The rhythmic thwack of wood against wood echoed through the high-ceilinged training hall. Rain stood alone, her knuckles white as she gripped the hilt of her practice sword. She lunged, executing a series of rapid strikes she had rehearsed a thousand times, but today, the weapon felt like a foreign object in her hand. Each swing felt heavy, clumsy, and fundamentally wrong.
She lowered the wooden blade, her chest heaving as she wiped sweat from her brow.
'Maybe the sword isn't for me,' she mused, her eyes drifting toward the racks of various armaments lining the far wall. 'Should I switch? Perhaps the bow? Precision over brute force... it might suit my temperament better.'
Rain sighed and leaned the wooden sword against the rack. She was done for the day. She retreated to the locker room, peeling off her sweat-soaked training gear and changing back into her regular attire.
Since discovering the true nature of this world and the terrifying reality of the Dream Realm, Rain had become a girl possessed. Every waking moment was dedicated to two things: mastering the art of combat and scouring the archives for any scrap of information regarding her situation.
Walking through the hallways, her mind remained a whirlwind of theological and metaphysical theories.
'I need to understand the mechanics of my transmigration,' she thought, her brow furrowing in concentration. 'If I was brought here, who pulled the strings? There are no gods in the current pantheon that seem to govern the crossing of worlds. The closest candidates would be the War God, the Goddess of Life, or perhaps the God of Progression... but none of them fit the profile of a transmigrator's patron.'
She pushed open the heavy school doors and stepped out into the crisp evening air. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long, jagged shadows across the pavement. Rain stopped at the edge of the school grounds, waiting for her transport, when she noticed a figure standing perfectly still under the flickering light of a streetlamp.
The man wore a heavy, midnight-black coat that seemed to swallow the light around it. His face was entirely obscured by a porcelain-like mask, and he leaned heavily on a simple wooden walking stick. Despite his frail-looking posture, there was an aura of suppressed power radiating from him that made the hair on the back of Rain's neck stand up.
"Rain," the man said. His voice was melodic yet strangely hollow. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you."
Rain tensed, her hand instinctively twitching toward where a weapon would usually hang. She kept her voice steady and kind, though her eyes remained sharp. "Who are you? I don't recall seeing you anywhere."
The masked man tilted his head slightly, the wooden stick clicking softly against the stone. "I am simply a messenger," he replied, a faint smile audible in his tone.
Rain crossed her arms, a cynical smirk playing on her lips. "A messenger, huh? Well, then deliver your message. What do you want?"
The man's posture shifted, becoming suddenly grave. "For the time being, my advice is simple: Leave the NQSC. Walk away and never return. If you stay... you will suffer in ways you cannot yet fathom."
Rain's smirk vanished, replaced by a deep frown. "Why should I leave? Give me a reason."
"There are secrets in this world," the man explained, his voice dropping to a whisper. "There are things that cause death by the mere act of knowing them. Ignorance is a shield, Rain. Do not cast it aside so recklessly."
Rain felt a surge of frustration. She stepped forward, her eyes narrowing. "How can I trust the word of a total stranger? You show up in a mask, give me cryptic threats, and expect me to run?"
The man's demeanor changed instantly. The air around them grew freezing, and a crushing pressure descended upon Rain's shoulders. When he spoke again, his voice was as cold as the depths of an arctic sea, vibrating with an authority that made her soul tremble.
"You will listen, Clara... or else, the story ends here."
Rain froze. The breath hitched in her throat, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Clara. That was her original name—the name from the world she had left behind. A name no one in this realm should possibly know.
By the time she regained her senses and the freezing pressure lifted, the man was gone. Rain spun around, searching the street, the shadows, and the nearby alleys, but there was no sign of the black coat or the wooden stick. He had vanished as if he were nothing more than a ghost.
'How...' she whispered, her hands shaking. 'How could he possibly know my original name? He isn't just a messenger. He knows the truth about where I came from.'
Panic flickered in her mind, but it was quickly replaced by a cold, hard determination. She wouldn't run. She would find him.
Far from the school, at the desolate border of the city's outskirts, the man in the heavy black coat stepped into a darkened corner of a ruined warehouse. With a fluid motion, he shed the coat, wooden stick and the mask, revealing his true form.
His skin was a deep, weathered bronze, etched with the scars of a thousand storms. His dark-blue hair was disheveled, salt-crusted and wild. He wore a simple linen shirt, a rugged brown jacket, and loose dark pantaloons—the unmistakable garb of a man who belonged to the sea.
This was Alger Wilson, the "Hanged Man" of the Tarot Club.
He leaned against a wall, waiting. A moment later, a shimmering ripple appeared in the air—a "Door" manifesting from nothingness. A woman stepped through, landing gracefully on the dusty floor. She had chestnut hair and wore loose, sandal-colored traveling clothes that seemed to shift with a faint, mystical glow.
It was Fors Wall—the original Fors, the "Magician" of the Tarot Club.
"So," Fors said, her eyes scanning the perimeter before settling on Alger. "Did you meet the girl?"
Alger nodded, his expression somber. "I spoke with her. As expected, she didn't believe the warning."
The original Fors sighed, looking up at the sky of the Shadow Slave world. "We can't stay in this reality for much longer. This world is perched on the very verge of destruction, Alger. And the threat isn't just the Dream Realm or the Nightmare Spell."
She gestured toward the horizon, where the boundaries of space seemed thin and distorted. "There has been a catastrophic breach between multiple worlds. Reality is fraying. It started as a small tear, but now we are directly within the radar of something far worse."
Alger tightened his grip on his wooden staff. "I've already informed with Gwen. We've done what we can to set the stage. Now, we can only wait to see what choices these people make. Whether they rise to the challenge or get swept away by the tide is out of our hands."
He paused, glancing at Fors. "By the way... are you sure you don't want to meet her? Your 'copycat' in this world?"
The original Fors Wall shook her head, a trace of weariness in her gaze. "No. It would only create unnecessary confusion for Rebecca and Martin. We are here as observers and catalysts, not to play house."
She reached out, her fingers tracing a sigil in the air. A new Door began to form, glowing with a soft, ethereal light.
"Our work here is done," she said.
Together, the two members of the Tarot Club stepped into the light, vanishing from the world of Shadow Slave.
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It is a short chapter,Kindly give a review