"A wanderer wanders the landscape, a trader trades his wares, a beggar begs for charity, and a fortune teller tells fortunes.
Once upon a time, there was a wandering knight. He wandered the endless landscape in search of riches, trading his body and blade, serving whomever paid him from battlefield to battlefield. After fighting all his life, he one day stumbled upon a small village and met a woman—someone who finally put his weary blade to rest. He settled down and began living day by day as a hunter, driven by his newfound purpose. Eventually, he wished for a family, and his wife granted him a child.
But his karma had not forgotten him. During the days when he wandered the battlefields, he had slain too many foes and broken apart too many families. His wife died during childbirth, and a mysterious illness took his child not long after.
Now left alone in the world again, he wandered toward the battlefield once more.
Angered at the world, he lived by his sword. He amassed more and more power, season by season, year by year. He did this for so long that he finally shed his mortal shell to challenge the heavens. For his family to return, he had to slay heaven's enemies; only then would his wish be granted.
He conquered and killed, and the day he destroyed his last enemy, he washed his blood-painted hands in the rivers of time.
His wish was finally granted.
He tried to reunite with his family, but his wife could no longer recognize him, and his child was frightened by his visage. So, he chose to leave once again, taking refuge in the memories of when they were once happy, silently watching over them from the shadows.
As time passed, his wife slowly started to remember him, little by little. On their child's birthday, she called out for him. The warrior couldn't believe his ears and appeared before her once again. Reunited at long last, his family was whole. They grew old together, and finally, flickered away into the ether.
Or so he thought.
The power he had amassed fighting heaven's enemies did not allow him to perish alongside them. It pulled him into new times, new wars, and new battlefields—eternally fighting until the end of civilizations, and until the end of heaven itself. As his world slowly started to collapse, even gods could not fight against the torrents of time. Thus, a new cycle began.
He was overjoyed at the prospect that he might be able to meet his wife once again, so he set out on his journey to find her. But fate was cruel; it showed him that in this new cycle, his family was happier without him.
Yet, he was not sad; rather, he was finally able to move on. For he had already become chosen by the Lady of Fate to become time itself. His body slowly disappeared from the mortal plane, for his place was now in the space between. That was where he wandered the 'passages'—the 'mirrors' that lead to different worlds and dimensions. He now possessed true freedom, bound by no ties, no family, and no fate. He had become Eternal—"
The old man's voice slowly drifted into the twilight, swallowed by the rustling of dry leaves.
He stood at the center of the muddy crossroads where many merchants and travelers passed, pulling his worn-out robe tighter around his shoulders. To the busy travelers, the grand tale was nothing more than the rambling of a local eccentric. They ignored him, treating his rhythmic voice as just another landmark on the long road ahead.
On this fateful day, an aristocratic convoy was passing through, making their way to the Imperial City of Yhesen. They stopped for the night at a campground near the crossroads, setting up one tent after another. As the knights were finishing their preparations, the head maid called their lady down from her carriage.
"Lady Anastasia, the food is ready!"
A young woman stepped down. A breathless cascade of silver hair framed her face like a halo of frost. Against the twilight curtain, her features were sharp and vivid; her eyes—a piercing, cold amethyst—were framed by thick, pale lashes. There was a lethal aristocratic geometry to her face, from the straight, slender bridge of her nose to the sharp tilt of her chin. Her lips, tinted a deep crimson, curved into a faint smile.
She looked every bit the formidable noblewoman, wrapped in a gown of deep crimson velvet that fell around her with heavy, commanding luxury. The rich wine-red fabric served as a dramatic stage for the intricate silver embroidery tracing her collarbone, glittering like frost. She had come from the furthest reaches of the northern continent, hoping to find a healer for her sick little brother.
A bright, cheerful young boy sprinted out of the carriage to play with the knights. He had a fluffy mop of soft silver hair that bounced playfully with every step. When he looked up, his large, round eyes sparkled like bright amethyst pools, crinkling into joyful crescents as a brilliant, ear-to-ear grin lit up his rosy, apple-round cheeks.
One wouldn't think this child was deathly sick from the way he breathed life into those around him. He was sharp as an arrow to boot, running in and out of the tents with boundless energy.
Around the campfire, the knights talked quietly as they ate their dinners.
