Lilia woke up to pain.
It wasn't the sharp kind that comes and goes, but a relentless splitting pressure. A low groan slipped from her throat as she tried to move. The effort only made the ache flare brighter, and she froze, breathing shallowly, waiting for it to ease.
Slowly—mercifully—the pain began to dull. it softened, retreating from a scream to a heavy throb. Lilia forced her eyes open, just a sliver at first. Light spilled in, pale and steady, not harsh enough to send her back into darkness. She blinked again, and the world began to take shape.
She was lying on cold stone.
The floor beneath her was smooth, etched with elegant patterns worn thin by time. As she pushed herself upright, she took in her surroundings. A vast hall stretched in every direction, its high arched ceiling supported by tall marble pillars veined with gold , and inlaid with gemstones. Chandeliers hung overhead, unlit yet gleaming, as if polished moments ago. looking at the grand hall a single word comes to mind—pristine—but it was undeniably old, the kind of beauty that belonged to another era.
A school, she realized dimly. A grand one. Desks and long benches lined the far sides of the hall, and banners bearing an unfamiliar crest hung motionless along the walls.
a single symbol, stamped into cloth the color of darkened blood. At its center burned an immortal flame. The fire was drawn in sharp, sweeping strokes, its core dense and heavy, its edges flaring outward as if constantly reaching, constantly hungry.
The flame did not flicker.
Even rendered in thread and dye, it radiated a presence that made Lilia's chest tighten. Looking at it filled her with a strange warmth, spreading through her veins like courage—or recklessness. Power, raw and intoxicating, whispered promises of strength, of dominance, of being invulnerable. And beneath that thrill lurked fear, instinctive and sharp, warning her that this was not a fire meant to be touched lightly.
Every banner gave off the same sensation, as if each had been carefully enchanted to carry a fragment of that eternal blaze. The hall felt subtly warmer because of it.
A wave of unease washed over her.
Something was wrong.
Her gaze dropped to the floor beneath her hands, and her breath caught. Faintly glowing lines curved across the stone, forming a complex pattern—circles within circles, symbols partially smeared and fading. A magic circle. Half-erased. And she had been lying at its center.
Beside her, lay a thick book. Its cover was dark leather, worn at the edges, the same crest embossed on it.
Lilia reached for it—then hesitated.
She didn't remember who she was.
She didn't know how she knew what a magic circle was.
but somehow that book felt precious to her.
She opened the first page.
Despite the book's expensive appearance, the text inside was handwritten, the ink slightly uneven. The contents covered the basics of magic.
Magic was divided into three types.
Basic magic, also called natural magic, was drawn from the mana stored in a mana core or a mana crystal. It could manifest as any of the four basic elements: fire, water, earth, and wind.
Advanced magic was achieved by transforming pure mana within the mana core into an advanced element—light, dark, space, soul, were mentioned as examples.
Complex magic usually required multiple elements working together. Barrier magic was the lone exception. This category was typically achieved through the use of magic circles.
To begin using magic, one first had to feel their mana core. The book explained that the mana core resided within the soul, and the easiest way to sense it was to close one's eyes and reach inward, toward the warm source of energy nestled there.
The most prominent color within the core indicated magical affinity: red for fire, blue for water, brown for earth, and green for wind. White represented pure mana. An average mana core would contain four or five colors, including white.
Lilia followed the book's instructions.
She closed her eyes and reached inward.
What she found made her breath hitch.
Her core did not hold four or five colors. It held only one.
Pure white.
It was blinding in its clarity, unnaturally uniform—almost artificial. Even without her memories, she knew this was wrong. Abnormal. Having only pure mana meant that basic magic was entirely out of the question.
For now, advanced magic would be her only option.
Unfortunately, when she turned the page, the rest of the book felt unreadable. The words were there, but meaning slipped away from her grasp, as if an invisible veil covered the text, rejecting her understanding.
With no way forward, Lilia closed the tome.
For now, she decided, she would explore the hall.