I spent the entire night poring over Lucian's notes—especially the section on "simple projectile spells." I may have damaged my desk in the process, but technically, that counts as progress, right?
By the end of the night, I'd collapsed from exhaustion. Yet, I woke up just before dawn with eyes wide open—unnaturally alert.
Something felt off.
My body still ached with sleep, but my mind buzzed. The faint morning light slicing through the stone walls seemed to echo within the room.
"If I'm up this early…" I stretched, voice hushed. "Why don't I go train with Kai?"
Truth was, I wasn't just thinking about sword practice.
I wanted to tell Kai that I'm a mage.
But…
Fear clenched in my chest. I imagined his expression. Disappointment. Betrayal. Broken trust.
I shook myself and opened the wardrobe.
The wizard's robe? Absolutely not.
Instead, I picked a practical day outfit—navy-blue tunic snug at the waist, plain beige trousers that looked respectable, leather boots rising to my knees.
A small silver brooch on the tunic caught the morning light even more than Lucian's notes had. I tied back my silver hair loosely, letting a few strands frame my face.
In the mirror, I stared at myself.
My eyes still held the nighttime's shadows—but my lips carried the determination of dawn.
My storm-gray eyes seemed to challenge my own reflection.
"Maybe I shouldn't tell Kai… but at least I can face him."
I tossed my training gear into my bag: a dark gray tunic made for movement, light armor strapped within, and a sheath for my sword.
⸻
When I arrived at Kai's house, he was exactly where I expected: at the training ground at the break of day.
Without hearing my footsteps, he stood at the edge of the mist-shrouded arena.
Kai—shirtless. His breath visible in the cold air, each swing of his wooden sword cutting through mist like a sculptor's chisel.
His back glistened with sweat. Shoulders broad and well-sculpted—each muscle defined like stone carved by a master craftsman. His hair was unruly, but somehow looked purposively perfect.
"Early," he said, speaking more than motioning.
His sword clattered to the stone floor. He turned slowly toward me.
His brows lifted slightly, eyes distant as always, but curiosity flickered beneath.
"You're up then."
"I couldn't wait around," I replied. "Maybe we could do some training."
He regarded me in silence for a moment, then gestured to the arena.
"Ready?"
⸻
After a quick warm-up, we began simple stances. Kai corrected my posture—sometimes teasing, sometimes serious.
"Keep your back straight. The sword is an extension of you—not a burden."
"My extension might still be half-asleep," I muttered.
He didn't laugh—but the corner of his eyes creased. That was Kai's version of a smile.
⸻
By the end of our session, both of us were winded. I wiped sweat from my brow.
And then the moment came.
I had to speak—or choke.
I bit my lip, then blurted out:
"Sometimes… you have to do the wrong thing because someone expects it."
Kai paused mid-breath.
"Wrong according to you? Or according to me?"
"Maybe… both. But I…"
My mouth went dry. I wanted to say more, but a lump formed in my throat.
"What I mean is…" I knelt, head lowered. "If I tell you… you'll be angry. I know it. But if I don't… it's like I'm lying."
His voice was low, calm:
"Elysia. Stop dancing around it. What did you do?"
I lifted my eyes—but no words came.
"Forget it," I whispered. "It'll be better if I don't say it."
Kai looked at me without flinching. Then he bowed his head.
"Do as you wish," he said softly. "But if I need to find out, I will."
A moment of silence, then he hoisted his sword back on his belt.
"Enough for today."
⸻
Returning to the tower, a heavy weight settled in my chest.
I hadn't told Kai—but just admitting I'd hidden something felt like progress.
Lucian wasn't around. Probably still buried in his research.
I pulled up the system window:
Status Window — Elysia
Level: 6
Class: None
Combat Skill: 10/100
Magic Skill: 14/100
Charm: 98/100
Gold: 340
At least I was improving. Couldn't complain.
Determined to keep my mind busy, I picked up the cursed box I had found during our mission and headed to my room.
I placed it on my desk, tracing the runes etched around its edges. A charred, corrupted mark glowed darkly on its surface.
My fingertips hovered. I took a deep breath.
And then…
A tremor.
The familiar bond in my chest fluttered. As if the magic inside were trying to tell me something.
But it had no language. No voice.
Still…
When my palm pressed against the box, a strange tension shot through me. My heart skipped a beat.
A warmth… or a chill?
Something whispered through the nerves in my fingers.
I squeezed my eyes shut—and then—
The world shifted.
The tower was gone. So was my room.
I stood in a cavernous chamber. Damp stone walls echoed cold and desperation. Moonlight—or something like it—filtered down in pale blue rays.
