"Gosh! Ethan!"
Aric's consciousness clawed its way upward as his eyes slowly peeled open. His vision blurred, then steadied, revealing a hill stretching endlessly beneath him. Sun-warmed blades of golden grass bent gently under his palms. A wind so soft it felt almost affectionate brushed against his hair.
He exhaled.
'A dream again.'
His awareness slotted into a body that wasn't his own, a shell he could observe through but not command. The sensation was as unnerving as ever.
'Three times now and I still hate this…'
He tried to move a finger. Nothing.
He willed the legs to stand. Nothing.
The dream ignored him, swallowing him into Ethan's viewpoint as always.
Footsteps approached.
"Stop sleeping all the time." A familiar female voice teased.
He looked up to see Reyna strolling toward him, a grin tugging at her lips, sunlight bouncing off her silver hair. Ethan let out a long, knowing sigh.
"Try harder, Gilbert. Reyna wouldn't stay calm if she actually caught me sleeping."
Her expression froze mid-step. The grin vanished as a ripple of dark, luminous light enveloped her entire figure—like a dome made of compressed shadows. The dome cracked, then shattered outward in small glittering fragments.
Gilbert stepped out, scowling.
"This assassin boon really doesn't suit me," he muttered, dusting off his clothes as if the magic had left grime behind.
Ethan sat up with an annoyed groan. "If only I could exchange my boon with you. Honestly."
Gilbert blinked. "Why? Materialisation is insanely powerful. Anyone else would kill for it."
Ethan lifted a hand lazily, fingers splayed. Tiny, radiant motes of light gathered in his palm—first sparks, then threads, then a coherent glow. Slowly, the shape formed: a sword hilt. A moment later, the blade extended in a burst of pale brilliance.
He held the finished weapon up, letting the sunlight strike against it.
"It sounds overpowered," Ethan admitted. "Manifesting intangible things, constructs, phantoms, even ideas? Yeah. Cool."
Then he snapped the sword clean in half with two fingers.
Aric winced inside the dream. Gilbert flinched outside it.
"But," Ethan continued, watching the fading fragments dissolve like dust motes, "if my understanding of the object isn't meticulous, perfect, borderline obsessive…"
He dusted his hands off as the pieces evaporated.
"…it crumbles like a cookie."
Gilbert crossed his arms. "I think you just don't have the motivation to actually study your boon."
Ethan narrowed his eyes at him. "What are you talking about? Wanting to surpass that bastard Adrian should count as peak motivation."
Gilbert's expression twitched but he shook his head.
"You still don't get it. But forget that. The king summoned us earlier." He glanced back toward the distant city. "Apparently he wants to add more candidates to the Heroes Program."
Ethan groaned dramatically. "Let me guess—another round of nobles forcing their precious children into it?"
Gilbert shrugged, resigned. "Most probably."
As Ethan and Gilbert made their way toward the castle, the silence of the royal garden felt heavier than usual. The flowerbeds were still, the fountains quiet—everyone else had already gathered inside.
Ethan exhaled through his nose.
"Hey… when do you think Samantha is going to come out of… that?"
Gilbert's steps faltered. His expression dimmed.
"Well," he began carefully, "considering the boons you and Adrian received, she was another one who drew the short end of the 'insanely powerful' stick. Or should I say… boons."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "It's her second boon, right? Clairvoyance. The one that's messing up her head?"
Gilbert let out a humorless chuckle.
"Technically it's still part of her first boon. The whole 'three-for-one' boon gave her Clairvoyance as another boon."
He looked down, watching his reflection ripple faintly across the polished marble as they walked.
"Imagine getting random unordered flashes of the future every day. Must be hell trying to stay sane."
Ethan rubbed the back of his neck. "And half of what she sees is useless anyway."
"More than half," Gilbert muttered.
They finally reached the towering gates leading to the throne room. The royal guards straightened and pulled the gold-gilded doors open, the metal groaning.
Ethan stepped inside.
Instantly, the air shifted.
His classmates parted for him—hesitation in their stances, forced smiles, fear woven into their eyes. Ethan's unreadable gaze swept across them.
In the face of power, any human would bow down to the stronger one.
In the throng of people however, were also some that looked at him with disdain. It was obvious.
If the strong was to show even a brief moment of weakness, people wouldn't hesitate to turn their back on their leader.
That was human nature.
A ugly and definite characteristic of humans who were formerly in power.
Envy.
"Good afternoon, Ethan!"
Ethan turned to see Adrian approaching with that ever-pleasant smile of his—the smile that never reached his eyes.
Ethan simply nodded when—
"Oh, oh! Ethan, my boy!" Donald tackled him from behind, grinning, "Aren't I as strong as you now! I can defeat this world demon lord in a few days with the pace I am going in!"
Ethan frowned. "I don't think there is a demon lord in this world."
Donald shook his finger, grinning, "Bullshit. There are always demon lords in any fantasy world! Hahaha!"
Ethan grimaced as he felt the giggling setting in, soon beginning to laugh alongside Donald.
