Life is unpredictable, no matter how much you try to plan for it.
I've made countless attempts to control my circumstances, but it has all been in vain. Over time, I've accepted its unpredictability and chosen to adapt to whatever comes my way.
Take my family, for instance.
Standing before me is a grave bearing my mother's name. Beside me stands my older sister, tears streaking her face. Aside from the two of us, no one else has come to pay their respects.
My mother passed away just after I graduated from high school.
I can't say I was entirely surprised.
For years, she had been overworking herself, quietly taking on the weight of the family's responsibilities.
Bit by bit, the strain wore her down, leaving her visibly exhausted and withdrawn.
But that wasn't what killed her. It was something else, something I never would have imagined.
She was murdered. The act was planned and carried out by my younger sister and father.
The details are still unclear, but from what I've gathered, my father orchestrated the entire thing and made my sister the scapegoat.
If I hadn't stumbled upon the evidence by chance, he might've gotten away with it entirely.
The supposed motive?
It was something like an argument over money my mother had kept hidden from him.
After the incident, my father was imprisoned, and my younger sister disappeared without a trace.
My older sister carried the emotional weight of it all. She had been the closest to our mother, and losing her so suddenly, and at the hands of our own family, was something she couldn't process right away.
Even so, little by little, she found a way to move forward, though it took everything she had. In time, she chose to abandon our family name, cutting the final tie to what was left of our old life.
Eventually, I did the same. I realized I no longer had any reason to carry it either.
Everything from our past, the life of wealth and indulgence, and even the life of the poor but valued each other, was gone. Letting go of the family name meant closing the chapter on our family legacy.
Of course, my sister and I still treat each other as family. But any mention of the past is immediately shut down by her.
Strangely, none of this unsettles me. My only response to it all is, "That's surprising."
I haven't shed a tear, nor do I harbor resentment toward my father. Instead, I'm left with questions, a curiosity about his actions.
'Why did he do it?'
'If he was clever enough to orchestrate my mother's death with such precision, why didn't he use that same ingenuity to improve his own life?'
'Was he simply losing his mind? If so, when did it start?'
'In my memories, he had always been a rational man, someone who ran his company with clear judgment, at least until the bankruptcy hit. So what could have caused such a sharp decline in his reasoning?'
As I turned those questions over in my mind, a thought slowly took shape.
'Perhaps there's something in this world, an invisible force, that gradually eats away at a person's rationality.'
And so, I created a mental to-do list: understand this force, and make sure I never fall into that same stupidity until the very end.
***
Naphael sat in his office at the Military Headquarters of the Maurya Empire.
Following breakfast, he continued to his duties as Supreme Marshal. It's a position that carries immense responsibility. He acted as Chief of Defense, overseeing strategy and command of the military.
Now, he was going through his usual routine, reviewing the latest military report. But as he read through the documents, his concentration faltered. Without realizing it, he set the papers down.
He let out a quiet sigh.
His mind had wandered back to breakfast, to the incident involving Sophia.
'I messed it up. Again.'
As a Grand Tamer, he had faced challenges few could even comprehend. And yet, when it came to his own daughter, he always seemed to get it wrong.
He let out a long, quiet breath.
Things hadn't always been this way between them. In fact, they used to be very close. Sophia would run to greet him the moment he returned from work, and they would spend their afternoons together in the Kovalevska estate garden.
But that was a long time ago, back when Sophia was still a child, unaware of the expectations that surrounded her, or the weight of the word 'talent' in a noble's life.
In the Maurya Empire, a noble's worth was defined by their 'talent.' It could take many forms: spellcasting, raw physical strength, or, in rare cases, a bloodline ability. Whatever the form, talent was everything. It decides your standing, your future, and in many ways, your right to belong.
Sadly, Sophia had nothing. She couldn't perform spellcasting, lacked physical strength, and–most critically–she didn't have a bloodline ability, something expected of any high-ranking noble in the Maurya Empire. In truth, she was even weaker than the average person.
Normally, this wouldn't have been such a problem. But given her lineage, the daughter of the Kovalevska family and the Grand Magus, her lack of talent was something that society simply couldn't overlook.
But then, that morning at breakfast, Sophia brought him news that defied all logic.
'A nine-stroke beast...'
Suddenly, a wave of headache surged through his mind. His chest tightened, and his thoughts grew hazy. A cold sweat broke across his forehead.
'I let my guard down...'
It wasn't the first time this had happened. Ever since his encounter with the black cat, these episodes had become frequent.
Without hesitation, he focused his mana, channeling it through his mind, specifically into his 'unconscious realm.'
