Darkness.
Not the darkness born of a candleless room or a moonless night. This was different—deeper, older than the very concept of light. A void that felt as though it had always existed before the beginning, and would remain long after the end.
In the heart of it, Carsel drifted.
There was no floor beneath him. No ceiling above. His hands were there, but they refused to move—his arms felt like the wings of a bird that had forgotten how to flap. His legs were present, yet the same. His entire body was bound by a nameless gravity, pulled downward toward something invisible yet hauntingly real.
Where am I?
"Carsel..."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once. It wasn't heard through the ears—but rather through something deeper, something without an anatomical name. A very old voice. Older than language. Older than memory. It greeted him with familiarity, like someone who had known his name long before he was born.
Yet, it was cold. A cold that left no mark on the skin but etched itself into something far harder to reach.
Who are you?
There was no answer. But even that question felt trivial—because at that moment, Carsel realized something far more urgent.
His body was disappearing.
Not violently—not torn or crushed. Rather, it was fading. His fingers went first, dissolving into particles of white light that glowed softly, like stardust falling too late. It wasn't because of an external force attacking him—it was because of his own pitch-black eyes. The abyss that always pulled light inward had now turned—pulling him into himself.
The star affinity that should have radiated light was now being consumed by the darkness that had been hiding behind it all along.
"You cannot be both." The voice spoke with the tone of someone stating a fact, not a threat. "The Star or the Water. Choose."
Choose.
The word rolled through the void, echoing between his half-vanished bones, landing somewhere that felt like bitterness.
I don't feel like I ever had that right. I was thrown into this world without permission—forced to be born in a land I never ordered, the child of a lineage that is foreign and cold. Now I must shoulder responsibilities and legacies when I don't even know the original owner. Since my first breath, I have been nothing but a recipient—of a destiny I never asked to sign.
Hahahaha.
The laughter didn't come from his throat. It simply existed—floating in the void like a soap bubble that didn't know where to go.
This world is absurd.
"Neither," his voice was profoundly weary. Not the weariness of lacking sleep—a deeper exhaustion, like someone who had understood for too long that what they wanted was simply not available. "I'd rather just be someone normal."
A pause.
"Can I?"
"No." Firm. Unadorned. "You are the chosen one."
His lower body was already gone. The light particles scattered in every direction—not vanishing, just going somewhere his remaining consciousness couldn't reach. His upper half followed, faster than before, like a candle hurrying to burn out.
The last particle began to let go.
His eyes were still open. Staring straight ahead—into a void that had no surface yet felt like a wall. He knew the owner of the voice was there. Listening. Waiting.
"I hate that."
And then—
Light.
A tiny speck in the directionless distance. But it was there, and that was enough to make the surrounding darkness feel less perfect than before. A bright light—not blinding, but a warm kind of bright, filled with something difficult to name because it was encountered so rarely.
Hope. And beneath it—affection.
"I believe in you."
A new voice. Entirely different from the first. Not old—young, even, with the tone of someone who hadn't lived long enough to learn how to lie. And Carsel didn't know it.
Not yet.
Someone believes in me?
Something behind his eyes warmed. Not tears—just warmth, like a hearth newly lit after a winter that was far too long. He didn't know whose voice it was. But apparently, he didn't need to know to feel that those words were something he had needed for a long time without ever daring to say it out loud.
The light particles stopped.
Then they returned—one by one, like a story being rewound, forming fingers, forming arms, forming a chest, forming legs, until Carsel stood whole within something that was no longer a void.
The Great Outdoors. A blue sky filled with stars that didn't need the night to shine. The light here didn't come from a single source—it was everywhere, like something that had become part of the very air.
And in front of him stood a young man.
Pure silver hair that didn't move despite the wind. Sapphire blue irises as clear as a morning lake that had never been touched. There was a bond between them—something formless yet feeling like gravity, pulling without asking.
No words came from Carsel. His throat felt as if it were tied from the inside, and he didn't try to fight it.
The young man raised his hand. He touched the exact spot above where Carsel's heart beat.
"I believe in your strength."