"The young master sure likes to run around everywhere, doesn't he?" "Yeah, it really is too bad that his health can't keep up." "I do hope that the healer the madam booked in the capital can cure his ailments." "I hope so, too."
Their day was finally winding down after a grueling half-year journey. They were so close to the capital—so close to their appointment.
While his sister watched from afar, the young master stopped directly in front of the makeshift stage where the old man was telling his tales. The knights assigned to guard him stood close by.
"Young master, it's time for dinner. Shall we head back?" one of the knights asked gently. "Awww, noooo! The old man is telling a fun story!" "Young master, please. It's almost bedtime—" "No! I want to hear the story!"
The knight sighed, turning to his companions. "You, run back and tell the young miss that the young master is not listening to us again." "Yes, sir."
The young master stood attentively, completely absorbed, and his sister appeared silently behind him. She stood there for a while, listening to the story with her little brother as the moon slowly rose into the sky.
When the old man finally paused, the young woman stepped forward. "Excuse me, sir... it's going to be a cold night tonight. Would you like to join us for dinner?"
"Yeah! Yeah!" the boy chimed in, jumping up and down. "Aren't you cold, mister? Do you want some soup? We have plenty of soup, mister!"
The old man looked at the pair, a gentle smile breaking through his weathered face. "Oh my, what do we have here? Do you know magic, little one?"
"Magic?" the boy tilted his head.
"Yes! Like this—"
The old man plucked a simple blade of grass from beneath the stage. With a casual flick of his wrist, it transformed into a brilliant, glowing blue rose. Anastasia's eyes widened in awe. As the old man handed it to the boy, a soft blue light flashed before their eyes. Exhausted from his long run and the lengthy story, Aurelian fell back onto the grass, laughing heartily at the performance.
The old man chuckled, his tone warm and gravelly, carrying no malice. "It seems this old man's story took a great toll on this young fellow."
"Aurelian, don't be rude, ask him nicely!" Anastasia sighed, turning to her brother to gently scold him. "Haaah... Would you like to have some soup with us, sir?"
"The young one seems to quite like his soup," the old man smiled, stepping down from the stage. "Lead the way, then."
The group headed back to the camp, where they were greeted by the head maid, who served them warm bowls of food near the roaring campfire. The old man ate quickly, clearly starved.
"Cough, cough-cough—" "Would you like some water, sir?" Anastasia offered. "Oooh! Thank you! I haven't had any food in a while." Aurelian leaned in, pointing at the flower. "How did you make the flower, sir?" "It's just a trick I picked up a long time ago," the old man said, setting his bowl down. He turned his eyes to Anastasia. "To repay you for the food, would you like me to tell you your fortune?"
Thinking it was just another harmless trick, Anastasia gave a polite nod.
Snap!
The crack of his fingers echoed abnormally. Instantly, the world around her froze still. The crackling fire went silent; the sparks hung suspended in mid-air. The knights were locked like stone statues.
Shocked, Anastasia surged backward, her instincts taking over as she drew her sword.
The old man stood up, correcting his posture. As he did, his spine straightened and he grew taller—towering over even the heaviest knights in her escort. The illusion of the frail beggar melted away. When he looked down at her, the sharp tension in her chest vanished, replaced by an overwhelming wave of rugged, seasoned warmth.
He possessed a striking, chiseled bone structure, framed by a neatly trimmed dark beard that gave him the air of a charismatic, worldly uncle. His eyes were a breathtaking anomaly—the right a deep, smoldering burgundy like aged wine, and the left a calm, brilliant twilight blue. His gaze held a soft, knowing amusement.
Draped in a casual, silky black overcoat, he looked like a man who could conquer empires, yet would gladly kneel in the dirt to play with his family—an unbreakable shield cloaked in kindness.
Anastasia slowly lowered her blade, though she kept her distance.
"I'm sorry if I startled you, dear child," he said, his voice dropping into a low, husky baritone. "My name is Allister Sinclair, a humble wanderer."
"...Please, explain where we are first," she demanded, her voice tight.
"Haha, right now, we're in the same place, surrounded by the same people," Allister chuckled, gesturing to the frozen camp. "We're just frozen in time."
"How is that even possible? Is this your magic?"
"That's a secret." Allister pressed a single finger to his lips to shush her.
