Inside a cramped wooden cart rattling through the night, its wheels screeched like something being torn apart.
A thin fog clung to the outskirts of Eldoria. Wooden houses, far removed from civilization, faded into dark silhouettes as the road swallowed them one by one.
Inside the cart—
iron bars sealed a narrow space packed with small bodies.
Damian Dalle leaned against the rough wooden wall, head tilted back in exhaustion. Moonlight slipped through the cracks, tracing over his dirt-stained, weary face.
"Haaah… this is a nightmare," he muttered.
Beside him, Piona Pooja sat cross-legged, arms folded, anger still lingering in her eyes.
"How did we even get captured by slave traders in our own territory?" she muttered.
Damian glanced at her.
"Didn't I tell you not to split from the group?"
Piona shot him a glare.
"I said that village felt off."
"And you decided to investigate alone. Brilliant."
"You came with me."
"Yes," Damian exhaled, "which was the worst part of today's decisions."
Piona went quiet for a moment… then scoffed.
"…fine. We were both stupid."
"At least we agree."
The cart jolted violently again. Wood groaned, iron clanged, and the exhausted breathing of the other children filled the suffocating space.
Some lowered their heads.
Others stared blankly at the floor.
Fear hung in the air—too heavy to breathe.
"We're… going to be sold…" one whispered.
"Forced to work…" another added, voice trembling.
"Or worse…"
Damian closed his eyes.
That silence was turning into something dangerous—
acceptance.
Then—
BANG!
His fist slammed into the wooden wall.
"ENOUGH!"
His voice shattered the cramped space.
Everything froze.
Even the sound of the wheels seemed distant.
He stood, fists clenched, eyes sharp as he looked at each of them.
"Don't ever say that again!" His voice shook—not from weakness, but from holding something back.
"I don't want to hear anyone give up… before we've actually lost!"
The children lowered their heads.
Afraid.
But… awake.
Piona leaned back, watching him with a half-understanding look.
"You don't need to yell at them," she said, calmer now.
"They're just scared."
"I know."
The answer came too fast.
Piona narrowed her eyes.
"Or is this about something else?"
Damian said nothing.
But his jaw tightened.
And the memory returned.
He had always been different.
Not special.
Just… wrong.
Blades. Training. Ambition.
The things he liked… were the reasons he was ignored.
His parents never truly saw him.
Because he wasn't what they wanted.
Not a sage.
Not the "proper" successor.
Just… himself.
Then the war came.
And the world—one that hadn't even accepted him—took everything anyway.
He was six years.
Six.
What he saw wasn't games.
Not childhood.
But corpses.
Fire.
And loss.
Freya.
His sister.
The only one who saw him… not as a failure.
He ran.
Not out of fear
Not out of weakness.
But because he knew—
if he stayed, he would lose the last thing he had.
A home.
Or at least… someone who felt like one.
And that promise, the one he made with White and the others
became the only direction left to him.
"Damian."
Piona's voice pulled him back.
He blinked.
His fists were still clenched.
He exhaled, then slowly sat down.
"…sorry."
Piona studied him for a moment.
Then gave a faint smile.
"No need. Just remember… not everyone can stand like you."
Damian looked at the others.
Their eyes were still afraid.
But no longer empty.
He took a breath.
"Listen," he said, calmer now.
"I know you're scared."
He paused.
"So am I."
A few heads lifted.
"We don't know where we're going. We don't know what's waiting for us."
He looked at the iron bars.
"But as long as we're still here… as long as we can think… we haven't lost."
Silence.
This time—not fear.
But something trying to exist.
"Don't give up," he continued quietly.
"Don't let them decide how this ends… before we even try."
One child nodded.
Then another.
Slowly
something fragile began to form again.
Hope.
Piona nudged his arm.
"See? You'd make a good leader."
Damian snorted.
"Don't start."
"Better than being a brooding loner."
"Still better than being a walking problem."
Piona grinned.
"At least I make things interesting."
"…that's the one thing I can't argue with."
For a moment—
they laughed.
Short.
But enough to push the darkness back.
was slowly devouring doubt.
Outside, the wheels kept turning...
After the brief laughter faded, the faint smile on Piona's face slowly disappeared.
She stared through the narrow gap in the cart.
The sky was darkening.
And somehow… her conversation with Damian dragged her back to a past she had never truly left behind.
Inside a grand residence in Eldoria's capital, crystal lamps cast a steady glow over a study filled with blueprints and intricate mechanical tools.
A man with glasses and slightly disheveled dark brown hair sat behind a desk, buried in documents.
Professor Alphonse Pooja.
In the corner of the room, a small girl rested her chin on her hand.
She looked… bored.
"Father, you're too busy," she complained.
Alphonse chuckled softly and set the document aside.