He smiled broadly—not a polite smile or a practiced one. The smile of someone genuinely happy to see another person exist.
✶ ✶ ✶
Carsel opened his eyes.
The sky outside was still dark. The stars visible through the gap in the curtains were not the stars of his dreams—they were smaller, further away, and indifferent to anyone watching them from below.
He lay still for a moment, staring at a ceiling that offered no answers. Then his palm moved on its own—touching the place where the young man had touched him earlier. Warm. Safe. It felt like something real even though the dream had begun to fade.
He frowned.
What did I just dream about?
There was no answer. The more he tried to remember, the more the back of his head ached—like trying to grasp water with a clenched fist. All that remained was the feeling: a warmth in his chest, and something that felt like it was enough for today.
His eyes shifted to the table beside him. A calendar hung on the wall with numbers that never lied: January 6, year 1015. Below it, the timepiece spoke even more honestly.
Kala 03:00.
He let his back fall against the mattress again.
Just go back to sleep. There's still time.
But just as his eyes were about to close, the image of Mama Clara appeared behind his eyelids—not like a pleasant memory. More like a reminder. The kind of reminder that doesn't have a snooze button.
He suppressed something that almost escaped his mouth.
Then he gathered himself—slowly, like stacking fallen cards one by one—and got out of bed.
✶ ✶ ✶
The hallway leading to Seraphina's library was silent in a way that differed from ordinary quiet. The silence here felt intentional—like a house that knew its inhabitants were sleeping and chose not to creak. The candles on the wall burned low, barely enough to illuminate, serving more to mark the path. The scent was sweet—honey candles, perhaps, or something deliberately chosen to make the hallway feel more like a lived-in space than a mere connection between one door and another.
Carsel kept his footsteps as quiet as possible without looking like he was tip-toeing.
The door opened with the whisper of a hinge accustomed to silence. Inside—dark, vast, and cold in a way unique to rooms filled with old paper. The distinct smell of books that had stood on shelves for a long time filled his lungs like something familiar yet never truly his.
He closed the door behind him with the same care.
Darkness was no issue. His eyes adjusted on their own—one of those things that didn't need to be learned, only inherited. He walked among the towering bookshelves, his fingers occasionally brushing the spines without reading them, searching for something he didn't yet know the name of.
He found them—two books, side by side on the third shelf from the right. On Artifacts. On Breakthroughs & Evolution.
He chose the nearest table to sit at, pulling the chair back slowly—
And nearly didn't sit.
"Seraphina?"
The murmur escaped on its own. Because at that table—on a wooden surface as cold as everything else in this room—Seraphina was asleep, using her arms as a pillow. Her head was tilted to the right, her usually neat hair now flowing freely, falling haphazardly over both shoulders.
How can someone sleep so soundly in a place this cold?
Carsel stood there long enough to feel uncomfortable with his own silence.
His heart screamed for him to do something. The kind of scream that couldn't be argued with because it used no words—only an impulse, like a reflex.
I'll bring her a blanket.
He had already taken two steps toward the door before stopping.
Why? Is it necessary?
He didn't answer the question immediately. He let it float in his head, waiting for an honest answer.
She is the one who took my freedom. She bought me. Just ignore her.
He returned. Sat on the sofa across from the table, opened the first book, and began to read.
> [ Breakthrough & Evolution — Chapter I ]
> Every tier has a wall that must be broken.
> Different people get stuck at different walls.
> A breakthrough occurs when:
> — The mana/aura capacity at the current tier is full.
> — There is a trigger: intense battle, deep meditation, or the brink of death.
> IMPORTANT: A breakthrough will not exceed the Ceiling.
> Everyone has different potential. If your potential is Tier 3, you can breakthrough 5→4→3, but you will be STUCK forever at Tier 3. No matter how hard you train.
> This is the despair that drives people to seek Evolution.
> Breakthrough vs. Evolution Differences:
> * Frequency: Breakthroughs repeat at every level. Evolution is normally once in a lifetime (Twice: extremely rare).
> * Method: Breakthrough → training + triggers. Evolution → repeated extreme conditions, sacrifice, or consumption of rare resources.
