"Every night, those dreams feel like a call from the future, revealing secrets hidden behind the shadows of the past. But unfortunately, I don't believe in superstitions."
Year 92, 7th Era of Conquest, Midgaria.
The world is ridiculous.
They call you Astral Voyagers—those summoned through a ritual, praised only to be enslaved by fate.
I was always there when my grandfather bled his fingers dry at the temple, calling forth people like you. Perhaps you have heard of the term before. Perhaps you are a former Astral Voyager. Or maybe someone you loved once disappeared without a trace, summoned to a world they never knew. Who knows? Maybe you'll be next.
You might be familiar with stories like these—ones from the animated films you've watched, from the comics you've read. Tales where an outsider is summoned to another world and becomes a hero. You might think it sounds amazing. But trust me, being an Astral Voyager is not a blessing. It is a chain. A shackle binding you to destiny.
I have seen dozens of Astral Voyagers arrive.
They come in chaos, faces filled with confusion and fear. Some cry, some scream, others simply sit there, staring into nothingness. None of them arrive prepared. None of them are the brave warriors the legends make them out to be. They come as ordinary people—broken, lost, and alone.
And then, as always, we feed them lies.
The temple welcomes them with reverence, whispering sweet, honeyed words into their ears:
"You were chosen by this world."
"You are the heroes destined to save us."
"Do not be afraid. You will find your new purpose here."
We—the empire, the nobles, the rulers—reinforce the illusion with praise and empty promises. We tell them their old world is gone, that they are already dead, and that the only path left is to embrace their role as saviours.
And most of them… believe.
The ones still caught in shock, the ones too desperate to question anything, the ones clinging to something—anything—will go along with it. They will pick up a sword, don the cloak of a hero, and convince themselves that this is what they were meant for.
But I know the truth.
I have seen their eyes lose their light. I have seen those who could not accept reality crumble, swallowed by despair and hopelessness. I have watched them break, one by one, as the world they were forced to love demanded more and more from them.
And I… I could do nothing but watch.
Because I am part of the system that grinds them to dust.
I am the crown prince—someone who, even without uttering a single word, is complicit in this grand deception.
Do you think being an Astral Voyager is a dream?
Yes.
A nightmare.
But if it happens to you—if you suddenly wake up in a strange place, your body feeling lighter than ever, the air brushing against your skin differently, and the sky stretching wider than you have ever seen before…
Then I, Elenio Seluna de Hawkins, the crippled crown prince of this selfish empire, will greet you with a smile.
A smile woven from lies.
"Welcome to Midgaria."
"The Empire of Five Races—the land of humans, elves, beasts, dwarves, and Undine."
"A nation that controls ninety percent of this world, a nation that has stood firm amidst an endless war."
"You are now one of us."
I will say it in a calm voice as if my words carry warmth. I will look at you with open acceptance as if you have truly found a new home.
But it is all a lie.
Midgaria is no fairy tale with a happy ending. It is not a world that will embrace you with open arms. This empire is a battlefield, and it has been one for the past seven hundred years.
So, welcome...
Welcome to a world that will never let you go—one that will shackle you as a tool of fate for the sake of our selfish desires.
~~~
I opened my eyes. Damn it, this place again.
I let out a sigh, staring up at the dark sky above me.
Tonight, the same dream haunts me once more.
An ancient building stretches before me in silence. Its walls have crumbled, its roof long gone, leaving only the remnants of a grandeur eroded by time. Rows of decayed wooden pews stand in disarray, some reduced to mere splinters. At the far end of the hall, a fractured altar still stands, defiant against ruin.
Once, this place must have been magnificent.
Now, only a shadow of its former glory remains.
And for some reason… I always find myself returning here.
My feet carry me toward the weathered altar, the sharp scent of blood piercing my senses, so strong it nearly makes me gag. Yet my expression remains blank. I continue walking through the suffocating air, past the stench of fresh blood—so familiar that I no longer need to wonder where it comes from.
In the stifling silence of the night, a girl's lifeless body lies on the altar, drowning in a crimson pool that has seeped into the stone beneath her. A sword is buried deep in her chest, the gaping wound a silent witness to a tragedy long past.
