The year was 545… thirty-five years after the legendary war had ended…
Within the Great South-land Kingdom, the city of Quirkville basked beneath the afternoon sun, its streets alive with quiet, effortless magic.
On one side, a florist proudly stood in front of her shop, coaxing water from thin air to nourish her breathtaking blooms. Across the street, a builder drifted above half-laid stone, guiding blocks into place with a flick of his wrist.
Some paces past that, children laughed in the city square, their small sparks of mana dancing like colorful fireflies between their fingers.
It was the kind of peace people trusted.
The kind they stopped questioning.
But beneath the city, something else endured.
The sewers reeked of rust and rot. Moisture and fungi clung desperately to the walls. The air itself felt… wrong.
A small group of city enforcers, evidenced by their blue uniforms, moved carefully through the dark tunnels, boots splashing through shallow filth. Dim orbs of light hovered above their shoulders, casting long, trembling shadows behind them.
"That's three disappearances this week alone." One muttered, her expression tensed. "All near this sector."
"Then keep your guard up," Another replied, his hand firmly gripping his loaded musket. "Whatever it is, it's not normal. We might need to call in the kni-"
A soft sound suddenly echoed ahead, cutting him off.
Chewing…
They froze, instincts firing, adrenaline pumping as one of the orbs drifted forward, illuminating the source.
There, a woman's body lay sprawled against the wall--torn open, her chest cavity hollowed, ribs split apart as if something had been carefully taken. And crouched over her was not a beast… It was a man.
The hooded figure didn't turn immediately. He simply continued eating, slow and deliberate, as though savoring every bite. His hand shifted within the corpse's chest, fingers closing around something soft and warm before he brought it to his mouth.
"... What the fuck?" A third enforcer whispered.
The man sighed.
Then, at last, he looked up.
Green eyes glowed beneath the shadow of his hood.
"You're early," He said quietly, as if mildly inconvenienced while he licked the still warm blood from his lips. "I was hoping to finish. Food shouldn't be wasted."
The first attack came instantly as one of the enforcers charged. Purple mana spiraling around his arm, transforming his hand into the claws of a beast.
But the hooded man simply smirked as a thin wave of green light pulsed out of his body.
The beast enforcer's head slipped from his shoulders before he even realized he was dead.
As the body hit the floor with a wet thud, silence filled the tunnel…
Then chaos.
Spells ignited the darkness. Gunshots ripped through the air. Fire, force, and steel surged toward the hooded man--but he moved through it all with unsettling calm, each step precise, the stale air bending around him like armor.
Another wave.
Another body fell.
He didn't rush. He didn't panic.
He simply…culled.
Within mere moments, the tunnel fell quiet again, save for the slow drip of blood into the filth below.
The man exhaled softly.
"Wasteful," He murmured, glancing at the scattered corpses. "You never learn."
He stepped over the severed limbs, crouching beside the nearest body. His fingers pressed into the flesh, almost gently.
"Still," He added, a faint smile touching his lips, "I suppose I shouldn't complain."
Hours later, when reinforcements arrived, they found only what was left behind.
Torn bodies. Opened chests.
"....Captain," One of them said quietly, immediately noticing a sick pattern between the carved remains. "…They're all missing their hearts."
Meanwhile…
About a day's journey away, life went on--untouched, unaware.
A small, nameless town stirred with the rhythm of evening trade. Merchants called out to passing travelers, wagons rattled along uneven stone, and the scent of bread and herbs drifted through the air.
Magic lingered here too--subtle, ever-present.
It brushed against the skin.
Raised the smallest hairs.
Reminded those who could feel it that the world was never truly still.
One child felt it too… a dark-skinned lad named Dominic, or Dom by his closest friends.
The faint prickle of magic tickled the back of his neck as he slipped through the crowd, weaving between bodies with practiced ease. Small, wiry, restless--his white curls catching the dying light, and his navy blue eyes burned with quiet focus.
He had a destination.
And he wasn't leaving without it.
The trinket shop stood near the edge of the market, its wooden sign creaking softly in the wind. Dom slowed as he approached, eyes already scanning the interior.
Inside, a traveling couple stood at the counter while the shopkeeper spoke in his usual warm tone.
"Welcome, welcome. You look like you've traveled far… so why not pick something for your future child?"
The woman smiled softly, her hand drifting to her swollen belly.
"What do you recommend?" Her partner asked.
"Well…" the storekeeper began, displaying his wide array of antiques and items he had gathered from all over the nation, "…there's plenty to choose from. How about…"
With his attention focused on his customers, Dom slipped past them, silent as a shadow, eyes glued to the bookshelves in the far corner.
And there it was.
A story-book titled The Tales of Great Mages.
With a grin, he carefully, almost reverently, pulled it free.
The pages were worn. Old. Important.
His fingers trembled slightly as he flipped through them--images of the Monarchs staring back at him, larger than life.
Heroes who ended the five-hundred-year bloodshed.
Legends that rewrote history.
Proof that the world could be shaped by strength.
He was so engrossed in the text that he barely noticed the sound of a throat clearing right behind him.
