TEN YEARS LATER
— Third Person Perspective —
The afternoons in this place were always far too comfortable to simply let pass by.
Under a massive tree whose roots had long outlived the memories of anyone who had ever leaned against it, a young man slept with the air of someone who had no urgent business in any world. His pink hair was strewn across the grass, a few strands clinging to his cheek courtesy of a breeze too lazy to carry them away.
The sun moved. As usual, it didn't ask for permission.
Its light finally found a gap between the leaves—falling directly onto the youth's face with a precision that felt intentional. Yet, it wasn't his eyes that yielded to the light. Quite the opposite: his pitch-black irises opened slowly, and the midday glare that should have made him squint was instead absorbed into them, like ink falling into a pool deeper than it appeared.
"Aaaah—"
The sound escaped him half-lazy, half-satisfied. He stretched his arms upward, his bones speaking with small but satisfying cracks, and he smiled at the sky like a person who had just finished the best nap of his life.
He was Carsel. Fifteen years old, and he didn't yet know that today was the last day he could smile so foolishly at the sky.
"It's already afternoon. Time to head back."
He stood up, brushing the grass from his clothes, and began to walk with the stride of someone who didn't give a thought to where his feet were taking him.
Until his feet betrayed him and stopped.
It wasn't because of something seen. Rather, it was because of an absence—the absence of sound. No twigs were being snapped by running feet. No laughter came from unexpected directions. No one called his name from a distance.
Why was it so quiet? Where was everyone?
Carsel stood still. His ears sharpened, searching for sounds that wouldn't come. And the longer he stood, the deeper the silence he discovered.
Something cold began to crawl down his spine—not the wind, for there was no wind this afternoon.
He began to run.
Halfway home, his steps were forced to a halt once more.
Rai lay in the middle of the path.
Carsel knelt. His fingers searched for a pulse in the cat's neck—the spot that was always warm whenever he held him, the spot that always vibrated with a tiny purr that felt like a miniature sewing machine.
This time, there was nothing.
"Rai… enough," he whispered, his voice cracking like dry parchment. "Wake up. This is no place for a nap."
Rai was one of his best friends. And now his body was cold in a way that sleep had never taught.
What happened here? Everything was fine just moments ago. Everything was whole.
He chanted a detection spell—his magic circle rippling outward in all directions like a stone cast into still water.
The result made his chest feel as though it had been struck from the inside.
Everywhere. Everyone was lying everywhere.
What kind of cruel joke was this? This morning was so kind. This morning was so complete.
He stood up. He ran. Without looking down again.
"MAMA! MAMA, WAIT FOR ME!"
He hurled the cry into the air before he even reached the entrance—and the only answer was a silence that grew ever thicker.
Outside the artifact door, two figures lay sprawled across each other. A deer and a monkey; their bodies were motionless in a way that left no room for argument.
"Uncle Rey! Uncle Maru!"
He checked them both with hands that were shaking before he even realized it. No one moved. No one was warm. The organs inside their bodies had stopped working like a watch that had run out of spring.
He burst inside.
Tap. Tap. Tap. His footsteps on the living room floor sounded too loud in that silence—like someone who didn't want to make a fuss but didn't know how to be quiet.
"MAMA! MAMA, WHERE ARE YOU?!"
He combed through every room. The kitchen—empty. The bedroom—blankets folded neatly as if the morning had never been disturbed. Every corner, every gap, every place large enough to hide a person.
Nothing.
He returned to the living room with breath he could no longer control and a heart that was racing faster than his legs.
And there—in the living room that had been empty moments ago—Mama Clara was there.
Carsel moved forward without thinking. His hands were already reaching out—
From the shadows behind Mama Clara, a figure emerged. A hand clad in a dark purple robe wrapped around Mama's neck, gripping her with the calculated precision of someone who knew exactly how much force was needed to avoid being asked twice.
"Stop right there."
The voice was an absolute void—neither warm nor cold. It was a wall of sound.
"One more step, and I will crush her throat. Do not test me; I am faster than you can imagine."
Carsel stopped. His feet stopped on their own, before his mind could even issue the instruction.
The figure wore a dark purple robe that seemed to absorb the light. A mask covered their entire face—not a party mask, but something designed specifically to never be recognized. There wasn't a single detail he could hold onto.
