Mikoto lay sprawled across the unfamiliar bed, staring blankly at the wooden ceiling above him. His chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths, but inside, he felt like he was suffocating under the sheer weight of everything. No matter how many times he tried to close his eyes, sleep refused to come. His body felt drained, his limbs heavier than lead, but his mind—his mind was a ceaseless storm, a maelstrom of thoughts that would not quiet.
This whole situation was absurd. That was the only word for it.
There were plenty of people who dreamed of this exact scenario—waking up in a fantasy world, wielding powerful magic, being blessed by a literal Goddess. Countless books, games, and stories thrived on this concept. A fresh start, a world of endless adventure, a place where one could carve out their own legend.
But for him?
It was a prison.
The thought dug into him like a barbed wire, wrapping itself around his ribs and squeezing until it hurt to breathe. A world of endless possibilities meant nothing when the one thing he wanted most—to go home—was uncertain, distant, maybe even impossible.
His fingers twitched, and without thinking, he raised his right hand. With barely a whisper of thought, a spark ignited in his palm. A delicate ember, flickering in the darkness, casting a faint orange glow over his tired face.
Magic.
It was effortless. Almost too effortless. The warmth of the flame licked against his skin, but it did not burn. With another idle thought, the ember expanded, dancing, swirling, morphing into a tiny ball of flame. If he willed it, he could grow it, shape it, mold it into something powerful. He had control over fire itself.
It should have thrilled him.
It didn't.
("It's too easy…")
The ember flickered. A second later, he crushed it, the fire vanishing as quickly as it had come. His hand lowered back onto the mattress, the ghostly warmth still lingering against his palm.
("With this power… with the blessing of a Goddess… surely, there's a way.")
Surely, magic—this vast, limitless force—could bridge the gap between worlds. Surely, there existed a spell, an ancient incantation, something that could take him back. The Gods themselves were real, weren't they? If a divine being could pull him here, then there had to be a way to reverse it.
There had to be.
Because if there wasn't…
Mikoto swallowed hard, pushing that thought away before it could dig itself too deep.
With a slow exhale, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The screen's sudden brightness stung his tired eyes, but he ignored it as he swiped to his gallery.
And there she was.
Hinata.
His breath hitched slightly as his eyes lingered on the photo.
His little sister stood beside him, her face adorned with a wide, beaming smile—one of those annoying, toothy grins she always made when she was being a brat. Her long black hair, a perfect match to his, cascaded over her shoulders, her bangs slightly messy, just as they always were. Her sharp grey eyes sparkled with mischief.
Mikoto couldn't stop the small chuckle that escaped him, though it was hollow. God, she was annoying. She always found new ways to get under his skin, whether it was stealing his snacks, taking his phone to spam stupid pictures, or teasing him about how he never had a girlfriend. She was unbearable.
But she was his unbearable little sister.
And she was gone.
His grip on the phone tightened as a familiar ache spread through his chest. It was like something was gnawing at his insides, eating away at him bit by bit. Would she be okay? She was strong-willed, annoyingly so, but she had always relied on him, whether she admitted it or not. Did she miss him? Was she looking for him?
Or had she already… moved on?
Mikoto quickly locked the screen and shoved the phone back into his pocket. He couldn't think about that. He wouldn't.
But even as he shut his eyes and tried to push those thoughts away, the loneliness clawed at him.
This wasn't home.
And no matter how many nights he spent here, no matter how much magic he learned, it never would be.
"You cannot sleep?"
The sudden voice nearly made Mikoto jump. His heart lurched in his chest as he turned his head toward the source.
There, sitting upright in her bed, was Fiona.
Her usually immaculate hair was a mess, her bangs slightly disheveled, giving her an uncharacteristically soft appearance. She let out a yawn, rubbing her eyes lazily before peering at him through the dim moonlight.
Mikoto let out a breath, placing a hand over his chest. "Damn it, you scared me."
"My apologies. But you were awake, were you not?"
"Yeah… yeah, I was."
Fiona tilted her head slightly, her eyes scanning him. Even half-asleep, she was annoyingly perceptive. "Something troubles you."
Mikoto hesitated. He could tell her the truth. He could tell her that he wasn't some eager young prodigy thrilled by the prospect of magic, that he wasn't excited about being in this world, that all he wanted was to go back to the place he truly belonged.
But he didn't.
Instead, he forced a casual shrug. "Just thinking about magic."
A pause.
Then, to his surprise, Fiona smiled.
"Magic, huh? A worthy topic to dwell on, I suppose." She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing out the tangles. "Tell me, Mikoto. What are your plans from here on out?"
"My plans?"
She nodded. "Indeed. Now that you have awakened to your abilities, what will you do with them?"