He froze, then slowly turned, a sheepish smile crossing his face once he found the storekeeper towering over him.
"Hello, Dominic," The storekeeper replied, his polite smile now strained -- a mask over patience.
Before Dom could react, the book was ripped from his grasp while his body was lifted telepathically into the air.
"Come on, man--" He groaned, struggling uselessly as his body floated, following the storekeeper like a balloon following a child. "I'm super broke. Just let me have that book? It's not like anyone else wants it."
"No," The storekeeper replied flatly, and with a flick of his wrist, Dom was dropped outside the store.
Hard.
As Dom rubbed his sore behind, the storekeeper shook the book now in his grasp. "Go get some money, brat. Until then, I don't want to see you here again." He said sternly before turning away.
Dom gritted his teeth, his white eyebrows twitching with frustration as he sprang to his feet. "You stupid bald cheapskate!" He yelled, drawing some attention from nearby citizens.
The storekeeper stopped, a flash of the setting sunlight reflecting on his smooth bald head -- a cruel, comedic emphasis. But before the storekeeper could respond, a fist suddenly connected with Dom's skull from above.
Dom groaned, turning to the tall man behind him. "Pops, what the hell?" He groaned, rubbing the ache.
"You dumb-ass," Pops muttered, tapping his head again before turning to the storekeeper. "I'm really sorry about him." He bowed slightly.
The storekeeper glanced back at the couple still browsing in his store. "Just… make sure it doesn't happen again." He scoffed before returning to his customers.
Dom's cheeks burned with shame, but inside, a spark of determination still flickered. You win this time, old man…He thought, just before Pops dragged him away by the collar.
"You've got guts, kid," Pops muttered, not slowing. "Too bad you don't have the brains to match."
"I almost had it," Dom grumbled. "Another minute and--"
"And you'd still be broke," Pops cut in. "Which is kind of the problem."
Dom clicked his tongue, but didn't argue.
Twenty minutes later…
The heat of the kitchen wrapped around Dom like a second skin.
The sharp scent of oil and baked bread filled the air as he stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing through a stack of greasy plates. Water splashed against his apron as he worked, his movements quick but distracted.
Across the room, Pops moved with practiced efficiency--stirring pots, plating dishes, barely needing to look as the teenage waiter called out orders.
Dom glanced at him, recalling the scene just minutes ago.
Then looked away.
Then glanced again.
"Are you mad?" He asked finally.
Pops didn't answer right away. He sprinkled seasoning into a pot, gave it a slow stir, then closed the lid.
"Yes and no," He said at last. "Mad you snuck out for some book instead of working…"
He reached for a cigarette, tapping it lightly against the counter.
"… And mad that I can't just buy it for you."
He turned sideways, eyes narrowed as he took out his old lighter towards the end of the stick. The lighter clicked once. Twice. A third time before the flame caught.
He then took a slow drag.
"...Also," He added, exhaling a cloud of smoke, "… you're starting to sound like me now. That's not good."
Dom frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Pops said, glancing at him briefly, "you don't know when to let things go."
Dom looked back down at the dirty water in front of him, watching his reflection ripple under the surface. "Sorry." He muttered.
Pops exhaled slowly, smoke curling around him. "It's not your fault." He said, turning his attention back to the boiling pot. "I'm not exactly father material."
As Dom reached for a greasy pan, he glanced at Pops again, and a sad thought filled his mind.
He's not perfect, but he's all I've got.
"Well," He said, his warm smile drawing Pops' attention. "… I'm happy you're taking care of me. You're a good dad. Besides, that orphanage looks like shit anyway."
Dom paused once he realized how harsh his words sounded.
But instead of reprimanding his ten-year-old ward, Pops smirked. "It's okay," He said, tapping his cigarette against the stove while he stirred the aromatic soup. "Despite rough edges, you're a good kid,"
Dom grinned, his mood reinvigorated as he focused on finishing the dishes while Pops began to dish the soup.
Later that evening, the restaurant had emptied.
Chairs were flipped onto tables. The floor was still damp from a recent mop. The outside world had gone quiet, the distant hum of the town settling into the night.
As the teenage waiter went home, Pops leaned back in his chair, watching Dom work.
"So," He said, "Why do you want that book so bad anyway?"
"Because it talks about the Monarchs," Dom replied as he dipped the mop into the bucket, then dragged it across the floor in slow, steady strokes.
Pops rolled his eyes. "Of course it does," He said, pulling out another cigarette from his pack.
As he flicked his lighter a few times, struggling to get a light going, he noticed Dom's glare. "Chill. It's just my third one today, scout's honor." He emphasized his words with a mock salute before finally lighting the stick.
Dom grimaced. "I don't know why you love that thing so much. It smells like burnt shit." He said, moving to another section of the room to wipe.
"You're too young to understand," Pops scoffed as he put his lighter away. "So… the Monarchs. You still want to be one?"
"Not just any Monarch," Dom said, throwing a confident glance over his shoulder. "Their leader."