Before me was a cradle carved from stone.
Inside lay a baby.
He was still. Lifeless. His legs were twisted, malformed—bones contorted in unnatural positions. He didn't cry. His eyes scarcely open.
But… I felt as if he stared right at me.
Behind me came a man's voice:
"No… this cannot be my child. Not my blood!"
His tone wavered between grief and rage.
His robe bore a symbol of a dark-purple planet. At the center, an inverted version of the royal crest.
"There has to be a way. A chance…"
He fell to his knees, head in his hands.
Then—a scraping sound in the cavern ceiling.
A violet light pulsed.
And a scream—unnamed, indescribable—echoed into the darkness.
—
My eyes snapped open.
My lungs cramped. My palms slick with sweat. My heart hammered as if it might break free from my ribs.
I was back at my desk. The box sat before me. But the world felt fractured.
"What… was that?"
I could have mistaken it for a dream. But I knew it wasn't.
It felt like a shard of truth torn from time.
A distorted memory twisted in shadow.
That baby. Those twisted legs. That man's voice—a bullet in my mind.
No. This wasn't a vision. At least, not a dream.
The box—something within it—had shown me that.
My fingers trembled as I rubbed my temples.
I tried to reach for the memory again—tried to force the puzzle back together.
But—
Nothing.
No light. No echo. No cavern.
The box had pulled me in—and let me go.
"Please… show me again."
Silence.
All that remained was a splinter of dread and sorrow. The baby's silent gaze. The terror lodged inside me.
The side quest… that box.
"Shadows' Box."
Its objective still lingered, unsolved.
Questions swirled in my mind.
Is that baby still alive?
Where is that cavern?
Am I supposed to find him? Rescue him?
Or… did I already take him?
I've never encountered someone born so broken. Not in the academy records, not on the battlefield.
I clenched my fists.
But then another voice—calm, decisive—echoed in my memory:
Lucian. If anyone can make sense of this… it's him.
I took a shaky breath, wiped the sweat from my palm, and stood.
I began the climb to Lucian's tower again—twice pausing in the corridors:
"Will he think I've lost my mind?"
"But… could we really help that child?"
The questions were heavier than my steps.
I knocked on his door.
No response. Only the soft rustle of pages turning.
I cracked the door open.
"Lucian?"
He looked up, parchment in hand.
He was tired—but alert. Always alert.
"Ah," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Storm-gray dawn itself. If you show up this early again, I'll offer tea."
"I've got something stronger," I replied, stepping forward. "Something about that box."
His parchment dropped.
"Did you activate it? Did something happen?"
I nodded.
"I… saw something."
I recounted everything: the cave, the cradle, the child, the twisted legs, the man, the violet flash, and the scream.
Lucian listened in silence, every word mirrored in his eyes.
After I finished, he shifted to stand, the hem of his robe whispering across the floor.
"This box is sealed with dark magic," he finally said. "But what you describe… that's new."
He paused, eyes narrowing in thought.
"Show me."
—
We returned to my room.
The box sat once again on my desk. Lucian stood beside it, hands clasped behind his back.
"Are you certain it reached out to you?"
"Yes."
"And you let it."
I met his gaze steadily.
"Yeah. I did."
He removed his glasses, one lens catching the light for a moment.
"Let's see just how far it will take us."
He placed his palm over the box.
Then—
The ground shook.
A rune on the surface glowed—this time hotter, more defiant.
Lucian's brow furrowed.
"I didn't expect that…"
Before he could speak, a dark form erupted from the box—less mist, more substance, writhing like brimstone.
And then—
That face appeared.
Not human, yet eerily humanoid. Like death wearing a faceless mask—empty eye sockets aglow with corrupt light. A horror born from someone else's flesh.
It lunged at Lucian.
But Lucian didn't flinch.
He didn't draw his blade.
He pressed his fingers together and shot a blue arc of magic through the creature.
It froze in midair. A heartbeat later—
A silent crack. And it collapsed in on itself.
A cloud of dark ash drifted in its place.
Lucian exhaled slowly, his voice calm as steel.
"The answer is revealed."
I swallowed hard.
"What… was it?"
He stared at the now-cooling box.
"This isn't just dark magic residue. It's a shard of magic torn loose—something living in a way, but not alive. It holds emotion, not memory. A sealed filth. Sentient yet mindless."
He looked back at me.
"And… I think there's more than one."
Silence reigned in the room, broken only by the box's faint warmth.
All I could think:
That poor child… He wouldn't have stood a chance.