The little white bird darted swiftly through the endless labyrinth of stark white walls and narrow corridors. The maze stretched on in all directions, a confusing tangle of cold concrete that seemed designed to trap rather than guide. Echoes of footsteps and muffled voices drifted faintly, each sound tinged with desperation or pain. Some people sat clutching their heads, others wept quietly, and a few hurried past as if fleeing invisible shadows. The air was thick with a strange, unfamiliar scent—sterile but heavy, like sadness mixed with fear.
The bird flitted left and right, scanning every corner, every door, searching for one particular room. She had a mission, but the maze made it difficult to focus. Her small wings beat steadily as she zigzagged between walls, her keen eyes sharp and alert. Suddenly, a rough voice shattered the tense quiet. A man emerged, waving a stick and shouting angrily. He wasn't pleased to see her here and chased her fiercely through the corridors.
With a quick flutter and a narrow escape, the bird squeezed through a small hole in the wall—her only exit. Outside, the world was different. Trees towered around her, their leaves whispering softly in the breeze. She perched on a branch, blinking under the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy. Confusion clouded her bright eyes. Where was she exactly? This place felt foreign, distant.
Determined, she hopped from tree to tree, moving closer to the crystal-clear walls she had glimpsed earlier. Then, a sudden scream tore through the air—a raw, agonized cry from deep inside the maze. The bird's heart quickened. She flew toward the sound and found him: a young man behind the crystal-clear wall, screaming until he collapsed – a man without arms.
The bird settled quietly nearby, deciding to wait. The bird was tired, it was a really long day for her so she decided to take a little nap. Her mission wasn't over yet.
Night fell like a heavy curtain, swallowing the white maze in shadows and silence. The bird, nestled in the crook of a tree branch, blinked awake with a start, heart pounding. She had dozed far too long, and the world felt different now—darker, colder, heavier. Panic fluttered inside her tiny chest as she scanned the dim surroundings.
From her perch, she spotted a small group moving carefully through the maze's winding paths. They carried a man—limp and pale—cradled between them like a fragile relic. Two figures trailed behind, their shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The bird's feathers ruffled; an eerie chill crept through her bones. This was no ordinary journey. She sensed it before she understood it fully: the man was gone.
Confusion twisted inside her, but the urgency was clear. Without hesitation, she swooped low, ignoring the dangers that had once chased her away. The maze swallowed her again, its cold walls closing in as she darted toward the small group.
She watched helplessly as they dragged the man into a room, the door swinging shut with a heavy finality before she could reach him. The bird flitted to a nearby metal pole, perching precariously as her tiny beak released a soft, urgent chirp—an unanswered call for guidance.
Then, a gentle, soothing voice whispered inside her mind—soft but firm, like a guiding breeze. "Wait a little longer," the woman's voice urged.
Though confusion lingered, the bird obeyed. She settled down on the pole, eyes fixed on the door, her heart heavy but patient. The night stretched endlessly, wrapped in silence and shadow, as she waited for a little longer.
Morning spilled bright light through the trees, but the bird's calm was shattered by the sudden hiss of an orange cat stalking through the underbrush. The cat's eyes gleamed with hungry intent as it crept closer, claws unsheathed, ready to pounce.
The bird flapped desperately, darting toward the house she'd been sent to—the very place where the man she had been quietly following now lay still and lifeless. Despite his death, the bird felt a silent pull to stay close, to complete the mission entrusted to her.
The cat was swift, its paws thudding against the ground as it chased her around bushes and tree trunks. Her heart hammered—she had to get inside.
Just as the cat leapt, a sudden hand reached out and scooped the feline away. The bird squawked softly, startled but relieved. A figure appeared at the doorway—calm, sure—and with a firm grip, took the orange cat far away.
Seizing the moment, the bird darted through the open door into the quiet house. Inside, light filtered through delicate curtains, casting soft patterns on the wooden floor. She flew silently into a small room filled with fragrant flowers and scattered photos, a shrine of memories. There, lying still beneath the blooms, was the man she had watched the night before—pale and unmoving.
Gently, as if afraid to disturb a fragile dream, the bird lowered herself and plucked a few strands of hair from the man's head. Each feathered tug was careful, precise, guided by the quiet command she had been given.
Suddenly, the air shimmered beside her—a glowing portal opening like a silent door to another world. The bird chirped softly, a signal back to her unseen handler. With a final glance at the peaceful man she had so faithfully followed, she flew through the portal, the mission accomplished, the threads of fate quietly weaving onward.
**
The quiet room felt heavy, almost claustrophobic. Satria sat on the edge of the couch, his eyes fixed on his hands resting awkwardly on his lap. Viviane sat opposite him, carefully pouring warm tea into his cup, her gaze gentle yet watchful.
