"Never set foot here again, you accursed child!"
"Look, that child is the cause of it all..."
"Devil's spawn!"
Tap! Tap! Tap! A 10-year-old boy ran, burdened by insults and guilt, his tears a vast ocean, dried blood and wounds staining his cheeks. He hugged a sword as if it were the person he cherished most. He ran relentlessly toward the edge of the road, a point signifying he would never set foot in this city again.
"You deserve this, you cursed brat!..." A person picked up a stone and hurled it with fury at the boy.
Thud! The stone hit the right side of the boy's head as he ran toward the city's end. He stumbled and fell, blood soaking his hair. His vision blurred; he felt a wish to simply cease existing in that world. He saw shattered memories and heard beautiful, yet agonizing, whispers.
"Why must it be like this? This pain is unbearable. Why did they let me live..." The boy murmured, and then everything went dark. His heart pounded fiercely in his ears.
Thump... thump... thump...
The sound of rain slowly replaced the screams of the past, seemingly pulling him back to reality.
Gasp!
The passing nightmare was now only a dark tale experienced by an 18-year-old youth. Lucien De Noctval gasped, his body feeling scorched by the wounds of his past. Guilt gnawed at his warm, fair skin, instantly recalling that grim period.
"Ugh..." He clutched his head, his left fingers touching the dishevelled, grey-white hair that hung slightly over his ears. He tried to rise and sit up, but the burning sensation still enveloped him. In the dimly lit room, his ears rang as if the world were doing it to him.
"A Nightmare..." he whispered, holding the golden-yellow pendant on his neck. He then looked at his tightly closed window, stood up, and tried to peer outside. The curtain looked slightly dusty. He slid the curtain aside; his golden eyes narrowed sharply at the windowpane, covered by morning rainwater. He gazed out, lost in thought. Outside, people with umbrellas rushed and crossed back and forth. He closed his eyes, turned his back, and sat down again on his bed, which was no longer warm.
A moment later—
Knock! Knock!
"Lucien, wake up, it's time for breakfast." The voice came from outside Lucien's room, a woman's gentle and warm voice. The sound from beyond the door made Lucien realize that there was hope in the people around him, a reason why he still had to fight for the future. The sound of the morning rain instantly calmed his mind. Lucien's mood became peaceful again, his thoughts cleared, and a soft smile appeared on his face.
"Alright, give me a few minutes..." Lucien answered with a soft voice and a faint smile.
Lucien began to get out of bed. He tidied his sheets and changed out of his sleepwear into his daily clothes, donning a white linen shirt and black trousers. He then looked at the wall calendar in his room.
"Day of Forgia, September 16th, 744 A.D..." Lucien stared at the calendar and then remembered that in a few days, the acceptance letter from the prestigious university, highly revered by the entire world, should arrive. This university was Astraventis University.
This university is no ordinary institution. It is located in a nation protected by an ancient anti-magic artifact, said to have existed for thousands of years. A nation established with the consensus of all races in the world. A nation promised for world peace, a nation for diplomacy and education. This nation is Astraventis. The neutral state that shoulders Tharnheim, Westeria, and Moorsland.
Lucien then picked up a book from his study table, which was cluttered with books, an antique lamp, and various alchemy tools. The thick book he held looked like one a youth should not be reading. It was written in the language of the Elves, Mourish, and was titled "Stairs to Miracle." Lucien finally left his room.
Lucien descended the stairs, the railing made of pine wood. The scent of pine pierced his nose, Lucien loved this scent, which reminded him of his past, even though he didn't want to recall it. He looked toward the dining table, where bread and warm tea, prepared by the gentle woman, awaited him. Lucien placed the book on the table and sat down. He looked around the room, then seemed to call out for something.
"Lumi... Lumi, Come here... Lumi?"
"Meow!" A thick-furred, white cat with blue eyes rushed from under the basement stairs toward Lucien. Seeing the cat, which looked like soft snow, Lucien cheerfully picked it up and hugged it. Lucien, whose morning had been disturbed by a nightmare, seemed to have forgotten the ordeal and looked genuinely happy. He placed the white cat on the dining table, knowing Lumi wouldn't make a mess, and offered it a small piece of bread. Lucien looked very content.
Happily, Lucien opened the pages of the book while enjoying his warm tea and bread. He felt very fortunate to enjoy this morning—a companion that accompanied him, the peaceful morning rain, and the calming scent of tea. In his heart, he offered thanks again to the world for giving him hope to live. Lucien turned page after page in the quiet rain, then paused at a phrase in the book written in the ancient language of Mireth, with a translation in Mourish beneath it.
"Blessed be they who seek Heaven, for the Earth shall release its hold upon them; and sanctified be those who return, for nevermore shall they be as they once were." Lucien read it in a low tone.
The Mireth Language is the language used for incantations, rituals, and prayers. Some call it the sacred tongue. Others say it is a revelation. Yet no one knows its true form. Mireth is merely fragments left over from the ages before history.
