Ferir's body was effortlessly lifted by two soldiers, despite his desperate struggles and loud explanations.

  In an instant, Ferir was thrown into an empty, straw-covered cell. His knees slammed against the cold stone ground, pain exploding behind his eyes until his vision blurred.

  The soldiers left two guards stationed outside the door, then quickly departed.

  “Please, this really is a misunderstanding. I didn’t do anything. I can explain…”

  Ferir continued to plead, hoping to salvage the situation, though inwardly he began to think, "I'm doomed."

  A night in the cell.

  The two guards had left at dusk, the only one remaining with Ferir being a petty thief also being held captive. The man huddled in the furthest corner after learning that Ferir was suspected of using witchcraft, even though they were separated by a whole cell.

  The cold stone floor, covered by nothing more than a thin layer of straw, made sleep impossible. Ferir lay awake through the long night, staring into the darkness, turning the same question over and over in his mind. How had things ended up like this?

  His thoughts drifted farther and farther, until he began to imagine something even worse. What if they forgot that there was a boy locked away in this cell, left to rot in silence, to die of hunger and thirst without anyone ever noticing?

  And then, when someone finally came to inform his mother, she would be torn between mourning her only son or being angry that he ignored her warnings.

  The night stretched on endlessly.

  Just when Ferir began to think he would have to endure yet another night in this place, footsteps finally approached. Someone stopped outside his cell and informed that a Captain wanted to see him.

  His hands were bound behind his back with an iron chain, his mouth gagged with a cloth, and he was escorted into a room that resembled a nobleman's study, except it was entirely decorated with gleaming metal weapons.

  Seated in the center was a very large man with a impressive mustache. In the seat reserved for guests sat none other than Arvil.

  Arvil let out an overly dramatic sigh.

  “I only sent my attendant to the palace for a visit; do you really need to show your displeasure to me in this way, Captain Darius?”

  Darius chuckled in a deep voice:

  “Now, now, don’t jump to conclusions so quickly, Count Sophiana.”

  “Call me Arvil.” Arvil looked visibly annoyed.

  Darius continued:

  “I received a report from my subordinate that he… What is his name?”

  Arvil replied:

  “Ferir Hakken.”

  “Yes. This Hakken young man is suspected of performing witchcraft within the grounds of the Palace of Light. Unless there has been some grave misunderstanding, this is a rather serious matter.”

  Ferir tried desperately to make a sound, but only a few meaningless muffled noises escaped him. He was being wrongly accused!

  Witchcraft, or dark magic, was subject to extremely strict restrictions across all eight Realms of the Union. Aside from individuals officially licensed by the Union, any use or experimentation involving witchcraft was expressly forbidden.

  The scars left behind by the war against the witches ran deep. Even shouting the word “witchcraft” in the middle of a crowd was enough to spark chaos. Unless the user could immediately present proof of authorization from the Union, anyone suspected of using witchcraft would be arrested on the spot.

  Darius lifted a hand. At once, a soldier standing nearby stepped forward and recounted the events of the previous day, including the maid’s testimony.

  As he listened, Arvil’s brows gradually furrowed. Like most people in the Realm of Light, he understood little about witchcraft at all.

  “Um… I think we need someone with proper expertise to evaluate this matter.” Arvil said. “Ferir has worked at the Royal Library for three years now, and I don’t believe he has anything to do with witchcraft or witches.”

  Darius pondered for a moment, then spoke.

  “As it happens, the Palace of Light is currently hosting an envoy from the Grand Palace. Let’s see whether His Excellency would mind coming over to take a look…”

  After half an hour of waiting, the door to the room opened once more. Both Darius and Arvil rose to show a respectful welcome.

  The man who entered was tall—taller even than Darius himself. His long silver hair was tied neatly at the back, and his entire presence carried a calm, composed air. Ferir’s eyes were immediately drawn to the red emblem embroidered over the left side of the white cloak.

  It was the crest of the Grand Palace, the supreme authority of the Union. There were thousands of books written about them.

  Darius let out his trademark hearty laugh.

  “Envoy Flinch, we’ve troubled you with this.”

  Flinch returned it with a calm, measured smile.

  “Not at all. I was told something interesting was happening here?”

  The soldier once again recounted what had occurred. As he listened, the envoy’s eyes gradually grew sharper, a quiet spark lighting within them. He gestured to the guard beside him, signaling for the cloth binding Ferir’s mouth to be removed.

