I. A Fragile Dawn of Hope
For the first time in his young life, a fragile, almost dangerous sense of elation swelled in Hiro's chest. It was a feeling so foreign it made his ribs ache. Today marked the day he would leave the cursed shadows of the village and embark on the journey to the Land of Ocean. This wasn't merely a school trip; this was his desperate, single chance to prove the Grandmaster right—to find a path to power that defied his blood and his fate. He stood with his small, worn satchel, the cool morning air a sharp contrast to the familiar, suffocating atmosphere of the village. His heart pounded not with the usual rhythm of fear, but with the frantic drumming of a man betting his very soul.
The anticipation, however, was violently short-lived. A clamor erupted nearby, announcing the arrival of his perennial tormentor, Kim. Kim was an ostentatious figure, his robes dyed in the brilliant, costly hues of a prominent noble house, his face already set into a sneer that bespoke generations of inherited arrogance. He was flanked by his usual sycophants, their eyes mirroring the smug contempt of their leader.
"Hey, Demon," Kim's voice was a chilling silk, designed to carry just far enough to turn every head nearby. "Where do you think you're going? Running off to pollute the Sacred Ground? You won't be able to do anything. You know nothing good ever comes from the likes of you filth."
The familiar word, Demon, struck Hiro like a physical blow. He dug his nails into his palms, tasting the faint metallic hint of anger. "Look," Hiro managed, his voice a low, strained rasp barely above a whisper, "just stay away from me. I don't want any trouble today. Not today."
"Silence! How dare you speak back to me?" Kim's face flushed a deep crimson, his inherent fury magnified by the certainty of his royal lineage. He took two menacing steps forward, his magical energy—clean, potent, and purely human—flaring briefly in a warning sign.
A deep silence descended upon the small crowd of observing children. Hiro instantly dropped his gaze. He knew the drill. He knew the devastating, brutal truth: if he raised his voice, if he argued, or if he so much as twitched, the entire blame for the resulting disruption would fall upon him, the tainted vessel. The boy with the Demon's blood must always be guilty. He swallowed the bitter, metallic taste of injustice, forcing his defiance back into the prison of his heart.
II. The Scars of the Gate (The Flashback)
The sharp sting of Kim's aristocratic contempt was a familiar trigger, involuntarily dragging Hiro's consciousness back into the echoing, painful corridors of his own past—a memory not his own, but one scorched into his very essence.
Decades before, the Yukazu Clan stood as the pinnacle of human magical achievement. Their spells were intricate, their power legendary, their lineage considered a blessing upon the realm. Their magnificent fortress, built of pale stone and shimmering with enchantments, was a beacon of hope.
But the terror came without warning. It began not with an invasion, but with a terrifying, shimmering tear in the fabric of reality—the opening of the massive Gate. From this unnatural fissure poured hordes of Demons, grotesque shadows that reeked of sulphur and ancient malice. The combined might of human mages, bolstered by their purest magic, proved utterly helpless. Cities fell, armies dissolved, and despair became the new atmosphere of the world.
Witnessing the imminent annihilation of their civilization, the remaining members of the Yukazu Clan resolved upon an act of ultimate, sacred treason. They would perform the Great Seal Ritual—a forbidden, desperate form of Dark Magic. This ritual would slam the Gate shut forever, but the cosmic cost was the ultimate, non-negotiable price: the lives of every single participant.
And there was one more terrible requirement. To stabilize a seal of such magnitude, the ritual demanded an anchor: an innocent, newborn vessel whose blood would be infused with a measured fraction of Demon essence. The vessel had to be tied to both worlds, forever an outcast.
That infant was Hiro.
In a cavern deep beneath their ruined fortress, the clan elders, their faces resolute and tragic, encircled the altar. They began the ritual. The air thickened into something corporeal, smelling of ozone and ozone and sacrifice. As their life force drained away, fueling the terrifying magic, a sliver of the Demon's vile ichor was forcibly woven into the blood of the infant Hiro. He cried out, not in pain, but in cosmic shock. The Gate finally stabilized, then vanished with a silent, shuddering snap. The vast energy dissipated, leaving behind only the cold, silent corpses of the entire Yukazu Clan. They had saved the world, but at the cost of creating the very thing the world would come to despise. Hiro, the unwitting sacrifice, the half-Demon vessel, was all that remained.
III. The Journey to the Land of Ocean
Hiro's painful, vivid trance was broken violently. Kim hadn't stopped at a glare; he had lunged, shoving Hiro hard against the stone wall. Hiro stumbled, the pain in his shoulder instantly snapping him back from the echoes of death and betrayal. He started to turn, his fists tightening, the raw, burning injustice finally threatening to erupt into a disastrous confrontation.
"That is quite enough!"
The voice was that of the Instructor, sharp and carrying the unmistakable weight of trained magical authority. He wasn't kind, but he was neutral, and that was enough to stop Kim. "Everyone, prepare yourselves immediately! We are now heading to the Land of Ocean! No further disturbances will be tolerated."
The Land of Ocean was more than just a destination; it was the Sacred Place, resting on a vast, shimmering magical nexus. This place was the site of the annual Magical Aptitude Evaluation, where every child underwent the "Soul-Depth Scan" to reveal the true nature and potential of their magic. Based on the cold, hard numbers revealed there, they would either be granted entry into the prestigious Land of Ocean High School—the pinnacle of magical education—or they would be relegated to obscurity.
With a deep, resonant hum, the Instructor conjured a large, ornate magical carriage, a luxurious vehicle woven from light and reinforced leather. The children excitedly scrambled inside, desperate to secure the best seats. But as their eyes swept over Hiro, the joy evaporated, replaced by an open, sickening wave of hatred and profound disgust.
Knowing his immutable place in this society, Hiro did not fight for a seat. He silently climbed aboard and settled himself against the furthest, coldest wall, huddled into a corner where the light did not easily reach. He became a stone, invisible and unwanted.
The carriage began its ascent, the magical wheels turning silently above the village roads. Through the enchanted glass, Hiro watched the landscape transform, giving way to sweeping plains and glittering rivers. Inside, the muffled chatter and laughter of the pure-bloods continued, serving as a constant, dull reminder of his solitary burden. He closed his eyes, focusing only on the distant, shimmering promise of the Sacred Place. After what felt like an eternity, the rhythmic, gentle swaying of the carriage ceased. They had arrived at the hallowed destination: The Land of Ocean.