33 — The Birth of the Lie
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Inside a dimly lit laboratory, a boy with platinum hair quietly put on his clothes. The fabric was rough and faded, and the air in the room carried the faint smell of metal and medicine.
This boy was Adrian.
Standing beside him was the same arcanist who had once helped him and his mother. Several years had already passed since the day Adrian made his agreement with the man, and since then, his life had been nothing but a series of experiments.
Sometimes the arcanist gave him strange liquids to drink—fluids that burned his throat and left an unpleasant taste for days. Sometimes, he was made to take small pills that would send waves of heat and pain through his body.
After each experiment, he would fall ill. His body would shake, his vision would blur, and his head would pound endlessly. He would lie on the cold floor, breathing heavily, waiting for the pain to pass.
But the experiments did not end there. The arcanist was a man of research and obsession. He would often perform long and complex surgery that tested the limits of human endurance. Adrian could remember lying still on the cold table while the man worked, feeling every second stretch into eternity.
There were times the surgery lasted for days. Times when the anaesthesia effects faded, and all that was left was the ache and the awareness of what was happening. The feeling of his own flesh being cut open he felt the pain but he was unable to move or even scream they were events that could break anyone physically and mentally, imagine the pain of having your own flesh being cut open and your unable to even scream, imagine the feeling of watching your very own organs being harvested and modified and then placed back into your body, Adrian could effectively say that the arcanist had touched every part of his inner body, his eyes were harvested, lungs, liver, kidney, pancreas, intestines, all of them brought out in a gory mess of blood and flesh all of it had become part of his memories.
Over time, he learned not to cry. Not to beg. Not to ask questions.
He simply endured.
Because the only thing that mattered was keeping his mother alive.
No matter how cruel the process became, that one promise gave him the strength to keep going.
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Now, in the quiet of the lab, the arcanist spoke.
"I'll be leaving for a few weeks," he said, his tone calm and steady. "Here are some spirit stone fragments. Use them carefully."
He tossed several small stones toward Adrian. They glimmered faintly in the dim light before landing on the table.
Adrian picked them up silently.
The arcanist gave him a brief look—neither kind nor cruel—before turning and walking toward the door. When it closed, the sound echoed through the room, leaving behind only silence.
Adrian stood still for a long moment before taking a slow breath. For the first time in a while, he felt the stillness of peace.
The following days were quiet.
He went to check on his mother, who remained in a small room nearby. She sat quietly as always, her eyes empty, her mind lost somewhere unreachable. He fed her, spoke to her softly, and stayed by her side. Even if she didn't respond, he still smiled.
Life, though fragile, had a strange sense of calm.
Until one night, the sky turned red.
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A roar echoed from outside the laboratory. The air grew heavy, carrying with it a strange, suffocating presence. The ground trembled. Distant cries filled the night.
A corrupted creature had appeared.
It was unlike anything Adrian had ever seen. Its power swept across the town like a storm, tearing through everything in its path.
The arcanists stationed nearby fought back, but the creature was far too strong. The air was filled with bright flashes of light, the sound of explosions, and the desperate screams of those who tried to resist.
Adrian could only watch from a distance as chaos spread. Buildings crumbled, and the sky was covered with dark clouds that pulsed with unnatural light.
Then, he remembered something.
His mother.
His heart sank. Without a second thought, he ran.
He ran through the burning streets, dodging falling debris and collapsing walls. The heat scorched his skin, and every breath burned his lungs. But he didn't stop.
He reached the outskirts of the town—the place where his mother stayed.
And what he saw made his body freeze.
In front of him stood a massive, dark creature. Its enormous wings stretched wide, covering the ground in shadow. The air was thick with the scent of corruption and decay.
But it wasn't the size or power that terrified him.
It was its face.
The creature's body was that of a moth, but its head—its head was that of a woman.
And that woman…
That woman was his mother.
Her once gentle face was pale and still, her eyes hollow and empty. Her features were unmistakable, yet twisted in a way that made his stomach turn.
Adrian's knees gave out. He dropped to the ground and retched, his mind spinning.
He wanted to deny what he saw.
But he couldn't.
Tears streamed down his face as he trembled and muttered to himself.
"If only I was stronger… If only I was more powerful… If only I was an arcanist!"
The shadow of the creature loomed closer. Its wings moved slowly, creating a deep, unsettling sound that echoed through the air.
Adrian closed his eyes, ready for whatever would come next.
But instead of pain, he heard a voice.
A soft, familiar voice.
"My sweet son."
His eyes shot open.
He looked up, tears still in his eyes. "Mother? Is that you?"
"Yes," the voice replied gently. "It's me, my dear child."
For a moment, he forgot everything. His fear, his confusion—it all faded away.
"Mother… you're still here," he whispered, his voice trembling.
"Yes," the voice said again, filled with warmth. "I will always be here."
But it was not the truth.
The corrupted creature had taken over what remained of his mother's body. Yet within that body, traces of her emotions—her bond with her son—still lingered faintly.
Sensing this, the creature imitated her perfectly.
It used her voice. Her tone. Her tenderness.
And Adrian believed it.
Something inside him broke. The grief, the despair, and the faint spark of hope all mixed together. And then—something awakened.
A strange, warm power surged through him. The first sign of mana flowing through his veins.
It was his awakening.
The moment he became an arcanist.
From that night onward, the voice never left him.
It whispered to him, calling him "my son," guiding him, comforting him. It told him what to do. It told him that if he obeyed, if he helped it, then maybe one day his mother could be healed.
And Adrian believed every word.
He followed its instructions.
He hunted. He gathered. He fought.
And the creature grew stronger.
He thought he was saving his mother.
But he was only feeding the darkness that had taken her away.
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The chapter end there.