  The moment he could move his lips again, Ferir hurriedly spoke, words spilling out in a rush.

  “S-sir, I can explain. I didn’t mean to use witchcraft or anything like that. That powder was just…”

  “Silence!” Captain Darius barked.

  Flinch raised a hand, stopping him mid-command, a faintly amused curve touching his lips.

  “I find his explanation quite intriguing. Can you explain it properly for me, young man?”

  Ferir swallowed hard and said:

  “That powder was something I made myself for self-defense. It was based on a formula from Masista’s Legacy… page 113, Chapter Eight. It isn’t anything dangerous. It’s simply a fairly strong sedative. The effects wear off on their own after three to five minutes at most…”

  This was another reason why he defied everything to work in the Royal Library. It was the only place in the entire country that still housed books related to magic.

  Unlike witchcraft - the dark art practiced by witches - magic was not strictly forbidden. Even so, because research texts on magic were exceedingly rare and difficult to obtain, there were very few people who could actually make use of it. To this day, most common folk could not tell the difference between witchcraft and magic at all, often lumping the two together as one and the same.

  Ferir’s fascination with magic rivaled his obsession with dragons.

  Flinch maintained his knowing smile, finding things increasingly interesting:

  “Masista’s legacy is one of the last witch books not destroyed because its value outweighs the risks. The formula within has had some key ingredients replaced; simply following the instructions wouldn’t produce the same effect.”

  Ferir stammered:

  “I suspected that, so I did some testing. From what I know, Masista originated from the Realm of Wood. Coal reserves there were barely sufficient for the royal household, so the ‘coal’ listed among the ingredients was most likely charcoal to begin with. Also, the names of some plant species were misspelled, but we can still deduce the original ingredients. Finding all the necessary ingredients was difficult, but…”

  Ferir’s voice trailed off under Flinch’s penetrating gaze. The envoy continued to ask:

  “What is the difference between magic and witchcraft?”

  Ferir didn't understand why he was asking this, but he still carefully replied:

  “Witchcraft is a branch within magic. It refers specifically to dark arts used by witches with the intent to harm others. Magic, on the other hand, is a far broader concept. It encompasses all methods by which humans manipulate the world through supernatural energy.”

  “And the methods by which magic is employed?” Flinch pressed.

  “Incantations, magic arrays, and concoctions. There is also a fourth type, manifestation through pure intent, but only those who have been blessed can wield it.”

  "Do you know that researching magic and witchcraft on your own is against the rules? Where did you learn this knowledge?"

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Ferir didn’t dare look up. He knew the rules, yet he had never imagined that his small experiments could spiral into something this severe.

  “I only read books and happened to come across it,” he said. “I never intended to use it for anything bad.”

  Flinch asked, “How old are you this year?”

  “I… seventeen.”

  Flinch murmured:

  “Seventeen. Just enough, then…”

  Ferir caught the faint scent of trouble drifting through this all too familiar pattern of conversation.

  “You’ve heard of the Ruler Selection, haven’t you?” Flinch continued. “Would you be interested if I were to recommend you as a candidate?”

  Ferir finally looked up, his face showed confusion.

  Standing nearby, Darius sensed the discussion slipping beyond his control and quickly interjected:

  “Sir Flinch, isn’t this a little hasty? We hardly know anything about the boy yet.”

  Just as Ferir opened his mouth to refuse, a voice rang out from behind him.

  “What’s all the commotion about?”

  A man in striking yellow armor entered the room. He had a square face and graying black hair. He wasn’t as large as Darius, but he exuded an air of unwavering determination and reliability.

  “Captain Rambeck, you’re back already?” someone exclaimed.

  Rambeck walked closer, his sharp gaze sweeping across the room. It took him only a moment to identify the center of the commotion. A strange red-haired boy. And, improbably, even an envoy from the Grand Palace had been drawn into the affair.

  Flinch spoke up calmly, his tone unhurried:

  “Just a minor misunderstanding, Captain. It’s already been resolved. This young man has shown himself to be a rather promising candidate for the Ruler Selection, so I was considering writing him a letter of recommendation.”

  Rambeck glanced briefly at the red-haired youth, then smiled in response.

  “If he’s earned such high praise from an envoy of the Grand Palace then there’s little room for doubt. Please, feel free to do as you see fit.”

  Flinch nodded in acknowledgement, then turned to Ferir.

  “Then you’ll tell me your name?”

  Ferir hesitated, flustered.