With a wave of his hand, a beautifully crafted wooden table and two chairs appeared out of thin air. He took a seat and waved her over. Hesitantly, she sheathed her sword and joined him.
"Tea or alcohol?" Anastasia blinked. "What's 'alcohol'?" "Wine? Mead? Beer? Whiskey?" "Wine," she answered. "Oh my, a connoisseur," Allister grinned. "It just seems... most appropriate." "Red or white?" "Red."
Allister reached into the empty air above him and pulled out a dusty, unlabeled bottle with two crystal glasses. He poured a generous amount into both, immediately downing his own drink to show her that the wine wasn't poisoned.
"I only keep rare vintages with me. I hope you like it."
Anastasia took a hesitant sip, and her eyes widened. The wine was spectacular—astringent yet incredibly smooth. It tasted like sitting by a warm hearth with her father, watching her very first snowfall. A comforting, deep heat radiated through her chest, bringing a faint, rosy flush to her cheeks.
"How do you like it?" "It's nice," she murmured.
I might as well enjoy this, even if this ends up being my last glass, Anastasia thought, swirling the liquid and letting the rich aroma ground her nerves. Sensing absolutely no malice from the man, she asked, "I'm curious, Sir Sinclair. It's not every day one meets a sorcerer of your caliber. So, why play the part of a crazed old man?"
"To find someone kind-hearted enough to offer me charity after hearing my tale. You see, normally, I would have just disappeared into the forest, becoming completely invisible to the mortal eye. Unless someone has an uncanny affinity for spiritual magic, they cannot see me. However, I made an exception, just for you and young Aurelian."
"But the knights can see you too," she countered.
"That's only because I allow them to," Allister winked. "Wouldn't it look terribly strange if you were standing there talking to the open air?"
"I suppose so..." Anastasia paused, a shadow of melancholy crossing her face. "But Sir Sinclair, while our house is an established wizarding family, I... I was born without magic. I cannot cast a single thing."
"You might think so, but you do have magic," Allister said softly, his twilight and burgundy eyes locking onto hers. "You just haven't unlocked that door yet." He leaned forward, placing his glass down. "Would you like to use magic?"
The question hung heavily in the frozen air. Anastasia's heart hammered against her ribs. If she could wield magic alongside her swordsmanship, her power and prestige would skyrocket. She could finally protect her family properly.
But a cold realization hit her.
If this man can grant me such power, what will he ask in return? Sacrifices? Riches? What is the price? It opens a path to everything I've ever wanted, but having more power brings immense danger and responsibility. Yet maybe… it would allow me to dream again.
Allister smiled gently, as if reading her mind. "I know what you're thinking, child. But I'm not going to ask for anything strange. I only want to watch your story unfold. I have no intention of interfering beyond this night."
Anastasia hesitated for one final moment. "Why me?"
"Consider it a gift," Allister replied softly. "Have you made up your mind?"
"Yes," she said, her voice turning fiercely resolute. "But only if you swear to never harm those around me."
"You have my word."
With his confirmation, Allister raised his hand.
Snap!
A blinding white light enveloped Anastasia.
Suddenly, a freezing winter chill tore through her veins, so cold that her breath hitched in her throat. Before she could panic, a violent, volcanic heat surged from her core, melting away the invisible clogs in the meridians that had kept her magic dormant since birth. The impurities within her body were scorched away, cleansed anew. As the intense heat and cold balanced each other, they mixed into a perfect, harmonious current.
She opened her eyes, and the world had completely changed. She could see a whole new gradient of colors humming in the air—the literal flow of raw energy.
"How do you feel?" Allister asked.
"Strange..." she whispered, marveling at her hands.
"Any discomfort?" "No...?" Allister smiled warmly. "Do you know any spells?" he asked. "Only a few basic ones I heard while watching my parents cast..."
"Alright then. Try casting one, but do not chant," Allister instructed. "Visualize the new sensation you felt just now. Direct the flow with your mind."
Anastasia took a deep breath. She focused her intent on an empty patch of woods behind the camp, channeling the new, surging pool of mana in her chest.
Ice Spear.
Thoom!
Without a single spoken word, a spike of solid ice materialized out of thin air, shooting forward with terrifying velocity. It slammed into a distant tree, burrowing a perfect, clean hole straight through its trunk.
Anastasia gasped, staring at her palms in absolute disbelief. A long-held wish had been granted in a matter of seconds.
