1- Welcome to Sylvestria [1]
Everything is dark. An endless abyss stretches out in every direction, silent and cold. The void is oppressive, a heavy nothingness that seeps into every corner of my mind.
But then, faintly at first, I catch something—an unexpected, soothing scent—lavender.
It's subtle yet persistent, weaving through the emptiness like a lifeline. A warm breeze brushes against my skin, carrying the faintest hint of sunshine. The sensation is so vivid, so comforting, that it startles me.
It's the complete opposite of the cold, lonely abyss surrounding me, coaxing me back from the edge of oblivion.
I cautiously open my eyes, expecting to see the aftermath of the accident—a mangled car, blood, and maybe even a hospital ceiling. But instead, I find myself lying in an unfamiliar bedroom, bathed in a soft, golden light.
The room is elegant, exuding quiet sophistication. The walls are painted in gentle cream and pastel blue hues, adorned with intricate molding that whispers of an era long past. A delicate canopy bed cradles me, its pale, sheer curtains swaying ever so slightly. Across the room, a vintage writing desk sits beside a grand window draped with lace curtains, framing a view of rolling lavender fields under a warm, serene sky.
The room is too perfect to be real like something plucked from a dream—or a painting.
"Am I… dreaming?" I murmur; my voice is hoarse and uncertain. The sound feels foreign, almost as though it doesn't belong to this place.
The question lingers in the still air, unanswered. I should be dead—or, at the very least, lying in a hospital bed. My body should be wracked with pain, my mind clouded by fear and regret. But here, in this tranquil haven, I feel none of that.
Before I can piece together the impossibility of my surroundings, something even stranger happens.
With a faint hum, a red holographic screen materializes in midair, flickering into existence with an otherworldly glow. The letters and numbers etched onto its surface pulse faintly, as though alive.
Info
Name: Dominic Eñeforte
Age: 15
Title: None
Stats
Strength: 20 (E-)
Endurance: 19 (E-)
Agility: 51 (E)
Mana: 0 (F)
Luck: 402 (C+)
Instinct: 747 (A+)
Charisma: 362 (C)
My breath catches, my heart pounding as I stare at the screen. The glowing text hovers before me, impossibly real yet completely incomprehensible. What… is this?
The name and the stats are not mine. Dominic Eñeforte? That's not me. I'm Clark Williams, a struggling karaoke bar worker and a son trying to help his parents escape debt. My gaze scans the screen again, disbelief settling in.
"What is this supposed to mean?" I whisper, the words shaky, my voice betraying my confusion.
I reach out instinctively, my fingers brushing the screen. The glow intensifies briefly before dimming again as if responding to my touch.
A realization begins to creep in, absurd yet undeniable: This isn't a dream. This is something else entirely.
I glance around the room again, my gaze landing on a long mirror beside a drawer.
The reflection staring back is unfamiliar—a face framed by jet-black hair, piercing sky-blue eyes and fair skin. It's youthful, almost ethereal, and striking in a way that feels alien to me.
But I look… good?
The thought comes unbidden, and I find myself analyzing the reflection's features—the sharp jawline, the smooth skin, the captivating eyes. This isn't the person I once knew. Despite the allure, the body lacks strength. Its skinny frame hints at fragility, indicating that physical development was either neglected or unneeded.
This isn't my body.
Yet the reflection mimics every movement, every blink, and hesitant touch, confirming the surreal truth: I now inhabit this foreign form.
I settle on the edge of the bed, my fingers brushing the soft fabric of the blanket as I glance down at my slender legs.
"Welp," I mutter, "Dominic skipped leg day."
The humor is short-lived. As I stand, a sudden wave of pain and dizziness crashes over me like a violent tide. My knees buckle, and I stumble, collapsing to the floor.
The room spins wildly, colors and shapes melding in a disorienting blur. A sharp, stabbing migraine grips my skull, each pulse a fiery brand of agony.
"Haa… haa…"
I gasp for air, my breaths ragged and uneven. Time warps, stretching unbearably; seconds feel like hours, and the pain feels endless. Finally, like a retreating storm, it subsides, leaving me sprawled on the cold floor, trembling and weak.
After what feels like an eternity—though only a few minutes have passed—I muster the strength to rise again.
Creak!
The door to the bedroom swings open, and a woman steps in. Her long, black hair cascades down her back like a silken waterfall, glinting softly in the morning light. Her sky-blue eyes mirror the ones I saw moments ago in the mirror, and her skin is fair, almost glowing.
The resemblance between us is undeniable. This woman—she must be my mother in this new reality.
Her expression is etched with concern as she steps closer. "Dominic, are you okay? I heard a loud thud from downstairs," she says, her voice warm and soothing, yet tinged with worry.
Her presence feels like a beacon of safety in the confusion that engulfs me. She kneels beside me, her hand brushing my forehead, checking for fever or injury with the practiced care of a mother. The gesture is universal, grounding me in its familiarity.
"Dominic?" she prompts again, her voice soft.
The emotions tumbling within me are overwhelming—confusion, fear, curiosity. Yet, the warmth in her eyes and the tenderness of her touch offer a strange comfort. I know I must tread carefully.
She'll think I've lost my mind if I reveal the truth.
"…Yes, Mum. I'm okay," I manage to say, the words foreign yet strangely fitting.
Her gaze searches mine, probing for sincerity. For a moment, I'm sure she'll see through my facade. But then her expression softens, and she nods, satisfied.
