When Noah returned home, he headed straight to the bathroom to take a bath. As the tub filled with water, he began undressing. Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he saw a handsome boy with black hair, brown eyes, and pale, almost sickly skin — perhaps the result of his constant nosebleeds.
On his right ear, a golden earring gleamed faintly, radiating the same light as the artifacts from the secret chamber. Around his right wrist, a bracelet pulsed softly. Both bore delicate golden inscriptions, but the most striking feature was the cross hanging from the bracelet, glowing with an intense, radiant light.
Despite his weary appearance, the earring and bracelet gave him a stylish, almost carefree look. Since finding the staff, Noah had felt calmer, yet his exhaustion didn't stem only from grief and anxiety. It came from the very thing he longed for the most.
"A wizard who can't use magic… how ridiculous am I?" he muttered, recalling his grandfather's words.
"It's not us. It's this world that's dying," he repeated under his breath.
A lump formed in his throat. Every memory of his grandfather had been leaving him on the verge of tears these past few days.
"I'll carry on our dream, Grandpa. For both of us. I'll make it to a new world."
Turning off the tap, he glanced at his right hand. A rune was etched there.
"After breaking those rocks, the runes drained away," he whispered as he slid into the water.
The rune's markings still remained, but he knew the magic inside had long since faded. It would take several nights of sleep before it recovered. Noah leaned back in the tub, but rest only brought a wave of unease. He already held the final item in his possession. All he could do now was wait.
His thoughts drifted back to his life — or rather, its beginning. Abandoned at the steps of an orphanage, he lived there until he was seven. Everything changed the day the nun dragged him to church.
Noah had never liked church, but in hindsight, if he hadn't gone that day, he would never have met the man who altered his fate.
He remembered standing outside the church doors, waiting for the nun to gather the other children, when he noticed an old man speaking to a church member. At first, Noah only stared curiously. The old man looked out of place, dressed like the wizards from fairy tales — pointy hat and all. People laughed, whispering and shaking their heads, but the man didn't care. Maybe age had stripped him of shame, or maybe he simply didn't belong.
Noah found the scene amusing, but his attention snapped to the object the church member slipped into the old man's hands: a bracelet with a crucifix.
Ordinary jewelry would never catch his eye. But this one glowed — a radiant yellow shimmer visible only to him. His right eye throbbed painfully as he blinked, realizing he was seeing something others couldn't.
Curiosity overcame caution, and he walked closer.
"Why is that bracelet shining?" he asked.
That single question changed everything. The very next day, the old man adopted him. It was then Noah was told a bitter truth: he was a wizard.
Just like his grandfather.
But this world was dry, stripped of mana. Wizards here could barely cast sparks, unless they spent years painfully absorbing what little energy lingered in the air.
The truth was cruel. He had inherited a title out of myth — wizard — but not the power to live up to it.
Yet the old man never despaired. He had a plan, a lifetime obsession: to cross into another world through a forbidden ritual.
Noah remembered the parchment, old and brittle, that his grandfather had shown him with trembling hands.
"This scroll came from a black market merchant in Egypt. He swore it survived the burning of the Library of Alexandria," the old man had said, unrolling it like a treasure.
That was when Noah learned their goal. They couldn't gather enough mana themselves, so they sought magical artifacts — objects that still contained fragments of power.
And Noah had a gift his grandfather never did. His right eye could trace magic, glowing threads invisible to anyone else. It drained him, left him weak, and each time risked his vision. But with that eye, he could guide them to artifacts hidden in plain sight.
It became their life. Journeying across the world, searching, collecting, hoarding everything within the hidden chamber beneath their home. His grandfather taught him everything: the runes that could enhance spells, the theories about mana, the dream of what a true wizard could be.
For Noah, magic became more than fascination. It became faith. He idolized his grandfather, the only man who carried dignity as a wizard even in a dying world. Together they dreamed of fireballs, thunder, and skies torn open by their will.
Day after day, he inherited that passion. His grandfather gave him the earring and the bracelet, the only two artifacts they possessed that could slowly recharge themselves. Rare treasures — though even then, their true functions remained a mystery.
But time was cruel. His grandfather passed away two months ago, short of fulfilling the dream they had worked for all their lives.
"We are wizards. We take what we want, shape reality, and make our dreams truth." That had been his grandfather's creed.
Noah had believed it with all his heart. But after the loss, those words felt hollow. In the end, they were only tricksters playing with sparks.
Grief devoured him. Anger, despair, emptiness. They had been so close — just a little longer, and maybe the ritual would have worked. Now the distance between him and that dream felt like infinity. Against death, no one could fight.
That was the fate of the weak.
And Noah hated it.
But even broken, he swore to keep going. To claim the dream for himself.
"Will the new world have dragons? Elves?" he wondered. His grandfather always joked about wanting worlds filled with "beautiful elves with big chests." Noah chuckled through the ache in his chest at the memory.
When the bath ended, he threw on a robe and raided the fridge. Hunger clawed at him like he hadn't eaten in days. He devoured everything in sight, even the vegetables he normally despised.
Sated, he grabbed the book from the secret chamber and sat down to read. Unlike the other artifacts, it was ordinary. Just a novel. He was nearly at the end of the final volume and wanted to finish it tonight.
"I don't know why Grandpa loved these books so much," he muttered, flipping through the pages. His expression shifted between irritation and anxiety, until at last the final page came.
Tears slipped down his cheeks.
The ending wasn't happy. In truth, the whole story was steeped in tragedy.
"Seven books filled with death… and even victory left nothing but ashes," he whispered, tossing the book onto the couch.
It was the same series that had once drawn him into reading, the same his grandfather adored. Noah never loved it as much. People in it died without even knowing they were pawns.
But maybe that was why it resonated with him. An orphan boy who learns he's a wizard…
His thoughts grew heavy, though only for a moment. The earring on his ear glowed faintly, calming his heart.
With his stomach full and his body exhausted, Noah headed for his bedroom.
Sleep was, after all, the best cure for both magical and physical fatigue.