Rolling fields swayed gently beneath the open sky, and far in the distance, mountains stood tall and unmoving, their peaks brushing the clouds. It was beautiful—more beautiful than I had imagined.

It was also my first time leaving the town.

I leaned slightly forward in my seat, eyes tracing the horizon, committing every detail to memory.

Lise sat beside me, her gaze darting between the landscape and the road ahead. She looked happy—almost glowing—but beneath that excitement, I could sense her nervousness. She tried to hide it, but I had known her long enough to notice.

She had always been emotional as a child.

Childish, too.

But I suppose that’s just how children are.

Lise Striet wasn’t Chief Elden’s real daughter.

She was adopted.

The Chief and his wife had never been able to have children of their own. One day, while traveling through a nearby town, Mrs. Striet saw a slave merchant dragging along a woman and a small child—no more than two years old.

The girl’s hair was white and dusty, her silver eyes beautiful but dulled by exhaustion and cruelty. Her face was cute beneath layers of dirt and neglect.

That little girl was Lise.

The woman beside her was her mother.

Mrs. Striet fell in love instantly—not with the tragedy, but with the innocence the child still carried despite it.

She bought both the mother and the child.

But that night, the woman ran away.

She claimed the child was cursed.

“Because of her, I will die,” she said. “And if you stay close to her, you will too.”

Then she disappeared into the dark.

Mrs. Striet couldn’t let the child rot alone.

She adopted her.

Loved her.

Raised her as her own daughter.

For a time, Lise believed she truly was.

But when she was four, Mrs. Striet fell ill.

And at five, Lise lost her mother.

She cried herself to sleep every night, locking herself in her room, clinging to memories she didn’t fully understand. One day, she found her mother’s diary.

And with it, the truth.

She was devastated.

The Chief tried to comfort her—but there are wounds words cannot reach.

I learned the truth not long after.

One day, I found Lise alone in the woods.

I sat beside her quietly.

Eventually, she spoke.

I said a few things—nothing special. I showed her how much everyone cared. How much she mattered.

I remember giving her something… but the memory escapes me now.

After that day, I never saw her cry again.

She returned—not as a girl bound by blood—but as Chief Elden’s daughter.

As our friend.

What a brave girl.

Even during the goblin attack, when I tried to shoulder everything alone, she stayed by my side.

She fought beside me.

Sometimes, I even envied her.

Despite all my training, she was stronger than me then.

But she never once abandoned us.

Not my family.

Not me.

The cart creaked as it passed over a bump in the road.

Lise leaned slightly forward, peering out.

“Hey, Aren,” she said softly, “don’t the mountains look beautiful?”

“Yes,” I replied, glancing at her. “They do.”

By the time we reached the next town, the sun had climbed higher.

Two boys about our age climbed into the cart.

One wore neat spectacles and held a book close to his chest, eyes sharp and observant. The other had messy brown hair and an energetic presence that filled the space instantly.

They looked close—comfortable in the way only longtime friends could be.

“Joren, move a little,” the brown-haired boy said casually. “You fatty.”

“Okay, okay,” the one called Joren replied calmly. “But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t use terms without understanding their meaning.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes,” Joren continued seriously. “The term fat refers to someone who is overweight. The average healthy weight for a teenager is between 147 and 170 pounds. I weigh 175, which places me slightly above average—not fat.”

We both listened in silence as they continued arguing, completely oblivious to our presence.

“Hey, Aren,” Lise whispered, leaning closer, “do you think we’re invisible to them?”

I held back a smile.

“Possibly,” I said. “Or they’re just that absorbed in their conversation.”

The cart rolled onward.

Toward Seccar.

I cleared my throat softly.

“Uhmm.”

No reaction.

I tried again, this time a little louder.

“Uhmm.”

The two boys finally paused mid-argument and looked up.

Finally. Some recognition.

“Oh—hi,” the brown-haired one said, blinking as if we had suddenly appeared out of thin air. “Sorry about that. We didn’t notice you.”

His eyes lingered on me for a moment… then on Lise. Just a second longer than necessary.

“My name’s Finn Calder,” he said with an easy smile. “Nice to meet you.”

The boy with the spectacles adjusted them slightly before speaking.

“Joren Feld,” he said. “Apologies for the disturbance. Finn tends to forget the existence of others when he starts talking.”

“Hey,” Finn protested, “that’s not true. I only forget people when they’re quiet.”

“That explains a lot,” Joren replied calmly.

