Michael's mind felt hazy, his consciousness teetering on the edge of wakefulness. It was as if his body were submerged underwater—weightless, muffled, and adrift.
He opened his eyes.
Only darkness greeted him.
Where… am I?
He tried to recall what had happened. Flashes of memory slipped through his grasp like smoke.
I was in the library… with that tutor. What was his name again?
His thoughts were slow, disconnected, as if thick fog filled his skull. Something important nagged at the back of his mind, but the sensation was fleeting—washed away by an unnatural sense of calm. It was as though he'd become untethered from the world, free from burdens.
"…chael…"
"Michael!"
Hmm? Who's calling me?
He turned his head instinctively, but there was no direction in this void—no up, no down, no ground beneath him. Just blackness stretching forever.
"Wake up…"
A flicker of violet light appeared in the distance. It was faint, a pinprick in the dark, but it shimmered with breathtaking clarity.
Intrigued, Michael moved toward it, his limbs propelling him through the nothingness like he was swimming through still water. As he approached, the light grew brighter—larger—until he could make out its shape.
It was a ring.
A massive, violet-colored ring, glowing faintly in the dark.
That looks like… an Arcane ring? he thought, awe blooming in his chest.
Now up close, he could grasp its sheer scale. The ring's circumference dwarfed even the Winterborne manor. It radiated a power that stirred something primal within him—awe and fear in equal measure.
"Michael…"
The voice called again, clearer and louder this time. He glanced toward the sound and spotted another light—this one green, pulsing steadily in the distance.
Green? Are these… really Arcane rings?
Driven by curiosity, he swam upward. As he neared, another giant ring came into view, this one green like an emerald sea. It shared the same structure as the violet one but was noticeably smaller.
He continued his ascent.
Soon, a blue ring appeared. Smaller still, yet unmistakably similar. Even through the haze in his mind, Michael could sense a pattern. These weren't random.
Still, the mystery of this place gnawed at him.
Where am I? How did I get here?
"Wake up, Michael…"
The voice returned—more urgent now. It was definitely male, but still unfamiliar.
Am I dreaming? Did I fall asleep in the library?
He shook his head, focusing again on his climb. Past the blue ring lay the red, glowing like a crimson halo. But this one was different.
Inside it, seated at its center, was a radiant figure.
The being sat cross-legged in a lotus pose, its body glowing pure white—so bright it was nearly blinding. Its back was turned to him.
"Hello?" Michael called out, cautiously. "Do you know where we are?"
The figure didn't answer. It remained completely still, as if unaware of his presence.
Michael drifted closer and reached out, placing a hand gently on its shoulder.
The moment he made contact, agony exploded in his mind.
"A-ARGH!"
He screamed, clutching his head as searing pain tore through his thoughts. His vision twisted. The entire world around him trembled.
The darkness shattered—
—and the void began to fade from existence.
"Michael!"
He jolted awake to the sound of his name being called. His eyes snapped open—and Lord Winterborne's handsome face came into focus, twisted with worry, just inches away.
"W-What's wrong?" Michael mumbled, his voice weak.
His limbs felt heavy, his thoughts clouded. As he glanced around, his eyes widened.
The library—once cozy and serene—was in ruins.
Bookshelves lay toppled over, their contents strewn across the floor. Tables were shattered, chairs reduced to splinters. The air hung with the scent of dust and scorched parchment. The sight was nothing short of devastation.
"Are you alright? Does anything hurt?" the lord asked, his voice trembling with concern.
Michael tried to sit up but faltered. Lord Winterborne caught him with ease and helped him into a seated position.
"I… I think I'm okay. Thank you," he said quietly.
Now upright, Michael noticed the others in the room. Charles knelt nearby, clutching his bleeding left arm. A maid knelt beside him, quickly wrapping it in clean bandages.
The young tutor's usually confident expression had been replaced by something else—fear. And that fear was directed squarely at Michael.
"My Lord… what happened here?" Michael asked, his tone genuinely innocent.
"You don't remember anything?"
Michael shook his head. "The last thing I remember is…" He trailed off, sifting through the fog in his memory. Then suddenly, he froze—his face draining of color.
"I-I'm terribly sorry, my lord!" he burst out, bowing his head low. "Please punish me for shouting at the young miss!"
He remembered now—his argument with Melody, yelling at her to take back her words. Everything after that was a blur… except for the strange place of rings and darkness.
"Don't worry, Michael. Melody can handle a verbal lashing," Lord Winterborne said gently, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "But you must be more careful in the future…"
"O-of course!" Michael replied quickly. "I promise—I won't raise my voice in front of the young miss again!"
But his words made the lord chuckle.
"That's not what I meant, Michael," he said. "Look there."
He gestured to Michael's left wrist.
Michael blinked and looked down. His sleeve was torn and frayed—revealing something he hadn't expected.
"HUH!?"
A single, glowing red ring now adorned his wrist, bright and vivid—as if it had always been there.
"You went through an ascension ritual, Michael," Lord Winterborne explained, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Though… not exactly by traditional means."
Michael stared in shock. "What do you mean?"
"You ascended," the man said, his voice growing serious. "You dove into the Arcana—something that should never be done lightly."
"The… Arcana?" Michael echoed, confused.
Lord Winterborne nodded gravely. "It's a metaphysical realm that nourishes the soul during ascension. But a single misstep there could mean death… or worse."
That place was the Arcana?
Michael swallowed hard. "Worse than death?"
The lord's gaze darkened.
"Soul Dissolution."
His voice was quiet now, almost reverent. "A fate where your soul disintegrates completely—leaving your body an empty husk."
Michael's breath caught in his throat.
This wasn't the first time he had unwittingly ascended, but only now did he know just how dangerous it was.
It made his skin crawl.
"Alright, that's enough for now. Go get some rest."