It's been a week since I fell from the sky. One thing I've learned about this place is that it's teeming with high-star entities. They're everywhere.
Even more surprising are the incredibly rare ingredients scattered across the island. I managed to heal myself by mixing a few herbs I suspected might work. Luckily, I steered clear of the poisonous ones though I had a close call that almost killed me. Ever since, I've stayed cautious and haven't ventured far from the cave I now called home.
"I wonder how Mother and Yona are doing…" Sage murmured, his gaze drifting toward the dusky sky, heavy with clouds.
"Maybe they're looking for me? No... that's unlikely. I don't even know where I've ended up."
He paused, scanning the eerie landscape.
"If I had to guess judging by the demonic entities, the abundance of rare resources, and the twisted environment, this place resembles the Desolated Realm from the books I've read…"
(The Desolated Realm an expanse forsaken by nature, nurtured not by life but by ash. A land where even the wind seems to mourn. Those known as Bounders who dared traverse its blighted soil often returned broken, their limbs severed in cruel exchange for but a handful of rare resources)
"What a predicament I've landed myself in…" Sage let out a weary sigh, the sound swallowed by the heavy air of the island.
"If I'm right and I pray I am, this is Popol. Any of the other four continents, and I'd be long dead by now."
(Popol, a secluded isle adrift from the others–In its heart lies a colossal skull, encircled by the ever-black sea. Ash coats its shores, yet within its forest the only stretch of green in the entire realm thrives an ecosystem brimming with precious resources)
He clenched his palm tightly, grounding himself.
One strange thing I've discovered since being trapped in this realm… my blessings seem to stir more violently here. Maybe it's just me but lately, I've started to see echoes of the past. Not just visions but moments, complete with voices and whispers carried on the wind. Like the island remembers.
Through fragments of past conversations, some from Bounders who clearly met a grim fate, I've managed to piece together enough knowledge to survive a week. Barely.
But I still don't understand the full nature of my blessing, Echo Weaving. It's active, and alive, but… unpredictable. The only thing I'm certain of is that time is on my side for now. At least until I figure out a way to escape this place.
"Well," Sage stood, "I've rested long enough" brushing dirt from his hands, "with a stomach full of roasted snake and enough dried insects to last the month, I suppose it's time."
His eyes narrowed toward the distance, where the island pulsed with quiet danger.
"If I want to survive longer in this Desolated Realm… I need to grow stronger."
The forest was quiet that morning, too quiet. Even the ash-laden wind dared not whisper.
Sage trudged carefully through the gray underbrush, spear in hand. The weapon was crude, a sharpened branch hardened by fire, tied together with strips of dried serpent hide. It was far from perfect, but it was all he had.
His stomach churned with nerves, but his expression stayed calm. His week here had taught him one thing: hesitation had meant death.
A faint growl broke the stillness.
Sage's eyes snapped toward the sound of a kobold, hunched near a broken tree. Its scales were dull and scarred, its body covered in old wounds that hadn't healed right. The creature's left arm trembled slightly, the mark of countless battles survived.
It's injured… perfect chance, Sage thought, gripping his makeshift spear tighter.
He crept forward, heart pounding, careful not to snap a twig beneath his boots. Just a few more steps…
Then his foot slipped on loose ash.
Crunch.
The kobold's head whipped around. Its eyes flared with primal rage.
"Shit–!"
The kobold lunged faster than Sage could blink. Sage thrust his spear instinctively, but the beast twisted sideways, evading with unnatural speed. In a flash, it countered with its dagger slicing through the air and grazing his cheek.
A hot line of blood trickled down Sage's face.
He stumbled backward, clutching his weapon with shaking hands. The kobold didn't relent, it charged again, a blur of motion and fury.
Sage lifted his spear just in time to block, wood meeting steel with a sharp crack! The weapon split in two, the broken end flying off into the dirt. The dagger slashed across his arm, pain flaring white-hot as he staggered back.
He fell to one knee, panting, vision blurring. I can't… keep up–!
Then something inside him awoke. The void fractured like glass breaking underwater.
Through the shards of reality, Sage saw flashes of the kobold's past.
Images flickered rapidly, knights screaming, swords clashing, the kobold weaving between their strikes with deadly grace. It wasn't just savagery it was instinct refined by pain, by survival. Each kill was etched into its memory, every motion honed from desperation.
Then, the echo shattered and Sage was back in the fight.
The kobold lunged again, dagger flashing toward his chest. But this time, Sage moved before it struck. His body reacted to what his mind already knew.