Pops exhaled smoke, the soft white curls partially obscuring his view of the ceiling. "Ethan Maximus… the Mage Emperor, huh." He muttered.
"I'm going to surpass him and become the greatest hero in history," Dom said, easily dragging the mop that seemed too big for his size across the floor.
"You're aiming pretty high, kid," Pops said, then tilted his head slightly. "I still don't get why you even want to be a soldier."
"They're more than that." Dom snapped back.
"Oh?" Pops raised an eyebrow.
"They do more than fight…" Dom said, his voice steady. "Like, save people from bandits, monsters, and natural accidents. They're real-life superheroes."
Pops exhaled again, smoke curling around his face. "But the Monarchs are an exclusive group, right? There's been no replacement since the originals." He commented.
"I know," Dom replied, his grip tightening around the mop stick, his expression darkened. "And most of them are already gone now. They're not… immortal."
A quiet beat passed.
Then Dom's smile returned.
"But that just means there are new slots to fill, right? Especially now that the last Monarch's about to retire." He commented.
Pops sat up, his gaze fixed on his determined ward. "You're not the only one thinking like that, kid." He said, his voice serious. "If you're going for the very top, you'll be competing with people who've been preparing for that same thing their whole lives."
Dom met his gaze without hesitation.
"Then I'll beat them all."
A silence settled between them.
Then Pops laughed--geninuely amused.
"...Yeah," He said. "That sounds about right."
Dom's grin widened-- but it didn't last.
His eyes drifted toward the window.
Outside, a group of children ran past, small bursts of magic flickering between their hands as they laughed into the night.
Dom's grip tightened on the mop. "Still sucks though." He muttered.
Pops' gaze followed Dom's, his eyes darkening with empathy. "A mage's affinity usually shows up around six years." He said, softly. "You're ten now, so you feel left behind, right?"
"Yeah," Dom mumbled as he looked at his palm.
Even though he could perceive and mostly control his unique blue mana surrounding his hand, he couldn't make any spells out of it. It was like having the raw materials, but no direction on how to use them or what the outcome would be.
"Don't worry, it, kid," Pops said, flicking ash into the tray. "It happens earlier for some people. Later for others."
"But everyone else already has theirs," Dom grumbled.
"Doesn't mean anything," Pops snapped back. "The point is, eventually everyone gets theirs. Even the Dragon didn't get his until he was eighteen, right?"
Dom paused, nodding silently.
"I may not know much about the Monarchs, but I do know about that guy from when I was still in the force," Pops added, arms folded. "Joined the army at 13, became a Captain at 16. Then his attribute came in, and next thing you know, he's a General."
"Then a Monarch at twenty," Dom finished quietly.
"Timing didn't matter," Pops explained. "What he did with it did."
Dom looked down at the mop again. "… Yeah,"
"Besides," Pops continued, taking out his cigarette to exhale some smoke. "… power without the effort is useless. Like giving a loaded rifle to a baby."
Dom smiled; his earlier doubt faded beneath his rekindled determination. "I still wonder why you left the army." He said, mopping the last section of the room. "You sound like a Squad Captain."
Pops' expression shifted--just slightly. "That's because I was," He muttered.
Dom paused, giving him a curious stare. "You never told me." He said.
"You never asked," Pops responded stiffly.
Dom faced him, even more curious. "Why'd you quit?" He asked.
Pops didn't answer immediately.
He stubbed out his cigarette, stood, and walked past Dom toward the door.
"Finish up," He said. "It's late."
Dom watched him go.
He didn't press further.
They locked up not long after and stepped out into the cool night air.
The town had quieted. Lights flickered behind windows. The streets, once crowded, now lay mostly empty.
Dom walked beside Pops in silence, his mind still turning.
Dreams. Power. The future.
All of it felt so close… yet so very far.
Meanwhile…
While the town slept beneath borrowed peace… something else moved.
Where the road gave way to forest.
Two hunters made their way through the dark, their voices low as they carried their catch.
"...told you we'd find something out here."
"Yeah, yeah. Just don't drop it this time."
A shape suddenly stumbled into their path.
They froze once they realized it was a human.
"Hey." The first hunter called out, stepping forward cautiously. "You alright?"
He reached out--
And then he saw the blood on the figure's cloak.
Dried....Stale... Too much for a single human being.
Then the figure looked up, his eerie, green eyes piercing through the thick shadow of his hood.
The silence between them stretched… No words were spoken.
The moment the figure lifted a hand, the first hunter knew.
His years of experience had taught him what it meant to encounter a dangerous beast. But before he could react, green mana erupted, and the wave of wind instantly sliced through his neck, severing his head.
Blood sprayed into the air like a fountain, staining the figure's cloak before the body dropped with an audible thud.
The second hunter immediately fled, abandoning his gear and prey as he cried out for help.
But he barely made it three steps as another wave instantly cleaved his body apart.
The forest floor eagerly drank the silence that followed, as if seeking to hide the secret.
The killer then turned to the headless body beside him, a slow smile spreading beneath the hood. "Perfect timing. I was getting hungry again." He whispered, tongue dragging across his lips as if savoring the taste already.