He already knew the truth—Viviane had brought him back from death. But now, a sudden, piercing shock rippled through him. It wasn't the shock of death itself, but something deeper — a delayed wave triggered by a realization suddenly rushing towards him.
He flexed his fingers hesitantly, then slowly raised his arms to the light filtering through the window. His breath caught in his throat. The arms that had been severed, the limbs he had mourned even while fading into unconsciousness — they were whole again. His skin was warm, muscles moving beneath the surface, veins pulsing with life. A raw, overwhelming flood of emotions surged up: relief, disbelief, and beneath it all, a sharp, unspoken grief for what had been lost.
His heart hammered in his chest as panic clawed its way through the calm he'd tried to maintain. Trembling overtook his limbs, and his hair clung damply to his forehead. His breath hitched in ragged gasps, chest rising and falling unevenly. The reality of his resurrection — the cost, the miracle — crashed down upon him in an unbearable wave.
Viviane's voice cut through the turmoil, soft and steady. "Breathe with me, Satria. In… and out. Let the fear pass through you."
He struggled to meet her eyes, his mind a whirlwind of doubt and pain. His trembling hands gripped the edge of the chair as he fought to calm the storm within. From the windowsill, the small white bird chirped quietly, its presence a subtle but poignant reminder of the fragile thread connecting him to this new life.
Summoning all his will, Satria forced a shaky smile, looking at the bird as if to say, I'm still here. I'm okay. Viviane's calm energy began to anchor him, guiding him gently back from the edge of panic toward a fragile peace.
The bird's eyes snapped open at the sound of Satria's ragged breathing. It hopped closer, sensing his unease.
Satria exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest loosening just a bit. "Sorry for waking you," he murmured, eyes meeting the small white bird's worried gaze.
The bird fluttered closer, perching gently on his hand. It nuzzled his fingers softly, as if sensing the emotions inside him. Its tiny feathers brushed against his skin—a quiet comfort.
"You don't have to worry," Satria whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "I'm... alright now."
The bird cocked its head, eyes bright and searching, like it was trying to understand every unspoken word. Then it gave a soft, rhythmic chirp—a gentle reminder that it was there, watching over him.
Satria managed a small smile, feeling the warmth of the bird's presence settle around him. "Go back to sleep," he said softly, "I'll be okay."
With a final soft chirp, the bird tucked its head beneath its wing, nestling into the pillow beside him.
The warm tea was forgotten in Satria's hands. He stared into the cup, brow furrowed, not because of panic—at least not anymore—but from the strange numbness that settled after too many revelations.
"…What is this place?" he asked at last, voice low. "I mean, where are we, really?"
Viviane, who had been quietly observing him from across the table, leaned back slightly on her couch. "Avalon," she said. "You're inside Avalon."
He glanced up. "That's… a tower, right?"
Viviane shook her head. "No. The tower is just part of it. Avalon is a satellite. Like a moon. One of three that orbit Contraria."
Satria blinked. "Wait, you're saying… we're not even on the Contraria?"
"No. We're inside one of its moons."
Satria stared at her, utterly still.
"Inside?" he repeated.
Viviane smiled, folding her arms with a hint of amusement. "Yes, yes — we're inside the Tower of Avalon, which itself is inside Avalon, the satellite. And Avalon? It's one of the three moons orbiting Contraria. So basically, we're chilling inside a giant tower, inside a giant rock floating around a planet."
Satria blinked, his mouth slightly open as if trying to chew on a thought too big for his brain. "That's... actually kind of terrifying… and cool. But mostly terrifying."
Viviane chuckled softly, clearly amused by Satria's dumbfounded stare. "Yeah, I get it — it sounds completely insane. But it's true."
She smiled, then continued, "Avalon isn't just a satellite. It's hollow. The Aerithans carved it out generations ago and placed the Mehrunse Tower inside. Later, the Contrarians named the satellite, Avalon — the tower became the Tower of Avalon."
Satria sat in stunned silence. He looked toward the ceiling, eyes slowly scanning the room, as if trying to see through the walls. "You mean to tell me… someone hollowed out a moon, put a giant tower inside it, and it's just been… floating around the planet ever since?"
Viviane gave a small nod. "Maintained by magic. Stabilized by gravity. Powered by relics I barely understand. But, Yes."
Satria leaned back with a sharp exhale, running his hands down his face. "That's… ridiculous."
Viviane allowed herself a faint smile. "That's magic."
He chuckled once, but there was no humor in it. "So, I'm a dead man in a moon tower."
Viviane tilted her head. "You're not exactly dead."
Satria crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. "...Not sure that makes it any better," he muttered sarcastically.
Viviane's gaze grew more serious as she settled deeper into her couch, folding her hands tightly in her lap.