Donald's boon, "Is Something Funny?", was simple. Whenever he laughed, his opponent laughed as well. Except, their laughter intensity is increased by tenfold. It may not seem deadly at first, but laughing at A CRITICAL TIME MAY DISRUPT one's movements and even kill them as a cost.
Not to mention. If Donald was actually laughing hard enough for his stomach to hurt, his opponent would likely die of lack of oxygen. Of course, fake laughs didn't work.
"Donald.. Haha… stop your boon." Ethan gave Donald a death stare while he laughed. Donald broke a cold sweat, his laughter fading away as he chuckled awkwardly, "Come on… I just wanted you to see how much my strength im—"
"All right"
The voice echoed throughout as they stared at the king on the throne "Heroes. And the noble children of proud families. I'm sure most of you understand why you're here."
The blank looks he received in return made him retain the deadpan look.
Understandable.
The "Ude of Unity"—the elven-designed training program—was something heroes were required to undergo. Noble children merely fought for entry because passing it earned their families prestige and connections with heroes, they could still participate in the war.
Athior sighed, his tone flat.
"You may relax. This is the final batch for the course. Only two applicants passed the final test."
He lifted his right hand.
Two elves stepped forward from the hall entrance.
The first was a boy around fifteen, scarlet hair falling over impassive amethyst eyes. His unreadable face was carved from stone, utterly expressionless and chiselled.
Beside him strode a girl of about seventeen, practically vibrating with energy. Blonde hair bounced with each step, inky black eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Introducing Hannah Clinton and Lucas Grever," Athior announced. "Both vassals of the Heia Duchy."
Hannah beamed.
"Pleased to meet you, Heroes!" she declared, waving enthusiastically.
Lucas nodded stiffly.
"Yeah, hi."
Ethan's eyes narrowed.
He could notice the frantic eyes in Lucas' gaze skimmed over every face, like someone expecting a ghost to appear.
Then their eyes met.
Lucas froze.
Just for a heartbeat—his amethyst eyes widened, pupils tightening— and then he jerked his gaze away, face returning to its blank mask.
"…Strange," Ethan muttered.
Perhaps it was one of the many abilities that Aurelion had imparted with them, but he could roughly tell the strength of the two. Hannah—hyperactive exterior aside—was monstrously strong. A well of power he couldn't sense the bottom of.
Lucas, meanwhile, was around him in strength but… his eyes were the eyes of a tactician, a calculator. Someone who measured the world before stepping into it.
Someone like Adrian.
Someone like him.
The two newcomers moved down the line, greeting each hero methodically.
When Hannah reached Ethan, he lifted his hand. She paused, blinking at it, then at him—her gaze sharpening for a fraction of a second.
"You feel familiar," she said. "Have we met?"
Ethan's eye twitched. "I believe not. No."
She squinted her pitch-black eyes at him for a moment… then grinned brightly.
"Then now we did! Pleased to meet you!"
She shook his hand with a force that rattled his shoulder and moved on.
Lucas stepped up next.
Ethan outreached his hand as Lucas shook it, glancing at him for a second before turning to the next one.
But then Lucas looked back at Ethan again, something unreadable passing through his eyes before he moved on.
Ethan let out a sigh— before his eyes widened.
And spun around sharply.
At that moment, Aric felt something recoil inside him. A piece of himself tore free as the dream shattered.
Blackness seeped across his vision—thick, viscous, like ink dropped into water. It bled over the scene, distorting Lucas's face, melting the throne room, consuming everything it touched.
And in those last moments before the darkness swallowed the world whole—
Lucas's eyes stared straight back at Ethan.
***
Aric jolted upright, lungs dragging in air like he'd surfaced from drowning.
The world around him came back in fragments—the uneven clay floor beneath him, the scratchy thin towel clinging to his legs, the dim orange glow of the furnace fire painting the cramped room in wavering shadows. The heat cracked softly in the silence, but his heart thundered loud enough to drown it out.
He pressed both hands to his tiny head, panting harder.
The dreams…
He had dreams many times this past year.
They were coming less frequently now, yes.
And each time they returned, they felt more distant and less.
And this one—this one had changed.
At the very end, when the ink swallowed the scene, he couldn't hear Ethan's thoughts anymore. The "fake Ethan," the version of Ethan locked inside the dream-memory—his voice simply vanished.
Aric swallowed.
Did that mean the dreams were ending?
And if they were…
How many more chances did he have left?
How many more fragments could he gather before the visions stopped entirely?
Could he understand enough to piece together the truth?
How did he become Aric? Who or what was wearing Ethan's body now? Why were these memories being shown to him in the first place?
The questions pressed against his skull like hot metal. He curled forward, gripping his growing baby hair, trying to steady the panic crawling up his spine.
Magic could wait.
It had to wait.
He needed to know where he was—literally where. Geography, history, borders, races, kingdoms—everything.
Was this even the same world as Ethan's?
Were they separated by space?
Or by time?
He bit his lip.
And yet…
Underneath the confusion, the fear, the frustration— another emotion pulsed quietly.
He still wanted to learn magic.
No—he ached to. The longing burned in his chest the same way the furnace heated the room: constant, consuming, impossible to ignore.
Understanding the world would help him understand.
But learning magic…
Magic would help him fight.