The river ran quiet that day.
It snaked through the secluded grove behind the Roswell estate, silver currents flowing like veins beneath the skin of the world. Seris Roswell walked alone beside it, pale boots brushing softly against gravel and wet grass. Her eyes—amethyst, unnervingly bright—stared into the water's shifting surface. Silver hair fell to her waist in gentle waves, stirred by a breeze carrying the scent of spring and iron.
Her steps were measured, her thoughts far from idle.
"Second ascension trial…" she murmured, words like breath. "I passed it. A Silver Totem now…"
She stopped and gazed at her reflection in the river. It rippled and scattered her image, yet her features remained sharp: porcelain-pale skin, a fine bone structure, and those gleaming eyes—crystal amethyst that looked like they'd never seen joy, only calculation.
"I can finally enter the royal selection. The next Region Fairy…" A pause. Her mouth twitched.
But dreams were dangerous. In Armad, they often bled.
Then she saw him.
A body, crumpled at the river's edge.
She blinked once. Twice.
At first, she thought it a carcass. Then she moved closer and saw that it was a boy—young, unconscious, soaked and scraped, his clothes ragged and alien. His chest rose faintly. Alive.
Blood laced the water.
Strange.
He didn't belong here. Everything about him screamed wrongness. His hair was black, coarse and matted. His skin was a foreign hue—sun-kissed but bruised. His face was...plain. Not ugly, not beautiful. Just average. Like a mask made to be forgotten.
And yet...
Unique.
She frowned.
Why had that word surfaced?
He was broken, barely breathing, a stranger—and yet something inside her stirred. A quiet crackle of interest. Not lust. Not pity. Just...a glimmer.
She stood over him for a long while.
Then called for the maids.
---
Hours later ...
The world returned as a scream caught in Vesper's throat.
He sat up violently in bed, lungs heaving, sweat pouring down his back. His heart was a drum. Pain. Breath. Pain.
Where—?
The bed was foreign. The sheets too smooth. A golden chandelier swayed gently overhead. The ceiling was painted with unfamiliar constellations. And yet, none of it felt hostile. Just...alien.
Am I dead again?
No. No, this is—this is something else.
He stumbled out of the bed, bare feet against velvet carpet. His steps were heavy, like his limbs didn't fully obey him. He staggered toward a nearby window and pulled aside the curtain.
A courtyard stretched beyond it.
Vast. Clean. Framed with topiaries shaped like beasts he didn't recognize. Servants in black uniforms moved like shadows through paths of polished marble. The sky was blue but wrong—too clear. Too perfect.
His fingers trembled.
This isn't my world.
His thoughts spun. The last memory—the black desert. The crushing wave. The voice that spoke like a forge hammer on steel.
Do you wish to ascend?
Was that real? Or a hallucination of a dying brain?
The door creaked.
He turned sharply, tensing, but froze when he saw her.
Silver hair. Amethyst eyes. A girl of ethereal beauty. A girl out of place in any reality.
"I see you're awake," she said softly, her lips curled upward. She stepped inside with a practiced grace, like she didn't walk so much as glide.
"Where... where am I?" Vesper asked, throat dry.
She didn't blink. "You're in Roswell territory. My home."
His brow furrowed. "Roswell...?"
"One of the five ruling families of the Armad Continent."
That meant nothing to him. His expression showed it.
She tilted her head, amused. "You really don't know?"
He looked at her. Her skin was smooth as marble, her voice oddly soft. But her eyes—there was something watching in those eyes. Measuring.
"No," he said honestly.
"You're from Amnis, then."
He hesitated.
"Yes," he lied, pushing the word out. He didn't know why, only that telling the truth felt dangerous.
She nodded. "Explains your ignorance. Don't worry. You can stay here for now, until you recover."
And just like that, she left, closing the door behind her with a whisper.
Vesper stared.
Silence filled the room again, but his mind screamed.
Amnis? Armad? What is this? I've never heard of these places. Never seen anything like this.
His thoughts returned to the voice, the wave, the crushing heat.
This is real. I'm not dreaming. I'm somewhere else. Somehow.
But how?
And why?
---
Later that day, she found him wandering the hall.
The mansion was impossibly large. Endless corridors lined with red carpets and ancient portraits of men and women with stern faces and cold eyes. Statues guarded stairwells. Maids bowed silently as he passed.
"You're looking better," Seris said as she approached.
He nodded.
"Let me show you around."
And she did.
The western gardens, where the sunflowers screamed in silence. The servant quarters, where no one met his gaze. The training hall, empty but filled with the scent of old blood. The family shrine, adorned with totems and the preserved bones of Roswells past.
Everywhere he looked, the world screamed not yours.
She introduced him to her aunt—a skeletal woman with golden teeth—and her uncle, a man with eyes like winter glass and a handshake that caught Vesper off guard.
He smiled through it all.
