The silence stretched too long. Too heavy.
Ren's parents kept their eyes fixed on Yato, as though waiting for him to offer an explanation unprompted. Ren himself sat still, unreadable, though the faint twitch of his fingers betrayed a restrained impatience.
It was Mira who broke the stalemate.
Her voice was soft at first, but sharpened as the words left her:
"Why? Why is it… that every time someone mentions dark magicians, the world reacts with fear? Why do they hunt them down as if they're nothing more than monsters?"
The question hung in the air like a blade.
Watson shifted uncomfortably. He, too, had wondered but had never dared to ask.
Ren's parents looked back to Yato, their unspoken demand echoing Mira's words.
Even Ren's gaze, calm yet edged with quiet storm, lifted to him.
For the first time that night, Yato leaned back slightly in his chair. His eyes closed, and he drew a slow, steady breath. When they opened again, there was no hesitation, only a grave weight, as though he had carried this truth for far too long.
"It is not a simple answer," Yato began. His tone was deliberate, his cadence slow, ensuring every word would land.
"To understand the hunt… you must first understand the fear."
The room stilled.
"The story of the dark magicians is not one tale," Yato continued, his gaze sweeping the room. "It is a chain of events spanning centuries of mistakes, of ambition, of blood. Each link forged by those who came before, and each one leaving scars that never healed. The world remembers those scars, even if the truth behind them has been buried."
Mira's lips parted slightly, her fingers tightening against her knees.
Ren's father frowned. "You mean… history? That this all began long ago?"
"Yes," Yato said, with a faint nod. "Long before the nations were divided as they are today. Long before the Academy. Even before the mana system was standardized. The dark magicians were not always hunted."
Ren's mother's brows drew together. "Then what changed?"
Yato's gaze hardened, and his voice lowered.
"What changed… was what they did with their power."
Yato's voice did not rise, yet it filled the room, threading past the walls like an unseen current.
"To understand that," he said quietly, "we must go back almost a thousand years. Long before the myths, long before the wars. Back to when mana was only a rumor in laboratories, in stories, in fantasy."
Ren leaned forward without realizing it, pulse quickening. His parents exchanged an uneasy glance. Watson shifted in his seat, Mira watching in silence.
"The world had always been silent in ways humans could not hear," Yato began. "That changed forty-three years before 2070. A physicist in New Veyla, Dr. Aiden Crowell, detected what he called mana resonance. Faint, invisible, yet surrounding every living thing. At first, it was nothing but a curiosity. Scientists built crude instruments to measure it, machines to push it into motion. The results were small: a flicker of light, a puff of wind, a spark of heat. But those little miracles were enough to ignite the world's imagination."
Ren's mother blinked, disbelieving. She had grown up in a world where mana was as common as electricity. To imagine it once reduced to experiments, it felt unreal.
"But sparks never stop at sparks," Yato continued. "In 2069, a neuroscientist, Dr. Faye Moritz, discovered that mana did not respond only to machines. It responded to the human brain and the human heart. She tested volunteers. Dozens failed. But one succeeded. With nothing but his thoughts and will, he shaped air into a spiral of flame. The first human to wield mana directly. History remembers him as the Mage King."
Mira's lips parted. "The Mage King… was a test subject?"
"Yes," Yato replied. "And from then on, the floodgates opened. They discovered mana nested inside the human heart, stored like an ember waiting to be awakened."
Ren's father's gaze shifted, lingering on his son's chest, where that same ember now burned in its most dangerous form.
"Chaos demanded order," Yato pressed on. "Mana needed shape. Visualizations became the keys. At first clumsy, memorized like formulas. Over generations, refined into patterns. Children learned them the way they learned alphabets. Governments hoarded these libraries, fought wars to control them. Soldiers implanted with mana interfaces. Nations battled not for land, but for the right to name and sell a spell."
Watson let out a low whistle. "So even magic began as a business."
"In the beginning, yes." Yato's eyes cut to him briefly, then moved on.
"But monopolies never last. In 2200, an anonymous leak released thousands of spell libraries onto the net. Overnight, what had been rare became public. Street mages and corporate battlemancers drew from the same ocean. From then on, magic spread like electricity. For the rich, for the poor. Everywhere."
Mira's fists clenched. "And yet… no one teaches darkness."
Silence pressed in. Yato exhaled slowly, as if turning to the forbidden page of a book.
"Not all mana stabilized. Fire, water, wind, earth, light, healing. They responded to discipline, to harmony. But one element never stabilized. Darkness."
Ren's chest tightened at the word.
"Every attempt to form its patterns collapsed. Its fuel was not only thought, but emotion. The darker the emotion, the stronger it grew."
His mother's hand flew to her mouth. His father's jaw set hard.
"The first to succeed began with shadows. Concealment, small tricks. But shadows deepened. They drained vitality. Twisted emotions. Spread fear like a sickness. Cities bled without war. Families wasted without wounds. Darkness was not merely an element. It was hunger. It consumed not only enemies, but those closest to its wielder."
The room grew colder though no wind stirred. Ren swallowed, palms damp.
"In time, nations united. They purged the dark mages. Records erased. Truth wrapped in myths, demons, cursed bloodlines, monsters. All to make sure no one dared imitate them again." Yato's gaze fell upon Ren, heavy and unflinching. "But history does not vanish. What is called myth is often history rewritten for survival."
Silence lingered. Watson's jaw clenched tight. Mira's knuckles whitened against her lap. Ren's parents sat like statues, pale and rigid.
And Ren… Ren felt the weight pressing into him like iron chains. Hunger. The word echoed in his chest. The stillness within him felt like a mask stretched thin over something waiting.
Yato's tone softened at last, though it did not ease the heaviness. "That is why your son's path will never be ordinary. What he carries is not just a forbidden branch. It is the shadow of history itself—the myth of the world. That was buried in fear."
The clock ticked. No one spoke. Even breath seemed unwilling to disturb the truth that now lay between them.