Where I came from, people didn't chase horizons. They tilled soil, patched roofs, and lived out lives so predictable you can paint the picture with your eyes closed. There was a kind of quiet dignity to it, but also a kind of resignation, as if most folks had long accepted that fate had already been measured out for them, and whatever they were born as was all they would ever be.
Some inherit it. Some chase it. Some never even learn its name.
Most folks lived as though greatness were a myth and potential a luxury reserved for someone else's child. And I hated that.
I shall be different. Not out of necessity. Pride. Ego.
But simply, because.
People are always what their environment molds them to be. Yet every era births one man who breaks the pattern.
The genius.
One man who steps out from the herd and walks a life entirely his own. Unbound by the rules that govern the rest. Who exists outside the box, outside expectation, outside the logic the world so desperately clings to. Whether I have any place among them, or whether I only like to imagine I do.
Does a thickheaded refusal to quit make a man brilliant?
Does stubbornness count as genius?
Does a curiosity give birth to greatness?
Possibly.
Probably.
Or maybe not.
Perhaps 'them' is nothing more than having the right temperament at the right moment, or the right character shaped under the right pressure. Or perhaps it's just flaws and talent falling into place long enough to mold into something.
I don't know if I possess any of that.
I only know I wanted to believe I might.
Yet somewhere between those doubts, I became aware of something else entirely. Something deeper, older, hidden beneath the world. There are secrets buried in this world.
Throughout history, it has been used as a means of violence. However, as the world advanced, people slowly began to glimpse that mana could be something more, something beyond death and destruction.
Ever since I could remember, I had always been fascinated to mana. Its glow, the subtle beauty it granted those who wielded it. Impossible to look away. And I saw that first in my mother. The beauty it gave was more than the world recognized. I understood then that mana was more than power. It was possibility. It was the reason the world could feel larger, more intricate, infinitely more mysterious.
Especially for someone like me.
And yet, somehow, someway, I knew.
But with curiosity itself.
A pull toward something I had no business reaching for.
A door I had no permission to open.
Not because I believed I was gifted.
Not because I believed I was chosen.
But because curiosity found me.
A man without mana.
A calling, I would say.
Before the lecture ended, Professor Thimblecroft spoke again, "Before we part, I would like to discuss some matters with the rest—an important assignment for you people. You may use the training ground."
He reached out under his sleeves, revealing something that caught the light. Mana stones. He handed them out one by one, and I watched my classmates' faces. Their eyes widened, mouths parted, hands trembled, as desire, fear, and awe all tangled together in their faces. I let mine rest in my palm, cold and heavier than its size suggested.
It wasn't my first time holding one. In fact, I had one sitting back in my room. Mana stones were highly concentrated magical energy condensed into crystal. For people like me, they were practically useless. Because to activate them, you needed a trigger—mana. Something I lacked. Another method would be smashing two together with ton of force, it'll explode, definitely not ideal. Also, not that it was easy when these things were tougher than steel. But you can make something of it, revolutionary things.
Still, there was a theory. A paradox.
It suggested a manaless person could borrow the mana inside the stone. That the mana might use the body as a temporary vessel to manifest, not permanently, not perfectly. A phenomenon so rare it was practically a myth.
It didn't matter in the end, as to this day, some people bought into that idea. Spending fortunes chasing after it. I'm one of them. And some took it to extremes, far beyond reason.
"Make sure to make good use of it," Professor Thimblecroft said, rubbing his temples. "For the love of my sanity, please don't eat it, don't stab yourself with it, and lastly, don't inject it into your body."
Everyone laughed.
The guy next to me leaned toward his friend, and whispered, "I heard someone shoved it up their ass." They were laughing before he even finished the sentence.
A girl raised her hand. "Professor Thimblecroft, what would we need this for?"
"For practice," Professor Thimblecroft replied without hesitation.
"Practice?" I said in confusion. I lifted a hand, but Professor Thimblecroft was already walking out the door without so much as a glance.
I left there, scratching my head. The next thing I knew, we're at the training ground, a stretch of flattened dirt baked under the sun. The air shimmered in heat. Dust clung to our boots. Around me, everyone settled into uneven rows, dropping cross-legged onto the packed dirt.
"What does the professor mean by this? Did he forget?" Someone whispered.
"That man? Forget?" Another scoffed softly. "I doubt he's ever forgotten a single thing in his life."
"Then why this?"
The girl beside me only lifted a shoulder, caught between confusion and resignation. "Your guess is as good as mine."
Everyone murmured about Professor Thimblecroft's reasoning, speculating why every manaless person had been given a stone. Most of us assumed it was some kind of test or perhaps he saw something hidden within us, something we hadn't yet recognized ourselves.
Everyone's face tightened, furrowed their eyebrows. Our fingers curled around the stones, clenched our jaws as though we could force mana into existence through sheer desperation, or wishing for something to be born within this moment.
Minutes passed, yet nothing happened.