> * Result: Breakthrough → the next level within potential. Evolution → SURPASSING the limits of potential.
> * Cost: Breakthrough → time and effort. Evolution → life force, humanity, memories, or addiction.
>
Three seconds.
That was all the time it took for his eyes to move from the last line back toward Seraphina.
He re-read the same line. Without absorbing the content.
His eyes returned to Seraphina.
He sighed—softly, directed at the book so as not to be heard—and placed the book on the table. He stood up. Walked out soundlessly.
Thirty seconds later he returned, a blanket in his hand.
He draped the blanket around Seraphina's shoulders with more care than was necessary—not waking her, not touching her more than required. Like someone who knew that a kindness done too loudly could become a nuisance.
Then he returned to his sofa. And this time, his eyes did not lift from the page.
Because something now felt resolved—not about Seraphina, but about the question that had been floating in his head. He didn't need to answer it. His body had answered first.
And he didn't entirely dislike the answer.
The second book was opened in the middle—where a thin, faded green bookmark marked the beginning of the third chapter.
> [ Artifact Classification — Chapter III ]
> Written by Prof. Aldren von Cassius, Ostrivien Academy, Year 980.
> In the beginning:
> When Primordial beings created the system of magic, they embedded identification protocols into reality itself. The goal: to prevent humans from accidentally using god-tier artifacts. 'Know what you touch before you die.'
> How it works:
> — All forged magical items leave a trace in the magical weave.
> — The forger's intent crystallizes as information.
> — Tier, function, name = encoded in the item's essence.
> — Anyone can read these traces.
>
His hand stopped there.
His fingers moved on their own—to his neck, to the place where two necklaces rested against each other, warm from long contact with his skin. He took one of them and held it under the sliver of light coming through the curtains.
> [ Artifact Identification ]
> Name: A Miraculous Transformation
> Description: A necklace forged by dwarves during a full moon.
> Active: —
> Passive: Changes the user's hair color, irises, and voice. Lasts 12 hours. CD 3 hours.
> Tier: Unique (0)
>
His eyes sparked.
It... it's amazing.
He let go of the necklace and continued reading.
> Artifact Tier Hierarchy:
> Tier 4 — Mortal
> Most common. Simple enchantments that strengthen or assist. No personality. Does not distinguish between users.
> Example: boots that lighten the step, warming gloves.
> Tier 3 — Arcane
> The domain of dwarven smiths. The difference from Tier 4 is not in the enchantment—but in materials that have been imbued with properties since the creation process. Storage rings, elite combat armor, high-quality weapons.
> Tier 2 — Mystic
> Artifacts that remember. They store traces of every user and evolve over time. Two people holding the same artifact can have entirely different experiences. Tier 2 artifacts that change hands too often will lose some of what makes them special.
> The most well-known Tier 2 artifact in history is Dusklight—a rapier of the Moonstone family legacy passed down through generations for hundreds of years. Because it never left the same bloodline, the resonance stored within is one of the deepest ever documented in any Tier 2 artifact.
> Tier 1 — Divine
> Extremely rare. Creation requires a Sage or Transcendent. Divine artifacts don't just adapt to the user—they recognize them. Some Tier 1s are even reported to refuse use by the unworthy.
> Tier 0 — Unique
> Different from all tiers above. Tiers 4 through 1 operate within the laws of the world—following the logic of mana/aura, affinity, and ability. Tier 0 does not.
> There are no reliable records on how they are made. No smith claims to have created them. Tier 0 artifacts do not seem to be made—they simply exist, without a satisfying explanation of their origin.
> What distinguishes Tier 0 is not its power. There are Tier 1 artifacts whose destructive power surpasses some documented Tier 0s. What sets it apart is its domain of operation.
> A Tier 0 artifact does not change what is within the world. It changes how the world reads something: perception, memory, possibility, even reality itself.
> For this reason, Tier 0 is not placed above Tier 1 in the power hierarchy. It is placed outside the hierarchy entirely. The number zero means it cannot be measured by the same scale.
> Confirmed number of Tier 0s: unknown.
