"Magic begins the moment a dream refuses to die."
These words were etched into the soul of every child born in Erinthidr, the ancient Kingdom of Magic. Whispered by elders, sung in lullabies, carved onto the entrance stones of every magical academy—they were the very backbone of a world that revolved around the mysterious force that connected mortals to the gods.
Everyone in Erinthidr carried their own image of magic. To the farmers, it was a blessing that made their crops bountiful. To the healers, a miracle that mended broken bones and revived the nearly dead. To warriors, it was the fire in their blades, the wind at their backs.
But to the children, it was something more—it was a dream, a promise.
A promise that through magic, they would be free.
And so, each year, children from every corner of the kingdom traveled to Rawon, the magic capital of Erinthidr. Towering above valleys of silver mists, Rawon shimmered like a jewel carved out of the divine sky itself. This was the city of altars, the city where destinies were written.
There, beneath the floating citadel known as The Aetherium, each child would undergo the sacred Baptism of Elements.
For most, the baptism would reveal their affinity to one of the six primal elements—Fire, Water, Earth, Air, Light, or Shadow. For a rare few, two or even three elements would be awakened, marking them as future Royal Magicians, destined to serve the kingdom at the highest court.
But no one ever failed to be baptized.
No one.
Until now.
"KANIN ARINDAN, STEP FORWARD!"
A booming voice echoed across the ceremonial chamber, vibrating through the stone and glass of the cathedral-like structure. The announcement struck the hearts of all present with silent gravity.
A hush fell over the crowd as a young man stepped forward. His appearance caught more than a few eyes—crimson hair, flowing like rose petals in motion, and eyes of molten silver, intense yet clouded by doubt.
Kanin Arindan, an orphan from the outskirts of the kingdom, had made the long journey to Rawon not just for a dream—but for survival.
His legs trembled slightly as he approached the altar. He wasn't afraid of the light or the gods. He was afraid of hope—of what would happen if it failed him.
The people of Erinthidr called the Baptism a sacred rite, but for Kanin, it was the one thing keeping him from returning to a place of suffering, hunger, and chains.
Behind him, the other children whispered.
"Isn't that one of the orphans?"
"He doesn't even have a family name..."
"What's someone like him doing here?"
He ignored them.
He had to.
"As Kanin approached the altar, the gazes upon him stiffened—gazing into his soul."
His feet dragged, as if the very air was resisting him. His vision blurred.
"Agh…"
He stumbled forward, knees buckling for a moment before catching himself.
The priest watching over the ceremony took a step toward him. He was a man in white and gold robes, his eyes once kind.
"It's okay," the priest said gently.
But then another voice echoed—not aloud, but inside Kanin's mind.
"It's okay."
Soothing. Warm. Unfamiliar. But... true.
Kanin took a breath and stepped up to the altar.
A golden light filled the room, blinding everyone.
Gasps erupted from the gathered spectators as beams of pure light surged from the altar and enveloped Kanin in a radiant cocoon.
Inside the light, Kanin felt his senses dissolve. Time and space vanished. He saw his past flicker before him—the cold orphanage walls, the cruel hands of caretakers, the faces of lost friends. He saw the little moments that gave him strength: stealing a piece of bread to share with a hungry child, reading a torn page of a magic book by candlelight.
He felt... something calling to him.
Then nothing.
A silent void.
And then—
He opened his eyes.
The golden light was gone.
So was the warmth.
The priest, who had once looked at him with reassuring eyes, now looked upon him with disgust.
Around the hall, children were celebrating, parents weeping with joy, some even hugging their newly awakened children in triumph.
But Kanin stood alone.
No magic had awakened within him.
No element had answered his call.
No baptism had taken place.
"Murmurs started across the room."
"Is this… a mistake?"
"He didn't get an element?"
"Not even one?"
"That's not possible…"
The high priest stepped forward, voice cold and calculating.
"In the history of Erinthidr… there has never been anyone left unbaptized."
Kanin's heart pounded in his chest like a war drum.
He tried to speak, to argue, to scream—but no words would come. His throat felt like it had been sealed by stone.
He couldn't go back. Not there. Not to the orphanage. Not to the darkness.
Not again.
"Please..." he whispered, but his voice was lost beneath the growing noise.
Then...
Silence.
The crowd froze as the great doors of the hall opened with a thundering sound.
A man stepped forward.
A tall, broad-shouldered figure dressed in deep gold robes, adorned with celestial emblems. His golden hair shimmered like divine flame, and his eyes, a piercing yellow, scanned the room with a gaze that silenced even the boldest of mages.