"Not bad for your first try, little one," Allister praised. "You'll need time to get used to your powers and find your limits. Go ahead—use all the magic you can."
In a breathless daze of excitement, Anastasia began unleashing every spell she had memorized. A radiant, brilliant smile lit up her face; she looked entirely like a carefree girl having fun. As spell after spell left her fingertips, the massive drain on her unconditioned body slowly caught up to her. Her limbs turned to lead, a cold sweat broke out on her skin, and she sank to the ground, entirely depleted.
"Be careful now," Allister warned, appearing by her side. "You've completely exhausted your mana. This is when a mage is most vulnerable, you know. You should always leave a reserve for unexpected circumstances."
Anastasia panted, looking up at him bitterly. I overdid it... she thought.
Allister closed his eyes, taking a slow sip of his wine to show he meant no harm, though his voice remained instructional. "So, tell me, what do you do when you've exhausted all of your mana?"
"Isn't running out of mana a death sentence for a wizard?" she asked weakly.
"That would be true if you were an ordinary wizard," Allister countered, his eyes snapping open. "But you, dear child, are now a mage. You don't need those old, dusty tomes and ancient incantations. Did you notice that you didn't need a single tool or chant to alter reality just now?"
Anastasia's eyes widened as the realization hit her. "Wait... you're right!"
"Yes. That is the basis of your gift." Allister walked back to the table, where a crystal pitcher of water now sat, filled with crisp slices of lemon, cucumber, and mint. "Drink up," he said.
Anastasia walked over unsteadily, pouring herself a glass. She took a sip and blinked in surprise. "It's incredibly refreshing!"
"I'm glad you like it." Allister chuckled, rubbing his eyes. "Now, back to the lesson. When a mage runs out of mana, they need an efficient way to replenish it. So, I'll give you a hand."
With a graceful motion, Allister drew a complex, glowing magic circle in the empty air. It hummed, condensing the raw mana from the atmosphere into a dense vortex. Once complete, the glowing array drifted down toward Anastasia's left hand, bonding seamlessly into her skin before vanishing entirely.
Instantly, she felt a wave of vitality rushing through her. Her dry mana core filled back up, leaving her feeling perfectly refreshed.
"Now, your preparations are complete," Allister said. "Don't be lazy and solely rely on the artifact; try to feel how the circle works internally. Now... since Aurelian is such a good child, I shall give him a gift as well."
Anastasia's instincts flared. "A gift?" she asked, her eyes widening.
"He must not take it off until he reaches twenty-one years of age," Allister said seriously. "It will stabilize the wild, chaotic mana currently running rampant through his small body. Once it's locked down, he will have a much easier time running around to his heart's content."
Anastasia felt a cold dread sink into her stomach. "How... how did you know about his condition?"
"That's another secret," Allister grinned knowingly.
He clasped his hands together. When he opened them, a quiet, unassuming necklace shaped like a tiny lantern appeared, alongside a beautiful jade hairpin decorated with the exact same lantern motif. He held them out. Anastasia's eyes twinkled as she accepted the delicate ornaments.
"Well then, I believe my role here is done," Allister said, dusting off his coat. "Do you have any final questions?"
"Why do you wander?" she asked softly.
"Because I love to move from place to place," Allister mused, gazing up into the frozen sky with a nostalgic smile. "The views of this world are far too spectacular to stay in one place."
"Will we ever meet again?" she asked hesitantly.
"As fate allows, Anastasia Belessier." Allister's expression turned serious once more. "Oh, before I forget. Beware of that grand healer you plan to meet in the capital. He's a malicious trickster. After seeing him, Aurelian may appear cured for a few days, but his fortune and health will turn drastically for the worse if you go through with it."
The words hit Anastasia like a physical blow. The refreshing water turned to ash in her mouth. Six months. Her knights had braved monsters, weather, and exhaustion for a half-year journey just to reach this specific savior.
"A malicious trickster...?" Her voice dropped to an icy whisper, her amethyst eyes flashing with protective fury. "But he's celebrated across the entire Empire. Sir Sinclair, are you certain?"
"That is entirely up to your judgment, Anastasia," Allister replied, stepping away. "It's just the words of a wanderer."
Fweeeet!