He twisted aside, the blade cutting air where his ribs should've been, and rammed the half-broken spear into the kobold's side.
Thud!
A guttural growl erupted from the creature as it staggered back. Sage pressed on, attacking again each move guided by the memories he had seen. He dodged, deflected, countered, slashing across the kobold's arm, stabbing at its chest.
But the Echo wasn't perfect. The kobold's movements began to change, adapting, and unpredictable. A sudden feint caught Sage off guard, its dagger slicing across his thigh.
"Gah–!" He hissed in pain, nearly dropping his weapon. It's different now, it's learning too!
Both of them bled. Both of them panted, circling in the dying light of Popol's forest.
Then, the kobold roared and charged for one final strike dagger aimed straight for Sage's eye.
Sage stepped in.
With a desperate shout, he drove the jagged half of his spear through its chest.
The kobold's arm froze inches from his face. Its dagger trembled mid-air before falling to the ground. The creature let out a strangled gasp, its glowing eyes dimming as it slumped forward.
Sage stood there, chest heaving, his entire body trembling with exhaustion.
Ash fell from the trees like snow.
"…I did it." His voice cracked as he exhaled, blood dripping down his arm. "I actually… killed it."
He fell to one knee beside the corpse, clutching his ribs and staring at the broken weapon in his hand as Sage cracked a slight chuckle then to stern look
"So this is… what it takes to survive here."
The forest gave no answer, the faint rustle of ashes carried by the wind. And somewhere deep within the island, something stirred… as if it was watching.
Pain throbbed through Sage's arm and ribs, sharp enough to remind him of every mistake he had made moments earlier.
"I should take care of this before it gets infected," he muttered.
Some time later, Sage sat inside the cave, carefully wrapping cloth around his wounds. The fire beside him crackled softly, casting uneasy shadows along the stone walls. As he worked, his thoughts drifted back to the fight.
My blessing… he murmured inward, tightening the bandage. It only seems to activate randomly or when I'm about to die and cancels out when under pressure.
He paused, staring at his trembling hands.
It happened during the mana storm with Yona… and again with that kobold. But this time was different. He scratched his head, brows knit together. It wasn't just visions. It felt like I could see its movements before they happened. Like Echoes of actions that hadn't fully occurred yet.
The realization only made his head ache more.
"This is way too confusing…"
His gaze shifted to the spear snapped cleanly in half beside him. His expression darkened.
"I almost died today," he said quietly. "If I keep acting like that, who knows what'll happen tomorrow…"
Unwanted images surfaced in his mind. His mother, Meline. Crying and alone waiting for someone who never came back.
Sage slapped his own cheek.
"What am I saying?" he scolded himself. "I said I'd get out of here alive. I don't get to think like that."
He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm down. His eyes drifted to the kobold's dagger resting near the firelight.
"Well, at least there's some good news," he said, picking it up. "I've got a real weapon now. And enough food to last about a week."
He leaned back against the cave wall, fatigue finally settling in.
"I'll rest and heal. Then figure out how to get out of this place."
The fire crackled as Sage closed his eyes, the question lingering in the air.
How will I escape the Desolated Realm?
Elsewhere.
Steel flashed.
A healthy, fully armored kobold barely had time to react before it collapsed to the ground, cleaved cleanly by a single, precise strike.
"That's the last one, Miss Valearis," IsoldeThe Knight said, his voice calm, carrying a soft feminine cadence despite the blood on his blade.
He stood amidst a field of fallen kobolds. Some lay lifeless, while others were frozen mid-motion, trapped in unnatural black ice. The ice was neither clear nor blue, but dark as pitch, swallowing light instead of reflecting it.
Behind them, the Lumen wolf prowled between the corpses, sniffing curiously. It lowered its head and tried to bite into one of the frozen kobolds.
Crunch.
The wolf recoiled, shaking its head in visible irritation, then tried again from a different angle. Crunch! Its jaw locked between the Ice
It growled, clearly offended by the ice's refusal to cooperate.
Valearis stepped forward, her cloak billowing like a living shadow. She surveyed the battlefield in silence, Icy blue eyes scanning every detail.
"Alright… Isolde," she responded and followed up with a directed tone
Isolde sheathed her spine-like sword at her waist. "What is it, Miss Valearis?"
Valearis gestured subtly to the bodies. "Don't you find it strange? These kobolds were stronger. More aggressive than usual. Almost as if they were being empowered by something… or someone."