She spoke slowly, her voice steady but weighed with unspoken pain. "There's something you need to understand about why you're here, and what's happening." She paused, her eyes locking with Satria's. "My master—Merlin—was badly injured during the last Decay."
She let the silence stretch, watching for his reaction. Satria's posture remained rigid but attentive.
"The Decay," she continued, lowering her voice almost to a whisper, "is a corruption of mana spreading across Contraria. It's like a poison — infecting everything it touches." Her fingers clenched briefly, nails pressing into her palms. "It's relentless."
Viviane's voice grew firmer, though the shadow of worry lingered in her eyes. "Merlin and I are the Protectors of Avalon. Our duty is to oversee the flow of mana and magic throughout Contraria — to maintain balance."
She leaned forward, placing a careful hand on the table. "But my master tried to face the Decay alone. He refused to ask for help because he believed it was his burden, his responsibility alone." She shook her head slightly, a flicker of frustration crossing her face.
Satria said nothing, but his gaze never wavered, absorbing each word.
"That's why I became his apprentice," Viviane said, sitting back and folding her arms, "to share the burden, to protect Contraria, and to fight the Decay before it spreads any further."
Her expression darkened, eyes heavy with the weight of centuries past. "To truly understand the fight ahead, you need to know where it all began."
She extended a hand toward the shelf without rising from her seat. A quiet hum stirred the air as one of the books—a leather-bound volume with a faint shimmer—slid itself free and floated toward her. It hovered for a moment before settling gently into her open palm.
"This journal is my master's," she said softly, voice almost reverent. "It tells the story of the Aerithans — the ancestors who chose to stay behind in Avalon while most settled in Contraria."
Viviane's eyes scanned the pages, then she read aloud with quiet solemnity:
"We bid farewell to the Aerithans who ventured forth to Contraria. From now on, they shall be called Contrarians. A new name for a new beginning."
Viviane's eyes lifted from the journal, lingering on Satria with a thoughtful gaze. "The Aerithans who descended, they… evolved," she said quietly. "Unlike other creatures on Contraria, which gradually grew more complex as mana seeped into the world, the Contrarians evolved differently."
Viviane raised an eyebrow, her fingers lightly drumming the spine of the journal. "They didn't follow the usual path of evolution. No slow crawl from beast to man. Instead, they started as humans—just like us—and then changed, reshaped by magic into something... more."
She leaned forward slightly, a faint smile playing at her lips. "They evolved into subspecies of humans, specifically adapted to wield magic. Think of it as… magic-driven evolution. They became something more — and far better — at controlling mana than any humans back on Earth."
Satria blinked, trying to process the scale of it all. "So, they basically upgraded themselves?"
Viviane chuckled softly, shaking her head with a touch of sarcasm. "You could put it that way. But if there's one constant in history, it's that humans never seem to learn their lesson."
Her tone sharpened playfully as she added, "They waged wars, burned knowledge, records, and caused civilizations to crumble. They couldn't escape their own flaws."
Satria's lips twitched into a small grin. "It's almost impressive how consistent we are."
Viviane's expression softened, eyes sincere as she met his gaze. "And now, that history weighs on us. The Decay isn't just some natural disaster—it's a symptom of old mistakes coming back to haunt us."
Satria leaned back, eyes drifting toward the high, domed ceiling above. "It's strange… how much history is forgotten. All that time, all that knowledge."
Viviane gave a slow nod, the earlier edge in her voice softening. "Most of it is gone, Satria. The records, the memory of Avalon, the truth about the Aerithans, the ancient forms of magic… even Earth itself."
She gestured toward the window. "The Contrarians live in the shadow of things they don't remember. And those who might've known either vanished, or chose to forget."
Satria stayed quiet for a moment, the weight of it all pressing into his chest. Forgotten histories, fading legacies… and now, somehow, he was a part of it.
Satria sat on the edge of his couch, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together as he stared at the floor. A second chance at life—it still felt unreal. The thought of wielding magic stirred something in him.
He looked up at Viviane, who had gone back to sipping her tea, calm as ever.
"I've decided," he said. "I'll help you stop the Decay."
Viviane's gaze softened. "Good. Then you'll need power. Something that matches you."
That brought a pause. "Wait. Just like that?"
"You agreed to help. That's all I needed to hear."
Satria shifted in his seat, uncertain. "Is it… is it shameless if I want to learn a bit more about magic first?"
Viviane raised an eyebrow, then gave a slight shrug. "It would be," she said matter-of-factly, sipping her tea again.
"You've already been given more than I planned to share," she added with a small smirk.
Satria gave a short laugh through his nose. "Figured."
Viviane sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "You still have time—but not much. Just until tomorrow. After that, we can't delay the revival ritual any longer."
