Summer break was always a welcome sight. Reuniting with family after months away, catching up, and being able to train magic in a more relaxed way.
That was Noah's idea of a perfect vacation. His family was great—supportive, funny, and kind. He couldn't have asked for a better place to be.
A week into the holidays, he was still telling them some of the events he'd downplayed in his letters.
"I still don't get why you ran straight at that troll," his mother said, giving him her fifth questioning look.
"Don't ask too much, Laura," his father interrupted. "He was like a white knight saving a damsel in distress."
He winked at Noah, who rolled his eyes.
"My baby's having his first love, how adorable," his mother added, just as Noah spat out his tea.
Everyone burst out laughing as his face turned red.
"What? Did you think we didn't see you two at the ball?"
Noah nodded awkwardly. He hadn't tried to hide it, but since no one had brought it up, he assumed whoever noticed must've been a stranger.
"I think I'll go practice a bit," he said quickly, and before his mother could drag him into more questions about how dangerous school had been, he dashed upstairs.
"He just got back from school and already wants to study magic again," his mother muttered, pouting. "I miss when he was still a baby."
Noah returned to his room. He'd spent the last few days with his family, doing his best to savor every second.
But his mind was like a wild beast, desperate for its prey.
He took out the portal card he always carried with him and stared at it for a few minutes.
Then he placed it against the door. Using a bit of magic to hold it there, he poured his energy into it, just as he'd been taught.
The next instant, a portal appeared.
"I love magic," Noah murmured before stepping through.
In the blink of an eye, his feet touched the solid ground of the inheritance realm.
"Welcome," greeted the voice of the gatekeeper.
"Sorry for taking so long," Noah replied. "I was busy. End-of-year exams, you know?"
He chuckled, then added, "Right, you never went to school. Wait… do golems even have schools?"
The gatekeeper smiled. "The challenger truly has a disturbed sense of humor."
"You're the disturbed one. And you can call me Noah."
"Very well, Noah."
Joking aside, Noah turned his gaze toward the stone door along the side wall.
"So, all I have to do is go through that door and see what challenge lies ahead?"
"Then complete it," the gatekeeper confirmed. But he added, "Completing the challenge is only part of it. The process is far more interesting."
Noah understood what he meant. It was like when he'd created his fire magic—the process itself was the reward. The ideas forming, the flow of creation...
"I see you're ready," said the gatekeeper, gesturing toward the door.
"Common magic is the lowest form of all magics. There is no common magic beyond each door."
Noah frowned. "So I can't use magic in there?"
"Maybe you can. Maybe you can't. It depends on the challenge."
"The lowest level of all magic…" he muttered. "So how many levels are there? And what are they?"
The gatekeeper shook his head. "I cannot answer that yet."
"But you already know the second level…"
Noah blinked in confusion.
"Magic of Will."
A thoughtful look crossed his face. He had guesses—but now wasn't the time. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward and placed his hand on the door. As if he instinctively knew what to do, he poured his magic into it.
When he crossed the threshold, there was no flash, no sound, no wind.
There was only absence.
The floor vanished. The air vanished.
For a brief moment, it felt like even his body had ceased to exist.
Then, consciousness returned. He was standing on something solid.
"...Where am I?"
He looked around cautiously, but sensed no danger.
All that existed was a vast stone platform, floating in a void so endless the very concept of a horizon made no sense.
There was no sky, no ground—just a still, pale nothingness stretching infinitely in every direction.
The silence wasn't the kind you could hear—it was the kind that erased.
"What the hell…" he whispered.
The platform was enormous, but within that emptiness, it looked no bigger than a speck of dust in the snow.
There was nothing. Nothing but him.
No—there was something else.
A few steps ahead stood a black monolith, polished like liquid glass. It towered nearly three times his height, and across its surface flowed silvery lines that formed shifting symbols—letters that changed whenever he tried to focus on them.
