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The crescent moon hung low, veiled by drifting clouds.

A faint drizzle blanketed the city, the cold rain soaking into the cracked asphalt and carrying with it the earthy scent of damp pavement.

Streetlights flickered intermittently, casting faint halos in the misty air. The world felt quiet, subdued, like it was holding its breath.

A lone figure moved through the gloom, his silhouette half-swallowed by the shadows.

His pale-white hair, wild and unkempt, clung to his damp face as the drizzle intensified.

The boy, no older than twenty, had a lean, wiry frame that seemed almost fragile beneath his loose, baggy clothes.

A crumpled white shirt hung from his shoulders, untucked and slightly stained, while black pants sagged around his ankles.

He walked with his head slightly bowed, his face partially obscured by the curtain of his messy hair.

But his eyes—those pitch-blue eyes—cut through the darkness. They glimmered faintly, framed by unnaturally long blue lashes that made them stand out even more.

There was a story hidden in those eyes, though not one he would willingly share.

Beneath the surface of their brilliance, something broken festered—a storm of grief and exhaustion that refused to dissipate.

The only thing he carried was a green backpack, its faded fabric riddled with tears and fraying seams.

It swung loosely from his left arm, the motion as listless as the rest of him.

His steps were slow and deliberate, his posture slouched as though the weight of the world rested squarely on his shoulders.

This wasn't a person in a hurry to get anywhere.

His presence seemed more like a ghost haunting the empty streets than someone truly alive.

Ahead, a neon sign buzzed faintly in the rain, its letters flickering erratically.

"24/7 Convenience."

It was the only sign of life in the desolate stretch of road. For a moment, he stopped, staring at the store as though debating whether to enter.

Then, with a sigh so soft it was almost swallowed by the drizzle, he trudged forward and pushed open the glass door.

A faint chime rang out as he stepped inside. The atmosphere shifted immediately—the cold bite of the rain replaced by the stale air of the store.

Rows of shelves stretched before him, sparsely stocked and poorly lit.

The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting a cold, artificial glow.

An elderly cashier sat slumped behind the counter, a crossword puzzle in hand.

His wrinkled face was a mask of disinterest, and he didn't so much as glance up as the boy entered.

The boy moved through the aisles without looking around, his movements mechanical.

He reached for a carton of milk first, its plastic cold beneath his fingers.

Then, he grabbed a pre-packaged sandwich—the kind that looked barely edible, the bread dry and the meat suspiciously processed.

At the counter, he placed the items down without a word.

"That's five sixty-seven," the cashier muttered without looking up, his voice a monotone drone.

The boy fished a crumpled bill and some coins from his pocket, sliding them across the counter. "Keep the change," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

The cashier didn't respond, only ringing up the items before sliding them back across the counter. The boy took them, turned, and walked out.

The doorbell chimed again as he stepped back into the rain.

Outside, the drizzle had turned into a light rain, the droplets running down his face and soaking further into his shirt.

He unwrapped the sandwich as he walked, taking slow, deliberate bites. The taste was as bland as he expected, but he ate without complaint.

This wasn't a meal—it was sustenance, nothing more.

By the time he reached his apartment complex, the sandwich was gone, its wrapper shoved into the side pocket of his backpack.

The building loomed above him like a crumbling monument to neglect. Its walls were stained and cracked, graffiti scrawled across them in bursts of faded color.

The dim porch light flickered weakly, barely illuminating the rusted metal door.

He pushed it open and stepped inside, his wet shoes squeaking faintly against the tiled floor.

The narrow staircase spiraled upward, its railing cold and damp beneath his hand as he climbed.

Each step felt heavier than the last, his legs moving as though through water.

When he reached his door, he hesitated.

His hand hovered over the lock for a moment before he finally slid the key in and turned it.

The door creaked as it opened, revealing the dark interior of his apartment.

The space beyond was sparse and uninviting, its few pieces of furniture worn and mismatched.

A sofa with frayed edges sat in the center of the room, flanked by a coffee table cluttered with empty cans and old papers.

The air was stale, carrying the faint scent of dust and dampness.

"I'm home," he called out, his voice low and hollow.

The silence that answered him was deafening.