Gradually, his breathing stabilized, and the headache in his mind began to lift. Bit by bit, he returned to his normal state.
He let out a long breath, covering his head with one hand.
Then, he realized something.
"...I see. This is a 'trauma.'"
***
I wake up on Sophia's bed, finishing my regular afternoon nap. In front of me, Sophia is curled up, covering her eyes. She had been crying before I fell asleep, and now she seems to have drifted off herself, probably from exhaustion.
On her right arm, there's a bandage she wrapped on her own. It covers a bruise shaped like a hand, and I saw her apply some kind of gel before wrapping it. She did everything herself.
'So not even the maid helped her.'
Honestly, nothing about the way Sophia lives resembles a noble life.
I did ask her once. She said there's a medical worker in the estate, but she prefers to take care of things on her own.
'Since it's her choice, I guess that's alright.'
As my eyes landed on the bandage, I couldn't help but frown.
'I should at least give him a good scratch.'
I padded closer and settled beside Sophia's head.
'Naphael... is his rationality still intact?'
For me, a person's status–rich or poor, famous or unknown, family or stranger–never decided how I treated them. Everything depended on a single metric: the level of rationality they could muster. That gauge told me whether any meaningful conversation was possible.
Back in my old world, I held a dim view of people. That is because I learned that most were hopelessly irrational, mindlessly barking at each other but unable to listen to one another, even to themselves.
As for Naphael...
'I guess he isn't that bad.'
He actually listened when I, a talking cat, told him to release Sophia. I'm still unsure whether speaking animals are common in this world, but judging by the shock on both Naphael's and Valeslina's faces, I doubt it is.
I shifted my focus to something else.
I opened my status window.
---
Seraphix
Level: 1
Mana Capacity: 24
Occupation: Cat (Beast) tamed by Sophia Kovalevska
Strength: 1
Intelligence: 1
Agility: 1
Dexterity: 1
Vitality: 1
Skills: Transmogrify Essence, Veil of the Abyss, Essence Devour
---
My mana capacity had decreased by two.
If my memory serves me right, that means the skill consumes about two mana for less than five minutes of use, which is pretty much how long I recall using it earlier.
As I suspected, the skill lets me produce an aura I can control freely. It feels like manipulating a flexible 'fabric,' one I can stretch and guide in any direction. This 'fabric' can brush past the people around me, or, if I focus, pierce through them, which is what I do to Naphael to get his attention.
What's more intriguing, though, is the additional sensory feedback it provides. Beyond simply making my presence known, the aura acts as an extension of my senses. Whenever it touches someone, I can feel them, not just in a physical sense, but in a way that blends touch, sight, and even taste. With it, I can perceive people around me in vivid detail, even those behind me or in other rooms.
This discovery is genuinely exciting. With this, I can detect anyone nearby, especially threats hiding out of view.
Satisfied with my evaluation, I glanced toward the window.
'It's almost night.'
Making myself comfortable, I curled up and drifted back to sleep.
***
On a quiet night, in a modest house, a woman sat in stillness. She had dark brown hair, deep brown eyes, and sun-kissed skin. Her eyes were large and almond-shaped, her cheekbones high and softly rounded. In her hand was a glass filled with what looked like tea, and she sat comfortably, gazing out at the garden behind her house.
She was Shira, the Grand Tamer.
Her thoughts wandered as she stared into the quiet garden. Then, a four-winged bird-like creature swooped down and landed gently on her lap. In its beak was a letter, which it promptly dropped in front of her.
Shira looked down and ran her hand over the envelope. What had first appeared to be plain white began to shift in color.
Her brow furrowed.
In this world, the color of a letter carried meaning.
Now resting in her hand, the letter had turned a deep crimson, edged with a trace of black. Crimson signified danger, and the intensity of the shade marked it as the highest level, one grave enough to threaten the fall of a kingdom. The black, faint but deliberate, denoted secrecy. Whatever lay inside was meant for her eyes only.
After offering the bird a 'token' of receipt, Shira rose from her seat and stepped back into the house.
She moved through the familiar halls until she reached her room, where she activated an 'isolation barrier,' a ward that severed all connection to the outside world, or more precisely, to the 'real realm.' With the space fully sealed, she sat down and took a closer look at the envelope.
Her expression hardened the moment she recognized the seal's design.
"The Grand Magus," she muttered.
A letter from another Grand Title holder, one that bore both an urgent threat and secrecy, was enough to make even Shira tense.
She drew a slow, steady breath, then broke the seal and unfolded the letter.