The forest sang with cicadas, the rhythm broken now and then by distant howls. Raven leaned back against a tree trunk, the crude sword from the bandits balanced across his lap. Zyra-chan lay curled beside him, her small body rising and falling with each steady breath. The moonlight washed over her silver scales until they shimmered like scattered glass fragments.
Raven exhaled, staring up at the stars.
…It's been weeks already. I can't keep relying only on the blade.
Aura answered him now—faint ripples along his sword when his swings aligned—but progress was slow. He had made the system himself, designed how a swordsman would grow. Yet living it was far harsher than any code or balance patch. Every fight left his arms raw, his shoulders screaming, his bones heavy as lead.
Closing his eyes, he set the sword aside and raised his hand to the night.
Not aura. Not steel.
Mana. The other lifeblood of this world.
At first, nothing. Only the hush of leaves and the distant call of an owl. Then—faint, like embers in ash—he felt it. A trickle beneath his skin. A current in the soil. A pulse in the air.
His breath caught.
"…There you are."
Heat stirred in his palm. A tingling spark. Then light.
A fragile thread of blue flickered into being, dancing above his fingertips. It wavered like a candle in the wind, yet it was real.
Zyra stirred. Her eyes cracked open, golden irises sharpening as they locked onto his hand.
"Raven-san…?" her voice was soft, drowsy. But when she saw the glow, she sat up straight, wings twitching. "That's… magic?"
Raven's lips curved faintly. "Yeah. My first spell, I guess."
The glow sputtered, fading into nothing. The warmth left his hand, leaving only silence again.
He exhaled, chest trembling with exhaustion—and exhilaration.
First Circle. Apprentice Mage.
Two paths now. Sword and Magic.
This world whispered of swordsmen who carved mountains, and mages who bent rivers. But both? Together? That was supposed to be impossible.
And yet… here he was.
He glanced at Zyra. Her tail flicked anxiously as she stared at his hand.
"…Raven-san. Don't tell others."
Her tone was sharper than he expected, her small voice carrying weight.
He blinked, then chuckled softly. "I wasn't planning to."
Still, the reminder settled heavy in his chest. If anyone discovered this, they wouldn't see him as gifted. They'd see him as unnatural. Dangerous.
That night, exhaustion dragged him into uneasy sleep.
And he dreamed.
The forest was gone. Zyra was gone.
He stood in an endless void. Silence pressed against his ears, swallowing even the sound of his breath.
Then—light.
A throne rose in the distance, colossal and jagged. Its presence bent the void itself, shadows stretching like chains. Raven squinted, but he couldn't see the figure seated upon it. Only feel it. A pressure vast and divine. Crushing.
Whispers bled into the silence.
"…He is ours."
"…No, the abyss calls him…"
"…The bridge… the anomaly…"
Raven stumbled forward. Each step brought him closer, yet the throne receded farther, unreachable. The whispers swelled—some clear as hymns, others guttural like beasts gnashing teeth—until they blended into a storm of voices.
Then—cracks.
The throne splintered like glass. The void shattered beneath his feet. He fell.
...ven-san...
...aven-san!
"Raven-san!"
He jolted awake, chest heaving. Zyra clawed gently at his arm, eyes wide with fear.
"…You were glowing," she whispered.
Raven blinked. His hands were warm. Blue and silver traces flickered faintly across his skin before fading into nothing.
"…Just a dream." He forced a weak smile. "Don't worry about it."
But inside, his chest tightened.
That wasn't just a dream.
The throne's image clung to him, burned into his soul. And the whispers—low and indistinct—still lingered, waiting at the edges of his mind.