His presence alone was overwhelming—like standing on the edge of a cliff with a storm behind you.
Everyone knelt.
Even the priests.
Except Kanin.
He stood paralyzed.
Then their eyes met.
For a heartbeat.
And the weight of a thousand stars pressed down on Kanin's chest.
He collapsed to one knee.
The man in gold stepped forward, voice calm—but colder than any winter.
"Magic is the gift of the gods to us humans."
"A man devoid of magic is a man abandoned by god."
He paused.
"Following the sacred decree—this heretic shall be cast into the UNKNOWN."
Gasps rang out like thunderclaps.
The Unknown.
A land beyond the barrier of Erinthidr.
A place of endless storms, corrupted creatures, and the remnants of ancient wars fought by beings no longer remembered by name.
Even high mages avoided it.
Legends said it was a land where reality bent, where the dead walked, and where time itself lost meaning.
A death sentence in all but name.
"Magic begins the moment a dream refuses to die."
These words were etched into the soul of every child born in Erinthidr, the ancient Kingdom of Magic. Whispered by elders, sung in lullabies, carved onto the entrance stones of every magical academy—they were the very backbone of a world that revolved around the mysterious force that connected mortals to the gods.
Everyone in Erinthidr carried their own image of magic. To the farmers, it was a blessing that made their crops bountiful. To the healers, a miracle that mended broken bones and revived the nearly dead. To warriors, it was the fire in their blades, the wind at their backs.
But to the children, it was something more—it was a dream, a promise.
A promise that through magic, they would be free.
And so, each year, children from every corner of the kingdom traveled to Rawon, the magic capital of Erinthidr. Towering above valleys of silver mists, Rawon shimmered like a jewel carved out of the divine sky itself. This was the city of altars, the city where destinies were written.
There, beneath the floating citadel known as The Aetherium, each child would undergo the sacred Baptism of Elements.
For most, the baptism would reveal their affinity to one of the six primal elements—Fire, Water, Earth, Air, Light, or Shadow. For a rare few, two or even three elements would be awakened, marking them as future Royal Magicians, destined to serve the kingdom at the highest court.
But no one ever failed to be baptized.
No one.
Until now.
"KANIN ARINDAN, STEP FORWARD!"
A booming voice echoed across the ceremonial chamber, vibrating through the stone and glass of the cathedral-like structure. The announcement struck the hearts of all present with silent gravity.
A hush fell over the crowd as a young man stepped forward. His appearance caught more than a few eyes—crimson hair, flowing like rose petals in motion, and eyes of molten silver, intense yet clouded by doubt.
Kanin Arindan, an orphan from the outskirts of the kingdom, had made the long journey to Rawon not just for a dream—but for survival.
His legs trembled slightly as he approached the altar. He wasn't afraid of the light or the gods. He was afraid of hope—of what would happen if it failed him.
The people of Erinthidr called the Baptism a sacred rite, but for Kanin, it was the one thing keeping him from returning to a place of suffering, hunger, and chains.
Behind him, the other children whispered.
"Isn't that one of the orphans?"
"He doesn't even have a family name..."
"What's someone like him doing here?"
He ignored them.
He had to.
"As Kanin approached the altar, the gazes upon him stiffened—gazing into his soul."
His feet dragged, as if the very air was resisting him. His vision blurred.
"Agh…"
He stumbled forward, knees buckling for a moment before catching himself.
The priest watching over the ceremony took a step toward him. He was a man in white and gold robes, his eyes once kind.
"It's okay," the priest said gently.
But then another voice echoed—not aloud, but inside Kanin's mind.
"It's okay."
Soothing. Warm. Unfamiliar. But... true.
Kanin took a breath and stepped up to the altar.
A golden light filled the room, blinding everyone.
Gasps erupted from the gathered spectators as beams of pure light surged from the altar and enveloped Kanin in a radiant cocoon.
Inside the light, Kanin felt his senses dissolve. Time and space vanished. He saw his past flicker before him—the cold orphanage walls, the cruel hands of caretakers, the faces of lost friends. He saw the little moments that gave him strength: stealing a piece of bread to share with a hungry child, reading a torn page of a magic book by candlelight.
He felt... something calling to him.
Then nothing.
A silent void.
And then—
He opened his eyes.
The golden light was gone.
So was the warmth.
The priest, who had once looked at him with reassuring eyes, now looked upon him with disgust.
Around the hall, children were celebrating, parents weeping with joy, some even hugging their newly awakened children in triumph.
