Ryker stirred, the fizzling of what sounded like a sparkler pulling him from his sleep.
What the hell is-… is something burning? What is-
His eyes shot open, a mysterious envelope floating just inches away from his face.
The fizzling he heard was the combination of magic's used to deliver this message. His eyes lit up once he realized the stamp of the RUMCA was on the front.
"Oh. I guess this is for me." His voice rasped, still a little drowsy from sleep. He sat upright in his bed and gently snatched the envelope from the air.
Alright. Gimme the bad news already.
The velvet envelope felt heavy in Ryker's hands, its seal pulsing with barely contained energy.
Blue mana erupted from it across the bedroom walls like liquid fire, the entire room trembling under its weight.
"Ryker Itsuka." The voice crashed through the space, deep and absolute. "Son of Yuuta and Elise Itsuka. Prove to the Holy Council that this message has been received with a single drop of blood."
A figure manifested as Ryker flipped the envelope open, its form stretching until it nearly scraped the ceiling.
"Holy—" Ryker cut himself off, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Right. Official business.
He manifested a razor-thin blade of wind magic, letting it kiss his finger just enough to draw blood. A single drop fell onto the envelope's seal.
The figure solidified—masculine, imposing, wreathed in lapis flame. "Good. Allow me to begin then, Young Itsuka."
Young Itsuka. Great.
"It is with the utmost honor that I offer you a chance to earn your place at Ranfield University for Magical Combat and Arts." The figure's voice held weight, authority bleeding through every word. "I, Headmaster Keening, extend gratitude for your passion in continuing your father's legacy."
The apparition paused, expectant.
"Um... thanks? I can't say I've—"
"With that said, Young Itsuka—"
Oh. Recording. Of course.
"—I have prepared a special trial fitted specifically to test your mettle." The figure gestured to the envelope. "Take out the parchment."
The paper felt wrong against his callused fingers—rough like sandpaper, ancient. As he withdrew it, words burned themselves across the surface, the parchment extending impossibly long. Eye level to his waist without a single fold or crease.
Earth magic. Has to be.
"So what exactly am I doing for this exam?"
"All necessary information is detailed within." The apparition's smile held genuine warmth as it began dissolving into embers. "Don't worry about storage. Simply return it to the envelope—it will manage itself efficiently."
Then nothing. Just Ryker alone in his room with an impossible letter.
"Three weeks until term starts." He tossed the envelope onto his bed, pushing himself to his feet. "They're not going to wait for some nobody high school grad."
He let out a yawn that cracked his jaw.
That's all I've achieved. Graduate and... nothing.
The hallway was narrow, familiar. Cupboards on the left. A cutout halfway down on the right. The half-bath beside his room still had that sickly yellow paint, that ancient mirror.
Cold water. Sharp against his skin.
"Okay, Ryker!" He slapped his cheeks, the sting sharper than expected. "Wind magic or not, time to make a name!"
His reflection stared back—black curls in chaos, goblin-green eyes bruised purple underneath, stubble making him look older than nineteen.
You look like hell.
He grabbed his mother's unused razor, cleaned up the stubble, left the hair wild. As long as Yuri likes it.
The shrine waited halfway down the hall. White and orange roses. Gold and platinum medals. And the photo—a tall man with deep orange eyes, noble dress threaded with gold.
"Morning, Dad." Ryker knelt, kissed the frame, watered the roses. His thumb lingered on the image—two identical boys beside the man, a third standing in front. "We miss you."
A pause.
"Good morning, Ethan. I miss you too."
The living room smelled like old leather and silence.
His mother lay on the couch, eyes fixed on nothing, music bleeding from her headphones.
"Morning, Momma." He kissed her cheek. "RUMCA sent me to a pre-trial. North Town rift. Wish me luck?"
Nothing.
The music continued its tinny whisper.
Right. Cool.
"I'll brew coffee before I go."
Third floor to coffee shop roof—one leap, wind magic cushioning the impact. Emerald mana gathered at his soles, launching him forward. Roof to roof to roof.
Miles dissolved into minutes.
North Town arrived like a scar.
The crater was perfect, surgical. Houses and asphalt compressed into glowing rubble around a crack in reality itself—violet light bleeding through like a wound.
"This is it."
The parchment unrolled, words crawling across its surface:
[EXAMINEE RANK: BEGINNER 2]
Thanks for the reminder.
[ORDERS:]
Destroy the Tervokin Mauler
Return Terra Core to RUMCA immediately
That's it? No strategy? No guidance?
He pulled more parchment free, scanning desperately until—
[MISSION RANK: INTERMEDIATE 3]
[DIFFICULTY: GOOD LUCK!]
His stomach dropped.
That's at least three of me. Minimum. This is suicide dressed up as opportunity.
Before he could retreat, the invitation burst into white flame. The fire touched the crack—
Reality folded in on itself.
Ripped open.
Beyond the gateway: stars. Void. Nothing.
The portal groaned, edges already shrinking.
"No no no—don't make me decide like this!"
But if I don't—
If I walk away—
"Fine! Fuck it!"
He dove through.
Space swallowed him whole.
No up. No down. Just velocity and stars streaking past like memories of light. He could breathe somehow—another impossibility to add to the list.
Terrakin. Dad fought them all the time.
Light exploded ahead. Stone structures materialized from nothing, ancient ruins claimed by wild growth stretching to infinity.
Wind magic flared at his legs. He pivoted before impact, momentum dispersing silently into grass.
"The one perk of wind magic." He straightened, scanning the endless ruins. "Land on your feet, walk away intact."
In the distance: an obsidian bulb pulsing between stone towers, growing like something about to be born.
What are the odds I can kill it before it emerges?
He already knew the answer.
None.