I stand before her, staring wordlessly.
No shock, no disbelief—only cold acceptance.
This dream never changes.
"Zura…"
I whisper her name, my voice barely audible.
In the early nights when this dream first plagued me, I used to scream. I used to cry until my voice was hoarse, drowning in unbearable grief.
But now?
Only silence remains.
My fingers brush against her cold cheek.
Kazura Soratha—the name I gave her, though her very existence had been a gift from my grandfather. A present for my sixth birthday.
That old emperor had bought her from the slave market and wrapped her in a red ribbon as if she were nothing more than merchandise. His depravity knew no bounds.
Beyond filling the palace with his concubines, he had another sick habit—disguising himself as a commoner and wandering through the black markets, his eyes gleaming with fascination as he purchased slaves. Zura had been one of them. From that day on, she was always by my side.
I exhale slowly, letting the cold of her lifeless skin seep into my fingertips. But, as always, this fleeting stillness never lasts.
The night breeze stirs, carrying with it something far heavier than the crisp chill of the air.
From the darkest corner of the ruined temple, where the light cannot reach, black smoke begins to coil and writhe, gathering into a monstrous silhouette. That entity—dark as a starless night—stares at me with burning red eyes filled with nothing but mockery and menace.
Then, a hoarse, grating laughter breaks the silence.
"It's been a long time since you last wept for that little slave girl, hasn't it?" The voice slithers into every corner of the stillness, making my stomach churn with disgust.
Every night, it comes.
Every night, it stands there, grinning from the shadows.
A nightmare with no end.
He called himself the child of ruin, the most devoted disciple of death. I called him Abyssian—the Abyss demon that had plagued Midgaria for seven hundred years—the sworn enemy of the Astral Voyagers.
Every time he appeared in my dreams, the world seemed to plunge into an abyss of endless darkness. Night after night, he crawled into my consciousness, turning my sleep into a prison without light.
"Whose fault is it if I'm starting to get used to all this?" I muttered under my breath, lowering my gaze to avoid his piercing stare, trying to hide the fear still etched on my face.
The demon let out a low chuckle, his raspy voice slithering through the air like venom. "No need to whisper, boy. I can hear everything in this place… even the trembling of your frightened heart."
I clenched my fists. "Why does it always have to be in my dreams? Why every night? Why… her?"
My gaze shifted back to the lifeless figure on the altar—Zura. Her body lay cold beneath the moonlight, its pale glow slipping through the cracks of the ruined temple. I was sick of seeing her like this. Sick of watching her die over and over again.
The demon's laughter faded, replaced by a sinister whisper that echoed through the crumbling walls. "The answer remains the same, just like every other night," he hissed. "I am the nightmare left behind by your past… and that girl is the nightmare that fate has carved for your future."
I lifted my head, glaring at him with pure hatred. His form wavered above the altar, shifting like a living shadow, his glowing crimson eyes cutting through the darkness. The longer I stared, the more real he became—no longer just a figment of my dreams.
Without warning, his body expanded. The black smoke that composed him thickened, swirling violently, forming a vortex that swallowed me whole in its suffocating grasp. My breath hitched. A chilling cold crept into my bones.
This nightmare, this curse… when will it end?
I no longer had the strength to run. Like every night before, my body froze in terror. Before I could react, tendrils of shadow wrapped around me, coiling tight like an unrelenting serpent.
The pressure in my chest grew unbearable, my lungs screaming for air as if the world itself was rejecting me. I struggled, but the more I fought, the tighter the grip became. I was trapped in a battle between dream and reality, forced to face the demon that emerged from the darkness.
"Khakhakhakha! As always, you look absolutely pathetic!" His voice rumbled through the silence, dripping with amusement. "A descendant of the first Astral Voyager—the first emperor, the sole heir of the imperial bloodline… No, I suppose, the only creature in this world born without Mana."
I remained silent, refusing to answer his mockery—because every word he spoke was true.
In this world, where Mana—magical energy tied directly to one's soul—was everything, I had been born without it. A flaw beyond forgiveness.
Mana wasn't just a power. It wasn't just a means of survival. It was the very foundation of one's Soul Code, something known as the Arcana Codex.