They did not.
That evening, they dined at a long table surrounded by silence. The food was delicious. But every bite tasted like danger.
"You're welcome to stay as long as you like," Seris said after the meal, her voice smooth. "No need to rush."
He thanked her.
Smiled.
....
The night stretched onward, painted in streaks of deep blue and crimson from the twin moons above. Vesper had wandered for hours after dinner, each step echoing through the lifeless halls of the Roswell estate. He couldn't sleep — not from the discomfort of a strange bed, but from the gnawing sense that everything was wrong.
This world, with its gravity of silk and stone, weighed differently on his soul.
Seris's voice still echoed in his ears. Polite. Distant. Beautiful.
Too beautiful.
Even in laughter, something had felt... calculated. Like every word was rehearsed. Every gesture meant to comfort, to lure.
But why? Why show him warmth, only to retreat behind those perfectly sculpted expressions? Was she toying with him? Studying him?.
That single thought had begun to anchor itself in his mind. Over and over.
The dessert,the Wave
I should be dead
Everything since that moment had felt like a dream clawing to become a nightmare.
He reached the grand hallway again — the same place he had admired earlier. A cathedral carved from black marble and moonlight, lined with windows that stretched skyward like the spines of a beast. There, outside, the two blood-red moons hung low and swollen, watching. Waiting.
He approached the window.
Looked up.
I'm truly in another world.
The thought no longer felt strange. It felt final. Heavy. Like a door had closed behind him — one that could never be opened again.
And then it happened.
A sharp crack in the air, like thunder contained in a single breath. A sound too fast to dodge, too sharp to register.
Pain.
Unfathomable.
A burning spike of agony pierced through his stomach. His mouth opened in a silent scream. His vision exploded in white and red.
He staggered.
Looked down.
A bright blue arrow jutted from his gut. Blood gushed around it, hot and fast. His breath caught. His legs gave way.
And as he fell, his eyes met hers.
Seris.
Standing where the hallway met the shadows.
Expression unreadable.
Beautiful still — terrifyingly so. But gone was the warmth. Gone was the softness.
Only a cold expressionless face remained.
"W-why..." he gasped, blood pooling at his lips.
She walked toward him, her heels tapping lightly on the polished floor.
"Your story didn't make sense," she said calmly, kneeling beside his broken body. "You claimed to come from Amnis, but knew nothing of Armad. Not the ruling families, not the history, not even the simplest names."
She tilted her head. Her silver hair caught the moonlight. Her violet eyes glittered like amethysts in frost.
"A poor spy, if you ask me. They should've sent someone more convincing."
Spy?
The word was meaningless to him. The world spun. His limbs trembled. He couldn't focus. He couldn't breathe.
"But even a Bronze Totem Ascender is worth something," she said. Her voice was smooth, clinical. Like she was reading from a manual.
He couldn't comprehend her words. All he knew was pain. Endless, merciless pain.
He collapsed onto his back, limbs twitching.
But soon he
Died
Seris raised her hand. A faint glow surrounded it — silver and cold.
"You'll make a good offering," she whispered. "My Silver Totem feeds on ascended essence. And you've brought me just enough."
From Vesper's stomach, something stirred.
A light.
Pale and flickering, it rose from his body, shaped like a totemic emblem. Bronze, etched with ancient patterns that pulsed in sync with his dying heartbeat.
Seris reached for it. Her expression softened, almost as if she seen this happen before.
But then — the totem pulsed.
Once.
Seris expression changed to confusion and shock
What is happening?
Twice.
What the hell is happening !!
Then — exploded.
Light poured out like a tidal wave. Blinding. Pure. Endless.
The entire hallway vanished in it. Reality warped. For a heartbeat, the mansion no longer existed. Only sound — the clang of a hammer striking metal. Then silence. Not just quiet — the silence of death.
---
Vesper awoke an unknown place .
He was alive.
Again.
His eyes darted around.
What is this?
He checked his stomach.
No wound. No arrow. No blood.
But the pain — the memory of it — lingered. Deep. Traumatic. Like his soul had been cracked.
Sand dunes stretched endlessly. A black sun beat down from above.
The desert wind burned his skin. The sand beneath him scorched his hands. He gasped, coughing, his body soaked in sweat.
He stood. Legs shaking.
Fear unlike any he'd ever known crept up his spine. Not the fear of death — he'd tasted that twice already.
No. This was something worse.
Why am I still alive?
Why i am back to this hell!?
He remembered Seris's eyes. That cold glint. That final smile.
He remembered how she looked at him — like meat.
I was nothing to her. Nothing but a tool. A pawn. A resource.
His heart pounded.
But beneath the fear, something else stirred.
Hate.
Not a fleeting anger. A deeper, older hate. The kind that burned slow. The kind that refined.
She killed me...
The voice from the void echoed again in his head
Do you wish to ascend?