[SYSTEM TRAVEL INTERFACE ]
⟡ Dimensional Sync: COMPLETE
⟡ World Designation: #BC-014 – Black Clover
⟡ Status: High-Magic Environment
⟡ Threat Level: C (Grimoires, Mana Zones, Demonic Interference)
Travel Requirements:
• Mental Stability: ✅
• Aura Suppression: ✅
• Energy Sync: 97%
• Starting Location: Clover Kingdom
[⟡ SYSTEM NOTICE:]
For your protection, all memories related to the Tower, your skills, and divine affiliations will be sealed until you reach the age of 14 in the new world.Awakening Protocol will trigger upon exposure to a high-magic resonance event or direct confrontation with a dangerous entity.
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[After the War – Tower Core, Present Time]
I had just witnessed a war shake the roots of my own existence.
Zaine stood on the edge of wrath. Danjuro's betrayal had left a scar across the faith of the Tower. The central bloodline mourned their fallen tyrant, Gilligan. And somewhere beyond all that chaos, the gods were stirring again.
But as the Will of the Tower… I felt something deeper shift.
It wasn't the death. Not even the war.
It was the light.
A pulse—not from within the Tower—but from another world.
Every world, after enough cycles of birth, struggle, and suffering, does something extraordinary.
It compresses everything: its pain, its hope, its will to endure… into something new.
A Fragment of Light.
These fragments don't belong to anyone—not even to me.
They are born when a world whispers to itself, "I want to live."
And one just awakened.
Across the realms, beyond the boundaries of our towered reality… I felt it.
Not a weapon.
Not a god.
A boy.
A soul like a blade still being forged.
His name… would be Yuno.
And he was dangerous—not because of who he was now, but because of what he could become.
I didn't know if he would break the world he lived in or save it.
But I had to see.
That's why I left.
I gave up everything—my power, my command, my very identity. The Tower couldn't follow me into that world. I had to fall, just like any mortal soul.
[PROTECTION PROTOCOL INITIATED]
Dimensional Entry: ConfirmedWorld Designation: [Clover Kingdom - Mana World Class]Form: Mortal Vessel AssignedIdentity: Member House KiraSystem Access: DisabledDivine Memory: Sealed until Age 14Purpose: Observe Fragment of Light – Codename: YunoCaution: Do not interfere with natural formation unless risk level exceeds containment
And then—I was falling.
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I was born under a moonless sky.
The air was heavy with blood. Whispers and screams tangled in the shadows of the birthing chamber. The scent of incense tried to mask the truth—but it couldn't.
She died.
My mother… died giving birth to me.
The room fell into a terrible silence. No one celebrated my arrival. No hands reached to cradle me. I wailed, not out of fear, but because something in me knew—this world didn't want me.
And then came his voice.
Cold. Unforgiving. Regal.
"The bloodline has been shamed."
That was my father.
Lord Darius Kira.The younger brother of King Augustus Kira, a man of pride, power, and politics.
He didn't look at me. Didn't hold me.Just turned and left, his cloak dragging the silence behind him.
From that day forward, I was cursed.
I was raised in a palace of gold and judgment.
The other nobles avoided me. Their children ignored me. To them, I was a blemish on our family name — the cursed child who killed his own mother.
I was always watched, never embraced.Always dressed in finery, but never invited to dinners.I learned to walk alone through halls that echoed with quiet disgust.
They didn't even give me a proper magic tutor.While the other children practiced spells and honed mana control, I was left to read outdated scrolls alone in dusty corners.
I wasn't considered a Kira.Not truly.
But there was one who saw me.
One who didn't flinch when she looked at me.
Her name was Finesse Calmreich, my cousin—
The garden was too bright. Sunlight spilled over the roses like liquid gold, mocking the shadows that clung to me. I turned another page of Advanced Mana Theory, the words blurring into meaningless shapes.
A rustle of silk. A faint, familiar scent of lavender and medicine.
She wasn't supposed to be here.
"Still punishing yourself with those dusty scrolls?" Finesse's voice was light, but beneath it lay the ever-present strain.
I didn't look up. "It's not punishment. It's all I have."
A soft exhale. The bench beside me dipped as she settled in, her movements careful, deliberate. She had always moved like that—like every step might be her last.
"You could have more," she said.
A bitter laugh threatened to escape me. More? What more could there be for a child the world had already deemed cursed?
"You say that as if it's simple."
"Isn't it?" She tilted her head, her pale hair catching the light. "You could ask for a tutor. Demand one, even."
"And who would listen?" My fingers tightened on the parchment. "No one wants the heir of shame wielding magic."
For a moment, she was silent. Then—
"I would."
I finally turned to her. Her smile was faint but unshaken.
"You would what?"
"Listen." She reached over, her fingers brushing the edge of the scroll. "Teach you, even. If you'd let me."
Liar. She could barely walk some days. And yet—
And yet, she meant it.
The weight in my chest shifted, just slightly.
"You're terrible at elemental spells," I muttered.
Her laugh was a fragile, fleeting thing. "And you're terrible at humility. We'll make quite the pair."
The sun burned. The roses swayed. And for the first time in a long while, the world felt less like a sentence.
No banquet. No sweets. No warm hands clapping for me.
Only a tray of cold bread and dried meat left by a servant with a bowed head and quick steps. Even the maids avoided looking me in the eyes, as if meeting my gaze might bring them misfortune.
I sat by the window in my dimly lit chamber, watching the rain fall in rhythmic trails against the glass. The Kira estate towered above the city, an island of polished stone and noble pride. But even here, I was nothing more than a ghost in a golden cage.
Six years.Six years of silence.
Six years of being the boy who took a life before he took his first breath.
Still, I was breathing. Still, I was watching.
Still… I was waiting.
That night, the storm did not stop. In fact, it grew heavier—thicker with intent.
I couldn't sleep. Something gnawed at my senses, something cold and alert. I wrapped my cloak tighter and wandered to the upper hallway, the one lined with massive stained-glass windows and oil paintings of ancestors with judgmental eyes.
The thunder outside boomed, and then—
Crack!
Glass shattered down the corridor, a sharp wind slicing through the silence.
Then a scream.
Not a scream of fear—but a war cry. Followed by the hiss of steel and a violent crash.
I rushed to the railing overlooking the grand hall. Below, two figures clashed in flashes of magic and steel.
One was my father, Darius Kira, cloaked in stormlight, commanding whips of silver magic that danced like lightning. His face, usually cold and composed, was twisted in fury and focus.
The other was dressed in black from head to toe—a cloaked assassin wielding twin daggers. He moved like a shadow, darting through Darius's spells with terrifying speed.
"Who sent you?!" my father bellowed, voice echoing off the marble walls.
The assassin didn't answer. He lunged forward, blades aiming for the heart.
For the first time, I saw my father bleed.
His shoulder took a hit—just a graze, but it was enough.
The assassin saw the opening and moved in with a killing blow.
I couldn't scream.I couldn't move.
I stood there, six years old, silent as ever—until something snapped inside me.
I didn't feel fear. I didn't feel pain.
I felt heat.
Not burning—but blooming.