Solar Year 863. Near the Royal Palace of Elysium.
The royal library of the empire was a sight to behold—a place where the greatest minds gathered, studied, and recorded history as the world knew it. It housed books from all continents, written in various languages across different eras. Access was strictly limited—only those with a royal seal or a mark from a royal master could enter.
Usually, the library brimmed with silence, broken only by the soft rustling of pages flipped by countless scholars. But today was different. It was the day of the royal coronation, and the halls stood nearly empty. Almost—because one apprentice had no interest in who sat on the throne.
While the entire empire gathered in the royal plaza, a scholar and his apprentice—both uninterested in royal affairs—sat alone in the colossal library, immersed in their books.
"So?" the old man asked, his white robe marked with the scholar's insignia. "Is it not interesting? Don't you want to learn more about the Grim Valley incident and King Arthur, my apprentice?"
He had just finished explaining the importance of history. "We researchers seek the past for the sake of the future—to learn from it, and to avoid repeating the mistakes of our predecessors."
But the apprentice shook his head. "No... Listening to you only made me more curious about something else."
"Oh?" The master raised an eyebrow. He could never predict what went on in the boy's mind. He was, by far, the most gifted young scholar he had ever trained. And yet, there was something strange about him—something that never quite fit. It was as though he searched these pages for something he could never find. His eyes always looked... sad.
A great destiny awaits him, I'm sure, the master thought. But it troubles me not knowing if it's good or bad.
"What is it?" he asked. "What could be more fascinating than history to a scholar?"
"The parts you left out in your lectures. The ones you always avoid when 'that' topic comes up," the apprentice said, returning a stack of books to the shelves. "The prophecy of the First Men."
Silence fell between them.
That prophecy was not something spoken aloud. Even mentioning it could earn you a visit from the royal guards.
"Who told you?" the master asked, his voice low.
"The books in the forbidden section," the apprentice replied flatly. There was no remorse in his voice. "I used your mark to get in."
The master looked down at the insignia on his chest. In a few years, the boy would've earned one of his own. He wasn't angry that it had been stolen—just troubled. He let out a long sigh and put on a neutral expression.
"Be glad it was only the two of us left in the library," he said. "And not another word about this. Now leave. Your mother must be worried."
Some things are better left unknown, he thought. If I don't stop him now, his curiosity will be the death of him.
But the apprentice didn't change his expression. Still wearing that faint trace of disappointment, he stood and began walking away.
"You will learn in time," the master said softly.
But the boy heard. He stopped, turned, and said, "I am ready, Master. And I will learn these things—whether you want me to or not."
He didn't speak with disrespect—only with certainty. The boy wasn't arrogant, merely aware of his own brilliance. Even his master had to admit—begrudgingly—that he was the most talented candidate for the royal scholars in generations. His time in the library had only confirmed what he already believed: there was far more that remained hidden.
"And I will know..." the apprentice added as he descended the grand staircase, "...about the man from another world."
The master watched him go, standing behind the vast window, unsure how to name what he felt.
Perhaps it was the boy's eyes—a reflection of the same fire he himself had once carried. A fire that had long turned to ash. Because he knew the truth the boy was still chasing.
With a heavy heart, he whispered, "That prophecy came true... a long time ago."
His eyes fell to the book he held.
"My disciple," he murmured, "I fear the face you will make when you learn what he has done. Will you be disappointed as I was? Or perhaps..."
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