  “I-it’s Ferir Hakken, sir… but…”

  “Ferir Hakken?”

  “Is something the matter, Rambeck?” Darius asked.

  Realizing his lapse, the Captain quickly regained his composure.

  “It’s nothing… I was just having a second thought. Ferir Hakken, isn’t he? I believe it’s still too early for him to take part in the Rule Selection. He looks far too young.”

  Flinch replied calmly,

  “Perhaps you haven’t heard, but he has already turned seventeen. He meets the minimum requirement for the Pre-Selection.”

  “I think that being ‘just enough’ is hardly enough to leave an impression in such a important selection.” Rambeck said.

  Ferir immediately seized the opportunity to decline, responding instantly:

  “Actually, I think so too! I don’t think I’m ready. Perhaps… perhaps you should grant that opportunity to someone else instead?”

  Ferir looked at Rambeck, hoping for support, but was met with a very complex expression. Whatever had caused the Captain’s sudden shift in attitude was clearly beyond Ferir’s understanding.

  “The envoy has heard him himself. If the boy does not wish to participate, then he should not be forced.”

  “Yes, exactly. I really can’t…” Ferir hurried to agree.

  The two of them, unexpectedly aligned, only deepened Flinch’s confusion.

  He wondered if he had overestimated this boy. And yet… the potential Ferir had shown was undeniable. With that kind of intelligence, without proper guidance, who could say how dangerous he might become if he ever turned his knowledge of magic toward harming others?

  “Ferir.” Flinch said gently. “There is no need to belittle yourself. I will write a letter of recommendation to the Monarch. There will be no favoritism involved. Think of it as nothing more than a small measure of support during the Pre-Selection.”

  Ferir couldn't find any other reason to refuse at the momment, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly.

  Seeing the envoy in such high spirits, Darius let out a hearty laugh and added with mock cheer:

  “If you keep refusing, we’ll have no choice but to follow the law and throw you back in a cell!”

  Rambeck's expression grew increasingly serious, but everyone around him seemed too excited to notice.

  Ferir was also oblivious to this. At this moment, he could only think of one thing: He was in big trouble!

  *******************

  Ferir and Arvil were escorted back by carriage to the gate connecting the library. The door leading into the Palace of Light closed behind them soon after. Yet the door that led into the troubles of Ferir’s life had only just opened.

  Ferir's expression was so gloomy that Arvil couldn't understand:

  "So you ended up getting a letter of recommendation for the Pre-Selection. A night in jail wasn't a bad deal, was it?"

  Ferir let out a long sigh and collapsed onto a sofa the moment they stepped back into the library.

  “You know I never planned to take the Selection. Missing home for an entire night… my mother would go crazy.”

  “Don’t worry.” Arvil said. “When I noticed you hadn’t returned, I had someone send word to your mother that you’d be staying overnight to help with work.”

  Ferir blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected someone as disorganized as Arvil to be this reliable when it mattered.

  Just then, another library errand approached them and reported that a messenger from the Palace of Light was requesting to see Ferir Hakken.

  “I’ve come to deliver a letter from the Monarch.”

  The messenger insisted on handing the letter directly to Ferir. Along with it came a small box wrapped in velvet, embroidered with the royal crest. Once the delivery was complete, the man departed at once, refusing to answer any questions.

  “A letter from the Monrach?” Arvil muttered. “That was fast.”

  Ferir unfolded the letter resting on top.

  “Dear Ferir Hakken,

  On behalf of the entire Realm of Light, I, Monarch Sanguel K. Alaskark, am most pleased to receive the letter of recommendation submitted on your behalf by Envoy Flinch Groom of the Grand Palace, concerning your participation in the upcoming Pre-Selection for the Ruler Selection of the Realm of Light.

  With great anticipation, I hope that you will present yourself at your very best in the trials ahead. To receive a recommendation is an exceptional honor, one bestowed by the Grand Palace only upon candidates of true potential. You are one of seven individuals to whom the Envoy has granted this privilege. In other words, you are among the seven who carry the highest expectations.

  As Monarch of this realm, I sincerely urge you to give your utmost effort, and to prove the promise held by the young citizens of this kingdom.

  To ensure that you remain in optimal condition throughout the Selection, I have enclosed a small gift. Please accept it as a token of the pride I am able to bestow upon you.

  I trust that Ferir Hakken will not disappoint me, nor the Realm of Light as a whole.

  With regards.”

