"How far have you gone?"
Too short to be called a letter, yet too heavy to understand.
What did this sentence mean?And how did it end up in our mailbox?
A bad feeling crept into my chest.
Click.
I opened the front door. Father was sitting on the couch, enjoying a snack while watching television. I walked over and held up the paper.
"Dad, there was a letter in the mailbox."
"Hm?" He turned his head. "What is it, Ri—"
His words stopped when his eyes fell on the note.
"…Did you open it already?"
"I'm sorry. I was curious," I said, lowering my head slightly.
Father was silent for a few seconds. Then, as always, he smiled warmly.
"It's fine. Don't think about it too much. Go to your room and get some rest."
"Okay." I nodded.
-----------------------------------------
Thud.
I dropped my bag and collapsed onto the bed. After so long, I was finally home, feeling calm.No attacks.No chaos.Just the normal life of a teenager searching for her place in the world.
A normal life…
That was when I remembered.
There was something inside me that was clearly not normal.
A talent.
A talent that had revived me after death.A talent that had taken part of my vision.
"What if… I try it just a little?"
I stretched my hand forward.
A faint vibration answered immediately.The doorknob.The nails embedded in the house's frame.Even tiny fragments of iron mixed in the sand.
ZRUUSSHH!
"Woah—!"
Light iron particles rose and wrapped around my hand, spinning gently, as if greeting one another—quietly conversing in silence.
What if I tried to make something?
A sword, maybe?
I imagined it: sharp, thin, pointed. Heavy, yet fast. Unbreakable even when clashing.
"COME FORTH! A SWORD!"
The moment the words left my mouth, I shut my eyes in embarrassment.
A bright light seeped through my eyelids.My hand—once light—now felt heavy.
Heavy.Cold.
When I opened my eyes—
It wasn't a sword.
It was still sharp, but not straight. Curved. Not meant to pierce, but to tear.
The weapon in my hand was a scythe.
A scythe with an iron handle, its gray blade shimmering faintly. Countless fragments of iron fused together, stretching and curving into an elegant form, reflecting pale white light.
Beautiful…
As if the iron itself was calling out to me.
I exhaled slowly, trying to calm myself. The scythe felt real—far too real to be a hallucination. Its blade reflected my own face. My left eye looked dull, as though covered by a thin layer of metal.
"This… is real," I whispered.
The moment my thoughts wavered, the iron around me reacted.
KRRRKK—
The nails in the walls creaked.The bed frame trembled. Even the small clock on my desk rattled uncontrollably.
"Stop," I whispered in panic.
The vibrations slowly subsided—but did not disappear completely. As if the iron was still listening… waiting for my next command.
I looked at the scythe once more.
If Mom or Dad saw this…
No.
I couldn't let that happen.
Slowly, I loosened my grip. I imagined the iron returning to its original state—separating, calming down, no longer bound together.
The scythe let out a faint crack, then crumbled into fine particles that fell to the floor, slipping back into the gaps of the house.
As if it had never existed.
My breathing grew uneven.
I had just created a weapon.
-----------------------------------------
Knock. Knock. Knock.
My body stiffened at the sound.
"Rinne?" Mom's voice came from behind the door. "You're not asleep yet?"
"N-not yet," I replied quickly. "I will be soon."
"Don't stay up too late. You have school tomorrow."
"Okay…"
Her footsteps faded away.
I closed my eyes.
School.
The place where everything pretended to be normal.
-----------------------------------------
Morning came far too quickly.
The school bell rang as usual, followed by the noisy chatter of students filling the halls. Iych immediately rushed to my desk.
"Rinne! You look pale. Didn't sleep well?"
"A little," I replied, rubbing my temple.
I could feel it.
The iron in the school gate.In the window frames.Inside the desks.
Everything felt… closer than before.
"Hey, did you hear?" Iych leaned in. "They say there were military patrols in our district last night."
My chest tightened.
"M-military?"
"Yeah. Not regular patrols—upper-class soldiers."
I fell silent.
A name surfaced in my mind without warning.
Iron Wailer.
-----------------------------------------
During class, the door suddenly opened.
A man in a royal uniform entered alongside the teacher. He was tall. Broad. Each step heavy enough to make the floor tremble.
"Attention," he said flatly. "Today, there will be an advanced aptitude inspection."
A few students cheered.
"Finally!"
"If I pass, I might become an upper-class family!"
Iych whispered, "Relax, Rin. It's probably just a normal test."
The man stopped.
His gaze—cold and sharp—locked onto me.
"Rinne Alz."
The air left my lungs.
"Please come with me."
The iron around the classroom trembled.
Softly.
No one noticed.
Except me.
And for some reason…
the scythe I created last night felt as if it was still in my hand.