Impossible. Who is this? How did they get in here? This place isn't just anywhere.
"Who are you? And what is your goal?"
Carsel's Adam's apple bobbed. Sweat soaked his forehead though he couldn't remember when he'd started sweating.
"I am but an insignificant ghost," the figure replied in a tone that felt like reading text off a bulletin board. "And my goal... is you."
A finger pointed toward Carsel—a small gesture that felt far too casual for the situation.
"If I'm the goal—let my mother go. Right now."
Carsel's jaw tightened. His eyes didn't stray from the hand gripping his mother's neck.
"You want your mother back?"
"More than my own life."
"Then—catch me."
The figure melted into the shadows. In a single motion, they were no longer there—only Mama Clara falling to the floor before Carsel could reach her, as the shadow on the ground began to move like a living thing.
The shadow moved fast—not running, but shifting. Appearing at one point, vanishing at another, like a stone skipped across a pond of shadows, splashing everywhere.
Carsel gave chase. His legs worked with everything he had.
The figure exited through the artifact door, passing the fallen bodies without a backward glance, and moved toward the center of this place—toward the giant tree that had stood since before Carsel was born and would stand long after everyone who knew him was gone.
Five hundred meters tall. From below, its peak looked like a second sky.
Teleportation would be useless now—the figure was moving through shadows, not space.
Carsel took a deep breath. He let concentration gather in both palms—points of starlight energy began to form around him, twelve projectiles orbiting slowly like a constellation awaiting a command.
"Star Projectiles."
They were ready. Carsel was ready.
And then he thought.
What if he uses Mama's body as a shield? If these projectiles hit her—
The twelve projectiles stopped spinning. They hung there. They went nowhere.
Carsel clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.
This is frustrating.
He ran faster.
At the heart of the Heartwood—where the roots of the giant tree gripped the earth like hands refusing to let go of something precious—stood a statue and a gate.
The statue depicted a goddess with a face that left one unsure if she was smiling or judging. The gate was rectangular, made of the same stone as the statue, and from within it flowed a light blue glow that felt more like a living entity than mere light.
The mysterious figure leapt from the final shadow—straight toward the gate. Not landing to run, but plunging directly in like a stone that refused to be hindered by water.
Carsel was almost there. The distance between his fingertips and the shadow of that purple robe was a mere centimeter—a centimeter that felt thinner than paper yet wider than an ocean—
The blue light vanished.
The gate emptied itself. And Carsel fell to his knees before a stone that was now just a stone.
— Carsel's Perspective —
I failed. Dammit.
I push myself up from my knees. My bones don't protest, but something else inside my chest feels like it just hit a wall.
I turn around. The stone gate is just a gate now—an empty rectangle, hollow like a picture frame with the painting stolen. No blue light. No mysterious figure. No Mama.
The kidnapper took Mama away. And I'm standing here empty-handed.
I squeeze my fists until the pain is the only thing I can feel. I bite my lip until it bleeds—because it's the only way I know how to hold back something that wants to come out without permission.
This must be a dream. This can't be real. Breathe in—breathe out. Close your eyes—open them again.
Reality doesn't change. It never wants to.
I walk home with steps much slower than when I left. Along the way, I don't look down—but the bodies are there at the edge of my vision, and my eyes are smart enough to catch the things their owner doesn't want to see.
How could I sleep while the world ended? Why was I the only one allowed to breathe?
The questions circle my head like vultures.
Without realizing it, my face has lost all expression. Not because I feel nothing—quite the opposite. There is too much to feel, so much that it's all jammed together and nothing can get out.
I arrive at the front door of the house.
Uncle Maru and Uncle Rey are still there, exactly where I left them. I kneel between them for the second time. My hands shake. My shoulders shake. And something behind my eyes drips before I can even decide if I'll allow it.
What is this? Why is it like this?
Is this the price of my slumber?
To watch the world die while you dreamed of nothing.
I wipe my face with my sleeve and stand up. My hand trembles as it touches the door handle. I steel something inside myself—I don't know what to call it, but I steel it—and step inside.
The living room greets me with a void that feels heavier than any crowd.
There is no Mama to greet me from the kitchen. No aroma of cooking filling the air. No familiar sound of footsteps approaching. Everything is finished here—and I wasn't ready for that sentence, but the sentence didn't wait for my readiness.
My eyes fall to the floor.