Satria leaned back, letting out a breath of relief. "Thanks… for understanding."
He straightened, placing a hand over his chest with mock gravity. "Then I'll use what little time I have to prepare—mentally, spiritually, emotionally. If this is what it takes to save humanity, then so be it."
Viviane blinked at him. And then, she laughed.
It started as a breath through her nose, then bloomed into a full chuckle. She shook her head, barely concealing a grin. "Who said anything about saving humanity?"
He blinked. "Wait—what?"
"You just need to deal with corrupted mana," she said, sipping her tea again. "Nobody asked you to save humanity."
He let out a relieved sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "So... no pressure then?"
Viviane raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile flickering on her lips. "Yeah, just the small matter of dealing with it—and surviving."
She chuckled softly, the sound lightening the room. "Honestly, you're doing just fine. And don't forget—you're supposed to enjoy this second life of yours, too."
Satria glanced up, a small smile breaking through.
Viviane laid the cards out on the table, each one glinting faintly under the lights. "Alright, Satria," Viviane said, crossing her arms as she leaned against the table, "now pick a power before I do it for you."
*
Satria slouched over, his eyes locked on the cards before him. Each card shimmered with a different magical power — some offered mental abilities like telepathy or enhanced intuition, others promised spiritual gifts such as sensing mana flows or calming violent energy. There were physical boosts too: superhuman strength, incredible speed, or enhanced endurance. And then there were the rarer ones — powers to summon or bond with legendary magical artifacts, ancient items said to carry immense, almost mythical, power.
He tapped one card with a finger, then another. "How do I even choose?" he muttered, voice tight with uncertainty. Every power seemed useful in its own way, and the idea of picking just one felt impossible. The card that hinted at conjuring elemental forces caught his eye, but then another promising enhanced healing tugged his attention. The possibility of wielding a legendary sword or staff that could tip the scales in battle only made the decision harder.
Behind him, Viviane let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes. "You've been staring at those cards for hours now. You're not going to figure it out just by gazing at them."
Satria scratched the back of his neck, his brow furrowed as he leaned over the cards. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, then sat back with a sigh.
"Yeah…" he muttered, hesitating.
His fingers drummed nervously against the table as he glanced at Viviane, "Can I take until tomorrow to decide?"
Viviane hesitated, clearly tired. After a pause, she nodded slowly. "Fine. I'm too tired to argue with you right now."
He leaned back with a relieved breath, rubbing his eyes. "Thanks. I'll decide before the ritual begins."
Viviane smirked, standing up and stretching. "Good."
Satria eyes still drifting toward the table where the cards lay. But something else pulled at him—an itch of uncertainty, a need to understand just a little more.
"Hey," he said, glancing at Viviane, "Do you have any books about magic I can read? Just for reference."
Viviane slowly turned her head toward him, blinking like he'd just asked for a bedtime story. "Books?" she echoed, dryly. "Yes. Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands, even."
She stood and walked toward one of the tall bookshelves that lined the wall, her voice gaining a hint of theatrical sarcasm. "They're all written in Aerithan runes—an ancient, dead language. And unless you secretly studied dead cryptic alien languages in your spare time, you won't understand a single page."
Satria slouched back. "Right. Should've guessed."
Viviane sighed and flicked her fingers toward the shelf. A slim, dark blue book slid out and glided through the air into her hand. Unlike the others, it was pristine—smooth cover, golden edges, no dust in sight.
"This one's mine," she said, handing it to him. "Not a magic book. Just my notes. Half spells, half ramblings, which isn't as heavy as those magic books. It'll give you a sense of how magic works, I hope."
Satria took it, eyeing the ornate script on the front. "Uh... is this also… in Aerithan?"
Viviane rubbed at her temple. "Yes."
His brow furrowed. He turned the book slightly, as if a new angle would magically translate it. "Then how am I supposed to read it?"
"You're not," she said flatly, then gestured to the corner of the room. "That's what that is for."
Satria turned to follow her gesture. A softly glowing crystal sat on a low metal stand across the room, faint pulses of light rippling through it like a heartbeat.
"That's a Magic Crystal. It reacts to written mana. Hold the book in one hand, touch the crystal with the other."
"And then what?"
Viviane exhaled deeply, already walking away. "Then I'll give you the incantation."
Satria looked down at the sleek journal in his hands, then toward the softly glowing crystal in the corner. His fingers tightened around the book.
"Right… sure," he muttered, eyebrows drawn together. He didn't move, still processing everything.
Viviane, now seated again with her tea, noticed his hesitation. She didn't even bother hiding the exhaustion in her voice.
"Just do it," she said flatly, taking a sip. "You'll understand."
Satria glanced at her, uncertain. "That's comforting."
Viviane lifted her cup in a lazy mock-toast. "Welcome to magic."