From the moment I opened my eyes in this world, I could see it when no one else could—the fabric of this universe, its inner workings, the machinations at play. This world was completely simulated, though by whom I did not know. Whoever the creator was, they were benevolent, leaving us with the right to edit the source. That is magic—the source code of this universe—and I could see it innately.
Seeing the fabric of the world was not a gift without weight. Information never stopped flowing, never quieted, never allowed true rest. Even as a child, I understood that knowing too much meant never being able to look away.
Some people are born with unique talents in this world. Mine were eyes that could see everything.
At first, I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information contained in even the smallest grain of sand, but my mind, for whatever reason, could grasp it. Like any language, it could be learned, and with enough fluency something tangible could be shaped from it. As a small child, I grew up studying this invisible world, consumed by it. My parents had no idea what to do with me. I was not like the other children around me. I was not even truly a child. Physically, yes—but my mind had either supplanted the owner of this body, or I had been born into it with my memories intact. There were moments when I wondered which of us was real—the child whose life I now lived, or the mind that had carried memories across death itself. I never found an answer, only the quiet understanding that I could not afford to hesitate, no matter which truth was real.
In my original world, I was a programmer. I was never good with people, but code always made sense. There was logic, consistency, and above all—creation. In that world, I built systems others relied on. Here, the system itself lies open before me, waiting to be rewritten. The scale is different. The principle is not. As a senior engineer, I did well enough for myself. A cozy apartment in a decent area. A nice car. A stable life.
But life ends suddenly and without warning.
I should have been more careful. I had been so excited about a new feature we were implementing at work that I never noticed the truck barreling toward me as I absentmindedly walked across the street to the office. My eyes, fists, and teeth clenched as I braced in that final moment.There was no dramatic clarity. No slow-motion understanding. My life hadn't flashed before my eyes as I thought it would in the face of death. Only impact.
Before I could even register what had happened, my eyes were open again.
But I was not in the street, nor at home, nor at the office, nor in a hospital as I would have expected.
When I opened my eyes, I was greeted by the faces of my parents—Sarah and John Conner.
In that instant, I learned how fragile existence truly was. Life does not end gradually. It stops—without permission, without warning. That knowledge never left me, not even in this new world. It lingers in quiet moments, a reminder that safety is an illusion sustained only by preparation.
I had been a loner in my previous life, partly because I was orphaned young and raised among some of the worst kinds of people. But in this life, my parents were nothing but loving. Despite our modest circumstances, they always supported me, and in time I grew to cherish them—and the friends I would come to know while growing up. Their kindness was unfamiliar to me at first. I did not know how to accept it, only that losing them was something I could not endure again. That fear—quiet, constant—shaped every decision I made. I protect them not because I distrust the world, but because I understand it.
It was the first day of school. I woke, dressed in the standard uniform, and went downstairs to greet my parents and eat breakfast before leaving.
"You're up early again," my mother said, placing a plate in front of me. "You barely slept, did you?"
"He never does," my father added with a faint smile. "Always thinking about something."
I nodded slightly, keeping my expression neutral. They saw diligence. They did not see the other half of my life—the nights, the spells, the things I erased so they would never have to know fear.
"Don't push yourself too hard," my mother said gently.
If only she knew how impossible that was.
My nightly work had not gone unnoticed. There were those in this city who would gladly destroy me if given the chance, and hurting those close to me would be the easiest way to do it. Security was not caution. It was necessity. Power attracts attention. Attention attracts predators.
As part of my routine, I checked the security spells I had placed around the house, then those protecting my parents, and finally the ones tied to my friends.
To an outside observer, it would seem excessive.
It would take something as powerful as a large bomb to even dent the roof of our home, and only a fifth-circle mage or higher could harm my family or friends without even realizing they were protected. None of them knew about my abilities, and I intended to keep it that way.
I stored most of my mana in a pocket dimension I had constructed so that anyone observing me would see only an ordinary first-circle mage. Weakness was safety. Obscurity was survival. The less the world understood about me, the longer I could move unseen. First- through third-circle mages were considered basic—barely above ordinary unless they showed potential to reach the fourth circle, the level of professional mages who might one day serve the great Houses.
The strongest mage I had ever personally seen was eighth circle. The leaders of the great Houses were said to be ninth and tenth.
The ranks corresponded to the number of mana rings surrounding the heart. The more rings one possessed, the higher the level of spells they could cast—and the longer they could fight. Mana capacity also enhanced physical strength and agility. Power is measurable here. Visible. Quantified. That makes it easier to hunt—and easier to fear.
Everything appeared normal.
