Riven saw through blurred vision—someone standing at a distance.
A gun in his hand, smoke still rising from the barrel.
A face veiled by cold.
Eyes glowing with something strange.
When I opened my eyes fully, I realized—I was no longer on that frozen field.
Above me was a wooden ceiling, beside me the warmth of a fireplace, and I was lying on a soft, fur-covered bed.
There were no clothes on my body—only black trousers. Thick bandages wrapped tightly from my chest to my back.
A woman sitting beside the bed was gently wiping my body with a damp cloth.
The touch of her fingers was soft… yet an unfamiliar warmth spread through me, born of awkward embarrassment.
When I stirred slightly, she looked up.
At that very moment, the system interface appeared clearly before my eyes—
Name: Sansa
Age: 31
Occupation: Housewife
She was of average height, yet an aura of calm authority—almost regal—surrounded her.
Her silver-platinum hair was braided into two plaits that fell neatly over her shoulders.
Light blue eyes—cold like snow, yet glowing with an unseen gentleness.
A white-and-red fur-lined winter outfit, a metallic brooch on her shoulder—one glance was enough to tell this was no ordinary household.
Clearing my throat slightly, I asked,
"Where am I?"
She paused her hands and replied softly,
"You're in our home. My husband, Simon, found you… you were in terrible condition. He carried you here."
Instantly, I remembered the unknown man—the one who had blown the bear's head apart as it lunged at me.
I slowly sat up, leaning against the bed.
"How long has it been?"
"About four hours."
At that moment, sounds of hurried footsteps came from another room.
A boy and a girl were running around—suddenly the boy fell and burst into tears, while the girl stood stiffly in a corner, silent and serious.
Sansa scolded them as she hurried into the kitchen.
I slowly stepped down from the bed, wrapped a nearby sheet around myself, and went downstairs to the boy.
"Hey… does it hurt?"
He shook his head. I gently rubbed his knee.
The girl looked at me then, offering a faint smile.
Their names surfaced in my mind—
The boy: Siam — calm, dark-haired, thoughtful eyes.
The girl: Suzi — rebellious, short hair, sharp gaze.
When I said "Hi" to Suzi, she tilted her head and smiled sweetly—her manner felt strangely familiar.
The air was filled with the scent of wood, leather, and fur.
Thick wooden beams, a massive window revealing snow-covered mountains outside.
The fireplace roared with flame, candlelight turning the room into something like an old storybook.
As I stood there in quiet awe, barking suddenly echoed from outside, followed by a rough, heavy voice—
"Where's my red tea?"
Sansa shouted back from the kitchen,
"Two minutes!"
I immediately assumed—this must be her husband.
I walked to the door and opened it.
On the porch outside sat an old man on a broken wooden chair.
He was gazing up at the sky, speaking softly to himself.
A massive dog—something like a Siberian Titan—rested on his lap.
He stroked the dog gently and murmured,
"Tiger… quiet."
When I stepped closer, his head turned slightly,
but his eyes… kept drifting away, unfocused.
That was when I realized—
this man was blind.
"Who's there?" he asked.
I replied slowly, "I'm Riven… I was injured fighting bears."
The old man nodded gently.
"I know… my son brought you here."
"Yes."
He extended his hand slightly.
"Sit. The tea will be ready soon."
I sat beside him.
Moments later, Sansa arrived and placed steaming cups of red tea into both our hands.
In the light, I could see the old man more clearly—
A beard white as drifting snow clouds.
Deep wrinkles carved by time.
Eyes reddened and weary, yet holding immense wisdom within.
A dark, worn cloak—he looked like a sage or hermit from ancient tales.
The dog Tiger wagged its tail quietly in his lap.
He cradled the teacup gently.
"My name is Alexander," he said.
"I am the last Oracle-Keeper."
…What did that even mean?
Long ago, this world's ancient magic—called Aether Runes—was guarded by a tribe.
They could see the future, protect people from calamity, and maintain the balance of magic.
Alexander was the last living member of that bloodline.
His duties were—
To see the future.
To guide those in danger.
To write prophecies.
To preserve magical balance.
To possess the authority to alter the fate of certain chosen individuals.
But…
"I was not born blind."
Many years ago, a great war broke out—between sorcerers and human clans.
During that war, a terrifying spell was unleashed— "Sight-Rend Curse."
A curse that destroys the eyes of those who see the future.
Because his eyes held the light of destiny.
The enemy knew—if an Oracle lived, they would lose.
So they cast that curse directly upon Alexander's eyes.
Outwardly, his eyes remain intact, but they see nothing.
Yet he can still perceive sound, vibrations, emotions within the human heart, and distant echoes of events.
A faint residue of ancient magic still lingers within him.
At times, fragmented visions of the future flash before him—brief, disorienting glimpses that leave him unsettled.
That was why he often stared into the distance, as though trying to see something invisible.
In my mind, I thought the old man must be mad—spinning strange, fabricated tales.
But then Alexander spoke again,
"I also know that you are not from this world."
From the very first moment, by sensing your breathing, your heartbeat, the unfamiliar ripples of fate surrounding you, I understood—
"This boy does not belong to this world."