Allister let out a sharp, piercing whistle that cut through the silent night air. The distinct sound of heavy, thundering hoofbeats echoed from the darkness. Instinctively, Anastasia gripped the hilt of her sword, but Allister gently placed a hand over her guard, shaking his head.
"No need to be so tense, child. I merely called for my horse."
Out of the frozen shadows walked a magnificent, terrifying beast. Its coat was a deep midnight black that seemed to absorb the ambient light, creating a stunning, void-like silhouette against the landscape. Powerful, rippling muscles moved beneath its skin, and its mane and tail flowed like dark silk.
The stallion let out a powerful snort, nuzzling Allister warmly. "Good to see you again, old friend," Allister murmured, hugging the massive horse.
Anastasia watched in pure awe. The horse stood taller than even Allister. She slowly reached out a hand to touch its glossy coat, but with a sharp puff of air, the beast snorted, the sheer pressure pushing her hand back.
Allister laughed. "Well now, it seems Alexandr wants to show you a final surprise. Pick up little Aurelian."
"Huh?"
Allister effortlessly mounted the stallion, his dark coat fluttering.
Snap!
Time slammed back into motion.
The silence shattered. The campfire crackled violently, and the knights dropped their wooden bowls, the clatter echoing through the camp as they frantically drew their swords at the sight of the massive beast.
"Stop!" Anastasia's command pierced through the panic, halting her men in their tracks.
Before the guards could process her order, Allister leaned down, sweeping Anastasia and the soup-clutching Aurelian directly onto the back of the midnight stallion.
"Let's move, Alexandr!"
The horse let out a deafening neigh, rearing up majestically and pawing at the night air before surging forward—leaping not into the forest, but directly into the sky. They climbed higher and higher, piercing through the heavy cloud cover into the starry cosmos.
"Whoaaaa! We're flying, Ana!" Aurelian squealed, clinging to Allister's silky coat.
Below them, the mortal world became a grand tapestry of distant lights, flickering in the darkness. Anastasia looked on in sheer, unadulterated awe, the wind whipping her silver hair across her face. "It's magnificent, Sir Sinclair... I never thought I would be able to see the sky like this."
Aurelian looked up at the towering man. "Who are you, mister?" he asked, his eyes twinkling reflecting the stars.
"I'm just a wanderer, wandering the night skies, Aurelian," Allister chuckled, glancing back over his shoulder. "Why not put the necklace on him, Anastasia?"
Anastasia nodded, her hands trembling slightly as she fastened the lantern necklace around her brother's neck.
"Huh?" Aurelian let out a long, deep yawn. As the breath left his lips, the wild, suffocating mana that had been torturing his small body for years was pulled outward, unraveling into the night sky as a brilliant, shimmering aurora borealis.
The dark flush of fever left his pink cheeks. His breathing went perfectly still—clear, deep, and easy.
"Whoa! Sis! What was that?" Aurelian laughed, throwing his arms around his chest. "I... I don't feel sick anymore!"
Tears of absolute relief slipped down Anastasia's face, glittering like the stars above them. The heavy, suffocating burden she had carried for so long had completely evaporated. Her little brother looked radiant.
Allister swung himself off the saddle, stepping directly onto the night sky and walking across the clouds effortlessly. He held his hands out, guiding Anastasia and Aurelian down until they, too, were standing on the fluffy white vapor.
Free of his illness, Aurelian let out a joyful shout and began running across the clouds as fast as his small legs could carry him. Alexandr let out a low, vibrating snort, clearly pleased by the sight.
"This is why I can't help but wander from place to place, Anastasia," Allister said softly, handing her a silk handkerchief to wipe her tears. "The views are simply too magnificent to stay still."
After a while, a tired but ecstatic Aurelian ran back and hugged his sister tightly. They climbed onto Alexandr's back, and the stallion slowly trotted down through the clouds, landing gently back in the center of the camp to the immense relief of the frantic knights.
Anastasia slid down, holding her brother tightly. She looked up at Allister. "I don't even know how to thank you, Sir Sinclair..."
"Thank you, mister! Thank you, horsey!" Aurelian cheered.
"Then live well, children," Allister smiled, his dual-colored eyes flashing in the firelight. "And don't forget what I told you. Let's meet again when fate allows."
With a final, majestic pull of the reins, the stranger and his midnight beast rode off into the dark, vanishing into the night as quickly as they had arrived.