Reading it, Lucien seemed to see and imagine the meaning of the sentence. Time passed, and the bread and fragrant warm tea were fully consumed.
Lucien looked out the window. The peaceful morning rain was now subsiding; the sounds of footsteps from the people outside his haven began to be heard. Lucien closed the thick book, patting Lumi, and tidied the dining table. The peaceful day was about to begin.
Sniff... Sniff... Just as Lucien was about to rise from his calm, he caught an unpleasant smell from the basement below, but he wasn't surprised; he knew what and why it would produce such an odor. Lucien let out a short sigh and smiled.
Lucien descended the creaking basement stairs. The stairwell was covered in papers tacked to the walls. Old oil lamps with flawed glass chimneys hung low, providing just enough illumination to highlight the dust and crumpled state of the papers on the wall. Lucien's eyes couldn't help but fixate on the old wall full of papers every time he descended the creaking basement stairs.
Shirk! Lucien's right foot stepped on a piece of paper lying on the floor.
"Oh—" Lucien picked up a few scattered papers, which contained various pieces of information. Curious, he wanted to examine them, but a voice called him back.
"Lucien, hurry and bring the papers!" The gentle yet slightly firm voice called to him. Lucien was slightly startled and immediately answered the call of the same woman who had knocked on his door this morning.
"Okay, Aunt Flo—," Lucien walked into the basement. The soft light from several oil lamps warmly illuminated the room, bright enough to see everything clearly without being harsh on the eyes. Racks of colored glass bottles were neatly arranged along the walls, while brass alchemy tools reflected a subtle sheen on the workbench, which was cluttered with notes and dried herbs. On the table sat a glass bottle containing a softly glowing, golden-yellow essence.
Beside the large workbench, amidst the gleam of the oil lamps, stood Florence Faraday. The elegant woman exuded the aura of a practical academic, with a tall stature and a slender build. Her long, honey-blonde hair was woven into a graceful, thick braid, starting from a soft bun at the crown of her head, framing her face adorned with small round glasses. Her warm, sharp blue eyes met Lucien's. She wore a long, classically tailored scholar's coat in a dull cream color, paired with tall boots and a waist belt decorated with various alchemy bottles.
Lucien, who had respected his aunt's elegant presence, finally stepped closer to the workbench. His eyes were immediately drawn to the softly glowing glass bottle. The magical aura it emitted felt different from ordinary alchemical potions.
Florence followed Lucien's gaze, a warm smile appearing on her face. She gently took the bottle and held it in her palm, allowing the golden light to illuminate her fingers.
"Guess what this is, Lucien..." Florence said in a tone that was almost teasing.
Lucien looked at the bottle with great interest. Its golden light reflected in his own golden eyes, as if summoning something deeper than mere curiosity.
"Is that the essence you worked on all night, Aunt Flo?" Lucien asked, softly but full of anticipation.
Nod! Florence nodded slowly.
"That's right, Lucien. This is the Essence for your First Advancement!"
Her tone deepened, becoming more serious as she looked at the bottle like a scholar observing her greatest discovery.
"This is not just an essence," she continued, her fingers slowly turning the bottle so the golden shimmer spread across the basement room.
The golden light pulsed softly behind the glass, even though its form was clearly a paste. Its brilliance was alive, as if tiny sparks were moving within it. Lucien could only stare at the substance with a mixture of awe and caution.
Florence caught his expression and smiled faintly.
"This is the extract of Lumina Moth Dust, processed with morning dew. This is the purest form of Chaotic Vitality resource that will unlock your capacity for Autonomous Illumination," Florence stated calmly as she slightly lifted the bottle, letting its golden shimmer reflect onto Lucien's face.
"But Essence alone will never be enough." Florence's voice hardened; she carefully placed the bottle back down.
"Raw power without Structure is an Abomination, Lucien. We have discussed this. You need a Medium. You need The Flawless Mirror... a Perfect Frameless Mirror that will become your Medium." Florence emphasized again, pointing towards a stack of thick books on the table.
"I need you to fetch it. Go immediately to Finlay Glass Shop in the merchant district. I've already paid for part of the cost, about one hundred Mark (ℳ)," Florence instructed, picking up the payment note, then grabbing a fifty Mark banknote before handing it to Lucien.
"The mirror must be truly Perfect, without a scratch, without distortion, without even the slightest flaw. It will shape your Authority, and we do not want a flawed Medium." She looked at Lucien briefly, ensuring he had truly heard her command.
"Understood, Aunt Flo. I will make sure the mirror is perfect." Lucien nodded with a sigh.
Lucien climbed the gently creaking wooden stairs. Lumi was still asleep on the dining table, curled up like an undisturbed ball of snow.
Upon reaching the upper floor, he headed to the coat rack near the door. He grabbed his thigh-length black cotton duster coat, the color matching his trousers, and put it on. After that, he bent down briefly to pick up his black leather ankle boots, tightening the laces before standing tall and ready to depart.