> Number ever held by humans without consequence: even fewer.
> Recommendation: If you find an artifact that cannot be identified—do not use it. Report it to the nearest academy authority or imperial council. The author is not responsible for the consequences of ignoring this.
> — End of Chapter III
>
Carsel closed the book.
His fingers gripped both necklaces still looped around his neck—one he had just read about, one whose description was full of question marks. Both warmed in his hand in a way that didn't feel like ordinary metal.
This is incredibly precious. Where did Mama get these?
The question had nowhere to go. It spun in his head without finding a door—just spinning, and spinning, until one question birthed another, larger and darker.
He gripped them tighter.
I must protect them.
✶ ✶ ✶
Seraphina had been awake for some time.
Not fully—more in that state between sleep and consciousness, where eyelids feel weighted but the mind has begun to move. She allowed that state to linger, hearing the sound of pages turning, hearing the stillness between those sounds.
And when she finally opened her eyes—she found Carsel staring at the two necklaces with the expression of someone who had just realized that what they were holding carried a different weight than they thought.
He's truly serious. Doesn't even realize someone's watching him, Seraphina mused internally, her right cheek resting on her palm.
"Carsel..."
Her voice came out raspy—a side effect of sleeping at a table never intended for it.
Carsel tensed instantly. His body reacted before his mind could give instructions—shoulders rose, breath held, eyes darted toward the source of the sound.
Then he exhaled slowly when he realized it was Seraphina. Only Seraphina.
Seraphina raised an eyebrow slightly. That was all. An expression that said: something interesting is happening.
"How long are you going to keep reading?"
Her index finger pointed toward the window. The curtains were still closed, but through the narrow gaps in the fabric, the morning sunlight was seeping in—pale yellow, young, not quite sure of itself, but present.
"Ah—" Carsel turned his body toward the window, then back to the book, then to the window again. "You're right. How did I not notice?"
A small laugh escaped Seraphina—short, unplanned.
"Your body was here, but your soul seemed to have entered the book itself."
Carsel gave a small grin. His fingers rubbed a cheek that didn't itch—a habit that appeared when he didn't know where to put his hands.
Silence filled the room. Not uncomfortable—it just hadn't found its shape yet.
Seraphina straightened her back. Stretched her neck to the right, then to the left. Her eyes fell to the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders—and she stared at it for a long time without saying anything.
Carsel noticed the gaze.
"The... the library was very cold when I came in, and I saw you sleeping without a cover. So I took the initiative to bring a blanket—sorry if that made you uncomfortable."
"Relax, Carsel. I haven't asked anything yet." Her plum-colored irises rose—staring directly into the silver irises across from her. "Why did you bring a blanket? You could have just ignored it. After all, I am the person who bought your freedom."
Carsel fell silent.
Not out of confusion. Not out of offense. But because this was the first time—in the outside world, among people who didn't know him—that someone had asked not what he did, but why.
Something fluttered in his stomach. Like a butterfly that didn't know how long it had been waiting to exist.
"I couldn't ignore it." His voice came out firmer than he had planned. "My mother always instilled the values of kindness in me. And I will keep those values alive."
"That's naive, in this cruel world—"
"I am not naive."
The cut-off wasn't rude—but firm. Carsel didn't raise his voice. He simply continued, with the tone of someone who had long thought about this distinction.
"There is a difference: naive people do good because it is comfortable for them and they have never seen the dark side of the world."
A pause.
"I am different. Before I came to the auction block—I already knew this world was filled with cruel and fake people. Once I got there, what I saw were people held like criminals when they didn't even look like they could fight. They were going to be sold to who-knows-where. Some were even children."
His breath hitched slightly. Emotion touched his words from within—not exploding, but felt.
"Yes," Seraphina answered coldly. "That is the reality of this world."
"Yes. Therefore, I do good." His eyes didn't waver. "This world is already cruel enough. I don't want to add to that cruelty."
Seraphina didn't answer immediately.
She stared at Carsel—not judging, more... observing. Like someone who had found something in a place they didn't expect and hadn't decided what to do with the discovery yet.
