wooden stick and struck the air. Luciel imitated her, his movements still stiff, but they became more precise day by day.
They trained in a three-part pattern: morning for the body, afternoon for magic, night for meditation. Luciel was taught to run without losing breath, to jump with the right balance, and to control his body's center of gravity when dodging. In a world where magic could burn and freeze at the same time, survival was not an option, but a necessity.
"If one day your magic fails, your sword must speak. If your sword falls, your feet must speak. If all is silent, your soul is the last to speak."
In magic training, Luika taught him the basic elemental spells. Fire, water, wind, and a little about earth. He forbade Luciel from touching black magic and white magic because it was too dangerous for a child who had not yet mastered complete calm.
Luciel also learned to control his breathing before casting a spell. Each spell began with a pause—a silent space where nature listened before responding.
"Imagine this world is not an inanimate object. But a breathing body. If you want to light a fire, you must understand where the hot heart of this world beats."
He began to be able to make sparks follow the movements of his hands. Then a small fire that he could swing. Sometimes it was a short sword, sometimes a small fireball, and sometimes just a flame that followed the rhythm of his movements like a bright red ribbon.
One day, Luika told him to close his eyes.
"Let your body and your five senses recognize the world. Listen to the grass, feel the wind, smell the earth. And then call fire from the center of your chest, not from your fingers."
Luciel tried.
And when the fire burned, without him opening his eyes, Luika knew the boy had crossed the first threshold.
—
A few days later, as Luika sat alone under the old elm tree that grew behind their house, she reflected on all that had happened. Time seemed to pass more quickly than usual. The child who had once cried in her arms was now able to light a fire and control the wind with gentle movements.
Luika closed her eyes. Faces from the past came to her mind: comrades who had fallen in battle, cities burned to the ground by uncontrolled magic, and the screams that had never left her mind.
She took a deep breath.
"It's time," she murmured.
That evening, after a simple dinner, Luika called Luciel and his wife into the living room. The fire in the fireplace burned softly, dancing in the soft light that cast shadows on the walls of their wooden house.
"I've been thinking for a long time," Luika said, looking into her son's face. "Luciel... you've gone beyond what I can teach you here."
Luciel turned, his eyes narrowing. "Father...?"
Luika looked at her wife, then back at Luciel. "We will go to the capital. You will enroll in the Royal Magic Academy."
Silence fell over the room for a few seconds.
"The Magic... Academy?" Luciel whispered.
Luika nodded firmly. "A place where those with talent are trained, not only to become strong, but also to understand how to protect the world with that power."
Luciel did not answer immediately. He simply stared at the fire in the fireplace, and for a moment, the flames reflected his sparkling eyes.
"Yes, Father. I will go. I want to know... what the world holds beyond the horizon."
And that night, their decision was made. The journey into the future had begun.