The stolen clock ticked.
Its ticking echoed faintly through the modest wooden shack, bouncing off cracked walls and faded memories. Outside, snow fell like a quiet curtain over the sleepy village of Valona.
Valona—just another forgotten town on the northeastern edge of the Forsaken Realm.
It had no roads, no mana wells, and no one powerful enough to protect it. Just crumbling cottages, the sound of wind, and the hollow silence of poverty.
Inside one of those cottages, Loyce sat by the hearth, hands calloused, expression blank. He stared at the flames, watching them dance like spirits from a forgotten age.
"Loy... it's getting cold... Can you make it a little warmer?"
A voice, small and fragile, broke the quiet. A young girl curled beside him, her white hair coiled into a tidy French twist. She didn't open her eyes. She didn't need to.
He could feel the tremble in her voice.
"Wait a second," he muttered.
He grabbed a bundle of old, patchy blankets from the corner and gently placed them over her. Then, with quiet resolve, he stood and stepped out into the wind.
The cold bit hard. Snowflakes swirled around him like a blizzard of whispers.
Near the chopping block, partially buried in snow, lay a strange book.
Its white cover bore an odd insignia—two clovers, one with four leaves and the other with five, framed by three large black swords... and a katana below them.
Loyce frowned.
Black Clover...?
He tilted his head, furrowing his brows.
Wait… I can't even read.
He scoffed and tossed the book aside like it was useless scrap, grabbing the axe nearby and splitting wood with mechanical precision.
But the book wasn't done with him.
"You dare ignore me, brat?!" it shouted, its voice shrill and offended. "I am a priceless relic! You should be honored to bask in my presence!"
Loyce didn't even blink.
"Do you burn well?" he asked, eyeing it like kindling.
"W-Wait! No!" the book stammered. "I can teach you how to burn more efficiently!"
Its voice shifted—less prideful, more pleading. Like a creature just awakened, wings still damp, still unsure of its form.
Loyce exhaled through his nose and returned to chopping wood.
"If I can't read, what use are you to me?" he muttered, not even looking at the grotesque eyes that had opened along the book's spine—eyes that now stared at him, desperate and twitching.
"I can teach you," it coaxed. "I can implant knowledge directly into your mind."
Loyce hesitated. A flicker of interest passed through him, quickly doused by instinct.
This feels like a deal with the devil.
His grandmother's voice rang in his memory:
"Free things cost the most."
"This isn't free knowledge," the book said, voice now smooth and calculating. "It's a pact. A contract. I give you wisdom. You give me... your agreement."
The snow seemed to still.
The book felt his curiosity. It grinned with ink-stained malice.
"What terms?" Loyce asked carefully, not daring to look it in the eye.
The terms were spoken—but the words were like smoke. They scattered into the wind the moment they were heard, lost to memory unless you had the right magic to hold them.
As the pact was sealed, purple runes spread across the snow, weaving in fractal patterns like spider silk spun by forgotten gods.
That book wasn't just ancient. It was primordial.
Its knowledge had once been housed in the deepest vaults of the elven capital. A fragment of the lost archives—a relic from the time of Licht and Lemiel. Forgotten... until now.
Back inside, the fire crackled warmly.
Loyce placed the fresh logs near the flame to dry while feeding a few into the hearth.
The little girl stirred under her blankets.
"Do you know when my parents will be back?" she asked softly, eyes still closed.
Nina.
She was two years younger than him. Only seven.
Loyce looked down at her.
"I don't know," he said gently.
But he did know. They weren't coming back.
They had died not long after adopting him—victims of a magical illness that swept through the region before anyone understood its origin.
He still remembered how her hair used to be black—so black it looked like it drank the light around it.
Now it was white.
Her body had fought off the disease, but something inside her... hadn't.
"Nina," he said softly. "They're not coming back."
"You're lying." She pouted, hiding her face deeper under the blankets. "You're just jealous because I was their real child."
He didn't reply. There was no point.
"Do you wanna play hide and seek?" he offered after a pause.
"Too cold," she mumbled. Her eyes never opened.
If I can't see the world, her body seemed to say, then maybe the world can't see me.
And from the corner of the room... someone else was watching.
Not from the physical world, but from beyond it.
The real Loyce stood there, eyes narrowed.
"Azazel," he said coldly. "Why are you showing me this?"
A dark chuckle filled the air.
"Don't you remember?" the voice replied. "That saddens me. My first companion in eons... forgetting our first moments together."
"You claimed to be there when I was born," Loyce muttered. "So... what is this?"
"As we both know," Azazel's voice echoed, rich with amusement, "you are not of this world. And someone... took notice of that."
"Stop being vague."
"Fine. You remember Nina, don't you?"
Loyce looked at the girl curled by the fire.
"No," he said flatly.
"Ah... So it's that deep," Azazel sighed. "Look, someone sealed your memories."
"I see. And?"
"And you need those memories back," Azazel said, tone suddenly serious. "They're tied to your soul. Without them, your magic development is stalled."
"So this is about the soul," Loyce said.
"Bingo."
Azazel's presence grew heavier. "Lucius couldn't touch your soul directly—thanks to me. So he did the next best thing: he sealed it indirectly."
Loyce narrowed his eyes.
"Someone here is the key, aren't they?"
Azazel chuckled. "You're sharp. Memory magic can't fully suppress memories. The soul resists. Thrashes. So it needs an anchor—a key. Someone or something that lets it believe there's a way back."
"And you did the thrashing," Loyce said.
"Exactly," Azazel replied. "This whole illusion? This scene? It's my doing. A reconstruction based on your soul's scars."
Loyce nodded.
"So... where do I find her?"
"That's the tricky part," Azazel said. "She's not a major player, so I couldn't track her down. But... if I had to guess?"
"Let me guess," Loyce muttered.
"Nairn."