“I’m Aren Aoyama,” I said. “This is Lise Striet. We’re from Aota.”

Joren’s eyes sharpened immediately.

“Aota,” he repeated thoughtfully. “A border town founded roughly seventy-eight years ago after the Third Western Expansion. Known for its fertile plains, modest mana density, and its strategic position near the Scultie Woods.”

Lise blinked.

I stared.

“…That’s our town,” I said slowly.

“Yes,” Joren replied. “It also experienced minor goblin incursions every decade until the fortifications were reinforced sixteen years ago.”

Finn sighed and leaned back.

“See? Human encyclopedia.”

Lise tilted her head, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

“You… know a lot,” she said.

Joren nodded calmly.

She squinted at the book he was holding.

“…Isn’t that the third-year curriculum book of Sayran Academy?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes widened. “But we’re first years.”

“I’ve read all previous volumes twice,” he replied. “I’m currently on my third read of this one.”

Finn grinned proudly. “Told you. He’s weird.”

Lise and I exchanged looks.

“…That’s amazing,” she whispered.

Joren turned another page, completely unfazed.

“The Sayran Academy,” he continued as if we had asked for a lecture, “was established approximately four hundred years ago by the Fourth King of Sayra, King Aldric Heysten. It was originally created after the Collapse Era to centralize magical education and prevent reckless mana experimentation.”

He adjusted his spectacles slightly.

“It is considered the most prestigious institution in Aestria. Not merely a school—but the first and most elite line of defense of the kingdom.”

Finn leaned back. “Here we go.”

Joren ignored him.

“The academy has produced numerous Saint Knights, High Archmages, and the current generation of Junior Saints. Its graduates serve as royal guards, war tacticians, border commanders, and mana researchers. Some even ascend to the Saint Commission.”

Lise blinked. “That serious?”

“Yes.”

He flipped another page.

“Every village and town is given the opportunity to recommend talented youths. The process is officially unbiased and merit-based. In theory, there should be hundreds of students admitted each year.”

He paused slightly.

“But the average intake per class is only twenty-two to twenty-nine students.”

Finn tilted his head. “That’s… kind of low.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” I asked.

Joren’s eyes lifted from the page.

“The academy does not prepare students merely for governance or scholarship,” he said quietly. “It prepares them for war.”

A breeze passed through the cart windows.

“The prophecy of the Reawakening states that the Demon King Valtherion the Abyssal—who was slain five hundred years ago by the combined forces of humans and high mages—will eventually return.”

Silence fell inside the cart.

“It required the sacrifice of three Saints and the complete annihilation of the Northern Mage Legions to defeat him,” Joren continued evenly. “The academy was strengthened after that war to ensure such devastation never occurs again.”

Finn swallowed.

“So… they’re training us to fight that?”

“Yes. That. And the monsters that already roam beyond controlled territory. Mana corruption zones continue to expand. Beasts evolve.”

The cart slowed slightly.

A wooden sign appeared ahead.

SCULTIE WOODS — ENTER WITH CAUTION

Joren glanced out the window.

“Ah. The Scultie Woods. Formerly known as the Verdant Basin before the mana corruption incident sixty-two years ago. Hostile flora, territorial beasts, and unstable mana zones.”

Finn leaned closer to us.

“See? He does this everywhere.”

We were fully convinced now.

This boy was terrifyingly smart.

Then Joren reached into his pocket and pulled out a small stone.

Plain. Gray. Unremarkable.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked.

Finn squinted. “A rare artifact?”

“A dragon tooth?” Lise guessed excitedly.

“A condensed mana crystal?” I offered.

Joren stared at us blankly.

We stared back.

Lise hesitated… then slowly raised her hand.

“…What is it?”

Joren answered calmly.

“This is a stone.”

There was a pause.

Then—

Finn collapsed sideways, laughing.

“You— you idiot!”

Lise burst out laughing.

“A stone?!”

I sighed. “I suppose that was obvious.”

The cart echoed with laughter.

And then—

BOOM.

Something massive slammed into the side of the cart.

Wood splintered.

The entire vehicle lifted off the ground, spinning violently through the air.

“What—?!” Finn shouted.

Lise screamed.

I felt weightless.

The world flipped.

The cart crashed hard against the earth and skidded across the ground.

Silence followed.

Slow.

Heavy.

Broken only by the creaking of wood.

I pushed myself up, heart pounding.

“…What,” I muttered, “could hit a moving cart like that?”

The answer came in the form of a deep, guttural growl.

Something big was out there.