There are two objects there—objects I swear weren't there when I first entered. A clumsily folded piece of paper. And a ring I know better than my own.
Mama's ring. The one that was always there.
I lean down and pick up the paper. I open it with hands that haven't stopped shaking.
> Hahaha. You want to save her, don't you?
> Then go to the giant tree and enter the gate.
> I know you're curious about who I am.
> Believe me—even though you will soon be in the outside world,
> that doesn't mean you'll be able to find me.
>
The paper crumbles in my hand before I realize I've gripped it too hard.
Fine. I'll play your game.
But before that—
I bury them one by one.
It takes a long time. The ground here is hard in some places and soft in all the wrong ones, and I do it alone, with hands that haven't entirely stopped trembling. Every time I lower a body into the earth, something inside my chest goes down with it.
Uncle Rey is last. I sit by his side for a long time before finally covering him.
Once everything is finished, I stand among the small, uneven mounds, looking at them the way someone looks at a place they realize will never feel the same again. Regardless of whether I return or not.
I look at my palm. Mama's ring is there—a storage ring. The space inside is much larger than it looks from the outside.
Mama. I don't know what you kept in here. But I will protect it.
I slide the ring onto my middle finger.
Then I tighten the laces of my boots. I strap the katana to my waist. The necklace that has long hung around my neck—I touch it once before taking it off.
[ Artifact Identification ]
Name: Mystic Necklace
Description: ???
Active: ???
Passive: ???
Tier: Unique (0)
I put it back on.
And finally,
[ Artifact Identification ]
Name: A Miraculous Transformation
Description: A necklace forged by dwarves under a full moon.
Active: —
Passive: Changes the user's hair color, irises, and voice. Lasts 12 hours. CD 3 hours.
Tier: Unique (0)
Mama said if I ever left this place, wearing this artifact was mandatory.
My hair color shifts to black, and my irises change to silver.
I walk toward the giant tree for the second time today—but with feet different from the ones that arrived first.
The gate still stands in its place. Still stone. Still empty.
I look at the goddess statue beside it—and only now do I truly see it. In her hand is a plaque. The words on it are carved in a way that feels like they've existed since before someone decided to carve them.
What do you want to become?
It isn't a question. It isn't an exclamation. Just a sentence hanging in the air like a scale waiting for something to be placed upon it.
I stand there for a long time. Letting the question sink into the parts of me that aren't easily reached by haste.
What do I want to become?
The answer is there before I even finish asking. Not because I've thought about it for a long time—but because it's the only thing that still feels real in the middle of a day that has torn down everything else.
"I will be a shield for those who are broken. A hero for those who have lost their sun."
The words come out softly—not because of doubt, but because their weight is real.
And the gate answers.
The light blue glow ignites from within—slowly like a dawn that is in no rush, then growing brighter until the entire area around the gate feels like it's inside something larger than just a place. A wind emerges from within the gate itself, rushing out, blowing my hair back.
I stare into the gate.
Beyond it lies a world I have never seen, one Mama always spoke of with the same tone—full of hatred, full of war, full of jealousies that knew no way to stop growing.
And somewhere in that world, Mama is there.
I clench my fist once, tight, like someone rounding off something that is about to be thrown and must not miss.
Then I step inside.
The blue light welcomes me from all sides, and my body vanishes with it—leaving behind fresh mounds of earth, a house that no longer holds familiar voices, and a tree that has stood since before it all began.
It will continue to stand after it all ends, too.
But Carsel was no longer there to see it.
— ✶ —
Carsel stepped through the gate. A blinding blue light seared his eyes, and he felt his body being sucked into a massive vortex of energy.
When the light finally faded, Carsel found himself standing behind iron bars. He quickly scanned his surroundings; there were other iron cages nearby.
"Why am I here?" Carsel asked himself, his voice laced with confusion.
He then realized he wasn't alone in his cell. Another inhabitant lay there, chained by both the wrists and the neck. The man was in terrible shape, looking deathly frail—likely from being starved.
Carsel approached him. "Hey, what happened to you?" he asked worriedly.
The man didn't answer; even breathing seemed like a struggle for him. Carsel wanted to save him but was at a loss for how; he had nothing with him, only the clothes on his back.
Brak! The sound of a cell door swinging open echoed.