Mikoto hesitated for only a moment before answering. "I want to learn as much as I can about magic."
Fiona's smile widened. "Then I have the perfect suggestion."
She leaned forward slightly, her eyes glinting with something dangerous.
"The Luminare Academy of Arcane Arts."
Mikoto blinked. "Academy?"
"It is one of the finest institutions for the study of magic. I am an alumna myself. Considering your age, you would be placed in the first year. Convenient, is it not?"
It made sense. If he wanted to learn more, then attending an academy would be the most logical course of action. But then Fiona added something that made him pause.
"The other spawn of Octavia attends there as well."
Mikoto's brows furrowed. "Wait. You're saying there's another person like me?"
"Indeed."
She studied his expression for a moment before smirking. "I suggest you observe them closely. You might learn something."
Mikoto exhaled sharply. "Great. Homework already."
Fiona chuckled. "I shall also personally tutor you."
That made him pause. "Wait… you're taking me to your home?"
"Why wouldn't I?" she replied, tilting her head. "I am quite curious about you, Mikoto. And I wish to see your growth firsthand."
Mikoto sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ("She's helping me just because she's curious? Seriously?")
But in truth, he wouldn't turn down the help.
Because in this world—this foreign world—he needed all the help he could get.
____________________
Galadriel, a kingdom that embodied the harmony of diverse peoples, was a land rich with history, culture, and power. Known for its sprawling capital, which stood as the largest of all the great nations, the kingdom commanded an unparalleled presence in the world. Towering, majestic spires of stone and silver graced the skyline, while streets below teemed with life. Galadriel's size wasn't merely measured by its physical expanse, but by its military might—a force that surpassed all others, stretching across the three great nations with a power that seemed insurmountable.
The very mention of the kingdom's name echoed through the annals of history with the resonance of strength. Its towering walls were meant not only to protect but to project a message: war was as good as won here. It was a kingdom of peace, an empire built upon the rubble of past conflicts, yet that peace was not borne from a lack of enemies. No, Galadriel had many—enemies that plotted and schemed from the shadows, jealous of its might, threatened by its prowess. Its divine bloodlines were both a blessing and a curse. Many feared what Galadriel stood for, and most especially, what it contained.
Under the guidance of King Thordan the Seventh, a ruler whose wisdom and strength had become legend, the kingdom flourished. Yet, no king could rid the world of conflict entirely, no matter how great his army. Factions and rulers, distant or close, always found reasons to covet what Galadriel held. What was a mere threat to its defenses, however, was a challenge to the delicate peace that had prevailed for so long. The very presence of spawns—those blessed offspring of the Gods and Goddesses—created unease among other kingdoms, who could not help but see them as symbols of divine favor, and therefore, divine power.
Of the many who walked the capital's hallowed streets, few were more revered, or feared, than the spawns of Galadriel. The Gods and Goddesses who had blessed the kingdom with their progeny were not figures of distant myth, but living, breathing legacies. Aragorn, the God of Destruction and Avarice, had his spawn in Galadriel—an imposing crown princess whose strength was said to surpass the very might of her father as well as her younger siblings. Legolas, the God of Vigor and Justice, blessed the kingdom with another. Almeric, the God of Knowledge and Alchemy, had his own line among the kingdom's protectors. And then, of course, there was Octavia, the Goddess of War, Magic, and Navigation, whose influence could be felt in every corner of the kingdom.
Yet, even within this nation, conflict simmered. The spawns each carried the legacy of their Gods with differing ideologies, ambitions, and burdens. The capital, where the heart of Galadriel's power lay, was a constant flux of diplomacy, rivalry, and more. Though peace reigned above ground, the undercurrents of dissent and power struggles below were just as real.
And in this kingdom of Gods and mortals, Mikoto found himself an unwilling stranger—an outsider who did not belong. As he sat at a wooden table, his mind reeled with the enormity of everything he had learned from Fiona. The stew before him, hearty and warm, was a meager distraction from the swirling thoughts that consumed him. His spoon clinked softly against the bowl as he stirred the beef stew absentmindedly, trying to understand his place in this world that was so foreign, so fantastical, yet so full of expectations.
He glanced up momentarily, his gaze flickering across the empty tables around him. The inn was quiet, save for the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth, the faint hum of distant chatter seeping through the wooden walls. Mikoto's brow furrowed as he considered the weight of his new reality. This was a world of magic and Gods, a world that others might envy, but it was a world where he was just a small piece in a much larger, incomprehensible puzzle.
He was blessed by a Goddess, yes, and he wielded power beyond his understanding, but he was still lost. He longed for the world he had left behind, for the simplicity of home, for the faces of his family. He longed for the things that seemed so trivial now—his sister's smile, the quiet hum of his old life. Yet, no matter how he grasped at that fading memory, he could never return.