But Kanin stood alone.
No magic had awakened within him.
No element had answered his call.
No baptism had taken place.
"Murmurs started across the room."
"Is this… a mistake?"
"He didn't get an element?"
"Not even one?"
"That's not possible…"
The high priest stepped forward, voice cold and calculating.
"In the history of Erinthidr… there has never been anyone left unbaptized."
Kanin's heart pounded in his chest like a war drum.
He tried to speak, to argue, to scream—but no words would come. His throat felt like it had been sealed by stone.
He couldn't go back. Not there. Not to the orphanage. Not to the darkness.
Not again.
"Please..." he whispered, but his voice was lost beneath the growing noise.
Then...
Silence.
The crowd froze as the great doors of the hall opened with a thundering sound.
A man stepped forward.
A tall, broad-shouldered figure dressed in deep gold robes, adorned with celestial emblems. His golden hair shimmered like divine flame, and his eyes, a piercing yellow, scanned the room with a gaze that silenced even the boldest of mages.
His presence alone was overwhelming—like standing on the edge of a cliff with a storm behind you.
Everyone knelt.
Even the priests.
Except Kanin.
He stood paralyzed.
Then their eyes met.
For a heartbeat.
And the weight of a thousand stars pressed down on Kanin's chest.
He collapsed to one knee.
The man in gold stepped forward, voice calm—but colder than any winter.
"Magic is the gift of the gods to us humans."
"A man devoid of magic is a man abandoned by god."
He paused.
"Following the sacred decree—this heretic shall be cast into the UNKNOWN."
Gasps rang out like thunderclaps.
The Unknown.
A land beyond the barrier of Erinthidr.
A place of endless storms, corrupted creatures, and the remnants of ancient wars fought by beings no longer remembered by name.
Even high mages avoided it.
Legends said it was a land where reality bent, where the dead walked, and where time itself lost meaning.
A death sentence in all but name.
Kanin didn't remember the journey into the Unknown.
He remembered chains.
He remembered being thrown from the back of a carriage by masked guards, left bruised and broken in a forest where the trees bled sap like thick tears. He remembered the cold, the endless rain, and the silence—the kind that didn't wait for your words, but swallowed them whole.
He wandered for what felt like days, eating moss, drinking from black pools, feeling the weight of despair claw at his bones.
But then, something changed.
It started when he stumbled across a ruin.
A shattered monument half-buried in thorn and rot, carved with glyphs older than anything taught in the schools of Erinthidr. Symbols etched into stone with a precision that defied time.
Desperate for shelter, Kanin rested his palm against the cold stone.
And the world shifted.
His vision blurred—not with darkness, but clarity.
Lines. Paths. Patterns.
He saw the structure. Not as it was now, but how it had once been—each line of glyphs, each chisel mark, every arcane circuit flowing with energy.
And more than that...
He understood it.
Not just its purpose. Its logic. Its function. Its truth.
He yanked his hand back, heart pounding.
The sensation faded, but the understanding remained.
Trembling, he touched it again.
The same flood of knowledge surged through him—this time, faster. Clearer.
And he felt something strange pulse in his chest. Like a flicker of light where only shadows had lived.
He reached inside himself.
Mana.
A tiny ember, but there.
"You are not without magic," a voice whispered inside him—not from above, but within. "Your gift is not elemental. It is comprehension."
A skill.
Instinctively, Kanin focused.
A translucent interface appeared before his eyes—ancient script forming words he'd never seen before, yet somehow understood:
[Skill Awakened: Arcane Comprehension]Analyze and comprehend the structure, function, and purpose of any magical or mechanical construct. May temporarily replicate simple functions at the cost of mana.
He staggered back, breath catching.
Not an element. Not fire, water, or light.
But this… this was something else.
"Then I'm not… nothing," he whispered.
The glyphs on the ruin pulsed faintly as if in answer.
Driven by a mix of fear and sudden hope, Kanin moved deeper into the ruin. His hand trailed across broken walls, shattered relics, discarded weapons of strange make.
Each one whispered secrets into his mind.
A rusted blade revealed its forging technique.
A broken core hummed with lost arcane theory.
He learned. Absorbed. Connected.
His mind, once battered by shame, now surged with knowledge no academy could teach.
This wasn't a curse.
It was evolution.
He didn't fail the Baptism.
He broke it.
Because his magic wasn't meant to serve the elements.
It was meant to understand them.
And beyond that—
To surpass them.
For the first time, Kanin smiled.
The Unknown hadn't killed him.
It had awakened him.