Victor sat motionless behind the oakwood desk, the faint scent of medicinal herbs lingering in the air. Sunlight filtered through the tall arched window of the infirmary, casting pale golden lines across the stone floor. His white robe—marked with the silver emblem of a healing magician—hung neatly over his shoulders, immaculate and unwrinkled, as if untouched by the chaos of the world outside.
To anyone passing by, he looked like an ordinary healer deep in thought.
But Victor was not ordinary.
His eyes, calm and unfocused, stared at nothing in particular. In truth, he was not seeing the infirmary at all. His mind was drifting through layers of thoughts far beyond mortal comprehension—patterns of cause and effect, invisible threads of destiny intertwining across time.
Once, long ago, he had died.
The memory came uninvited, as it always did.
A world without magic. Steel and smoke. A life filled with regrets, unfinished ambitions, and a death that came too early. He remembered the cold, the silence—and then rebirth.
A cry echoed into a world filled with mana.
Victor was reborn into a fantasy realm where magic was law and strength decided fate. A world where gifted individuals could shatter mountains with a wave of their hand or drain entire seas dry with a single spell.
And he had been born into the Moon Kingdom, one of the strongest kingdoms on the continent.
Not merely that—he was born into the prestigious Grey Family, a noble lineage renowned for its overwhelming fire magic and infamous hot tempers. Their flames were said to burn brighter than the sun, and their pride burned just as fiercely.
Yet fate showed no mercy.
His parents died on the battlefield the very day he was born—slain in the brutal war against the Enemy Kingdom. Their deaths were recorded as heroic, but heroism meant little to an infant left behind.
Still, nobility had its privileges.
Victor was raised in comfort, shielded by wealth and servants, nurtured by caretakers loyal to the Grey name. He grew steadily, quietly—too quietly, some said. Unlike other children of fire, he showed no explosive emotions, no violent sparks of mana.
Instead, his eyes often held a strange stillness.
At the age of twelve, Victor stood alongside other noble children before the Awakening Altar—a sacred artifact that revealed one's innate talent.
For many, it was a day of glory.
For Victor, it was a day of condemnation.
When his hand touched the altar, the mana in the chamber screamed.
The crystal shattered.
The air froze.
And then—
Ominous Wisdom.
A talent whispered only in forbidden scriptures and ancient myths. A talent said to grant wisdom bordering on godhood—a comprehension of truths that no mortal mind was meant to bear.
The moment it awakened, Victor understood things he could not explain.
He saw the inevitability of war before a blade was ever drawn.
He sensed betrayal before treachery was conceived.
He understood that power, unchecked by restraint, always led to ruin.
And he understood fear.
King Max, ruler of the Moon Kingdom, stood among the spectators that day. A seasoned king hardened by decades of war, his eyes met Victor's—and in that instant, his blood ran cold.
Because he had seen that look before.
The same gaze recorded in ancient murals.
The same eyes said to belong to the first king of the Moon Kingdom.
A man who possessed Ominous Wisdom.
A man who was rumored to still be alive.
That king had gained wisdom equal to the gods—and walked a path that nearly destroyed the world.
King Max made his decision immediately.
Victor Grey was forbidden from learning magic.
Any kind.
No spells. No cultivation. No combat training.
A golden cage disguised as protection.
Years passed.
Then King Max died in the war against the Enemy Kingdom.
And his nephew, William, ascended the throne.
Everything worsened.
Victor was placed under constant surveillance. Knights watched his steps. Court magicians monitored his mana. Every breath he took was scrutinized.
Soon after, an advisory elder of the Grey Family—closely aligned with the new king—declared Victor a liability.
He was stripped of his name.
Exiled from his own bloodline.
Thrown out like a cursed object.
Only fate, perhaps out of cruel irony, showed him mercy.
A small, obscure noble family took him in—one without power or influence, but rich in something far rarer.
Kindness.
They treated him not as a weapon, nor a threat, but as a child.
Yet even there, Victor lived under a death sentence.
If he practiced magic—any magic—King William would have him executed without hesitation.
Years passed in silence.
Six long years.
Victor trained not his body, but his mind.
He practiced spells in thought alone.
Refined mana pathways without circulating mana.
Calculated spell structures without casting them.
All made possible by Ominous Wisdom.
Finally, his adopted father made a desperate request to the throne.
Let Victor become a healing magician.
Healing magic, after all, was harmless. Defensive. Supportive.
King William agreed.
"What harm," he had said, "can a healer possibly do?"
Now, at eighteen, Victor served in the royal hospital.
A healer in white robes.
A prisoner in plain sight.
The sound of footsteps pulled him back to the present.
A nurse stood at the door, bowing respectfully.
"Magician Victor," she said gently, "your patient is waiting for treatment."
Victor's eyes refocused.
He rose from his chair, smoothing his robe.
"Understood," he replied calmly.
As he walked toward the ward, his expression remained serene.
But deep within his mind, countless possibilities unfolded.