"He wasn't supposed to be born in this world…" a voice echoed in the darkness.
"If you ask me, he was never supposed to be born in any world," another replied, cold and sharp.
"Then why in the hell did you allow his soul to be transferred?" a voice roared, trembling with rage.
"And why does he hold those… quirks?" a female voice cut in, venomous curiosity dripping from every syllable.
Asher turned slowly in the void. The darkness stretched infinitely in every direction, an endless abyss where time felt absent. His voice trembled as he muttered, "What… what are these voices? Who are they talking about?"
"This version of Asher was never meant to exist," the thunderous voice boomed again, shaking the void like rolling storms. "He was never supposed to wield magic, never supposed to grasp power in his hands. This is outrageous!"
"Then we shall correct this mistake," the female voice declared with cruel finality. "We will send someone from his world to kill him—along with every other version of him."
"So we are agreed? Asher must not be allowed to live?" another man asked.
"Yes. We agree."
All the voices replied in chilling unison. The sound carried like the toll of a thousand funeral bells.
From the abyss, a pale, skeletal hand reached toward him. Its fingers were long and cold, dripping with shadows, pulling the darkness into itself. The hand hovered inches from his face.
"And it seems… we have a rat among us," the thunderous voice muttered.
Before the hand could touch him, Asher jolted awake with a sharp gasp. His eyes snapped open to a ceiling that felt oddly familiar.
"What… what were those voices?" he whispered, his throat dry, his body weak.
A warm touch anchored him back to reality. Someone was clutching his hand tightly.
"Young master!" A trembling, tear-streaked voice reached his ears. Emily's face, red from crying, hovered above him. She was weeping like a child, her grip refusing to let go as if she feared he would vanish again.
"It seems you are awake, young master," Hans said with deep relief, his calm voice steadying the air. The old retainer's expression softened, though his eyes betrayed how worried he had been.
"How long… was I out, Hans?" Asher asked, his voice hoarse, attempting to rise.
"For one week, young master," Hans replied, quickly moving to support him.
Asher glanced down at his arm. It had healed completely—like new, without scars. Yet on the back of his palm, a faintly glowing mark in the shape of a dragon pulsed with quiet light.
Emily gasped when she noticed it too, her tears forgotten for a moment. "Y-Young master… your hand…"
"I'll… I'll call the Patriarch!" she blurted, bolting toward the door, her steps uneven in panic.
"It seems the healer was paid well," Asher murmured, his voice faint, though his eyes were fixed on the dragon mark. Its glow was subtle, yet it carried a weight he could not describe.
"He is a well-known healer, young master," Hans answered respectfully, though even his tone carried a note of unease as his gaze lingered on the strange sigil.
Asher flexed his fingers slowly. Mana surged within him like never before—denser, sharper, alive. "My mana… it has grown stronger. And my mind—it feels sharper… clearer."
The door opened with a heavy creak. Samael and Aurelion entered together, their presence alone bending the air with authority. Rose followed closely behind, her steps hesitant, her eyes locked onto Asher as though trying to measure the change in him.
"It seems you are fine," Samael said, his deep tone a mixture of relief and scrutiny.
"Yes, Father. Uncle Aurelion. I am fine," Asher replied firmly, meeting their gazes without flinching.
Aurelion scratched the back of his neck, letting out a half-laugh. "Sorry about that, kiddo. I used more power than I intended."
Samael's sharp glare immediately silenced him.
Clearing his throat, Aurelion reached into his coat and withdrew a black tome. Its cover was aged, weathered, and yet alive with shifting silver runes that seemed to writhe faintly under the light. "As a token of apology, I'll give you this—the Book of the Unknown."
Asher's eyes narrowed. "The… Book of the Unknown?"
"It was created by the very magician you've always been curious about—the one who broke the limits and reached the twelfth tier of magic," Samael explained, his tone solemn.
"But… wasn't he just a myth? A legend whispered in taverns?" Asher asked in disbelief.
"He was real," Samael said firmly. "Simply hidden from the world."
"Then why not use the book yourself?" Asher's sharp gaze shifted to Aurelion.
Aurelion shrugged. "I can't. The book chooses its own master. It rejected everyone in my house. But… it seems to have chosen you."
Asher studied the tome in his hands. Its surface pulsed with faint heat, the symbols twisting like living veins. A book that chooses its owner? Then why me? he thought, unsettled. The words Book of Magic shimmered faintly across the cover, glowing like embers in the dark.
"Well, I'll take my leave. Find me if you wish to challenge me again," Aurelion said with a smirk, leaving before Samael's glare could pierce him further.
"You should rest," Samael advised, his tone absolute, before departing as well. Hans gently ushered Emily out, leaving only one figure behind.
Rose.
The silence between them was heavy.
"What do you want to say?" Asher asked coldly, his voice low, his eyes still fixed on the book. He refused to grant her the satisfaction of his gaze.
"I… I'm sorry," Rose whispered, clutching her dress tightly, her head bowed in shame. "This was all my fault."
Asher's fingers pressed harder into the tome. Now she feels guilt? After everything? His heart stirred faintly, but he crushed it with ruthless precision. No… I won't let her see weakness. Not now.
"You can go. I want to rest," he said flatly, his voice like ice.
Rose froze, her lips parting, her breath catching in her throat. She wanted to speak more, to beg, to cling to some fragment of the bond she thought they had. But the words died on her tongue. Tears stung her eyes as she turned away.
Each step she took toward the door was heavier than the last, as if dragging chains. Her chest burned with regret, humiliation, and something she had never expected—loss.
She left silently. She hadn't received the forgiveness she longed for—only the cold reality that Asher had shut her out completely.
And in the silence that followed, Asher's eyes never left the black tome. The dragon mark on his hand pulsed once more, as though resonating with the book itself.
The world had changed.
And so had he.