What is going on?" A massive flow of energy surged through his body. "What? It burns… Huh? Where is this pain coming from?" Cire felt something he had never experienced before—pain in his lower body. His hands instinctively reached for his legs, and to his astonishment, his body responded to his touch.
"Is this magic? I'm more convinced now—I must be dreaming…" Before his delusions could spiral further, fueled by the excruciating pain, a voice resounded in his mind:
"Child, you truly know nothing about this world. Knowledge is power, and you are severely lacking. Healing you without true control of 'Virtus' has taken a toll on me. You must learn… Learn about this world."
The voice faded into silence, leaving Cire astonished. "Virtus?" The word echoed in his mind. "What is Virtus?" Before he could begin to untangle the surge of questions flooding his thoughts, his attention shifted. He looked down at his legs and, with a mental command, willed them to move. His legs twitched. Then, his feet followed.
Tears began streaming from his gray eyes, which now carried a deeper, almost ethereal intensity. Slowly, trembling, he tried to stand. He fell. Again, and again. Like a newborn taking his first steps, he persisted, his fragile body refusing to obey his will. Hours passed. His muscles burned. His malnourished frame felt as though it would crumble under the weight of his own determination. Yet, he stood. And after more hours of painful trial and error, he managed to walk.
Each step was agony. His legs, long unused, wobbled under him, threatening to collapse. But Cire held on. Something new had ignited in his soul—a flicker of hope, a flame of purpose. He had to return to his family. He owed them a proper goodbye. Just the thought of it brought fresh tears to his eyes, though he bit down hard on his lips, drawing blood, to suppress his emotions. He clenched his fists. He was weak, painfully so, but now he had an opportunity. Not for glory. Not for riches. For revenge.
His gray eyes, now tinged with red, burned with rage. He turned his gaze to the relic resting nearby. With trembling hands, he reached for it and grasped it tightly. "A Sigil relic, was it?" Before he could inspect it further, it vanished into thin air, leaving only a faint trail of ash in its wake. He stared at his empty hands, his mind reeling.
"Another mystery to unfold…" He sighed, realizing just how ignorant he truly was. His family had always been poor, and he had spent most of his life uninterested in anything beyond survival. Unlike his brothers, who absorbed every scrap of knowledge they could, Cire had avoided it. His heart clenched at the thought. His mother, though she had little formal education, had taught him to read and grasp the basics of trading. Yet, compared to others, he was woefully unprepared to face this world.
And now, words like Guardians, Sigils, and Virtus felt alien to him. His brothers had often mentioned the Guardians in hushed conversations. His mother, too, had invoked their name, treating them with reverence—as though they were deities. A chill ran down his spine. "Have I contracted a god? Or a demon?" He shuddered at the thought. Either way, it was a blessing. He glanced down at his legs, nodded to himself, and pressed on.
Turning his attention to the dragon statues scattered around the cave, he studied them closely. They were intricately carved, every detail imbued with precision and care. There was something mystical about them—an aura that unsettled him. He couldn't shake the feeling that they might come alive at any moment.
Then, his gaze fell upon the seven pedestals at the heart of the chamber. "Is this… Wish's pedestal? Was it a dragon, too?" The more he tried to make sense of the scene, the deeper the mysteries grew. He felt as though the cave was mocking him, withholding answers while bombarding him with riddles.
Taking a deep breath, he committed every detail of the cave to memory. He might not understand it now, but someday, he would. He noticed a tunnel large enough to accommodate his frail frame and made his way toward it. The tunnel stretched on, its darkness pressing in on him, until finally, he heard it—the faint whistle of the wind.
Guided by the growing light, he pressed forward. The tunnel opened, and he emerged onto a hillside. Before him stretched a boundless forest, its endless expanse meeting the horizon. The cool breeze brushed against his face, carrying with it the promise of a new journey.