A massive man, standing two meters tall, stepped inside. Carsel immediately stood up and turned around; the two locked eyes.
"Looks like Vector forgot someone," the man said. "Fine then, I'll be the one to chain you up."
Despite his fierce expression, the man was secretly surprised. Who is this guy? Why is he dressed so neatly and looking so healthy? Where did they get a slave like this? he wondered. Could he be a runaway noble slave?
Carsel immediately drew the katana at his waist, bracing for a fight. Currently, Carsel was a Tier 3 Swordsman [Master] and a Tier 5 Mage [Advanced]. He prioritized his role as a swordsman over his magic.
Carsel's katana was enveloped in a yellow aura, while the large man remained empty-handed, drawing no weapon at all.
He must be a high-level mage. Can I do this? No, I HAVE to do this, Carsel thought to himself.
Carsel charged recklessly, swinging a horizontal slash at the man—but suddenly, chains erupted from the filthy floor, binding Carsel's body. They coiled around his arms, legs, and neck.
Carsel collapsed instantly, writhing as he tried to break free, until he realized these weren't ordinary chains. "Damn it... these are Anti-Magic shackles."
"Bingo," the man replied.
He cast that without hand seals or an incantation... this guy must be a Tier 4 Mage or even higher, Carsel thought.
The man dragged Carsel out of the cell. The prison corridor was long, lined with dozens of cells on both sides. Inside each one, Carsel saw people in wretched conditions—clothed in rags, bodies skeletal, eyes hollow and devoid of hope. Some were even children.
"What is this?! Why are you doing this!" Carsel shouted, overcome with emotion.
"It's just business, kid," he replied.
"Business? What kind of business involves children and leaving people to die?!"
"...."
The man didn't answer; he simply ignored Carsel's outburst. They climbed a set of stairs leading to the upper floor. The sounds of a commotion grew louder—laughter, chatter, and occasional applause.
"Where are you taking me?" Carsel demanded.
"To the place where fine slaves like you are sold," the man answered. "There's a grand auction today. Wealthy nobles are looking for high-quality stock."
Carsel felt sick to his stomach. "You... you sell humans?"
"Stop asking questions. Get in there!" the man barked, shoving Carsel forward.
Large doors swung open, and Carsel was greeted by a sight that stunned him. It was a vast room with lavish decorations—crystal chandeliers, gold-plated walls, and red silk carpets. Dozens of people dressed in expensive clothes and shimmering jewelry were gathered there.
The Nobility.
In the center of the room was a small stage where a thin man with a pointed beard was speaking loudly.
"...And now, the next slave!" the man shouted—he was clearly the auctioneer. "A youth in his teens with an extraordinary appearance!"
The guards pushed Carsel onto the stage. Bright lights blinded him, and dozens of pairs of eyes fixed on him with uncomfortable intensity.
"Look at the quality!" The auctioneer forcibly lifted Carsel's chin. "Rare hair color and silver eyes! A perfect choice for a BDSM slave for you lonely ladies!"
Whispers began to ripple through the crowd:
"Black hair... so rare."
"His body isn't muscular; he clearly hasn't done hard labor."
"Those eyes... Silver. I've never seen anything like it."
"Even if his face isn't handsome, who cares? As long as he's functional, he'll be entertaining."
Carsel felt like an animal on display. Damn it, I just got here and I'm already in deep trouble, he cursed internally. He tried to cover his face, but the auctioneer gripped his shoulders firmly.
"The bidding starts at 50 gold coins!"
"60!" an old woman with a diamond necklace shouted.
"75!" a fat man with rings on every finger countered.
"100!" another voice joined in.
> Currency Conversion:
> * 1 Bronze Coin = $1
> * 1 Silver Coin = $10
> * 1 Gold Coin = $100
> * 1 Platinum Coin = $1,000
>
The price climbed rapidly. Carsel stared at the greedy faces with a mixture of disgust and fear. This was the outside world his mother had told him about—cruel and filled with lust.
However, from the balcony above, a beautiful woman sat with her maid. The maid was fanning her. "I'm not interested in him," the noblewoman said. "His eye and hair colors are rare, but his face is ugly."
"So, we'll pass on him?" the maid asked.
"Yes. Whoever buys that slave must be a fool," the noblewoman remarked, her hazel eyes gleaming behind her mask.
"1 Platinum Coin!"
