The year was 1440, and the world had never been so quiet—until it wasn't.
No one saw it coming. One moment, the villagers were tending to their crops, the sun painting golden streaks across the fields, and the next, the sky split open with a roar that shook the mountains themselves. Shadows descended like a storm, twisting and curling, and then they took shape—monsters of every conceivable kind. Towering beasts with scales glinting like molten metal, creatures wreathed in smoke, and winged horrors that blotted out the sun. The ground shook with each step, and screams tore through the valleys as humans fled for their lives.
In the midst of chaos, something incredible began to happen. Ordinary people, terrified and trembling, discovered sparks of power inside themselves. A farmer, clutching a sickle, felt fire erupt from his hands and scorched a monster's flank. A young woman, weeping for her fallen sister, felt light pulse from her chest, healing wounds she didn't even understand. Awakening… it was sudden, chaotic, and utterly transformative.
"The legends… they were true," whispered an old sage, shielding his eyes from the carnage. "The Awakened walk among us."
Years passed. Humanity adapted, learned, and fought back. They built guilds to organize the magically gifted, to train, to strategize. Cities rose from the ashes, fortified with walls and magical wards. By the end of the decade, humans had won. The monsters had been repelled, banished, or destroyed, leaving the world forever changed. And yet, in this new era of prosperity, some things would never change—such as the struggle of the ordinary boy who would later step into a world where magic was life… and he had none.
Son Ogong yawned, slouching in his chair as the professor's voice droned on about energy manipulation and magical theory. Sunlight streamed through the tall classroom windows, falling across the polished wooden floors and dust motes that danced lazily in the air. Around him, students whispered to one another, practicing minor spells, sparks flickering across their fingers, a casual display of what he would never have.
"Ogong, are you even awake?" a voice teased. It was Rian, tall, confident, and glowing faintly with a protective aura as he leaned back in his chair. "Still the same weakling from middle school, huh? Not much has changed."
Ogong clenched his fists under the desk. He had long ago learned to ignore Rian's barbs. Being magicless in a college full of Awakened was nothing new.
"I'm awake," he muttered flatly, lowering his gaze.
Rian smirked. "Magicless and still breathing. I guess some things truly are miraculous." He laughed, a low, cruel sound that made Ogong's teeth clench.
The lecture finally ended. Books were shoved into bags, chairs scraped against the floor, and the students spilled into the corridors like water. Ogong adjusted his backpack, forcing himself to walk calmly, keeping his head down as he navigated past groups of students practicing sparks, shields, and elemental tricks.
"See you tomorrow, Ogong!" one friend called cheerfully.
"Yeah… see you," he replied, forcing a polite smile.
The streets were busier than usual, filled with students heading to cafes, shops, and homes. Ogong's path home was usually uneventful, until something on the pavement caught his eye.
A small, glowing object pulsed faintly, almost like a heartbeat. It wasn't any magical artifact he had ever seen in books or lectures. The colors danced across its surface in impossible patterns, shifting as if alive.
"What… is this?" he murmured, crouching down. He reached out, fingers trembling.
The moment his skin touched the object, a jolt surged through his body. The world bent and twisted. The hum of the city faded into silence. Colors stretched unnaturally. A void seemed to open beneath him, swallowing him whole.
When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the city he knew. Above him, the sky swirled in hues of violet and gold, floating islands drifted lazily in the distance, and rivers of glowing liquid snaked across the land. Strange plants glimmered like lanterns, and the air vibrated with an energy that pressed against his skin.
"No… this isn't real," Ogong whispered, staggering to his feet. His heart pounded. "It's a dream… it has to be a dream."
The landscape was silent, yet a soft, commanding voice echoed in the distance. "Awake… at last."
Ogong's legs froze. His breath caught. "I… I must be dreaming," he repeated, reaching to touch the glowing mark that had appeared on his palm the moment he entered this place.
He wandered, trying to make sense of the impossible scene, exhaustion weighing on him. Eventually, he collapsed beneath a tree that shimmered like liquid glass, the faint pulse of the mark syncing with the mysterious world around him. For hours—or maybe minutes—he drifted in half-consciousness, certain that the strange experience would vanish by morning.
Sunlight spilled across his bedroom the next day. Ogong awoke, stretching, and froze when he saw the faint glow of the mark on his hand.
"No… it wasn't a dream," he muttered. Panic and disbelief churned in his chest. The mark throbbed faintly, resonating with a power he had never known, a promise of something he had yet to understand.
His life, ordinary and mundane, was over. A new reality had begun.