When fantasy intertwines with reality, our story begins.
Long ago, both magic and science were revered fields of knowledge. But as the ages advanced, the mysteries once spread across this world began to fade, hidden from common sight. Magic, too, sank into obscurity... until it became nothing more than an outdated myth, spoken only in tales and fantasy.
Even so, some descendants still carry those fading legacies, keeping alive the art that defies reason. They walk unseen among the crowds, hidden behind the veil of ordinary life.
They call themselves - Magus.
Now, as fantasy and reality meet once more, the curtain rises on our story.
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Time: Late 20th century, a winter night
Place: Fuyuki City, Hyōgo Prefecture, Japan.
The New Year had come early this time, and with it, the cold.
Dark clouds veiled the evening sky, pressing low over the land. From the heavens, delicate flakes of snow drifted down, glimmering under the faint lamps of the city. A northern wind stirred, sweeping those flakes into swirls, guiding them northward like fleeting spirits.
Snow blanketed the steel jungle of the city, cloaking its dull greys in a fragile layer of white. It slid along rooftops, gathered in the gutters, and eventually melted into the silent veins beneath the streets.
The streets, once filled with festival cheer, now lay quiet. Shops were shuttered. Travellers had gone home for the holidays. The metropolis, usually alive with colour, seemed pale and hollow beneath the snow.
A single traveller walked through that still world.
"I hate snow."
His low voice broke the silence.
Wind rose again, scattering the falling silver dust across the pavement.
The black-haired young man walked on. Boots pressing into the snow, a crimson umbrella above his head, Lucien Crowley looked up at the ashen winter sky and sighed softly.
"I hate snow… and I hate winter. I hate the New Year even more."
It was an odd confession during such a season of celebration. Yet for one far from home, the warmth others found in the new year brought only loneliness.
"Because it makes me miss home."
Lucien brushed the flakes from his coat, pulling his collar tighter. He stared at the drifting snow, lost for a moment.
This time of year, back home, the plum blossoms must have been blooming again.
Lucien Crowley, age twenty-two. A wandering magus, known among the hidden world as a prodigy, and among a few, as a soul out of place.
He was once a promising mage within the Clock Tower, the great seat of magical learning in London. Gifted, noble-born, and ambitious, his path seemed destined for greatness. Until an accident... one born from hubris ended the life of the body he now inhabited.
The original Lucien had dabbled in a forbidden ritual, defying the Tower's decrees. He failed, his life snuffed out, leaving behind a corpse on a blood-stained carpet. It was at that very moment that another soul, his soul, slipped into the empty vessel.
When he first awoke under a ceiling etched with arcane sigils, surrounded by the metallic tang of mercury and blood, he thought he was dead. The last thing he remembered was a speeding truck, the bone-shattering impact, and darkness.
Yet instead of an afterlife, he opened his eyes to a new existence.
And like many unfortunate souls before him, Lucien found himself thrust into another world.
This body's former owner bore the same name - Lucien Crowley, heir to a small but respected magus family, tracing six generations back. Their lineage stood on the outskirts of London, built atop a modest leyline. Not among the great houses, but influential enough to command respect within the Clock Tower.
His parents, legendary even by magus standards, had vanished years ago chasing rumors of a divine beast near the Polish-Belarusian border. To pursue mystery was a magus's creed, even if it meant death. Before leaving, they passed their Magic Crest to their only son, burdening him with the family's legacy and the path toward the Root itself.
But their death only delighted the young heir. The moment the word came back to London, he celebrated privately, no grief, only twisted joy at inheriting power unrestrained.
Then came greed, followed by folly. He stole, experimented, and delved into taboos no sane magus would touch. Two months later, he destroyed himself. His failing body became the vessel that Lucien now inhabited.
When he understood this, Lucien could only mutter one thing at the mirror: "...Unbelievable."
Then he pointed at his reflection and chuckled bitterly, "You're unbelievable too."
Still, the fool's death had bought him a body free for the taking... no guilt attached.
Life after that wasn't simple. The world of magi was merciless.
With his "parents" gone, Lucien had to maintain the persona of a prodigy while secretly cramming the knowledge of both his host's legacy and the mystic arts of the Crowley line. Every waking moment was study, refinement, and deception.
Years passed. He adapted; he evolved.
At first, magic was only a means of survival. But over time, it became something more. Every breakthrough, every solved mystery brought him a deeper joy than anything he had known before.
Without noticing it, he had become what he once pretended to be: a magus.
Yet unlike most who abandoned their emotions for the pursuit of truth, Lucien remained human. He could still feel wonder, satisfaction....and at times, sorrow.
Well, not real sorrow. More like a faint melancholy when reminded of what he had lost.
Ever since arriving in this world, he had lived under constant tension—pretending, studying, devouring knowledge until his mind nearly cracked. Not even during his high school exam days had he worked this hard.
Now, free at last from the suffocating life of the Clock Tower, standing again on Eastern soil, surrounded by the familiar warmth of New Year's lights—he couldn't help but feel something stir inside him.
Still, sentiment could wait. He hadn't come here to reminisce.
This trip had taken months of planning and every scrap of his resources. He had even lied to his mentor to make it possible. Now was not the time for hesitation.
He pulled up his hood and turned his gaze toward a distant place- the direction of the Tohsaka estate, the current guardian of Fuyuki's spiritual veins.
First step: when you arrive in someone's territory, you pay your respects to the host. He would visit the Tohsakas. Then, perhaps, set his plans for the Holy Grail War into motion.
He had been preparing for this for over a year.
"Are you ready?" he whispered.
"Yes," he answered himself with a faint smile. "Let's begin… I've waited long enough to take part in this Holy Grail War."
Whether it was a murmur to himself or a quiet vow to the wind, Lucien smiled, lifted his red umbrella, and walked into the drifting snow. His figure faded into the white, like ink dissolving in water, until he vanished beyond the street's end.
A new story had begun.
(Chapter End)