"Huh?"
Cassian stood frozen, utterly unable to move.
Just moments ago, he had been adrift in darkness, grappling with the nature of his own existence.
Now, he felt the faint caress of a breeze against his skin, the searing heat of the sun overhead; he smelled the aroma of freshly baked bread and the scent of green plants; he heard the murmur of distant conversations and the rustle of leaves; and finally, he saw before him two figures clad head-to-toe in strange, dark-blue robes edged with silver thread.
Cassian could describe this duo in just two words: Short Fatso and Tall Stick—based on the rough outlines of their bodies visible beneath the robes.
"Moruway Cassian, please step into the circle. It is now your turn for evaluation," declared the tall one in an official tone.
"Uh, I... what am I... argh?"
Cassian began, but immediately clutched his head as sharp pain lanced through it.
It felt as if two personalities were warring for control of his consciousness: one was his own, and the other was vaguely familiar yet utterly alien.
The agony was akin to his mind being torn into countless fragments.
Time passed, but the battle between identities showed no sign of ceasing... until something entirely foreign forcibly fused them together.
They resisted, but all efforts were futile.
His five senses momentarily split, then merged again.
Knowledge, thoughts, feelings, personalities—all churned into chaos.
Then the pain subsided, and it was over.
Cassian stood motionless, struggling to comprehend what had just happened.
"Moruway Cassian, are you alright?" asked the tall one.
"I'm fi—"
"Hey, kid, quit fucking daydreaming! I get that you're probably pissing yourself with excitement to get your Structure, but could you at least hold it together until the evaluation's done?" roared the short one, hands on his hips as he leaned forward.
"Or do you think we enjoy working under this fucking scorching sun, assessing a bunch of hyperactive brats who can't calm their tits? So grab your goddamn balls, step into this fucking circle," he continued, straightening up and jabbing a thumb over his shoulder toward a stone platform etched with strange symbols.
Cassian, his mind still reeling, shifted his gaze to the short man.
He appeared around 26–27, with coarse features, bronzed skin, dark eyes, and a completely shaved head that made him resemble an egg—adding absurdity to his tirade.
"What're you gawking at? Into the circle! Now!" the short man snapped, enunciating each word.
"Calm down, Lan. You're overreacting to routine matters."
"Me?! Overreacting?! Van, you think I enjoy working for these Amnician mutts for pocket change? Or conducting this damn evaluation every fucking year, dealing with half-witted teenagers like this idiot, and filling out reams of paperwork without extra pay? Oh-ho-ho! Since you're such a big shot with your 'round glasses,' enlighten me: Why are you partnering with me right now?"
Lan ranted, losing composure with each sentence.
"Tch! How was I supposed to know I'd get stuck with the goddamn utilitarian Structure of a SCRIBE? A fucking scribe! I can't even perform basic manipulations because my Structure doesn't channel aura, magic, or divinity! You think I'm thrilled? But unlike you, I can keep my mouth shut and my temper in check, you fat bastard!"
Van retorted, his patience snapping.
Still stunned by their bickering, Cassian turned his attention to Van.
He looked slightly over 20, with plain features, green eyes, chestnut hair tied in a ponytail, and round spectacles.
'A filigree duo. They're perfect for each other,' Cassian thought, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Without testing the men's patience further, he walked onto the platform and stood at the circle's center.
He tried to decipher the symbols etched into the stone but found them utterly incomprehensible.
"There! Was that so hard? No need to fry our brains!"
Lan grumbled irritably.
"Ahem! Very well, we shall commence your evaluation. Please clear your mind and relax. The first few seconds may be painful, but do not worry—it will subside,"
Van stated, coughing to regain composure and reciting the prepared script.
The moment he finished speaking, the symbols on the platform ignited with white light, from which several luminous threads emerged.
They hovered briefly before plunging into Cassian's skull.
"Ghaaa!"
He gasped as searing pain returned—like white-hot wires slicing his brain into ribbons.
He squeezed his eyes shut but realized, to his shock, that he could still see.
Before his vision, the threads wove a symbol like embroidered thread.
He strained to identify it, but escalating pain forced him to abandon the effort.
Simultaneously, a burning agony spread through his entire body, as if something long dormant within him had awakened.
The physical torment intensified while the threads seemed to begin their core task; at this moment, the pain finally peaked.
Cassian gritted his teeth until they creaked.
The agony persisted for several more seconds before fading.
Cassian exhaled, surprised to find himself drenched in sweat.
"Now, focus on the symbol. That is your Structure. Can you briefly describe what you see?"
Van asked, giving Cassian a moment to catch his breath.
"I see... uh," Cassian obeyed, concentrating on the symbol, but faltered as he realized he couldn't articulate it clearly.
"It's... um... an inverted cross."
"An inverted cross?"
Van exchanged a glance with Lan, who shrugged in confusion, pulled a handbook from beneath his robe, and began flipping through it.
"Do you see anything else?"