"Sorry, dear. But my work is important."
Piona pouted.
"Why? Aren't you just making that weird box?"
Alphonse raised an eyebrow.
"That 'weird box' is called an Anti-Magic Reactor."
"It still sounds weird."
"But its impact won't be." He smiled, gently patting her head. "If it works, it could change how wars are fought."
Piona frowned.
"Why do we even need that?"
Alphonse fell silent for a moment.
Then answered quietly,
"Because this world never stops fighting. If magic can be neutralized… maybe conflicts can end faster."
Piona didn't really understand.
She only knew one thing—
her father was a good man.
And that was enough.
The world, however, has no interest in good intentions.
A year later—
Eldoria brought the reactor to the battlefield.
Incomplete.
Unstable.
But still deployed.
Alphonse opposed it.
But reason… always loses to military ambition.
And then—
disaster.
The sky turned red.
The explosion erased everything.
The reactor meant to nullify magic instead unleashed something far worse than magic itself.
Eldoria's forces… gone.
The enemy… gone.
The land… gone.
And the truth—
buried.
Alphonse Pooja vanished.
Dead.
Or… erased.
A young Piona ran through the alleys of the capital.
Directionless.
Unprotected.
Soldiers hunted anyone connected to the project.
And she—
was living proof.
She carried nothing.
Except one thing—
the will to survive.
She ran west.
Away from the war.
Away from the past.
Until—
she met Damian.
Back to the present.
Piona exhaled slowly.
Her hands clenched in her lap.
"Hey, Damian…" her voice was quieter now.
He glanced at her.
"Hm?"
"I have a reason to go back too."
He looked at her for a moment.
Then nodded.
No questions.
Some things… don't need words.
The cart stopped.
The door was thrown open.
They were dragged into an auction warehouse.
The smell of old wood, sweat, and fear filled the air.
Some of the children began to tremble.
But this time—
Damian didn't stay silent.
He closed his eyes.
Focused.
Activating something he had taught himself
"Lust for Doubt."
And suddenly—
the voices poured into his mind.
"They're just kids… but they'll sell well."
"I hate this…"
"Hope the master's satisfied…"
"But… what if Goddess Stella really punishes us?"
"Damn it… I need to get out of this business…"
Damian opened his eyes.
There was a pattern—
fear.
Not of law.
Not of people.
But of… divine judgment.
A faint smirk formed.
Humans really are predictable.
Bold enough to sin.
Desperate enough to feel righteous.
"Piona," he whispered.
He explained the plan briefly.
She listened.
Then sighed.
"…this is the dumbest idea I've ever heard."
"And?"
"…we're doing it."
Preparation began.
With scraps—
a small crystal.
Shimmering dust.
A touch of magic manipulation.
Piona created one thing—
a miracle.
Golden light began to wrap around them.
When the warehouse filled with light—
everything stopped.
Movement froze.
Voices died.
And Damian's voice changed.
Deeper.
Heavier.
Almost… inhuman.
"O misguided souls…"
Several traders stepped back, pale.
"Will you continue to turn your eyes from the truth?"
"W-What is this?!" a scarred man shouted.
Piona nearly laughed.
This was too easy.
Damian stepped forward.
The light pulsed.
"Your hearts are filled with fear."
"You know this is wrong."
"You know… you have strayed."
An old man collapsed to his knees.
"I—I was only following orders…"
"But you still have a choice," Damian continued.
"Goddess Stella sees all."
The air grew suffocating.
"Kneel… and return to the right path."
"Or—"
The light surged.
"Face her wrath."
Piona whispered under her breath,
"…he'd make an excellent fake Prophet."
Panic erupted.
"It's a sign!"
"We're cursed!"
"I don't want to die!!"
"What if it's real?!"
Logic crumbled.
Fear took over.
One by one—
they fell to their knees.
Then…
the light faded.
Silence.
And
thud.
Damian collapsed.
Unconscious.
A few seconds passed.
Then—
chaos.
"T-The chosen of the Goddess has fallen!!"
"We've sinned!!"
"Are we cursed?!"
"Do something!!"
Piona covered her face with one hand.
Took a long breath.
"…incredible."
She looked at Damian's unconscious body.
Then at the panicking traders, scrambling like headless animals.
"…I got kidnapped by slave traders."
"And now I have to manage a group of suddenly religious adults."
She exhaled.
Slow.
Measured.
"Fine," she muttered flatly.
"If this is the price of escaping…"
She stood.
Faint remnants of golden light still flickered around her.
"…then I'll be the second prophet."
The world really is absurd.
But as long as it can be used
Piona had no intention of complaining for long.
Everything became calm, the children were released although some remained there to follow the damian.
They managed to gain followers and assurance.