The first thing Lucien felt when he stepped into his new creation was… itchy grass.
"Ah," he murmured, wrinkling his nose. "So this is what texture feels like. It's… unpleasantly real."
Beside him, Rorio was already rolling around happily, his golden fur glinting under the newborn sun. "Woof!"
Lucien sighed dramatically. "Of course you like it. You're ninety percent fur and chaos."
The world of Aetherion stretched out before them — endless meadows, distant snow-capped peaks, and the faint shimmer of mana in the air. It wasn't perfect, not yet. The laws of magic here were still fresh and clumsy, like a child learning to walk.
"Lower world," Lucien mused, staring into the horizon. "Mana density… roughly two stars out of ten. Primitive spellcasting. Heroic destinies unassigned. Yes, this will do nicely."
Rorio barked, wagging his tail so hard it bent a patch of space.
Lucien patted him. "Patience, my radiant beast of destruction. We'll explore it properly. But first—"
"Hey! You two! What are you doing in my field!?"
Lucien turned lazily toward the voice.
A girl stood a few paces away, hands on her hips, glaring fiercely. She couldn't have been more than sixteen — with auburn hair tied back, streaks of ash on her cheeks, and eyes that burned like magic embers. A wand — cracked and humming weakly — was gripped in one hand.
Lucien blinked. Then smiled. "Ah. Local life."
"Local—?!" The girl's jaw dropped. "Who talks like that? Are you drunk? Or cursed?"
"Neither," Lucien chirped. "Though I am cursed with perfection. A heavy burden, truly."
"...Huh?"
Rorio barked as if to confirm the statement, tail sweeping the grass.
The girl took a wary step back. "Okaaay… you're weird. And that's the biggest dog I've ever seen."
"Thank you," Lucien said, preening. "He's mostly fluff and cosmic energy."
"Cos— what?"
Lucien tilted his head. "Ah. Right. Too early in the narrative for that, isn't it? My mistake."
The girl frowned. "You're definitely cursed."
He chuckled. "Possibly. But since you seem delightful, I'll allow you to guide me through this… rustic place."
"I'm not your—! Ugh, fine!" she groaned. "At least get off my field before you flatten my herbs."
Lucien obligingly stepped aside, though the grass somehow bloomed under his feet instead of flattening.
The girl noticed and froze. "Did you just—?"
Lucien winked. "Trade secret."
Before she could interrogate him further, Rorio sneezed — and a faint gust of glowing petals scattered across the air, briefly forming constellations.
The girl stared. "Your dog just… blessed the air."
Lucien crouched to pat Rorio's head proudly. "He's a very good boy."
They followed her down a dirt path leading into a quaint little village nestled beside a glittering river. Thatched roofs, cobbled roads, and faint mana lanterns gave it a sleepy charm. A single worn sign read: Lunewood Village — Home of Modest Mages and Excellent Turnips.
Lucien stopped. "Charming. Humble. Perfectly mortal."
The girl glanced back. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"Oh no," Lucien said with a smirk. "I quite like humble beginnings. They make dramatic entrances more satisfying later."
Before she could reply, an elderly man with a staff shuffled over from the village square. His beard could've doubled as a broom, and his robe had more patches than fabric.
"Aria, who's this?" the old man asked, peering at Lucien. "A traveler?"
"More like a lunatic," the girl — Aria — muttered. "He was standing in my field, talking to his dog."
"His dog?" The old man squinted at Rorio. "That's… a very radiant animal."
Lucien bowed slightly. "Lucien, at your service. Just a simple wanderer seeking a mundane life."
The old man chuckled. "Well, mundane is all we have, young man. I'm Eldon, village magister. You're welcome to stay, though I warn you — it's a quiet place."
"Quiet is good," Lucien said with a mysterious smile. "Too much peace always precedes adventure."
Eldon blinked. "...Come again?"
"Nothing!" Lucien said quickly. "Just admiring the turnips."
Aria groaned. "Please tell me he's not staying."
Rorio barked approvingly, tail thumping.
"He can sleep in the academy's spare room," Eldon said kindly. "Any friend of a dog like that can't be all bad."
Lucien clasped his hands together. "See, Aria? The old man understands destiny."
"Destiny?!" she sputtered. "You're— You know what, fine. But don't blame me when you get eaten by a slime."