You belong here now, his thoughts whispered bitterly.
A voice broke his melancholy, pulling him back to the present.
"Hey there, lad, how goes it?" The familiar gruff tone of Emil, the elderly man from yesterday, interrupted Mikoto's spiral. He looked up to find the old man grinning at him from across the table, his eyes twinkling.
"Emil-san, good morning," Mikoto greeted, managing a faint smile despite the heavy weight on his chest.
"So how was your night? I heard you had to share a room with the harpy. My condolences." Emil chuckled warmly, taking a seat opposite Mikoto.
"It was fine," Mikoto replied, forcing the words out. "Fiona-san informed me about some things and suggested I come with her to the capital."
"With you being a spawn, that's probably for the best," Emil remarked, his voice laced with the wisdom of an old man who had seen much of the world. His weathered face, with the deep creases of time, remained serene as he studied Mikoto.
Mikoto chewed on that thought. The old man's words felt oddly true, but they were still foreign. His role as a spawn, the significance it carried in this world, was something he could not yet grasp.
"Oh, right, that reminds me," Mikoto said suddenly, his curiosity getting the best of him. "Only a few people in the village seemed to be surprised by my appearance; some didn't seem to point out that I was a spawn."
Emil paused for a moment, the light of understanding dawning in his gaze. "Well, out here in the boonies, most ain't that privy to information on spawns and the Gods and Goddesses." He grinned knowingly. "It would be a different story if you were to go to the capital city. Most folks here were probably just admiring your beauty." His laughter bubbled up, warm and full of affection, but Mikoto could only offer a dry look in return.
("Right. I still look like this...")
"Anyhow, where is that harpy Fiona?" Emil asked, his tone shifting to one of curiosity.
"She—"
"Is right here." Fiona's voice interrupted, cutting through the conversation like a blade. She appeared in the doorway, her arms folded, the air around her sharp with an aura of annoyance.
"And just when I was having a nice conversation with the lad," Emil sighed, shaking his head.
"Hmph! My business is not with you, old man," Fiona retorted, her sharp gaze flicking toward Mikoto. "I've gathered the needed supplies; we are set to go."
Mikoto quickly finished the last of his stew and stood up. "Alright, I'll be finished in a sec. Well, this is goodbye, Emil-san. Thank you for everything."
The old man waved him off, his grin wide and genuine. "It's nothing, lad. Just glad an old man like me could be of help. Now, you be careful out there."
"Will do, Emil-san." Mikoto gave one last nod before he and Fiona exited the inn.
The morning air was crisp, and the streets were still quiet, save for a few villagers who hurried past, eager to start their day. Mikoto's breath formed small clouds in the cold air as he adjusted his new cloak, still processing everything that had happened in such a short span of time.
"So where are the supplies?" he asked as they walked side by side, his curiosity piqued.
"A simple application of magic," Fiona explained, "I placed them within a dimensional storage. A spell I'll teach you on the way."
Mikoto nodded, intrigued by the concept. Magic was so vast, so limitless, that he felt as though he were only scratching the surface. There was still so much to learn, and so much he did not understand.
"But let us not dilly-dally. Shall we be on our way?"
Mikoto nodded. "Yeah, let's." And with that, they stepped out into the cold morning, the weight of their journey ahead pressing down on Mikoto's shoulders. The capital was far, and the road was uncertain, but Mikoto was determined to see it through.
____________________
"Fīřə." Mikoto watched with interest as a small circular red glyph with intricate patterns came into existence in front of Fiona's outstretched right palm.
Energy and mana seemed to converge and cackle around her palm as suddenly, a bolt of bright orange fire erupted from the end of her conjured glyph, shooting towards the aimed tree at an alarming speed. The ground seemed to shake beneath their feet as the fireball exploded on impact, engulfing the tree in a bright inferno.
Flames licked at the bark, blackening it as the fire spread through the branches and leaves. Despite being able to do it himself with a little difficulty, Mikoto still watched in awe as the fire raged on, his eyes glued to the inferno before him. The heat was intense, making his skin feel as though it were on fire, but he easily stood his ground, watching patiently as the fire consumed the tree.
Eventually the flames died down, leaving nothing behind but a charred stump. He walked over to where the tree once stood, his eyes surveying the damage. The fire had been powerful, leaving nothing behind but a blackened, lifeless stump.
This was more training as on their journey to the capital they had taken a quick break in the field's.
"What was the glyph for?" Mikoto asked, his voice still carrying a hint of wonder. "And what was with that word you spoke?"
