The midday sun beamed down mercilessly, scorching the earth until the very ground seemed to tremble beneath its touch. Heat rose in visible waves, the air itself bending and warping as though surrendering to the blaze.
In Migurd Village, however, life carried on as it always did.
"Hmm… so that's how magic works here, huh?"
A small monkey boy muttered to himself, sprawled across the wooden floor with a book far too large for his little frame. His tail swayed lazily from left to right as his golden eyes skimmed across the worn pages.
Khone was currently inside Uncle Rowin and Aunty Rokari's home.
To Khone — a child with no proper family to call his own — the tightly knit Migurd community had naturally become something like one. Everyone was an uncle, an aunty, a cousin. Titles filled the gaps where blood should have been.
And at the very top of that affection stood Ruijerd.
After all, he was the closest thing Khone had to a father.
But right now, Khone had successfully pestered Rowin and Rokari into letting him browse the small collection of books scattered around their house.
Literature was a rare commodity on the Demon Continent. Books were expensive, precious things. But due to some fortunate circumstances, the couple owned a handful. They'd needed them to teach their daughter, who — oddly enough — lacked the telepathy natural to the Migurd race.
So there were books on the basics of demon language.
Some simple fairy tales.
And one singular book.
One that had completely captivated Khone.
A book on magic.
Inside were basic water spells, explanations of mana flow, tiers of practitioners, and the fundamentals of casting.
Sitting up abruptly, Khone narrowed his eyes and raised his small hand.
"Let the vast and blessed waters converge where thou wilt and issue forth a single pure stream thereof— Waterball!"
He chanted with full conviction, his voice burning with intensity as he poured all his focus into the spell.
According to the book, once the chant and proper visualization were completed — along with supplying mana — the phenomenon would occur.
In this case, a small orb of water would form in his palm.
Well.
It was meant to.
Silence.
Clearing his throat, Khone tried again.
"—Waterball."
Nothing.
He felt no sensation of mana shifting. No warmth. No pull. No release from his palm.
Just emptiness.
"No… no, it can't be— what's the point of being reborn in a fantasy world if I can't even use magic?!"
He wailed dramatically, slouching to the ground and pounding his fist in defeat.
…
Swwssh.
The air parted sharply as Khone swung his kris blade. Its serpentine shape caused each swing to slice the wind in a slithering motion, producing a clean, continuous hiss.
"So what if I can't use magic? It doesn't matter. Characters that rely on physical abilities are cooler anyway, right? I mean, what's the point of just standing there and shooting spells? You can't even feel the closeness of death or victory. A second's delay means death — that's what makes fights cool, right?"
He paused mid-swing.
"…Ah man, who am I kidding? I wanna do magic."
His voice cracked slightly as he continued swinging, frustration bleeding into every strike.
Khone had begun training by himself lately. He'd found a raised cliff not too far from the village — a place he liked. From there, the setting sun painted the sky in deep oranges and burning reds. It was beautiful.
Usually.
"Ah man… today's been a total shitfest. Can't even focus on training."
He sighed and sat down, noticing how sloppy his previous swings had been. His form was off. His footing weak. His grip inconsistent.
Dangling his legs over the cliff's edge, he began humming a tune.
It was a song from his previous life — one he'd downloaded onto his phone and played over and over.
As he hummed, his body relaxed.
His guard lowered.
And he became unaware of his surroundings.
Suddenly—
The round orange sun and rocky ground flipped upside down.
The sky became earth.
The earth became sky.
"Huh?"
He looked down—
Or rather, toward his waist.
Scaly, taloned claws gripped him tightly.
He was airborne.
A massive rock bird — its body like hardened stone — beat its wings violently as it carried him away.
"AHHH! Uncle Ruijerd, help!"
Khone shouted instinctively.
At the same time, he yanked his kris from its sheath and attempted to stab the creature's leg.
Clang.
The blade barely scratched its rocky exterior.
He lacked the strength to pierce it.
"Fuck me— fuck birds! I hate birds! AHHHHHH!"
He yelled wildly as he repeatedly tried to stab it, his small arms straining uselessly.
Swaasssh—
A white blur tore through the air.
It pierced straight through the bird's chest.
Ruijerd's spear.
The force of the throw was monstrous — it punched clean through the creature and exited the other side.
Yet despite the fatal wound, the bird did not release him.
Its final breaths were spent tightening its claws around its prey.
"Ohhh, I see… you've got kids, huh?" Khone muttered between panicked breaths as the creature began to descend. "Guess parental instincts pushed you beyond death, huh? Don't worry, pal. I'll take care of your chicks. I'll boil the eggs, grill the meat— you shitty bird—!"
He flailed uselessly as the grip gradually loosened.
The rock bird shuddered.
Its strength faded.
"Shit—"
With its last breath spent, its claws opened completely.
And Khone began to fall.
Straight toward his certain doom.