This would be a long and winding journey. To uncover the truth of one's life, one must step willingly into the unknown. At times, that path gleams with beauty—soft, radiant, and full of wonder. At others, it cuts deep, steeped in pain and shadow. And sometimes, it arrives like a storm—unforeseen, unstoppable.
The road stretches only as far as the choices we dare to make. Each step forward is carved by will, yet shaped by something greater.
Fate.
It is not a thing one can outrun or deny. It lingers quietly at the crossroads, not to command, but to open doors. The possibilities of any path do not rest in fate alone—but in the decisions that awaken it.
Sometimes, life offers a thousand doors to choose from—each shimmering with promise, each leading to a different destiny. And other times, you are given barely a single chance, a fleeting moment that demands everything.
Every soul walks beneath the same sky, yet carries a different world within. Each mind is a universe of its own—shaped by memory, colored by imagination. No one sees the world quite the way you do. And you, in turn, cannot truly see it as they do.
Fortune, too, wears a different face for everyone. Yet when we judge another, we often do so through the lens of our own fate—unaware. We measure their choices against our circumstances, forgetting that they have walked a path we've never known, faced truths we've never seen.
And this, too, is part of the journey.
On this long journey called life, I will cross paths with many souls—some only briefly, others lingering like echoes. There will be countless greetings, countless goodbyes. Countless roads, each offering its own lesson, its own memory.
I was born a prince. Destined, they said, to become a king. But destiny is not a command—it is a question. And I never longed for the crown itself, only for what it allowed me to see: the joy and the sorrow of the people I call my own.
My fate, at least, is not a cruel one.
It did not bind me to marble halls and distant thrones. Instead, it gave me the freedom to walk among my people. To sit beside them. To share their burdens, to laugh in their moments of peace, to weep in their moments of loss. It gave me the gift of presence.
There are no walls in my voice. No crown in my gaze. No royal boundary can keep me from reaching out.
I am, before anything else, one of them.
And this, too, is part of who I am.
two full moons cast silver and pale blue light across the land, bathing the treetops in a shimmering glow. One moon is slightly larger, its surface marked with glowing ancient runes, while the other is smoother, with a gentle bluish hue that pulses faintly like a heartbeat. Their combined light turns every leaf and branch into something ethereal, unreal — like a dream made of light and shadow.
The trees are impossibly tall, their trunks wide and gnarled with age. Their branches twist like arms toward the sky, covered in glowing moss, faintly bioluminescent. The leaves rustle not just with the wind but with magic — responding to my presence as if they're watching, whispering in a forgotten tongue.
The air is thick with enchantment. It smells like wildflowers after rain, with hints of something ancient — like the pages of a spellbook or the breath of a sleeping dragon. Small glowing motes drift through the air like fireflies, dancing in slow spirals around me. Every step crunches softly on the forest floor, which is padded with moss, fallen petals, and glowing spores.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear a low hum, like a song from the trees themselves — or perhaps a creature that only sings under twin moons. A soft breeze brushes your face, carrying with it whispers, laughter, or maybe just the sound of old magic shifting.
I am alone, yet not alone. The forest feels aware of me, curious but not hostile — a living world watching a visitor pass through its heart.
While i was running with my tired body i remembered what Erisa said to me. Everyone in this world can use magic. People use artifact to modified there ability. And here I thought something else. But what i read in Library of the Kingdom isn't real? I have nothing to do back then when i was a child so i read all the books of the library. But now i am seeing that knowledge is valueless in real life. But everyone born with magic so there is a possibility that i can also use magic but i Don't know to to use it. Magic is something that come from our heart. But i am unstable to manage my heart.
Suddenly, the wind shifted.
What had been a gentle breeze moments before turned into a fierce gust, howling through the towering trees like a warning cry from the forest itself. Leaves tore from their branches and whirled into the air, and a fine, stinging dust rose with them, catching the twin moonlight as it lashed against my face.
I squinted—too late.
A sharp grain of dust scraped into my eye, and instinctively, my hand flew up. My vision blurred. My foot caught on a hidden root jutting from the moss-covered earth.
In that instant, the world tilted.
The ground vanished beneath me. My body pitched forward into emptiness.
I had reached the edge—no, I had passed it.
A cry tore from my throat as I fell, weightless in the moonlit dark. The wind roared around me like a beast awakened, and the stars above wheeled wildly in the sky. For a single heartbeat, I saw the cliff's edge shrinking away, the forest standing solemn and silent above me.
Then came the drop.
Down, down, through the cold night air, I plummeted toward the unseen depths below—where fate, magic, or something older waited to decide if I would rise again… or vanish into the forest's eternal shadow.
When I opened my eyes, pain bloomed sharp behind my forehead—a dull, throbbing ache that pulsed with every breath. My body ached, heavy with the weight of the fall, but I was alive.
And then I heard it.
A song—soft, wordless, and haunting. It drifted through the air like mist, delicate and slow, weaving itself into the rhythm of the forest. It wasn't a voice meant for the ears, but for the soul. Each note seemed to stir something deep within me, something ancient.
Groaning, I pushed myself upright, the earth cool and damp beneath my palms. The forest was quiet now, still bathed in the silvery glow of the twin moons. I staggered to my feet, my steps uneven, drawn forward without thought or reason.
One hand reached out instinctively, steadying myself against the trunk of a tree. The bark was smooth and warm, pulsing faintly beneath my fingers, as if the forest itself was alive and listening.
Then I saw her.
She sat near the edge of a quiet, moonlit lake, perched upon a flat stone as if it were her throne. Her back was to me, but her presence was unmistakable—impossible. Her hair was long and silver-white, flowing like river silk, shimmering beneath the dual moonlight. Her garments, also white, clung to her with the grace of flowing water, neither too plain nor adorned, yet otherworldly in their stillness.
She sang, unaware—or perhaps entirely aware—of my presence.
In that moment, time stopped. My breath caught in my throat. I could not move. I could not think. Every part of me froze as her voice filled the air around me, a sound so beautiful and aching that I no longer felt my own body.
The forest faded.
The pain in my head vanished.
All that remained… was her.