The boy stood alone, staring into the mirror.
His long, black hair fell behind his shoulders like a velvet curtain, unmoved even by the draft of wind curling through the stone chamber. Candlelight flickered on the walls, but nothing reached his expression. Cold. Focused. A face carved from stillness.
Behind those eyes, a storm waited.
He leaned in slightly, his mismatched eyes—one gold like sunlight through smoke, the other green like the heart of the forest—locking with their reflection. No tremble. No blink. Just that haunting stare.
Then, he spoke. His voice was low, precise. A whisper sharpened into a blade.
"Humans will rule."
A pause.
The silence cracked as another voice took its place—louder, older, burning with rage and purpose.
"Humans will rule!" the king shouted. A different time. A different place.
The boy closed his eyes.
"There is no place for the cursed ones to lay their feet on…"
He exhaled as if the words were smoke in his lungs.
Then—together, the king and the boy, past and present—spoke the final line.
"Humans will rule… not just this kingdom. Not just the lands. Not just the skies. Not just the seas."
The boy's voice stayed steady.
The king's grew thunderous.
"Behind every great human… is a great knowledge."
The boy raised his hands, cupped them under the cold water in the basin. The king's voice—like a ghost trapped in time—echoed once more.
"If you want to know what's been hidden… Search for the Ink."
The boy splashed his face.
His long hair fell forward, soaked and wild, revealing the full intensity of his eyes—half cursed flame, half eternal forest.
He stared at the mirror again.
Now the silence felt different. It hummed with memory.
And finally, with the same calm, unreadable tone, he whispered:
"Those were his last words."
For a heartbeat, the chamber seemed to hold its breath.
Then the scene began to change.
Across the world, voices repeated it—strangers, soldiers, magicians, traitors. One after another. Each with a different tone. Awe. Confusion. Bitterness. Fear.
> "Those were his last words…"
And then—
Back to the boy.
His jaw tightened.
"What's that supposed to mean… Dad?"
Black.
Not the kind of darkness that hides things.
The kind that listens.
And somewhere inside it, a voice speaks—calm, searching, uncertain.
"Well… I've been thinking about that since like forever," said the boy with a tone too thoughtful for his age. "And the only thing I can tell you is… I have no idea about what he meant."
The blackness fades into the soft glow of morning light. The sky is pale, gentle, drowsy with clouds. Wind hums through the tall grass of an open field, and in its center—like a forgotten secret—stands a lone tree.
Three boys sit in its shade.
The speaker is Moi—a boy with hair the color of riverlight, an almost oceanic blue that glows when the sun touches it. His eyes shine with curiosity, and even in confusion, he looks peaceful, like a soul more interested in understanding than in winning.
Beside him, leaning against the tree's trunk with a smirk carved on his face, sits Tenshi. His white hair is a storm of chaos, strands falling over a matching white bandana tied snugly around his forehead. His mouth always seems on the edge of saying something stupid—or something wise. Usually both.
And finally, Midoki—the boy with the mirror-stare. Cold, calm, His green and yellow eyes are half-lidded with thought, yet his posture is lazy, stretched back against the grass.
The peace is broken.
"I agree with Moi," Tenshi says with a grin. "Midoki, there's only two logical theories. Either your father was tweaking…"
A pause.
"…Or he was tweaking."
For a second, no one speaks.
And then Midoki snorts.
"Fuck you, Tenshi," he says, laughter slipping out of his voice despite himself.
"Yeah—fuck you, Tenshi," Moi echoes, his grin spreading like sunlight.
They all laugh now.
Moi glances at Midoki, then asks without hesitation:
"How's it going there? At the royal castle? I heard some bad rumours..."
Tenshi's smirk fades. Midoki's expression doesn't change, but he exhales slowly.
"Always fucking rumours," he mutters.
Tenshi leans forward, tone edged and sharp.
"My father is dying. I don't have a clue why. And the whole fucking castle is fighting over who will take the crown. Those pieces of shit."
Midoki cuts him off, voice cool and certain.
"Don't worry. I can see it clearly. He won't die for a long time from now."
His eyes glow faintly, a quiet certainty behind them.
A strange silence follows.
Then Moi and Tenshi burst into giggles.
"As long as Midoki says," they say in perfect sync.
Midoki blinks. "What?"
They laugh harder.
Tenshi grins. "You always do that shit."
"What shit?" Midoki asks, confused.
More laughter.
"Don't worry about it," Tenshi says, standing. "Let's go. Class is about to begin."
---
The classroom held sixty students, but somehow still felt too small.
High ceilings stretched above like a cathedral. Sunlight poured through arched windows, pooling across polished floors. The voices of students echoed like a restless tide.
Midoki sat near the back—alone.
Head down. Arms crossed. Fast asleep.
Until suddenly—he jolted upright.
His breath caught, muscles tense, eyes darting. He felt it in his spine first: danger. Cold, sharp, real. Not fear. Not nerves. A threat. As if someone had tried to kill him in his sleep.
He scanned the room.
Nothing.
The feeling lingered—like a blade near his throat—but no eyes were on him. Just scattered conversations. Scribbled notes. Faint laughter. Ordinary.
Then—
CRACK.
A stick slammed against the top of his head like a war drum.
"I don't call anyone twice," said the voice behind it—calm, low, unshakable.
Midoki winced, gritting his teeth as he looked up.
Mr. Kagga stood over him.
Tall. Bearded. His black hair slicked back smooth as glass. A crisp, clean white blindfold covered his eyes, yet he moved with the precision of a hawk. His coat hung like armor. His presence swallowed the room. No one laughed. No one dared.
He couldn't see—but he saw everything.
Midoki sat up straighter.
> "I'm sorry, Mr. Kagga. It won't happen again."
His voice, as always, was quiet and cold.
Mr. Kagga gave a small nod.
"Stand up. You're the top student this week."
Midoki blinked.
" It's already the weekend?"
Still half-lost in sleep, he walked to the front of the class, rubbing the back of his head.
Four others waited.
Moi, calm and curious.
Tenshi, still wearing that wild grin.
A girl with sharp, storm-stained eyes and deep purple braids, arms crossed, smiling like crazy
And beside her, the golden boy—a handsome blonde student whose perfect posture and gleaming smile made Midoki feel vaguely ill.
He didn't know the boy's name.
But he already hated him.
Mr. Kagga's voice rang out:
"These five students ranked highest this week. They will represent Class C in the Royal Tournament."
Muted applause scattered around the room like wind through dry leaves.
Midoki stayed silent.
Moi leaned toward him and whispered with a smirk,
"This time he had to call your name three times. New record."
Midoki rolled his eyes and exhaled.
They all returned to their seats.
Mr. Kagga waited until the room quieted again, then spoke with a calm finality that made everyone straighten up:
"tomorrow is the day you all been waiting for, you'll finally receive your magic soul, All of the students who are here, come to the library after school. You'll see me there."
The room shifted.
Even the walls seemed to lean in.
Magic soul. The words carried weight—old, sacred, final. Most students just stared. Some whispered. One or two clenched fists beneath their desks.
Midoki didn't move.
His gold and green eyes flickered—not with fear, but with something sharper.
"It's about time."