Every being in Midgaria is born with an Arcana Codex—an invisible tome etched into their soul. Within this Codex, the laws of their magic are inscribed, their limitations are set, and their fate is written.
A noble is born with a complex Codex filled with symbols and spells that allow them to wield magic on a grand scale. A farmer, on the other hand, possesses only a few simple lines—just enough to ignite a hearth or heal a minor wound.
But me? I have no Codex at all. No pages, no spells, no trace of Mana flowing through my veins.
I am an anomaly.
A mistake.
I clenched my teeth, struggling to suppress the storm of emotions swelling in my chest. "It's not my fault I was born with a void Codex! I—I'm not happy being a failure among the imperial family either!" My voice trembled despite my desperate attempt to hide the pain beneath it.
Suddenly, the ancient pillars of the ruined temple exploded with a deafening roar. Debris scattered, and dust filled the air. I flinched, instinctively shutting my eyes as the rubble flew past me. When I reopened them, the demon was grinning—a twisted, toothy smile stretching across his face.
A wave of hot wind swept over me, carrying the stench of sulfur and blood. His massive shadow loomed through the haze of destruction, crimson eyes burning like embers in the darkness.
"A failure, huh?" His voice echoed, hoarse and taunting. "I agree."
He stepped closer, his voice slithering into my mind like poison. "Let's negotiate again. If you choose to ally with me, I'll give you the power to surpass your siblings, to silence the ridicule of your people… the strength to protect that girl."
I remained silent. My body trembled, but my resolve did not waver. No. I wouldn't involve myself any further with this demon. Nothing good would come from striking a deal with him. I wouldn't just destroy myself—I would drag Zura and the Emperor into a never-ending abyss.
Swallowing my fear, I forced a bitter smile. "N-no, thank you. O-once my brother ascends the throne and replaces me as crown prince, I-I'll leave the palace and live a peaceful life with Zura."
The demon's grin widened. He lifted his other hand, sending a coil of black smoke toward Zura's body on the altar.
My eyes widened in horror.
"ZURA!" I knew this was just a dream, but watching her body writhing as if consumed by the demon's cursed smoke made my blood boil with fury.
I struggled, thrashing in his grip, but it was useless.
"Khakhakhakha! That girl will meet a gruesome end—far worse than this," his voice thundered, filling the space with a suffocating dread. My body tensed, and my heart pounded wildly as he continued with a sly whisper, "Whether by my hands, your people's, or perhaps… your own."
"STOP IT! ANYTHING BUT HER!"
My heart pounded with burning rage. I didn't know when the fear shackling me had turned into a blaze of fury. Zura—the girl I loved—was in danger. I swore to myself—no matter what, this demon would never leave my nightmares and lay a single finger on her.
"Khakhakhakha! That's why you need power, boy." He sneered, his voice creeping into my mind, seeping in like venom. "Sell your soul to me, and I'll grant you the strength to silence them all."
"No!" I shot back without hesitation. My voice might have quivered, but my resolve stood firm.
The demon leaned in closer, pressing deeper as if trying to peel away the layers of my soul. "Stubborn, aren't you?… But you'll accept it, sooner or later."
The dark silhouette expanded, swallowing everything around me in creeping shadows.
"And once you are truly bound to me, I will drag you into an abyss of endless despair."
A shiver ran down my spine. My breath hitched, and my body, still caught in its grip, was paralyzed by fear.
"But it seems… tonight is not the night." Its voice echoed, growing distant. "The light of Solstara has risen from the east. Until we meet again in the next darkness."
I clenched my fists in frustration. "Why?! Why do you keep tormenting me?! Please… just stop! I hate these nights with you! Leave and never come back!"
My scream reverberated through the void. But the demon only laughed before its form vanished like smoke in the wind, leaving me in suffocating silence.
My chest remained tight as if an unseen force was strangling me. Then, slowly, I felt another pull—something drawing me away from this nightmare.
In the midst of the emptiness, a voice called out. A voice I recognized.
"Nio…"
That gentle voice pierced through the darkness, pulling me back from the endless nightmare. A warmth seeped in, guiding me back to reality.