I sighed heavily, rolling the stone in my palm. Nothing changed. The stone was still cold, heavy, and silent.
I looked through the stone, and thought. Either we were about to learn something extraordinary about ourselves here… or we were all just complete idiots.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed a figure leaning against the railing. He has one heel hooked lazily behind the other, while staring off into the distance. Out of everyone, he was the only one not doing anything. Simply giving no effort at all.
Claude. That was his name, if I remember correctly.
He was the sort of person you could easily lose in a crowd, not because he vanished into it, but because he seemed to be the same as everyone else. Someone who's shaped by his surroundings.
But the longer I looked, the more the edges revealed. The tension at the corner of his eyes. The way his gaze never truly settled. As if he was constantly being chased by something. He wasn't detached. He wasn't resigned. He looked restless, insistently restless.
Those were my initial impression of him.
Then that happened.
A few days ago.
I still remember it vividly. Hands slammed against the desk, scattering the papers across the room. Followed by the sharp and follow sound that echoed across the room. At the middle of it, there's a guy with his face flushed in red, veins protruding out against his pale skin.
I froze, most of us did. We stepped back instinctively, eyes wide. Professor Thimblecroft simply stood, watching him calmly.
What was he angry about? Everyone thought.
He had failed his papers—something the majority of us had done as well. He wasn't the only one. So why this? He wasn't at the top of the class, so far from it. He practically hovered near the bottom.
Then he hurled a chair across the room. It clattered against the far wall. His voice dropped into a low, hoarse roar. It wasn't just anger. It was raw and unfiltered despair. After a moment, when his voice caught in his throat and his chest heaved violently, the room fell silent.
Professor Thimblecroft said. "If you're done with your tantrum, you may leave."
Claude darted a glance, then left. After he disappeared, a tense quiet settled in the air. We exchanged glances, half-expecting someone to explain, or to justify. Some mocked, laughed, and even felt bad. But in the end, no one had an idea. That was the last time I have seen him. He disappeared for days. The academy carried on as if nothing happened.
Even I… eventually forgot about him.
Then he returned quietly, but the difference was impossible to miss.
The moment he stepped foot, the whispers began. Speculation on where he had gone, who had seen him, and what happened. In reality, no one really cares, just some silly meaningless murmurs. But something's different, like his eyes and the way he walk, it's all different. Was it just me? There's something different about him.
He wasn't doing anything. Probably wrong. To be exact, he was fiddling with the stone the professor had given us. I mean, to be fair, the stone was practically useless. But still, everyone here still took an attempt, while he did nothing.
But Claude wasn't always like this... How would I say... Carefree.
I found myself already next to him without realizing it, as if my feet had moved on their own.
"Aren't you gonna practice?" I asked.
He turned slowly, eyes narrowing just slightly. "Arse Home?"
I frowned. "Lars Homs." What's with this guy? Does this guy have a problem?
Before, he looked like a man possessed. But now, he really did seem freer, unburdened.
Then a thought popped up. It was something I'd read in one of my psychology books before. The sudden mood elevation, behavioral indicators, like something something about cessation of internal conflict. Signs that weren't comforting at all. Textbook stuff.
Now I felt conflicted.
Because, truth be told, I didn't know him personally. We'd never been close. We weren't even acquaintances. Nor talked even. Like any decent human being, I couldn't simply ignore it.
So I kept talking. Nonsense, mostly. I'm just filling the silence and going with the flow. Perhaps I just wanted to keep him anchored into something, anything, so he wouldn't crawl back into his pit of silence. Like what the book described.
Truth be told, those were simply excuses. I was simply curious. Then he tugged me toward the knights' training grounds. And I let him. Because why not? At this point, I was already in too deep. We're not doing anything.
We talked, or more accurately, he started asking questions. Odd ones. About Shin Morino of all people. Rumors, scraps of gossip, the usual academy nonsense everyone had heard a thousand times over, stuff he could've picked up from any passing conversation in the halls.
But the way he kept digging... it felt strange. Like he wasn't interested in the answers at all.
Then something clicked. A place. My spot, exactly. The one that always cleared my head, steadied me, made the world feel manageable.
"You know what, follow me." I said.
"Follow you?" He repeated.
"Yeah, you'll see."
"Okay." He replied, but there was a hesitation there.
We were on top of the tower. And I brought someone who—
"Shit," I cursed under my breath.
"Whoa. What a place," Claude said, stepping closer to the edge. He looked down, leaning in. "I can see everything from here."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah..."
But all of it was erased once I saw him actually appreciating the view. The way he stared out over the horizon… yeah. That was probably how I looked the first time I stumbled onto this place.
Uncharacteristically for me, I just… kept talking. Rambling about mana, about how it made the world feel infinite, letting pieces of my thoughts spill out before I could even stop myself. It felt good to be honest.
Claude stood there, silent, listening to everything. And it felt absurdly natural to share these thoughts with a stranger.