Within her, something moved slowly. There had never been anyone who spoke with her like this—truly spoke, not small talk, not reporting, not asking for something—except her own family. And seeing the person in front of her share his worldview without hesitation and without fear, in a way that didn't ask for approval...
It made the room feel a little different than before.
"Very well." Her voice returned to its usual tone—flat, controlled, but with something slightly different at the edges. "Anyway, what book are you reading?"
Carsel held up both.
"Breakthrough & Evolution. And Artifacts."
Seraphina's eyes moved to the necklace peeking out from its place on Carsel's neck.
"That necklace... what tier is it?"
"Tier 0. Unique." Carsel answered, his tone still not fully processing what it meant to possess something that significant without ever realizing it.
Shock made Seraphina's eyes widen for a second—only a second, before control took over again. But after that, a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.
"Interesting."
She opened her storage ring. Pulled out a necklace—nearly identical to Carsel's, to someone who wouldn't know how to tell them apart.
"Give me yours," she demanded, brooking no argument. "I'll give you mine as well."
They tossed them to each other.
Instantly—Carsel's hair, which had been black, changed to a bright pink, and his silver irises returned to a deep, pitch black. Like a star deciding to hide behind a cloud of an unexpected color.
"Don't just look at the outside—read my artifact," Seraphina said.
> [ Artifact Identification ]
> Name: Necklace of Alteration
> Description: A necklace forged by dwarves during a full moon.
> Active: —
> Passive: Creates an illusion in others' eyes that the user's hair and iris colors are different. Manipulates others' hearing so the user's voice pitch sounds different.
> Tier: Arcane (3)
>
Carsel's eyes bulged.
The description was almost the same. But the name was different. The tier was different. And the passive power—not changing reality, but creating an illusion. A difference that seemed small but meant everything if you knew what you were reading.
"Mine is just a copy of yours," Seraphina said.
Carsel lifted his gaze.
"That means..."
"Yes. Yours is the original."
"But why is the description still the same? Between my Tier 0 and your Tier 3?"
Seraphina answered with the tone of a teacher who had anticipated the question.
"Never fully trust an artifact identification. Especially cursed items, divine artifacts, and uniques—they can mask or fake their true nature."
She picked up Carsel's necklace, examining the surface for a moment.
"This artifact disguises its true description. Because in any era, no one is known to be capable of creating a Tier 0 artifact." Her eyes shifted back to Carsel. "There are a few known types: holy artifacts that protect themselves, cursed items that hide their true nature, or something so ancient that the Weave itself has forgotten it."
A pause.
"And one thing I can tell you, Carsel—" her voice didn't change tone, but there was something in it that felt like a gift not usually given. "The more sensitive your mana becomes, the more detailed information you can read."
✶ ✶ ✶
Both exchanged their necklaces back in silence.
Carsel held his for a moment before putting it back on—and for the first time since he received it from his mother's hand, he didn't just feel it as jewelry. There was something inside this object that was much bigger than he had ever imagined. Something his mother might never have told him—either because she didn't have the chance, or because she chose not to.
The necklace was cold in his palm for a fraction of a second, then warmed.
As if recognizing him.
Outside the window, the morning light was no longer young and unsure. It had decided to be fully present—a warm yellow piercing through the gaps in the curtains, splitting the library in two: one side bright, one side still holding onto the night.
Carsel stared at the dividing line without a word.
Across the table, Seraphina had returned to her reading position—back straight, hand over a page of a different book, her expression returning to something not easily read. Like a curtain that had been closed again after being momentarily opened.
But the blanket was still draped over her shoulders. And she didn't move it.
Carsel took a slow breath. He picked up his first book again—about Breakthrough and Evolution—and opened to the page he hadn't finished earlier. The same words, under a different light, felt different too.
Everyone has different levels of potential.
He didn't know his potential. Not yet. But for the first time since he arrived here, that question didn't feel like something terrifying to know the answer to.
The sun rose higher.
And inside the library that belonged entirely to Seraphina, two people who didn't yet know the right name for what they were building—sat on two sides of the same table, reading in a silence that had begun to feel shared.
— ✶ —