"A figure chosen by God."
"A Wanderer."
An ancient prophecy spoke of one who would bear these titles — a being destined to become the strongest existence.
But whether this figure would bring |salvation or annihilation|, no one knew.
For centuries, humanity prepared. They forged new ranks, created new abilities, refined their magic.
The mystical land of Zephyria transformed, as mana itself evolved beyond mortal comprehension.
Academies rose, teaching the sacred art of mana control. A ranking system was born — from E-rank to S-rank, and beyond that, a realm whispered only in fear and awe: Cerdas.
But as generations passed, the prophecy faded into myth.
It became nothing more than a bedtime story.
Until one day...
The Earth Trembled
The sky darkened. The ground roared.
A massive earthquake tore through the world, splitting cities apart, shattering mountains, swallowing oceans.
And from the chaos, something awakened.
The Wanderer had arrived.
In a Ruined Town caused by the earthquake
Amid the smoldering wreckage of a once-lively town—
"Mommy? Where are you, Mommy?" A little girl's voice trembled through the silence, thin and breaking. Her tiny hands clawed at rubble, desperate, trembling.
*—creak—*
Her head shot up. A wall above her began to crumble, stone and dust raining down.
She froze. The shadow of death fell over her.
Then—impact.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips, but there was no pain. No crushing weight. Only warmth.
When she opened her eyes, someone was standing over her — a young adventurer, his body shielding hers, his armor cracked and bloodied.
"You shouldn't be here," he said softly, panting. "Where are your parents?"
"I–I don't know…" Tears streaked down her dirt-covered cheeks.
"I see." His voice was gentle, but his eyes were weary. "Nolan! Over here!"
Another adventurer — broad-shouldered, battle-worn — sprinted over. "You found someone?"
"Yeah. Get her to safety. Her parents might still be alive."
Nolan crouched, offering a hand. "Come here, little one. We'll keep you safe."
As they disappeared through the haze, the first adventurer turned back to the ruins — back to the smoke, the silence, the death.
He couldn't stop now. There had to be more survivors.
Then—something caught his eye. A faint, blue glow, flickering deep within a collapsed building.
He ran.
The light pulsed like a heartbeat, beckoning him closer. He pushed past the rubble, calling out, "Hello? Is anyone there?"
No response. Only the hum of that eerie light.
Then he saw it.
Standing in the shadows was a figure — tall, slender, wrong. Its limbs bent too far, its skin ashen and cracked like burnt clay.
Where a head should have been, there was only swirling black smoke, and within it, two burning blue eyes stared back.
The adventurer froze. His sword trembled in his grip.
"What… are you?" he whispered.
The creature tilted its head — if it even had one — and leaned close until its face of smoke hovered inches from his own.
Its voice was a chorus of whispers and thunder.
"You… are perfect."
The adventurer stumbled back, heart hammering. "P-perfect? What are you talking abo—"
The thing's hand shot forward, gripping his face with inhuman strength. He screamed as his feet left the ground, kicking helplessly.
"You will serve," it hissed. "You'll be the perfect conscious for God's usage."
The man's scream was cut short as a sickening crack echoed. Bones shattered. Flesh tore.
The creature ripped him apart — limb by limb — until only the mangled remnants of his body hung from its hand.
Then it smiled — though it had no mouth.
Only that faint, cold whisper lingered.
"Perfect."
Two days after the earthquake…
A newborn's cry pierced the quiet of a small, candlelit home.
The mother, Ella, cradled her baby in trembling arms, sweat and tears mixing as she hummed softly to calm him.
Beside her, her husband Zekra knelt, eyes glimmering with pride and relief.
"How beautiful… our child," Ella whispered weakly. "He looks just like you."
Zekra chuckled, brushing the child's hair. "So he does. Have you thought of a name?"
Ella looked down at her son, her tired eyes softening.
"Dliva."
Zekra repeated it, smiling. "Dliva… it fits him perfectly."
She nodded. "Then Dliva it is."
Moments later, the infant drifted into sleep, soothed by his mother's lullaby.
The candle flickered once. The room grew still.
And in that silence—
A voice spoke within the baby's mind.
The Divine Voice
"Listen, human child."
It was not human — not kind.
It was a voice that shook the soul, ancient and thunderous, speaking from somewhere beyond the world itself.
"I have chosen you to be The Wanderer."
From this moment forth, you will follow my commands.
In return, I shall grant you power."
The infant stirred, as if hearing something no one else could. The air in the room thickened, trembling with divine energy.
"Your first order: learn.
Every book. Every tale. Every scrap of knowledge this world holds — devour it.
Until I speak to you again."
The voice paused, as if smiling unseen.
And then, with the weight of creation itself—
"Your path begins here…"
"Wanderer."