Magic can create anything, as long as one can imagine it.
— Gray, Noah.
It was a cold, stormy night. Trees bent dangerously under the howling wind, and the rain blurred everything into a wall of darkness. Visibility was nearly nothing—you could barely see a step ahead.
Yet, amidst the tempest, a boy of about fifteen walked with steady resolve, as if neither storm nor shadow could hinder his sight. He was following something that only he could see: a faint, pulsing light deep within the forest.
To him, that glow was not just a destination. It was hope—a sun breaking through storm clouds, a promise of warmth in a frozen world.
After nearly an hour of trudging through mud and rain, the forest opened into a clearing. At its heart stretched a vast lake, shimmering faintly from a light rising beneath the surface.
The boy pulled off the leather glove on his right hand and touched the water. As expected, it was ice-cold.
"An hour in the rain, and now an icy lake," he muttered. "Perfect recipe for pneumonia."
Still, he didn't hesitate. Kicking off his shoes and peeling away his soaked pants for better mobility, he stretched, muscles tensing against the night's chill. Then, without delay, he dove into the lake.
The water was freezing and dark, but the glow below drew him onward. He swam fast, descending until he realized the light wasn't at the bottom—it came from the side. A soft radiance seeped through a fissure in a massive rock that formed part of the lake wall.
"Can I fit through that?" he thought, searching for another entrance. There was none.
With no choice left, he pressed his palms against the stone, closed his eyes, and focused. At first, nothing. Then the water vibrated. No—the rock itself trembled, harder and harder, until with a muffled crack it burst apart.
Exhaustion struck instantly. His limbs felt like lead, his strokes sluggish. Barely able to keep his head above the surface, he dragged himself to shore and collapsed by his clothes, pale and gasping for breath.
Rain pelted his skin, but his eyes stayed fixed on the lake. The faint glimmer he had followed all this way now blazed like a beacon beneath the waves. A thin smile curved his lips, even as blood trickled from his nose, mixing with the rain.
He wiped it away with practiced ease, unfazed. It was nothing new—almost routine. If anything, it only fueled his determination.
Though trembling and drained, he dove again.
This time, the fissure gaped wide, blasted open. He slipped inside and swam through a tunnel of stone, guided by the glow. At last, he broke the surface and froze at the sight before him.
The cavern was silent, the only sound his ragged breathing echoing against the stone. Ancient carvings scarred the walls, faded yet still telling stories of a forgotten age: countless people kneeling, a woman holding a staff, pointing toward a golden gate in the sky. In the next scene, she stepped through the gate—but her staff fell from the heavens.
At the cavern's center rose a small island, crowned by the broken statue of a woman. Her delicate features had long since crumbled, fragments scattered like forgotten prayers at her feet.
Noah approached with reverence. And then he saw it.
A staff, resting before the statue. Its shaft was dark wood, polished smooth by countless hands. At its tip, a pale gem pulsed with blue-white light—the very glow that had guided him here.
"This is…" he whispered. His throat tightened. "Grandfather… I found it."
He bowed deeply. "Forgive my boldness. My intentions may be selfish, but they're the best I have to offer."
A playful smile ghosted his lips. "You left this staff behind when you departed this world. I hope you won't mind if I carry it from here."
With no more hesitation, his hand closed around the staff.
It was heavy—then suddenly alive. Magic surged through him, raw and intoxicating, filling his veins with power he had never known. For a fleeting moment, he let himself drown in it. Then clarity returned.
"This strength is not mine," he whispered. His grip tightened. "It belongs to the staff."
And with that, he plunged back into the water, leaving the cavern behind.
A Week Later
"Found another strange trinket?"
The teasing voice came from a woman leaning out of her second-floor window.
On the street below, the boy stopped and grinned up at her. "Good morning, Mrs. Margaret. This will be the last one."
She shook her head with a fond smile. "The last one, you say? I hope so. You're a good boy—I'd hate to see you lost in your grandfather's fantasies."
At the mention of his grandfather, Noah's grin faltered for the briefest moment. His grip on the staff steadied him. "They weren't fantasies, Mrs. Margaret. My grandfather was a true magician."
"Still with that?" she sighed. "Sounds like that 'eighth-grader syndrome' I read about. Thought that was just a Japanese thing."
Noah chuckled. "See you later, Mrs. Margaret." He resumed his walk.
"You're always welcome for dinner!" she called after him as he entered the house next door. Her smile softened as she murmured, "Such a good boy. I still remember when the old man brought him home from the orphanage. But ever since he passed… the boy looks so tired."
Inside, Noah headed straight for the reading room. Dust cloaked the shelves, but the air was heavy with the scent of old books. He pulled a volume free, and with a rumble, the entire bookcase slid forward, revealing a hidden passage.
Closing it behind him, he descended a spiral staircase into organized chaos: shelves and tables piled with scrolls, tomes, and relics. At the chamber's center, a great circle was carved into the floor, glowing faintly. Within it lay artifacts collected over years: rings, necklaces, books, swords.
And now, the staff.
"This will be the last," Noah thought, staring at it. "It has to be."
He had only one chance. If he failed, everything—his grandfather's work, his own—would be wasted. What terrified him most wasn't failure, but the thought of growing old here, dying with the same regrets that had consumed his grandfather.
He placed the staff at the circle's edge and stepped back.
Tomorrow would decide everything.
With one last glance at the chamber, he picked up a book and climbed the stairs, determined to rest before facing his fate.