Isolde considered this, glancing at the frozen remains. "Now that you mention it, it did take longer to put them down. They didn't feel abnormal to me, but if you suspect interference, then there's likely truth to it."
Valearis nodded, her gaze lingering at the scene a moment longer.
"Let's return and report this to His Highness."
Isolde inclined her head. "Understood."
After a brief pause, she added, "By the way, did you notice the mana storm earlier?"
"Yes," Valearis replied. "But I was engaged in combat at the time. I couldn't determine its direction. Another Bounder should already be investigating."
"If that's what you believe," Isolde said calmly.
Valearis turned away, her cloak following like a curtain of night.
"Come. Let's return to the Empire."
Behind them, the Lumen wolf gave one last annoyed snap at the black ice before huffing and trotting after its master.
Unseen, the island watched.
And far away, a boy rested, unaware that the threads of fate were tightening around him once more.
The battlefield was littered with broken swords and fallen bodies, knights and demons alike scattered across blood-soaked earth. Smoke drifted low, and the air trembled beneath the presence of the Demon Lord.
With a violent sweep of his hands, claws burst from beneath his nails, launching forward like hardened bullets. They tore through the air toward Rias, the quiet and mysterious heroine who stood just behind the front line.
Steel flashed.
Yopi stepped in without hesitation, his silver sword intercepting the claws one after another. Each strike rang sharp and clean as he deflected them with effortless precision.
Yopi Ling carried the unmistakable presence of a battle-forged hero. His lean frame was wrapped in darkened armor scarred by countless fights, worn not for display but for survival. Old scars traced his sharp, weathered face, and his eyes held a steady resolve that spoke of endurance rather than glory. Unkempt dark hair fell back from his brow, and a frayed red scarf hung around his neck, stained and torn, yet worn with quiet pride like a banner that refused to fall.
He planted his feet, wolf-like eyes locked onto the Demon King.
"My sword, Silver Oath, will not reflect defeat," Yopi declared, his voice calm but unyielding. Then he shouted, "Huran!"
At once, the hero clad in bulky armor surged forward, gripping his massive Zweihänder with both hands. He lunged toward the Demon King, swinging the blade straight for his neck.
At the same time, Diana drew her longbow and released two heavy metal arrows. They screamed through the air, aimed directly at the Demon King's wings. From the flank, Valek hurled his spear with deadly precision, its tip cutting straight toward the demon's heart.
The battlefield erupted in a thunderous impact as all their attacks struck at once.
Yona jolted awake, gasping for breath. His body was drenched in sweat, his chest burning as the remnants of the nightmare clung to him. He sat upright, eyes wide, the echo of clashing steel and roaring power still ringing in his ears.
"The same dream again…"
Yona exhaled slowly and turned his gaze toward the window. Morning light filtered into his room, revealing Eirini Village below. The villagers were already at work, rebuilding what had been torn apart. Hammer strikes echoed faintly in the distance, mingling with the smell of ash and fresh timber.
His room, however, remained a reminder of what had happened. Scorched walls, cracked beams, and lingering burn marks traced the path of the mana storm that had erupted from the red earring. No matter how much time passed, the damage refused to fade.
His thoughts drifted back to the day after the storm.
Sage's mother had not left her room. From dawn until nightfall, the door stayed shut, her silence heavier than any words she could have spoken. Yona had stayed nearby, unsure whether to knock or let her grieve alone.
Then, at midnight, came the knock.
Not hurried but precise.
Yona opened the door only slightly and looked up.
A tall man stood outside, likely in his early twenties, yet carrying an unsettling presence that made the air feel tight. His short grey hair was slicked back with deliberate care, exposing a sharp, controlled face stripped of warmth. His eyes were pitch black, not empty, but observant, as if measuring Yona rather than reacting to him. A dark cloak rested cleanly over his shoulders, concealing a lean, disciplined build beneath its folds.
He did not look tired from traveling. He looked as though he had arrived exactly when he intended to.
"May I come in?" the man asked calmly.
Yona did not open the door any further. "What for?"
"As a Bounder of the Taleos Empire, I am authorized to enter," the man replied without raising his voice. "But if you prefer, I am here to investigate the mana storm that occurred last night."
Yona's instincts screamed.
This man is dangerous.
He stared back into those black eyes, eyes that carried a quiet promise of violence beneath their restraint.
He said he was in order of the Great Taleos Empire, that means he can come in whenever he wants, regardless if I decline… I should be careful what I say
"Say what you want," Yona said coldly. "Then leave."