After finishing my meal, I gathered my things and began walking toward school. It was only a few blocks away. I could catch up with Clara and hear about everything she had done over the summer. Clara was my best friend. We had grown up in the same neighborhood. She lived closer to the school than I did, yet somehow I always arrived first. Clara had always been there—steady, warm, unchanged by the quiet distance I sometimes placed between myself and the world. She grounded me in ways I did not fully understand. With her, the world felt less like a system to control and more like something worth living in. Losing her was not something I allowed myself to imagine.
I moved to the side of the house, out of sight of the neighbors, and waved my hand.
Instantly, a doorway-shaped tear formed in space, connecting directly to the school. Dimensional Door—a spell that allowed travel between linked portals. I stepped through as the opening collapsed behind me, vanishing without a trace. Distance has never meant much to me. Only variables.
I headed toward the lockers, storing my things while waiting for Clara to appear in the hallway.
That was when I sensed it.
An alert.
One of my spells had activated around the school. It was designed to probe for intent—searching minds for threats. Someone was here. Not necessarily dangerous… but they did not belong. My mind sharpened instantly. Calm on the surface, calculating beneath. Whoever this was had stepped into territory carefully woven and long prepared.
I allowed the memories to surface.
The smell of smoke. The feel of a small flip lighter. Investigation. A crime scene. A faint vision of Clara.
Someone had sensed the spell I placed on her and found it interesting enough to follow that thread all the way here.
No.
This was connected to my work at night—my quiet efforts to cleanse this city of its worst elements.
This person was investigating me. A familiar tension settled in my chest—not fear, but awareness. The game had changed. I was no longer the only one observing from the shadows.
For now, he was not a threat. He did not know enough—only a faint trace of my aura. That was not impossible to manage, though it meant I would need to be more careful.
"Leon, how do you always get here faster than me? Are you waking up earlier or something?"
"Maybe you're just slow."
Clara smiled, and for a moment the weight I carried felt distant, almost unreal. But before she could say more, one of her friends pulled her away.
"Let's talk later, okay?"
"Sure."
I watched her walk away, and for a moment I wished I could remain nothing more than a student waiting for the bell to ring.
But that was never the life I was meant to live.
When the sun falls and the city quiets, another world emerges beneath the surface—one most people never see, and never would survive if they did. Power moves in silence here. Forces older than law, stronger than order, shaping the city from the shadows. Some protect it. Others feed on it.
I walk between them.
Not as a hero, and not as a judge, but as something necessary.
There is filth in this city—men and mages who exploit, corrupt, and destroy without consequence. Removing them is not justice. It is maintenance. A system cannot function if rot is allowed to spread unchecked.
And this city… is part of my world.
My parents. Clara. The quiet mornings. The fragile normalcy I pretend to live in. All of it exists within the boundaries I protect.
I did not choose this burden.
But I am the one capable of carrying it.
Power demands responsibility, whether welcomed or not. I alone can see the threads that bind this city together, the fractures forming beneath its surface, the dangers before they emerge. If I do nothing, others will suffer for it.
So I act.
Not for recognition. Not for righteousness.
For stability.
For control.
For them.
And perhaps, in some quiet way… for myself.
And tonight, that responsibility led me to him.
The investigator.
He moved carefully, deliberately, but even careful minds leave traces. Observation leaves patterns, and patterns can be followed. The faint residue of perception magic, the quiet pressure of a searching intellect, the lingering scent of smoke threaded through the currents of the city—enough.
I found him.
A modest hotel in the lower district. Third floor. Corner room. Lights still on.
Awake.
Thinking.
About me.
I stood across the street, unseen beneath the dim wash of a flickering streetlamp, watching the pale glow of his window. The city breathed quietly around me, unaware of the silent line being drawn between two minds moving in shadow.
He was not ordinary. That much was clear.
But neither was I.
I let my awareness extend, threading through the structure of the building, mapping space, intention, resistance. No active traps. No layered wards. Only vigilance. Only patience.
He was waiting.
So was I.
In a single, silent motion, space folded.
Shadow gathered around me as I stepped through it, emerging at the edge of his window, unseen by the world below.
Inside, he sat at a small desk, a lighter turning slowly between his fingers.
Click.
Click.
Click.
The rhythm stopped.
Not because he saw me.
Because he felt me.
Silence settled across the room, heavy and deliberate.
I allowed a fraction of my presence to surface—nothing more.
Enough.
His hand stilled.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze toward the window.
Toward me.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Two observers.
Two hunters.
Measuring.
Understanding.
I spoke first, my voice quiet, barely disturbing the stillness.
"You've been looking for me."
He did not flinch. Did not reach for a weapon. Did not look away.
Instead, his eyes sharpened—recognition, calculation, something deeper beneath it.
Then he answered—
And the night held its breath.