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Once upon a time…
There were nine people gathered in a circle to perform a ritual meant to protect the world. The ceremony was led by a conductor.
His name? Res Ain.
He was the self-proclaimed member number zero of that circle — the one who existed in the past, present, and future — ensuring that the remaining nine would stay bound within the circle to sustain the ritual.
Why? Because this ritual required these nine to remain as elements.
Yes, elements.
But soon, everything changed. The very ones meant to uphold the ritual began turning against it — chasing the elements, hunting them down alive.
As fire began to spark around them, frozen water surged next, followed by the blitz of thunder. The solid earth rose violently from the ground, and soon the green of nature shrouded them. Wind howled through the circle, light blazed from within — and shadow foreshadowed them.
And then came the three.
The mirror of reflections shrouded them, the pulse emanated in the form of crystals, and in the end… they were devoured.
The end.
"What a silly story," I muttered to myself.
Some entertainer in the center of the town's marketplace had just spewed nonsense about nine different people binding themselves in a ridiculous ritual.
Something I wouldn't believe even if I witnessed it with both of my eyes twice.
Why?
Simply said, magic is a sham.
It's nothing more than a mere fantasy — shaped from an idealistic perspective to entice others who might encounter it as something admirable, with crude exclamations like, "Oh, it's so cool!" or "Wow, I want to be like them one day!"
Or perhaps, which is the most overused trope among them all:
"I will become a hero to change the world!"
They'd throw their fists into the air, entirely influenced by that blissful own naïve delusions.
An innocent mind filled with delusional ideals born from obsessive fixations
Irrational ideals. Obsessive fixations.
Those were dreams that would never come true no matter how hard they tried.
Only a mad individual who would believe such things—
"Are you already done with your own thoughts, you chrome head?"
A sudden voice struck through my well-ruminated monologue, breaking the reverie of my well-fulfilled sanctuary.
"I bet you already thought of me breaking your own reverie."
No. Shut the fuck up.
Okay. Wait.
"How the hell did you know?"
"AND WAIT—did you just call me a chrome head? I told you not to bring that up!"
"Yes? And? What else would it be? Silver head? Head made of silver plates?"
Okay, now that's getting too far.
I have my own limits, you know.
And I simply couldn't tolerate this kind of insult — not when I was already too well-known as the guy whose skull is supposedly as thick as rock.
Or chrome.
Whatever.
"What about you, Silvia? Are you done insulting me and being sarcastic on purpose, you lil' annoying bitch?"
Okay, that might've been too far.
Or… maybe quite fair enough.
Before I could even react, reality struck — quite literally — as a hard slap landed square on my face.
Yes, the truth that the world is ruthless, much like her hand. Fitting, really, that both would hurt just as much.
The world isn't kind, and neither is she.
And no, that's not some poetic exaggeration.
My eyes welled up, shattering whatever calm and collected composure I pretended to have — almost enough to shed tears of lost dignity, or make me bawl like a scolded child after lots of demands.
My vision blurred.
I blinked it away before she could ever notice.
Nope. Let me rephrase that directly:
I really want to cry.
Like, badly.
No, seriously. I'm not kidding.
It fucking hurts.
"Hehehe. Wanna cry, honey?"
Now you're being too nice…
I replied in affirmative, then whispered in a tiny, pathetic voice:
"No, I'm fine… love."
The shift in atmosphere — from insult to tenderness — was chilling.
And for a second, I couldn't help but wonder what my life would be like without her.
Yes, Silvia and I were tying a bond.
Or, as we Spirits of Life call it—whatever this complicated mess is.
By the way, if you're wondering where I am, or what I've been doing here—
Today was the holiday festival.
We were here to celebrate heroes who once protected us.
Or at least, the ones said to have existed in those myths.
Although many—if not almost all—believed those tales to be true, doesn't that just make it an empty kind of faith?
I couldn't help but think about it like this:
It's like worshipping something beyond the reach of your own perception. Something so divine that you could barely touch it, yet still bow before it.
Ain't that strange?
I know right.
Silvia and I joined this mess, doing whatever everyone else was doing.
How pathetic.
After the storytelling ended, children filled the square, playing pretend—taking on roles as heroes, villains, or whatever else they wanted to be.
They were children, after all.
"They look joyful," Silvia said, her eyes filled with a glimmering hope—unlike mine.
The dead-eyed one.
"Well… I guess so."
I didn't know how to continue the conversation.
"Anyway," I asked,
"do you believe in that thing?"
"Of course!" she replied without hesitation.
"I mean, there must be something magical beyond what we know right now, you know. Maybe there's no magic here—but I'm sure we'll see it someday. Sooner or later."
How hopeful…
Then her gaze sharpened—thin and piercing, like a needle.
Yes. Thin.
But sharp enough to falter you in an instant.
"What is it?" she asked.
"You don't like it?"
Her voice softened.
"Me being cheerful?"
A chill ran through me, and I shuddered.
"No, not at all."
I answered as efficiently as possible, making sure there were no misunderstandings.
Ever.
Anyway, nothing really happened here.
We Spirits can't do much with our bodies, after all.
And besides—none of this was magical.
Maybe if I thought of myself as one of those "heroes," wand in hand, I could do anything.
Or… let's say this instead.
If I think of myself as a fictional character living in a fictional world—doesn't that make you one too?
Yes.
You.
The one reading about this spiritual creature
I couldn't help but wonder... does it?
Because reality exists within the boundary of fiction, one way or another.
Stories reach their audience.
They call out to be observed.
Just like this festival.
Just like magic.
So no—it's not that I don't want it.
I just think it's too far out of reach.
Like trying to grasp a star with both hands.
And I—ignorant, arrogant—can't afford that.
But if it truly exists…
Then maybe I'd use it.
Even if I don't believe in it.
Yes.
My type of hypocrisy, that is.