In the Southern Ruins

  The creature cloaked in black smoke drifted through the ruined archway and descended before a towering figure seated among the broken stones. It landed lightly, then immediately kneeled.

  The tall creature’s voice echoed like something speaking from inside a cavern.

  “Was it successful? Did you bring the dragon?”

  The kneeling figure lowered its head.

  “No. I failed.”

  Silence stretched for a moment before the tall one finally asked,

  “And why did you fail?”

  “There was… a man,” it said, voice trembling with frustration. “He’s not from this side. He wielded the white version of Elmi—a form that shouldn’t even exist here, and he used it in a way I’ve never seen. He damaged me severely. I was forced to retreat.”

  A snort echoed from behind.

  “Ha! You got beaten by a human? Weakling,” Nira said mockingly.

  A hard slap cracked against the back of her head.

  “Shut up. It’s not like you’re any stronger,” Helv muttered.

  “Ugh—! But did you have to hit me that hard!?” Nira complained, rubbing her head.

  Emily stepped forward, her appearance similar to both siblings, except her eye sockets were empty like carved hollows. Despite the missing eyes, she seemed to gaze straight at them.

  “Helv, you really don’t need to hit your younger sister like that. You can correct her without violence,” she said.

  “Tch… fine, sis,” Helv grumbled and looked away.

  A skeleton dressed entirely in assassin gear rose from where it sat, bones clinking softly beneath the black cloth.

  “Enough with the family drama.”

  It turned toward the tall creature. “Leader… allow me to go. I will kill that human myself.”

  But the tall creature shook its head.

  “No. Not until Rei arrives.”

  The skeleton’s jaw shifted with annoyance. “And when will he come?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So you're telling me I might never go?”

  “It’s not like that,” the tall creature said, exasperated. Then it glanced toward the eyeless girl. “Emily. Go find your elder brother. And quickly.”

  Emily sighed. “Fine.”

  Then her body flickered and vanished completely.

  The skeleton clicked its teeth. “You could’ve at least sent Der with me.”

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  “No,” the tall creature replied. “Der has already been sent to the Star Kingdom for another mission.”

  In the Kingdom of Star

  Der—encased in dark grey armor that seemed forged from shadow—strode through the palace as if it were nothing more than tall grass. Anyone who crossed its path was cut down in a single fluid swing of its sword forged from a thousand metals. The weapon didn’t clang or scrape; it simply sliced.

  No one could see Der’s face. Inside the helmet there was only pitch-black void.

  After painting a trail of bodies, Der arrived at the royal chamber of King Natan.

  The king stood firm, unfazed.

  “What are you? State your business.”

  A low, hollow chuckle echoed from Der’s helmet.

  “You do not fear me, little human? Interesting.”

  “You’re strong—I’ll admit that,” Natan replied, narrowing his eyes. “But not strong enough for me. Now speak. Why are you here, mana-less beast?”

  “I am here to kill you, brave little human.”

  Der charged without warning—an armored blur ripping through the chamber.

  Der charged like a living fortress, his dark grey armor swallowing the torchlight. King Natan stood firm as silver particles rose from his skin. When Der swung, Natan dissolved into shimmering dust and reappeared behind him, launching a storm of razor-like particles that chipped and warped Der’s armor.

  The knight staggered but didn’t fall. Instead, he planted his massive sword into the floor. The thousand metals twisted, merging into a single black blade.

  “Nullifier.”

  A deadening wave burst outward—Natan’s particles vanished instantly. His ability collapsed. His body felt heavy and powerless.

  Der advanced, unharmed.

  “No power exists before this blade,” it said.

  The Nullifier sliced once. Natan’s body split cleanly, his life extinguished without a spark of mana or particles left behind.

  Der lifted the corpse onto his shoulder, the sword reverting to its original form, and vanished into the shadows without a sound.

  In an Open Field at Night

  Master Luan had set up two tents for the night. A campfire crackled gently between them, casting warm light over the grass. It wasn’t very late, but exhaustion clung to all of us.

  The baby dragon slept quietly inside one of the tents, curled like a shimmering jewel in the blankets.

  Master Luan stirred the pot of vegetable stew he’d prepared, the aroma drifting pleasantly through the night air.

  “Master Luan,” Alya asked eagerly, “is it really that rare to find a dragon?”

  “Yes,” Luan replied. “So rare that finding one on this side is impossible.”

  I tilted my head. “What do you mean by ‘this side,’ Master Luan?”

  “The world we live in is divided into two sides,” he said. “Separated by a massive barrier. It’s been like that for four thousand years.”

  Alya leaned forward. “What’s on the other side?”

  Master Luan sighed—tired, almost reluctant.

  “If you truly want to know…”

  He paused, organizing his thoughts so we wouldn’t get lost.

  “The other side is similar to ours,” he said. “Humans, other races, kingdoms. But the people there have more power. We have only mana, which can grant a single Nectar ability by chance. They don’t rely on mana at all—they use something called *Elmi*. With it, they can manifest many abilities. And more importantly… the other side is filled with dragons.”

  “So you’re saying this baby dragon came from there?” Alya asked.

  “That would be the only logical explanation. But the barrier prevents anything from crossing over. Nothing from that side should be able to come here—and no one from this side can go there.”

  A cold feeling crept up my spine.

  If the barrier blocks everything… then how did he know so much?

  There were no records of the event—four thousand years had erased every trace of the wanderer prophecy.

  Before I could think deeper, Alya spoke again.

  “Why was the world divided? Why not keep both sides together?”

  Master Luan stirred the firewood, sparks rising into the night.

  “Both sides were one,” he said. “Until the prophecy of the Wanderer.”

  My heart jolted painfully.

  Because of me… the world divided.

  I forced myself to listen as Alya asked,

  “Can you tell us more, Master Luan?”

  I turned to him too, wanting—needing—to know the truth.

  Master Luan exhaled slowly, preparing himself.

  “…Very well. I’ll tell you the story of the Union Era.”

  He cleared his throat, then began telling us the story of the Union Era.