"Be careful, dear. If you're feeling unwell, please tell me. You can talk to me about anything, right?"
I nod, forcing a small smile. "I will, Mum. It was just a bit of dizziness—nothing serious."
Relief washes over her face, and she smiles back. It's a smile that radiates warmth and unconditional love, one that feels both comforting and bittersweet.
"All right, then. Breakfast will be ready soon. Don't take too long, or you'll be late for school," she says as she stands, brushing off her dress with practiced grace.
With a final, affectionate glance, she leaves the room, the soft click of the door closing behind her.
I'm left alone once more, the silence pressing in as I take a deep breath, trying to make sense of everything.
Dominic Eñeforte. That's who I am now.
The mention of school lingers in my mind, sparking equal parts curiosity and apprehension. What kind of life does Dominic lead? What kind of world have I stepped into? And what challenges await me in this new identity?
This woman—Dominic's mother—offers a sense of stability, a tether to hold onto in this storm of uncertainty. But her presence also reinforces the reality of my situation: I am not merely a visitor in this body. For now, I am expected to live Dominic's life.
With a deep breath and a growing resolve, I rise once more. It's time to explore this world further, to uncover the truth of who Dominic Eñeforte is—and what role I am meant to play here.
First, I need to understand more about Dominic's life—his relationships, his daily routines, and any clues that could help me navigate the day ahead.
Then, I'll face the school: a crucible of social dynamics and, perhaps, the key to understanding why I am here in Dominic's place.
Stepping toward the mirror again, I study Dominic's reflection.
"All right, Dominic Eñeforte," I murmur, "let's find out who you are."
With curiosity guiding my every step, I begin exploring the bedroom.
A photo on the desk catches my eye, sitting neatly next to three gold medals. I pick it up, examining it closely.
The image shows my mother standing beside a middle-aged man with brown hair, piercing eyes, and a muscular build. The man exudes confidence and charm, his features strikingly handsome.
"That's some good-looking specimen," I mutter with a wry smile. If this man is Dominic's father, I can only hope I'll look like him when I grow up.
Setting the photo down, my attention shifts to the other items scattered across the desk. A school timetable and several textbooks sit in an organized pile. The titles jump out at me: "Advanced Mana Theory" and "Elemental Magic."
"Am I… in a world filled with magic?" I whisper, the thought equal parts thrilling and terrifying.
Continuing my investigation, I turn to the bookshelf beside the desk. My fingers trace along the spines until one title grabs my attention: "History of Sylvestria."
"Oh. My. God."
My heart races as the realization crashes down like a thunderclap.
The world I've awoken in isn't just any world—it's Sylvestria, the setting of A Magician's Path.
The connection is too immediate, too stark, to be mere coincidence.
The implications are staggering. Is my presence in this world tied to my affinity for the story? Or is this some elaborate illusion, a dream I'll eventually wake from?
Shaking off the shock, I flip through the pages of the history book. Tales of magic, heroes, and Camille Rousseau's revolution against the demonic forces unfold vividly, mirroring the narrative I know so well. Yet, seeing it documented as real and tangible history feels surreal.
My gaze drifts back to the textbooks on the desk. Subjects like "Advanced Mana Theory" and "Elemental Magic"—concepts that once belonged in the realm of fantasy—now form the foundation of my academic reality.
"Wait… if I'm in Sylvestria…"
The words trail off as my chest tightens. I remember the dangers looming over this world.
The Umbrascourge—the remnants of demonic forces—plans to unleash chaos across Sylvestria. If the timeline matches the novel, this peaceful moment is the calm before the storm.
Turning to the glowing stats screen still hovering in the air, I reexamine Dominic's information:
Info
Name: Dominic Eñeforte
Age: 15
Title: None
Stats
Strength: 20 (E-)
Endurance: 19 (E-)
Agility: 51 (E)
Mana: 0 (F)
Luck: 402 (C+)
Instinct: 747 (A+)
Charisma: 362 (C)
I sigh heavily, reality sinking in. I am among the Manaless in Sylvestria—a world where magical ability defines one's worth.
In this society, there are three main groups:
• Magicians, born with innate magic.
• Manaficials, who gain magic through technology.
• Manaless, those without magic, are often relegated to the lowest social standing.
Camille's efforts to spread magic never reached everyone. While technology offers a way for the Manaless to become Manaficials, the process is prohibitively expensive, measured in Camilliums—the currency named after Camille Rousseau herself.
But I know something most people in this world don't. A Magician's Path revealed alternative methods to become a Manaficial, hidden paths that bypass the system's financial constraints.
Looking at the calendar on the wall, the date catches my eye: March 09, 2120.
"So, there's still a year before the main storyline begins…"
The realization sparks something inside me: hope, determination, and a sense of purpose. I have time to prepare, train, and leverage my knowledge of the story's events and characters to survive—and maybe even thrive.
"Dominic, breakfast is ready!"
My mother's voice breaks through my whirlwind of thoughts, grounding me in the present.
"Coming, Mum!" I call back.
Though my mind buzzes with strategies and plans for the future, I know they'll have to wait.
Standing in this body, in this room, I feel a growing curiosity about the everyday life of a 15-year-old in Sylvestria. What does school entail in a world like this? What challenges lie ahead?
My priority is to adapt, learn, and find my place in Dominic's world. The answers will come in time. With resolve, I step toward the door, ready to face the day ahead.