The academy turned out to be a single tower with three floors and a faint magical hum. Aetherion's magic was young and stubborn — sometimes the air itself fizzled when people cast too quickly.
Lucien walked through the entrance, eyes twinkling. "How nostalgic. A school of magic. A perfect crucible for chaos."
Rorio barked as if in agreement, knocking over a broom in excitement.
Eldon sighed fondly. "Careful there, boy."
Lucien smiled, helping him pick it up — though when he did, the broom floated by itself, twirling elegantly before sweeping the floor in perfect rhythm.
Aria's eyes widened. "You— you didn't even chant!"
Lucien blinked innocently. "Was I supposed to?"
"That was advanced autonomous enchantment magic!"
"Oh. My bad. I was just thinking about cleanliness."
Eldon laughed heartily. "Seems the air favors you, lad. Maybe you're a natural channeler."
Lucien grinned. "Something like that."
That night, as the village slept, Lucien sat atop the academy roof, gazing at the stars. Rorio lay beside him, tail flicking lazily.
"Nice place," Lucien murmured. "Quiet. Peaceful. Just enough magic to keep things interesting."
"Woof."
"Yes, yes," he said. "I know it won't stay peaceful. Not with me here."
He stretched, watching faint mana currents shimmer across the sky. "You can feel it too, can't you? The threads of fate. Twisting, coiling. A thousand possible stories waiting to begin."
Rorio let out a low, contented bark.
Lucien smirked. "Let's see what happens when we tug a few."
Morning came with chaos — specifically, a magical explosion that shook the entire tower.
Lucien blinked awake, hair ruffled. "Oh, good. Drama already."
He rushed downstairs to find Aria, covered in soot, glaring at a smoking cauldron.
"Don't say it," she snapped.
"I wasn't going to," Lucien said, straight-faced. "But your eyebrows seem to have ascended."
She glared harder. "You think you're funny?"
"I know I'm funny."
Eldon shuffled in, coughing through the smoke. "Another failed potion?"
Aria groaned. "I almost had it! The Fire Affinity Test potion was stable until—"
"Until you sneezed sparks," Lucien finished helpfully.
Aria pointed her wand at him. "You. Out."
Lucien raised his hands. "I was only observing."
"You distracted me!"
"I breathed."
"You exist!"
Lucien smiled innocently. "Correct."
Eldon chuckled. "Now, now. If the young man's so confident, perhaps he should demonstrate?"
Aria's smirk returned. "Yes, why don't you show us, Mr. Perfect Hair?"
Lucien glanced at the cauldron. "Alright."
He raised a hand. The air shimmered. In seconds, the potion repaired itself, the glass polished, the fire balanced, and the cauldron began humming… harmoniously.
Aria's jaw dropped. "That's not how alchemy works!"
Lucien tilted his head. "It is if you do it right."
Eldon was speechless. "...My boy, where did you study magic?"
Lucien smiled. "Oh, here and there. Mostly… before there was a 'where.'"
Aria narrowed her eyes. "You're hiding something."
"Probably," Lucien admitted cheerfully.
As days passed, the village adjusted — or rather, failed to adjust — to Lucien's presence. He helped old farmers by accidentally making their crops grow sentient, taught children to levitate pebbles (and once a cow), and casually rewove the local weather when it rained too long.
Through it all, Rorio remained a happy, chaos-inducing constant — chasing mana wisps, befriending forest spirits, and somehow getting worshipped by a cult of squirrels.
Lucien didn't stop him. "Every god needs followers, Rorio."
"Woof!"
"Exactly."
One night, as Lucien gazed at the moon, Eldon approached quietly.
"You're not really a simple wanderer, are you?"
Lucien chuckled softly. "No. But I am enjoying pretending to be one."
The old mage nodded. "You've stirred something, Lucien. The air feels… alive again. Even the higher academies will sense it soon."
Lucien's smile turned faintly mischievous. "Good. It's about time this world remembered how to dream."
He looked up at the stars — and beyond them, into the unseen realms that awaited.
"From lower world to higher," he murmured, eyes gleaming. "We'll climb, step by step. And along the way…"
He glanced down at Rorio, who yawned.
"Let's see how many heroes' destinies we can 'accidentally' rearrange."
"Woof!"
Lucien laughed. "Exactly, my friend. Exactly."
Thus began the age of quiet miracles in Lunewood — and the tale of a too-handsome 'traveler' whose mundane life would one day make the gods tremble.