  At the bottom of the letter was a vivid red seal, unmistakable proof of the highest authority in the entire realm.

  And despite Ferir's inner struggle, Arvil opened the velvet-wrapped box. Inside was gold, a lot of gold coins. Ferir had never seen so much gold in his life. Arvil raised an eyebrow:

  "A letter of recommendation worth this much? Ferir, you've struck gold."

  Ferir ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

  “Don’t say it like that. Once I’ve taken the money, how am I supposed to treat the Selection like some meaningless test anymore? Damn it…”

  If this were merely a personal matter, Ferir could have performed poorly without drawing suspicion, and been done with it. But he had clearly underestimated the weight carried by a letter of recommendation from an envoy of the Grand Palace.

  With this level of attention upon him, a disappointing performance from Ferir Hakken would no longer be his shame alone but an embarrassment to the entire Realm of Light.

  Arvil looked at Ferir, the boy clutching his head, seemingly deeply troubled. He sat down, fanning himself with the letter in his hand:

  “You really don’t want to take the exam? I mean, it wouldn’t hurt anything, would it?”

  Ferir thought he would answer at once, I don’t want to.

  But something caught in his throat, stopping the words before they could come out. He lowered his head, confused by his own hesitation.

  “It’s… not that I hate it.”

  “Then what is it?” Arvil pressed.

  The answer was painfully clear. His mother.

  She didn’t want him anywhere near the nobility. There was something about them that made her worry far more than was reasonable, something she had never fully explained. She was the only family Ferir had left, and he didn’t want to cause her distress.

  Arvil crossed his arms and spoke slowly.

  “I don’t know what’s holding you back, but if you’re not unwilling to go… then why bind yourself so tightly?”

  Seeing Ferir lower his head in deep thought, Arvil continued,

  “Use tonight to think it through carefully. If tomorrow you still decide you don’t want to take the Selection, I’ll find a way to help you return the money. But this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Give it the time it deserves. Not the envoy, not the Monarch, you are the only one who has the right to decide whether you participate or not.”

  That night, Ferir couldn’t sleep.

  Part of it was the persistent coughing coming from Hanarn’s room. The rest was the storm of thoughts churning endlessly in his mind.

  Until just yesterday, the future Ferir had always envisioned was a quiet one. He would continue working as an assistant in the Royal Library for as long as he was able. If one day he were dismissed, he might open a small bookshop of his own. With a bit of luck, he would meet a diligent wife who had also grown up in the slums, and then they would busy themselves raising a family and children.

  And then there was his mother.

  That unfortunate woman had worked herself to exhaustion her entire life. Now, she could barely take care of herself.

  She would undoubtedly oppose it if she ever heard that he wished to become something even remotely close to a noble. To Hanarn, there was no real distinction between the nobles of the Realms and the authority of the Grand Palace.

  Ferir turned over for the twenty-first time on his creaky wooden bed, beginning to consider about the next Selection ten years from now.

  If by then his mother had already passed away, would he bolder and more determined? And even if he did, would someone like him, a commoner born in poverty, stand any real chance of competing without the rare fortune of a recommendation letter from a Grand Palace envoy like the one he had now?

  There were too many variables. No one could predict anything with certainty.

  Since childhood, driven by a need to make sense of the strange memories lodged deep within his mind, Ferir had pursued knowledge relentlessly. But Hanarn had only been able to afford enough for her son to complete the basic education of the Realm of Light.

  After that, Ferir devoured every book he could get his hands on, even when he barely understood what he was reading. He clung to anyone who could offer him knowledge, no matter how small or fragmented. He had to do everything he could to overcome Arvil's challenge to gain entry to the library.

  Yet no matter how many books he read, Ferir never felt it was enough.

  He dreamed of Levantis, the radiant land by the sea. Of the Himas Mountains rising in solemn grandeur to the west. Of the vast Gola Desert, swallowing whole those brave or foolish enough to venture into its sands.

  Memories of a boundless world, once seen from the skies beneath the gaze of dragons, stirred ceaselessly within him, urging him to step beyond the suffocating confines of the slums.

  Ferir believed dragons truly existed, yet he had no way to prove it.

  Ferir Hakken of the slums had never left the modest capital of the Realm of Light, and perhaps never would.

  While the world outside was immeasurably vast.

  In the deep silence of night, within a poor district tucked away in the heart of Russher, a young boy slowly clenched his fist and made a decision that would, in time, alter the fate of an entire continent.