Fiona's lips curled into a slight smile, her eyes gleaming as if she had been waiting for these questions. "Well, I'm glad you asked," she replied, her voice taking on a more instructional tone as she cleared her throat. "You see, these glyphs were invented long ago to help us focus our spells. Mana is a delicate thing—difficult to shape, difficult to control. It's like... trying to hold water in your hands. But glyphs act as a focus, a way to channel and shape that energy more efficiently. They provide structure and guidance to the chaotic flow of magic."
Mikoto nodded slowly, processing the information. The complexity of magic was becoming clearer to him, though it still felt distant, almost intangible.
"But this—" Fiona continued, her voice taking on a haughty edge—"this was just a demonstration. I don't really need to rely on glyphs. I've mastered fire magic to the point where it's second nature to me." She paused, looking at Mikoto with a raised eyebrow, her expression almost challenging. "Most people would need something like this to control their magic, but me?" She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "I've transcended the need for such crutches."
Mikoto raised an eyebrow but didn't respond. It wasn't the time for that. He had more pressing questions.
"And the word you spoke?" Mikoto inquired.
Fiona's eyes sparkled as if she were relishing the opportunity to explain. "Ah, now that's where things get interesting," she said, lowering her voice just slightly, as though revealing a secret. "The word I spoke was in the tongue of the Gods—an ancient, almost forgotten language. Words, you see, hold power. Power beyond what most people can even comprehend. And when you emphasize certain words—when you speak them with intent—they can amplify your magic. They can alter the very fabric of magic, changing the effects of a spell in drastic ways. That firebolt I cast? It was a mere fraction of its potential. By invoking the ancient language, I imbued it with divine energy, transforming a simple fireball into an explosive force that could obliterate a tree in an instant. Though it is quite difficult to use, most use simple incantations."
Mikoto's mind raced, the implications of what Fiona had just said sinking in. Words holding that much power… It was something he had never considered. To think that the right words could shape magic—it was a terrifying thought, but one that also sparked a deep curiosity within him.
"I see," Mikoto murmured, his voice distant as he considered everything Fiona had explained. "I think I get it."
Fiona's smile widened in approval. "Good. Now, it's your turn. Time to see what you're capable of." She gestured toward the line of trees in front of them, each one standing tall and imposing, like silent sentinels waiting to be tested.
"Right." Mikoto nodded to himself as he stepped forward, taking a deep breath to center his thoughts. His right arm stretched out, palm open and facing the target. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the rush of mana coursing through him, like an undercurrent just beneath the surface of his skin.
(Carbon dioxide. Water vapor. Oxygen. Nitrogen. Everything I need for combustion.) He visualized each of the elements, picturing them in his mind's eye as he focused on his breathing. His pulse quickened, his heart racing as the magic within him stirred.
When he opened his eyes, he could see the trees in front of him, tall and imposing. They stood in a row, blocking his path. The air around him began to shimmer, the fabric of the air warping under the force of his magic. The temperature rose rapidly, with sweat beading on his forehead. And then it happened. From the tip of his palm sprang a flame, hot and fierce. It raced towards the trees, and he watched in fascination as it gained speed and power. The moment it touched the first tree, there was an explosion of sound. The force of the firebolt was so strong that it shook the ground beneath his feet. The flames spread, engulfing the tree in a raging inferno. The sound of wood splintering and cracking filled the air as the tree began to fall, the fire still raging around it.
But he wasn't done yet. He had built up so much energy that he had to release it all. He pivoted on his heel, aiming his palm at the next tree. Again, the air around him shimmered, and this time he could feel the magic building up within him, filling him with mana.
This time the firebolt was stronger than before, blasting into the tree with the force of a cannon. The trunk groaned and creaked under the onslaught; the bark was blasted into a fine mist, and within moments the tree was reduced to charred, blackened remains, mere wisps of smoke rising from the aftermath of the powerful spell. He continued, a wild, exhilarated feeling coursing through him. He moved on to the next tree, feeling as if he could take down anything.
The tree was engulfed almost immediately, the fire racing along the trunk and up into the branches. The sound was almost deafening, the flames licking almost to his feet, and the heat was so intense it would have scorched the hairs on his arms and face if he had any.
He repeated this with the next few trees, each firebolt growing ever stronger and each tree falling in spectacular fashion. By the time he had reached the last tree, he was almost drunk on his own power, his every thought consumed by the magic surging through him.
As he raised his hand for the final time, his heart raced in his chest. He knew that this would be the most powerful firebolt yet. The power was channeled, and the firebolt exploded from his palm in a burst of flame. The final tree stood in the path of the raging inferno; its branches and leaves were stripped away almost immediately. The trunk was the last to go, vast chunks of wood falling away into the fire, burning like kindling. The roar of the flames was almost too much to bear; the heat was so intense that it felt like he was standing in an oven.
He laughed as Fiona looked at him with an unreadable expression, but he did not care.
This feeling of power...
Was good.