"Yeah... this cross... it's piercing a sphere... that's all,"
Cassian answered uncertainly, doubting his own vision.
Van stared intently until Lan finally replied:
"Nothing. Not even a passing resemblance to known Structures. Which means... we've no choice."
"No resemblance?"
Cassian's voice trembled.
"What does that mean? Is something wrong with me?"
"Yep, kid. Your Structure isn't mentioned once in the handbook, which means you're probably harboring a devil. So per Directive No. 1 on Civil Protection, any bearer of the devil's mark must be executed immediately. Therefore, I, Krevo Lan, declare myself your executioner,"
Lan announced with a dangerous smile.
For reasons unclear, the word "devil" made Cassian's insides clench.
He hastily tried to explain:
"W-wait! You must be mistaken! I'm not—"
"Bravo, Lan! What a stellar joke! I'm applauding so hard I might collapse laughing!" Van sneered sarcastically, clapping demonstratively.
"Look at him—he's trembling! What devil? That tale's epochs old. I doubt the devil ever existed! Execution? We've no authority for that! If a troublemaker appeared, Structure-bearers of Knight rank would swarm here instantly to pacify him. And our pitiful handbook barely covers basic Structures—especially with the flood of reports about new Structures discovered across Aelan! Some are calling this the 'Year of Upheaval.' Surely you're well-informed on this, Lan," Van hissed, clearly unamused.
"Hmph! Oh, the Original One, is humor forbidden now? Look how far we've fallen! Couldn't you play along? He bought it!" Lan rolled his eyes.
"Anyway, no one's executing you. You've likely heard, but this year has seen countless new Structures unlike any previously recorded. Thus, a diviner was dispatched to the city to identify such cases. You're not the first today. I'll give you your dossier and referral. Then proceed to the registry in that building," Van replied, handing him the documents and pointing to a distant structure.
"Understood?"
"Yes."
"Excellent! Then we shan't delay the queue. Next in line—" Van clapped, summoning the next candidate, but Cassian was no longer listening.
Without realizing how, he found himself walking toward the building.
Suddenly processing what had happened, he halted.
'Wait... what? I'm... alive? This isn't a near-death vision or memory—it's too real,' Cassian thought, patting himself down and glancing back.
'I was just on a crowded square. Judging by appearances and the conversation, most are teenagers. Some annual evaluation reveals a Structure in their minds. Mine couldn't be identified, so they sent me to a diviner. Somehow, I understand these people, and... ugh, damn this tangled consciousness.'
Fragmented memories surged and flashed before Cassian's mind, making him fidget.
'So, organizing the information: I've transmigrated. A thousand percent! A million percent! I'm in another world!' Cassian muttered aloud.
Passersby shot him odd looks, but he ignored them.
Trying to calm his heart, which drummed like a madman's parade, Cassian felt both joy and... fear.
Joy at being alive—to breathe, see, hear, and feel again.
Fear of the unknown, condemned to live in another world.
For humans feared nothing more than uncertainty.
Crouching, he took deep breaths to stabilize himself and quell the emotional storm threatening to erupt.
"Haaaa! I'm alive, goddammit! And I've transmigrated! How is this possible? Isn't this just fantasy nonsense? Why me? Did this happen only to me, or to others? What if everyone enters a new world after death?"
Disbelieving reality, he repeated the phrases. A barrage of questions threatened to overwhelm him, so he forcibly shifted focus.
'Like it or not, I need to learn more about this world,' he resolved, attempting to delve into his memories—only to recoil at the chaos in his mind. His thoughts were scrambled, barely decipherable.
Realizing it would take too long to extract useful information, he turned to the small stack of papers labeled "Brief Dossier."
'Alright, let's see what this world knows about me,' he thought, opening the file.
BRIEF DOSSIER
Name: Cassian
Surname: Moruway
Age: 16
Date of Birth: 1st Day, 4th Month, 368th Year of the Verdant Lands Era
Residence: Aelan Federation, City of Longville, Nightingale Street, No. 34
Structure: —
Type Family: Nuclear
Mother: Evelina Moruway (Living)
Father: Kozof Moruway (Living)
Elder Brother: Ian Moruway (Deceased)
ISSUED PER DIRECTIVE NO. 3 ON CITIZEN DATA PRESERVATION
Signed by Deputy Director of Western Aelan,
Demi-God of "Monarch" Rank,
Bill Raiden
'Interesting. Though the world resembles typical medieval fantasy novels, this nation—at least—maintains detailed citizen dossiers. Can't escape fucking bureaucracy, even in another world! And if this is "brief," what does the full dossier look like?' Cassian mused, flipping through the pages.
He then examined the referral Van had given him.
Nothing noteworthy stood out except the description of his vision and the instruction for a diviner's assessment.
However, his attention snagged on something else: the seal stamped upon it.
In hardened blue wax, it depicted a pedestal holding an open book; before it stood a robed figure with hands raised skyward in supplication, face hidden beneath a hood.
Along the seal's edge, text was engraved:
Approved by Aelan's Amnicia.