The stars dimmed over Mistral as the portal sealed, leaving behind only silence and the faint echo of the Queen's blessing.
But on Earth, three lights streaked through the night sky like shooting stars, vanishing into different corners of the world below.
Bangkok – Boog
Rain poured like silver needles against the glass towers.
Boog stood in the middle of the street, drenched, his dark coat clinging to his skin. Around him, the city was alive — horns blaring, neon signs flickering, strangers rushing past with umbrellas and phones glowing like tiny spells. He'd seen Earth in holograms before, but standing in it was… overwhelming.
His bracelet pulsed faintly beneath his sleeve, beating like a second heart.
So this is Earth… so dense, so loud… and yet, so human.
He raised his hand, conjuring a spark of lightning just enough to dry his clothes — but the surge of magic fizzled out immediately, leaving a faint tingle.
Boog frowned. "Mana disruption. Of course."
The Queen had warned them — Earth's atmosphere thinned magic, like a sea without salt.
He would have to adapt.
As he walked down the street, eyes scanning every passing face, something stirred in his chest — not magic, not power… something softer. A strange warmth. He looked around sharply.
Nothing but strangers.
Then a voice cut through the rain.
"Hey! You're gonna get run over!"
A blur of motion — a hand grabbed his arm, pulling him back just as a motorbike sped past, its tires slicing through the puddles.
Boog turned, startled.
The boy who'd saved him had short, ash-gray hair damp with rain, a plastic bag of takeout hanging from one wrist. His uniform shirt was half untucked, his tie crooked. His eyes — gray, the color of storm clouds.
Boog stared. The air around him pulsed once — just once — his bracelet flickering faintly gold beneath the cuff.
He froze.
"You okay?" the boy asked, shaking rain from his bangs. "You're standing in the middle of the street like you're waiting for lightning to strike you."
Boog blinked. "...Maybe I am."
The boy laughed, light and real. "Then you're lucky I stopped you first."
He turned to leave, but Boog's voice caught.
"Wait — what's your name?"
The boy paused, smiling faintly. "Tawan."
The name lingered in the air like a charm.
When Tawan disappeared into the crowd, Boog looked down at his hand again.
The glow was gone. But his pulse wasn't.
He whispered softly to himself, "Tawan…"
Chiang Mai – Jonk
Sunlight sliced through the jungle canopy as Jonk stepped out of a crater made of crushed bamboo and broken coconuts. His hair was a mess, his shirt half-burned from re-entry.
"Okay," he groaned, brushing dirt off his shoulders, "not my best landing."
He stumbled into a clearing — a bustling open-air market filled with locals selling fruit, flowers, and grilled meat on skewers. The air smelled of lemongrass and chili, and music floated from a nearby stall.
Jonk's stomach growled.
"Well," he muttered, "first rule of surviving in a new world — eat."
He approached a food stall, watching the vendor slice mangoes with practiced ease. "Hey! Can I—uh—buy?" he asked, fumbling with his bracelet, which glowed faintly under his sleeve.
The vendor smiled. "You tourist?"
"Something like that." He grinned. "You take magic stones?"
The man blinked. "Baht only."
"Right," Jonk said quickly. "Cash. Of course. Cash money. Totally got that."
He didn't.
So he wandered off instead, following the rhythm of music spilling down the street — the sound of a guitar, soft and rough at once, weaving through laughter and chatter.
At the corner of the market sat a young man playing an old acoustic guitar. His fingers moved like water, his voice smooth and husky. A crowd gathered, coins dropping into his open case.
Jonk stopped. Something in that voice struck a chord deep in him — raw, alive, impossible to ignore.
He didn't realize his bracelet had started glowing, faintly red, like embers waking from sleep.
The musician finished his song and looked up, meeting Jonk's gaze for the first time. Brown eyes, warm as sunset — and for one heartbeat, both of them froze.
The air seemed to pulse between them. The glow from Jonk's hand flared brighter, then faded.
The musician smiled uncertainly. "You okay, man? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Jonk's lips curved into a grin. "Something like that."
"What's your name?"
"Jonk," he said automatically.
The boy chuckled. "Jonk? That's… different. I'm Phayu."
"Nice name," Jonk said softly, his grin fading into something quieter. "Means storm, right?"
Phayu nodded. "Yeah. How'd you know that?"
"Just a feeling," Jonk murmured.
Bang Saen – Donk
The ocean shimmered under the morning sun.
Donk stood at the edge of the pier, wind tossing his hair, the smell of salt and memory filling his lungs. The world felt softer here, slower — and somehow, familiar.
His bracelet glowed faintly white.
Somewhere nearby, his destined soul was close — he could feel it.
He followed the faint pull through the streets until he reached a hospital. The gates were open, the walls painted white and pale blue.
His heart quickened.
Inside, the hum of machines blended with quiet voices. Nurses hurried by, patients slept beneath sunlight. And there, at the far end of the corridor, he saw a young man sitting by a hospital bed, holding someone's hand. His face was pale, his eyes tired but kind — like a lantern burning low but steady.
Donk froze. His hand glowed softly, white light pulsing through his palm. The boy looked up, sensing him somehow. Their eyes met — and for a moment, everything else faded.
The boy blinked, surprised. "Do… I know you?"
Donk smiled gently. "Not yet. But maybe you will."
"Are you visiting someone?" the boy asked.
"Maybe I'm visiting you," Donk said softly.
The boy looked confused but didn't look away. "I'm Sun," he said finally. "My brother's sick. He—he's been in a coma for weeks."
Donk's eyes softened. "I'm sorry."
Sun nodded, his voice breaking. "I just… want him to wake up."
Donk stepped closer. "Would you believe me if I said I could help?"
Sun looked up, eyes searching. "You're a doctor?"
Donk smiled faintly. "Something like that."
He reached for Sun's brother's hand, and for a heartbeat, faint white light flickered across the boy's skin — so soft, so brief that Sun almost thought he imagined it.
But Donk knew.
His magic still worked.
And more than that — love had already begun its quiet work.
Three Threads
Night fell again, wrapping Earth in silver.
Boog stood on the balcony of a rented room, staring at his hand — the faint glow that came and went like a teasing whisper. Somewhere below, Tawan was probably laughing again, unaware that the boy who nearly got hit by a motorbike was a wizard from another world, already falling without knowing how to stop.
Jonk, sprawled across a rooftop in Chiang Mai, strummed an old guitar he'd "borrowed," watching Phayu play at the market below. The sound carried through the warm air — the melody tangled with something unnamed between them.
And Donk, sitting by the hospital window beside Sun, watched the boy doze off beside his brother's bed. The glow on his wrist pulsed faintly beneath his sleeve, steady as a heartbeat.
Three wizards.
Three beginnings.
Three loves already threading through the mortal world, fragile and bright.
But deep in the skies above Earth, something moved.
A shadow drifted across the moon, faint as smoke, whispering through dimensions. In the silence between stars, the ancient darkness of Mistral stirred — the one the Queen had feared.
A crack spread across the barrier between worlds, invisible to human eyes.
And through it, a whisper slid into the night:
"If love is magic… then what happens when magic dies?"
To be continued…