He stepped aside just enough to let the man in.
The stranger entered, his movements measured, silent. He glanced once at the burned walls before turning his attention back to Yona.
"I am Fauran Van Thorn," he said. "Four-star Bounder."
Yona answered without hesitation. "John Doe."
For the briefest moment, Fauran's eyes narrowed. Then he nodded, as if accepting a trivial inconvenience.
"Well, John Doe," Fauran said, "you should know that Bounders are capable of sensing mana. Not just spells or abilities, but fluctuations in mana itself. Large surges cannot go unnoticed."
Yona remained silent.
Fauran continued, his tone shifting into that of someone explaining a fact rather than teaching a lesson.
"Mana is not energy stored within the body. It is pressure drawn from the world. The world itself is saturated with ambient mana, but only Bounders and high-tier entities can interfere with it safely."
He raised a finger slightly, as if dividing concepts in the air.
"Mana functions on three layers. First, Ambient Mana. It exists everywhere, invisible and constant, but becomes volatile when concentrated."
Another finger.
"Second, Internal Resonance. Every soul vibrates at a specific frequency. This determines what mana can be drawn without damage."
A third.
"And third, Manifestation. Mana shaped through Blessings. These are not spells. They are controlled distortions of reality itself."
Fauran's gaze hardened.
"When mana is mishandled, disasters follow. Mana Overload causes system collapse. Mana Corrosion results in permanent soul damage. Mana Storms become environmental catastrophes."
His eyes flicked briefly toward the scorched walls.
"Artifacts designed to stabilize mana can prevent such outcomes," he added. "But when they fail, the backlash is catastrophic."
Silence filled the room.
Fauran turned his attention back to Yona, studying him carefully.
"And that," he said calmly, "is why I am here, you cannot fool me in this situation."
Yona scoffed, his voice sharp. "You act like a kid can even process all that information."
In an instant, Fauran's hands twisted and elongated. Bone cracked with a sickening sound as fingers split into wolfish claws, flashing forward until steel-hard talons hovered inches from Yona's face.
"I find it difficult to believe," Fauran said calmly, "that a child wouldn't be–bewildered."
Yona didn't flinch.
His stance stayed firm, feet planted solidly against the floor. "I'm an orphan," he replied evenly. "This much is nothing."
Their gazes locked.
Fauran's eyes burned amber now, pupils narrowed into those of a predator. His claws hovered near Yona's cheek and throat, close enough for Yona to feel the cold air they displaced.
Then, just as suddenly, Fauran withdrew.
The claws retracted with the same grotesque cracking sound, bones folding back into human form. His hands returned to normal, fingers flexing once as if nothing had happened.
"Mind if I search the place?" Fauran asked.
Yona stepped aside, expression unreadable. "I insist."
Fauran did not hesitate. He moved straight toward Yona's room.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the air changed.
The concentration of ambient mana spiked violently, pressing against Fauran's senses. His skin prickled, every hair standing on end. His breath hitched as instinct screamed at him to stop. His nose burned, his thoughts splintering as his blessing reacted on its own.
This mana is strong… too strong for a child to endure.
The pressure settled heavily on his back, a suffocating weight that made his muscles tense. His predator instincts surged, urging retreat.
Fauran stepped back.
No, he leapt back, putting distance between himself and Yona in a blur of motion.
Yona blinked, clearly confused by the sudden reaction.
This kid isn't normal, Fauran thought grimly. I could detain him… but that wasn't my order. I was sent to investigate, not provoke.
He scanned the room once more, careful this time. Whatever had been here was powerful. Artifact or not, something dangerous had passed through.
"Excuse me," Fauran said, his voice composed once more. "I'll be heading out."
He brushed past Yona without another word and left the house.
Yona watched him go, eyes narrowing.
He knows Yona muttered.
Deep within the forest, beneath the cold glow of the moon, bones cracked once more.
Fauran's body twisted violently as fur tore through skin. His frame expanded, muscles bulking into something far larger than a Lumen wolf. What emerged was closer to a war-bred werewolf, a creature designed for slaughter rather than nature.
He dropped to all fours and surged forward, tearing through the forest at impossible speed, trees blurring past as the ground shattered beneath his claws.
That room… that kid… that wasn't a normal mana storm.
His instincts had screamed at him to flee. Not from a child, but from the mana itself.
Was it too much for my Resonance? Or is he hiding something?
Fauran bared his fangs as he ran, eyes burning under the moonlight.
I'll find out when I return.
Mark my words, boy.