Up here, I always felt like I could be free of anything. But now I realized something else: I could actually talk. No fear of mockery. No constant calculation of what to hide. I didn't know if Claude understood any of it, or if he even cared. But I didn't care either. In this place, in this moment, the monologue of my mind had found its listener. And that was enough for me.
Suddenly, the wind tugged my hair. And for a moment, the felt too quiet. I barely noticed it at first, but then a light scruff against the floor behind me made my blood freeze. It wasn't loud, nor threatening.
I turned slowly—and there she was.
Lily Blanch.
Her eyes caught the sunlight in a way that made everything else fade. She didn't speak. She just stood there, watching, waiting...
In that moment, I realized. We weren't the only ones up here.
I elbowed Claude, poking him multiple times, but he didn't react, not even a flinch. He stood frozen, gazing ahead at the clouds, and taking his sweet time.
Her shadow fell over us.
Lily Blanch.
My breath hitched, and very instinct in me screamed to lower my head. I bowed fast, nearly stumbling. Then sweat slid down my temple. "G-Greetings"
A pair of pale, unblinking eyes stayed fixed on me. There's no warmth or interest behind it. And that silence that pressed in from all sides. I kept my gaze fixed on the ground, fingers trembling. Afraid that if I met her eyes for even a second—I'd be gone.
The princess of the Aelinor Kingdom. The elven princess. Everyone knew her name, and everyone carried a different version of her. Tyrant princess. Cold-hearted. Sadistic. Demon. Devil incarnate. The list went on, and none of it sounded exaggerated now that she stood in front of me.
And above all, one thing was certain—she despised humans. She hated everyone, sure, but humans? That was something else entirely.
This was the first time I'd ever seen her in person. And this closed. The rumors didn't do her any justice. And if anything, those rumors were downright insulting. She was beautiful, unearthly, perfect, almost painful to look at. She's like a goddess sculpted from moonlight.
Without a word, she lifted a hand in a graceful manner, pointing to the side. A simple gesture. There was no explanation—just direction.
A dismissal.
My heart jumped into my throat.
I didn't dare look up to confirm. I didn't need to. That single motion carried the weight of an entire royal decree.
I stepped back carefully, keeping my head low. Afraid that even the sound of my breath might offend her, I slipped toward the hatch we'd entered from. Only when I felt her attention shift toward Claude did air finally return to my lungs.
"Hooo…"
Then a thought clawed back into my head.
"Wait."
I slowly opened the hatch, enough for one eye to peek through. That idiot!
And froze.
The elven princess drove her heel into Claude's stomach. He flew off the tower's edge, vanishing from sight in a blink.
"Oii—ah…" The sound caught in my throat. My mouth moved, but nothing came out. My whole body locked, like even reacting too loudly might send me after him. "I want to puke."
I squeezed my eyes shut and turned my head away, bracing myself for whatever came next.
"You—You—You—kicked—kicked me off—a building!" Claude's voice cracked.
"Alive?!"
I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and swore I must be seeing things wrong. Because there he was lying on the ground, chest heaving, hands pressed against his chest as if he's holding every bit of his insides.
"Narcissistic bitch."
"Where the fuck are you?!" Claude shouted, wildly looking around. "And where the fuck did that woman come from!?"
"I'm… I'm…" I had no idea what to say. I didn't even know where to start.
His mouth twitched, then curved, and a laugh tore itself free.
"Hahaha!" It wasn't just a small laugh. It was loud, raw, like he was laughing for his life. This guy's laughing. Really Laughing.
"Holy shit! I thought I was gonna die."
I stood there frozen, not sure if I should be relieved or terrified.
"Hey." He looked up at me. His eyes met mine. They were… normal.
"Yeah?" I answered.
"You know how to cut hair?"
"Huh?" I blinked, my mind stuttered, scrambling for a reason, "Are you seriously asking me that right now?"
"Do you or not?"
"I... I do. I cut my own hair."
Claude pushed himself upright, wobbling. "Great. Do me a favor then, will ya?"
"I suppose I can."
"Whoa—!" He tried to stand up, only for his legs to fold under him, "Haha—That's crazy, I can't feel my legs at all."
Luckily enough, I caught him before he hit the ground. "Are you actually okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. Just can't feel my legs." Claude laughed breathlessly. "Also where the fuck are you?"
"I... I left..."
"Hm... You know what, forget about it." He said, "Who wouldn't honestly. She's nuts in the head."
"Hey, don't say that. What if..." I paused, glancing around, "she's around?"
"Then it sucks to be me then." He said, scoffing.
What is he saying? Is he insane?
"Do you want me to take you to the infirmary?" I asked carefully.
"Nah, nah. I'm good." He waved it off. "Just a bit of shaking here and there. Probably from the shock."
Physically, sure. In the head, yeah, no. I don't think so. Seriously, if it were me, I would pass out. Probably shit myself.
Then—"Also," Claude added, as if remembering something vital, "you owe me lunch."
"For what?" I exhaled, revealing a small smile. "Fine."