A clear voice cut through the noise. Every eye turned toward the source—a young woman of about eighteen standing at the back of the room.
Her appearance set her apart from the other nobles. Her attire was luxurious but not gaudy—a navy blue gown with silver accents, her dark brown hair tied neatly, and a beautiful face with sharp, plum-colored eyes. She exuded an aura of authority.
"Princess Seraphina von Heartstone!" The auctioneer bowed deeply. "The Princess of the Heartstone Imperial Family bids 1 Platinum Coin!"
"What?! Why is Seraphina interested in that ugly slave?" the first noblewoman muttered. "Am I missing something?" She then raised her own bid.
"10 Platinum Coins!"
This time, everyone stared at her, shocked that someone dared to challenge the Imperial Family. It was a sign that she, too, was a high-ranking noble.
Seraphina was not to be outdone. "20 Platinum Coins!"
"30 Platinum Coins!" Lady Lyanna countered.
The maid beside her looked worried. "Is this really okay, Lady Lyanna?" she whispered. "I'm afraid His Majesty the Emperor will be angry if you spend so much on a single slave."
"You fool. If Seraphina is bidding on that slave, it means there's something special about him," Lady Lyanna replied. "And I just want to mess with her plans a little, tee-hee," she added with a giggle.
"100 Platinum Coins!" Lady Seraphina declared.
"Does anyone dare go higher than 100 Platinum?" the auctioneer asked, looking around the room. "100 Platinum Coins for this exceptional youth!"
Silence.
"One..."
"Two..."
"Three! Sold to Lady Seraphina von Heartstone!"
Thunderous applause broke out. Carsel looked at the woman who had just "bought" him with mixed emotions—relieved not to have fallen into the hands of a more sinister-looking noble, yet still furious at being treated like an object.
Lady Seraphina walked toward the stage with confident strides. Her plum-colored eyes met Carsel's silver ones.
"Your name?" she asked directly, ignoring the protocol that a slave should not speak first.
"Carsel," he answered softly.
"Carsel," Seraphina repeated, as if tasting the name. "A fine name for someone with such a unique appearance."
She pulled out a pouch of platinum coins and handed it to the auctioneer. "The transaction is complete. I will take this slave now."
It didn't end there. Carsel was forced to enter into a contract with Seraphina. The contract was written on special parchment with blood-ink and magic. Carsel resisted, but the choice was no longer his. He was forced to accept, and a slave crest instantly appeared on the left side of his chest.
"Don't defy me, okay?" Seraphina said with a friendly smile. "It will only hurt you. Be a good boy."
Seraphina gazed into Carsel's silver eyes with an expression that was hard to read. "Follow me, Carsel."
As they walked out of the auction hall, Carsel tried to process everything. In a matter of hours, he had lost everything—Heartwood, his uncle, his best friend, his mother, and his freedom.
And now, he belonged to a stranger.
Lady Seraphina paused for a moment at the exit and turned to him. "One thing you should know," she said in a low voice meant only for him. "I didn't buy you to be an ordinary slave."
Her eyes intensified. "There is something about you that is... intriguing. And I intend to find out what it is."
A luxurious carriage waited outside, pulled by four white horses with silver harnesses. Seraphina boarded first, and Carsel followed, looking as neat as he had before the ordeal.
As the carriage began to pull away from the slave market, Carsel stared out the window. The evening sky was orange, so different from the aurora of Heartwood.
"Now, take off your shirt." It was Seraphina's first command.
Carsel was shocked. His face twisted in refusal. "No."
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his body. He fell from his seat, his body paralyzed, and his internal organs felt as if they were on fire.
"I told you, didn't I? Do not defy me."
"Argh... P-please—"
Seraphina leaned over, placing her palm on the left side of Carsel's chest—right over the slave crest. Miraculously, the pain vanished.
Seraphina sat back down. "Now, take off your shirt," she said, leaving no room for argument. Carsel sat back up, sweat beading on his forehead. This time, without hesitation, he obeyed.
Carsel lifted his shirt, revealing the slave crest on his chest and two necklaces he was wearing.
Seraphina's eyes narrowed. "Take off those necklaces, one by one." Carsel complied weakly.
First, he removed the 'Magic Transformation' necklace. In an instant, his black hair reverted to its original pink, and his silver eyes returned to a deep, jet black.