The morning sun barely reached the narrow mountain trail, its light filtering through jagged peaks that scraped the pale sky. Arien walked ahead, his breath turning into mist that curled upward like smoke from an extinguished flame. Every step felt surreal. His legs were sore, his back ached from yesterday's battle… yet somehow he felt lighter than he ever had.
Because deep inside his chest, beneath ribs and skin,
a golden pulse beat softly.
Not violently.
Not wildly.
But steady, intentional… aware.
It wasn't just luck anymore.
It felt like a presence.
Lyris followed a few steps behind him, hands tucked beneath her cloak, eyes unusually sharp even in the cold morning haze. She hadn't spoken much since the poison incident. Arien noticed her watching him from the corners of her eyes, as if studying a puzzle that refused to solve itself.
Finally, she broke the silence.
"You should've died."
Arien blinked. "That's a friendly way to start the day."
"I'm serious." Lyris stepped beside him. "The Bone Serpent's toxin melts organs. I've seen seasoned hunters collapse in seconds."
Arien's throat tightened.
He knew he shouldn't have survived. He wasn't stupid.
But…
"I don't know how I lived," he lied.
Because he couldn't tell her about the voice… the golden panels… the "Luck Shift"… the impossible odds bending around him like fate itself rearranged its threads just to keep him breathing.
Lyris stared at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face. Then she sighed.
"I hate secrets," she muttered.
Arien remained silent.
They continued walking, the mountain winds becoming sharper as the trail narrowed. Ice clung to stone. The sky felt strangely heavy—like something ancient was watching from beyond the clouds.
They passed an old signpost half-buried in snow.
> Shrine of the Fallen Path — 200 steps ahead
Arien felt something tug at him the instant he read the words.
A faint hum in his chest… like a heartbeat syncing with something buried beneath the mountain.
"Is the shrine dangerous?" he asked.
"Only if you're stupid," Lyris replied. "Don't touch anything."
Arien exhaled. Touch nothing. Understood.
Except the golden hum in his chest pulsed again—
as if disagreeing.
The entrance appeared unexpectedly: an ancient stone archway supported by pillars etched with symbols Arien didn't recognize. The carvings glowed faintly with a pale blue light, reacting to their presence.
Lyris slowed her pace.
"This place was built before recorded history," she whispered. "Before the Summoner Kingdom, before the Great Pact… before we even understood mana."
Arien stepped inside the shrine.
Immediately, the temperature dropped.
The air grew dense, vibrating with a low, almost musical resonance.
A whisper.
Or perhaps memory.
The cavern itself wasn't large—maybe the size of a small chapel—but everything inside felt deliberate. The walls were smooth, polished by hands that worked with purpose. The ceiling arched gracefully, like the inside of a cathedral carved from a single stone.
And at the center stood a pedestal.
On it lay a summoning core.
Dead.
Black.
Its once-glowing veins now cracked like dried riverbeds.
Lyris's voice turned solemn.
"That… is the First Core."
Arien frowned. "The first what?"
"The core owned by the first human to ever summon a creature from another realm. The man who discovered summoning magic."
Arien's breath caught.
"But… it's dead."
"It has been dead for a thousand years." Lyris stepped closer but kept her distance from the pedestal. "A summoning core is a living artifact. When its owner dies, it slowly withers until nothing remains. This one… should've crumbled centuries ago."
Arien approached, drawn by something he didn't understand.
The golden pulse inside him quickened.
Lyris noticed and snapped, "Arien. Don't."
Too late.
A soft chime echoed in his ears.
— LUCK SHIFT DETECTED —
— POSSIBILITY BRANCH: 1 in 7,200,000 —
— ACTION REQUIRED: TOUCH THE CORE —
Arien's eyes widened.
The golden voice inside him had never given such a specific demand before.
Not a suggestion.
Not a warning.
But an order.
"Arien," Lyris hissed, "this is not a place to experiment. Do. Not. Touch—"
His hand moved on its own.
His fingertips brushed the cold, stone-like surface.
The world shattered.
Not physically—
but energetically.
A sound like glass cracking, multiplied a thousand times, burst through the shrine. The core trembled violently, its fractures glowing with a blinding white radiance.
"What the—!?" Lyris shielded her eyes.
Arien staggered back, but a golden force held him in place.
The dead core lifted into the air, spinning slowly.
Its cracks sealed.
Its black color dissolved.
And then—
It ignited.
White flame wrapped around it, swirling like a miniature star reborn.
Arien's heart hammered.
He felt the golden presence inside him merge with the radiant energy before him, threads of fate reconnecting, rewriting.
A colossal panel unfolded in his vision:
[SUMMONING CORE: REVIVED]
[WORLD REACTION: INITIALIZING]
[New Path Unlocked]
→ PRIMAL LUCK ARCHITECT
You have performed an act considered cosmically impossible.
The world must now adjust.
The flames vanished.
The core floated down gently, settling above the pedestal like a beating heart forged from crystal and starlight.
Alive.
Awake.
Watching.
Lyris's voice trembled.
"That core… belonged to the First Summoner. The founder of our entire magical lineage." She stared at Arien with something between awe and fear. "Do you understand what you just did?"
Arien didn't answer.
Because the golden presence within him spoke again—
not as a panel,
not as a system.
But as a whisper.
Ancient.
Warm.
Powerful.
"Child of Luck… fate has opened its first door."
Arien stumbled, gripping his chest. "Who… who are you?"
The whisper responded gently:
"We are what the world forgot."
Lyris stepped closer, eyes sharp. "Arien, who are you talking to?"
He couldn't reply.
Not because he didn't want to—
but because another wave of golden light burst through his mind, revealing something new:
A vision.
Not of the future.
Not of the past.
But of a possibility.
A battlefield.
A ruined sky.
Countless summoners kneeling in despair before a colossal shadow with eyes like collapsing stars.
And a voice—his own—echoing through the chaos:
"This is the consequence of rewriting fate…"
The vision faded.
Arien fell to his knees.
Lyris rushed forward. "Arien!"
He exhaled shakily.
"I'm fine… I just… saw something."
"What did you see?"
Arien stared at the revived core.
At the impossible proof that fate itself had been bent.
"I think…" he whispered,
"…something old has awakened."
The core pulsed in response.
Once.
Twice.
Like a heartbeat perfectly syncing with his own.
As if waiting for him.
As if choosing him.
The golden voice spoke one final time:
"Rise, Luckbound Summoner.
Your real journey begins now."