He stood frozen in the doorway for a moment, his lips twitching as though he wanted to say more.

Then, with a bitter chuckle, he shook his head and stepped inside.

"Who am I even talking to?" he muttered under his breath, the words laced with self-mockery.

It was a habit he couldn't break. A relic of a life long gone—a time when those words had meaning.

He kicked off his shoes, sending them skidding into the corner, and slumped onto the sofa.

Leaning back, he let out a long, weary sigh, his pale-white hair falling into his eyes.

For a moment, he simply sat there, staring at the ceiling as the soft patter of rain filled the silence.

Eventually, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

The screen lit up, illuminating his face with its pale glow.

A notification blinked at the top of the screen:

[New message! The Web Novel, Path of the Elemental Sage, has updated a new chapter!]

A faint smile broke through his otherwise blank expression.

Clicking on the notification, he opened the app and began reading.

For a brief moment, the world faded away. The boy lost himself in the story, his mind grasping at the escapism it offered.

But as he reached the end of the chapter, the familiar words stared back at him:

[To Be Continued...]

He groaned, letting the phone fall onto the cluttered coffee table.

The sound of it hitting the surface echoed through the apartment, unnervingly loud in the silence.

"Always too short," he muttered, rubbing his temples.

His gaze drifted to the clock on the wall. [23:56 P.M.]

The reminder of the late hour made his expression stiffen.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together.

His mind replayed the events of the day, his thoughts circling back to a single, inescapable truth.

"Lung cancer. Final stage."

The doctor's voice was clear and cold, a sentence of inevitability delivered with clinical precision.

The words had hit him like a sledgehammer, but now, hours later, they felt almost distant.

His chest tightened as he stared at the floor, his thoughts a chaotic whirl of emotions he couldn't name.

He had always known life was fleeting, but knowing his time was running out—knowing he would face the end alone—was a different kind of pain.

Finally, he stood, intending to get a glass of water.

But as he took his first step, his vision blurred, and his legs gave out beneath him.

"Thud!"

The sound of his body hitting the floor echoed through the apartment.

Coughing violently, he clutched at his chest, his breaths shallow and ragged.

Blood spilled from his lips, staining the floor as his body trembled.

"I-I can't… breathe…" he thought, panic rising as his vision darkened.

His strength faded quickly, his limbs going limp.

The pain that had wracked his body moments ago began to fade, replaced by an eerie numbness.

As his consciousness slipped away, a faint smile touched his lips.

"I'm… so tired…" he thought. "Maybe… I can finally rest…"

Darkness enveloped him completely.

---

When he opened his eyes, the world had changed.

A warm glow bathed the room around him, sunlight streaming through white curtains.

The bed beneath him was soft, the mattress unfamiliar. He bolted upright, his eyes darting around the pristine space.

The walls were spotless, the furniture elegant and polished.

"W-Where am I?" he murmured, his voice hoarse.

Suddenly, a glowing green screen materialized before him, its presence so unexpected he recoiled in shock.

---

{«[Status Window]»}

[Name: Lyrium Blackwood]

[Age: 16]

[Race: Human]

[Rank: D-]

[Talent Limit: C]

[Skill Passive: Unknown (Locked)]

[Skills: None]

[Elements: None]

[Attributes]

|_Strength: D-

|_Speed: D

|_Agility: D

|_ Stamina: F

|_Durability: C

|_Intelligence: D+

|_Instincts: D

|_Charm: F

|_Mana Points: 50/50

---

His heart pounded as he stared at the screen, disbelief etched onto his face.

"What the… Is this the System?"

Recognition dawned on him.

The interface was identical to the one from Path of the Elemental Sage, the web novel he had followed religiously.

But as realization set in, so did panic.

"I… I transmigrated into Path of the Elemental Sage?"

His trembling hands reached for the phone in his pocket, only to find another shock awaiting him:

[Congratulations, Mr. Lyrium Blackwood, for passing the entrance examination of Deviants Academy. The Obelisk trial will held on November 25th 2572.]

The name on the screen made his breath catch.

"Lyrium Blackwood… That's not my name."

His chest tightened as a single thought consumed him.

"…Who the hell is Lyrium Blackwood?"

---