Chapter 1: The World Without Magic
I died once.
It wasn't peaceful. It wasn't heroic. And it sure as hell wasn't the end.
I was the Flameborn God — wielder of the First Flame, the eternal fire that scorched heavens and devoured darkness. They called me savior, they called me tyrant. But in the end, I sealed my powers and disappeared… by choice.
And now?
I'm Arkus. Just a normal 17-year-old in a world that runs on technology and awkward small talk. No mana. No monsters. Just textbooks, cell phones, and vending machines.
Peaceful? Yeah.
Boring? Definitely.
Permanent? …I wish.
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[April 7th – 7:32 AM – Midwood City]
"Arkus, you're going to be late for school!"
The voice of my adoptive mother snapped me out of my daze. I shoved a half-burnt piece of toast in my mouth (don't ask how I burned it — I wasn't even using magic) and ran out the door with my bag flailing behind me.
As I walked past traffic lights and delivery drones, I couldn't help but think about how quiet this world was.
No magic. No swords. No screams.
Just… silence.
But that changed when I saw him.
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[Abandoned Alleyway – 8:03 AM]
There he was — collapsed against the wall, covered in blood. A deep gash on his forehead glowed faintly red, as if rejecting this world.
I rushed over. "Are you okay?! I'll call an ambulance—"
But his hand gripped my wrist. Hard.
His eyes met mine — glowing, ancient.
"You… you are no commoner," he rasped. "This… this is no place for a worm like you."
Then, just like that, he vanished. No blood. No body. Nothing.
Only a single, burnt feather remained where he sat.
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[Later That Night – Arkus' Room]
I couldn't sleep. Not because I was scared.
But because… I remembered.
A battlefield.
A girl with silver eyes.
A red moon.
And my hands — wreathed in divine flame — as I destroyed everything.
This peaceful world wasn't ready.
And neither was I.
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[To Be Continued…]