Noah stared, not knowing how much time passed as he watched the symbols dance.
Then, finally, they stabilized just enough for him to read:
"What separates two points is not space, but the mind that perceives it."
For a second, his mind went blank. Then he blinked, not realizing what had just happened.
"What the hell does that mean?"
He read it once. Then again.
And again.
The words seemed simple—yet every time he read them, they carried a different weight. Something about them itched at his thoughts, as if hiding a meaning he could almost grasp, but that slipped away the moment he tried.
He looked around. The emptiness. No walls, no visible limits.
Noah sat cross-legged, staring at the monolith, unsure how much time was passing.
Each time he reread the words, he felt close to an answer—only for it to vanish again.
Time moved. Nothing changed.
He had no idea what he was supposed to do.
Then he noticed something new: a line of text had appeared at the base of the monolith.
"The second platform lies ahead. Reach it."
Noah frowned and stood. He looked around—nothing. Then he began to walk.
He went to the edge and stopped. Looked out at the gray-white horizon.
Then he tried another direction. And another. All the same.
"'Ahead,' huh?" he muttered, squinting at the faintly glowing words at the base.
"The second platform lies ahead. Reach it."
Ahead.
But what did ahead even mean when there was no direction?
He took a few steps. The sound of his footsteps echoed strangely, like they were happening inside his own head.
He reached for his waist—to grab his wand—only to realize he didn't have one.
In fact… he wasn't wearing anything at all.
"How did I not notice this before?"
His expression hardened. He snapped his fingers, trying to conjure clothes.
Nothing.
He tried again. And again.
Fire spells. Summons. Incantations. All failed.
He could feel magic in this place—so why…?
"Common magic doesn't work beyond the door…" he recalled the gatekeeper's words.
But Noah had the second level—Will Magic.
Even that didn't respond.
He stared into the void and thought, What if this is all just an illusion?
He stepped off the edge.
For an instant, his stomach dropped—then he began to fall.
No wind. No sensation of speed. Just endless, unbroken falling.
The void swallowed time itself.
Distance felt infinite—or nonexistent.
He could see the platform far above, then suddenly close again.
It might have been a minute. Or an hour.
And then, without realizing how—it was beneath his feet once more.
No sound. No impact. Just… there.
He took a deep breath, eyes returning to the monolith.
Read again:
"What separates two points is not space, but the mind that perceives it."
"So the problem… is me?" he murmured.
He sat before the monolith. The silver reflections rippled, distorting his face.
He began to repeat the phrase under his breath, like a mantra:
"What separates two points… is not space… but the mind… that perceives it…"
The more he repeated it, the more his thoughts seemed to dissolve inside the words.
It was like trying to hold water in his hands. Every time he thought he understood, it slipped away.
But then—just for a fragment of a second—something shifted.
The ground bent faintly beneath his feet, as if space itself had taken a breath.
His vision wavered. The edges of the monolith seemed to move… or maybe the whole world shifted while the monolith stayed still.
Noah blinked. Everything was normal again.
He didn't notice.
But for that brief moment—the space around him had warped.
Noah spent hours there. Repeating. Reflecting. Questioning. Trying to understand.
Until finally, exhausted, he rested his forehead against the cold stone and whispered:
"If what separates… is the mind… then maybe I need to learn not to separate."
No answer came. Only that same, heavy silence.
He stood, gazing once more into the endless stillness ahead—where supposedly, the second platform waited.
He felt frustrated. Empty. But also… restless.
As if something deep within him was about to awaken.
Without knowing why, he glanced back at the monolith.
For a moment, he could've sworn his reflection moved after he did.
When he blinked, it was normal again.
Noah gave a tired half-smile.
"Alright… guess this won't be easy."
He turned and took a few steps back.
There was no door to return through—so he'd have to stay.
But maybe… this was exactly where he was meant to be.
The platform felt slightly longer than before—but he didn't notice.
And without realizing it, he had already begun to change.