700 years ago, the event many refer to as the mana expulsion occured. Unseen and uncontrollable energy condensed unnaturally, tearing through the world.
The humans of that era, for the first time, saw the world beyond what they had known. They were able to control and manipulate things previously erratic and uncontrollable through this mana. This was not without a price.
Beasts began to wander the streets of kingdoms that had once been safehavens. The most dangerous beasts that had once wandered those very streets themselves. Humans.
When granted power with no restrictions, they believed themselves to be chosen by god. Only 300 years ago was this able to be rectified. For 400 years, the history of the world was written by those who had the power to write it.
The history books written in that era, known now as the Era of Nothing, had been burnt. Throughout the country of Orvale, the atrocities caused in that era-
A low groan echoed across an empty room, before a loud thump sounded from the middle. A large tome that had closed in on itself.
'Ugh. What a pain...'
A young boy sat alone in an empty classroom, at a wooden desk in the centre of the room, surrounded by other empty desks.
Atop the desk sat a thick book that recited the known history of the world. He leaned back, brushing the black hair resting on his ivory forehead back. He wore black pants and a white shirt beneath a half-zipped jacket.
'No one else has to do this.. why do I even need to learn history as a future medium...? The spirit I contract should be able to tell me what I need to know, why should I be expected to know this stuff?'
The boy recalled a lecture his teacher went on, without him being able to get even a word in.
A surprisingly young man, new to teaching, sat across from Dharan, a desk between them.
The teacher wore short, brown hair, and toned skin. He looked more like nobility than a teacher.
"What do you want to become later on, Dharan? A seer, or a vowed one? You remember the difference, yes?"
The boy looked dejected at the time. He felt as if the teacher was expecting too little of him.
"Of cour-"
"A seer is a medium that can contact the dead, a normal medium. A vowed one is someone who has binded their spirit to a random person in history, losing their ability to contact the deceased. Due to the tether, you may gain powers similar to that of your tether, but you may be tethered to an ordinary person. Do you know what you wish to become?"
The boy sighed lightly, looking through the windows outside the classroom. He squinted slightly from the glare of the sun.
"I already know all this. I want to become a vowed one."
The boy thought he had seen a solemn look in the teachers eyes for just a second.
"I see. That's alright. May I ask why?"
...
"I've wanted to be strong. I want to become something. I don't want to be a medium. I want to be a hero. I-"
The teacher raised their hand, stopping the boy. They were aware of the boy's circumstances. They knew of what had happened. What he had seen.
"I'm sorry. I understand. Becoming a vowed one is risky. If that is the path you wish to take, then I will not stop you. No one will."
A silence lingered in the classroom. The teacher reached into their inner jacket pocket, pulling out a form of consent. Forms similar to this were always used when something regarding abilities was involved. The teacher spoke up once more.
"Please sign this if you are truly sure you wish to go through with this."
The boy looked upon the form that had a pen already resting atop it, inspecting what he needed to fill out. He put down his name, and scribbled in his signature that always seems to be different every time he does it. As he was scribbling his details in, he thought for a second.
'He had the form ready...'
The parent signature was left blank.
The teacher took the paper, folding it into his pocket.
"The soonest you will be able to make a vow will be on the 23rd day of the month, next week. Please prepare until then, and remember that you can change your mind at any time. Please do not be afraid to speak up."
The ground scraped as the teacher slid his chair back, standing up. The tall young man towered over the boy, even more so than usual since the boy was still seated. He turned around, leaving the classroom, leaving behind a solemn silence.
'There is nothing I can do to change his mind.. for someone who wanted to change the world to be stuck as a medium... I pray for your success, Dharan.'
***
Dharan sat at his desk, trying to memorise the history of the 1700s, the era that has started 300 years ago. The era known as 'The Rectification Period'. People usually refer to it as the long peace.
'I don't like that name.. the long peace... wouldn't that mean that the peace would eventually end?'
He shook off the thoughts and continued reading. He was aware of the eras and which order they came in, but in terms of actually what happened... not so much.
While reading about some guy who managed to climb the tallest mountain in the world at the time, he saw an interesting paragraph on the next page.
'The Marked Days... I've heard about these. Days that have had unprecedented, day long disasters with no warning. They end just as abruptly as they have stopped. I'm surprised it's even mentioned in this book, it feels like people try to cover up the cause of these events.'
'The unending winds, the sky of fire, the broken earth... these names are so dramatic. I can tell these names were created by the public.'
Glancing on the small clock on the wall next to the blackboard, Dharan closed the thick book, making sure not the crease the pages.
'4:34. 20 minutes of reading after a long day of school. I'm such a dilligent worker!'
After sliding the book into the bookshelf that hugged the wall of the classroom, he exited the class, closing the doors behind him, locking it with the pair of keys that his teacher had lent him.
Normally students wouldn't be allowed to be left in the classroom alone after school to study for a bit, but it seems Mr. Miren trusts him more than the other kids. Dharan didn't actually think he was more hardworking than the other kids.
Dharan opened the staffroom door, stepping in for a second and hanging the keys up on it's hook. The room was like a corridor, with desks facing the wall on both sides, with comfortable office chairs planted at each one.
He glanced at the end of the room, seeing a young teacher scribbling down on paperwork with lightweight black headphones on.
Dharan stepped out quietly, closing the door gently behind him.
He hadn't noticed, but Mr. Mirens pen had stopped writing. The young man glanced at the now shut door, before focusing back on the papers before him.
Under his breath, he uttered,
"Please don't make the same mistake I did... Some burdens can only be carried alone."