Chapter 3: The Awakening Of The World

(In the palace garden, grunts of frustration echoed through the air like a war between breathe and willpower.) Sulien, now 8 years old, was soaked in sweat, cheeks flushed, hair sticking to his forehead as he swung a wooden sword with all the grace of a tired duck.

"Ugh," he gasped, staggering back and dropping the blade to the ground. "I can't

do this anymore. I give up. Maybe my magic will never awaken. How is swinging a stick supposed to awaken anything other than my back pain?!" From the shaded veranda, arms crossed, stood his trainer — the infamous Ms. Masaru, also known around the estate as The Storm in Sandals.

"Young Sir," she said sternly, "you must follow the traditional regimen. Every

Balancer in this kingdom has done it. You are no different." "Yeah, well," Sulien muttered, "every Balancer also seems to have magic by now." "Even if your magic doesn't awaken," she continued, unfazed, "you must still learn to fight the traditional way. Imagine relying solely on magic and getting your robes handed to you by a dagger in the dark." Sulien let out a long, dramatic sigh

and flopped onto the grass.

In the old world, he thought, I

would've never done this much training in my life. My gym teacher could barely

get me to run a lap—

WHACK.

Out of nowhere, a wooden staff struck his side, sending him flat onto his bottom

with a yelp.

"You. Are. Dead." Ms. Masaru said, looming over him like a disappointed thundercloud. "Try again." "That wasn't fai—!" Sulien started.

"Young Sir," she interrupted, tone sharp, "you must maintain total awareness. You never know when you'll be attacked. One moment of distraction, and you're done." "I am paying attention—!"

"You're disappointing me, Young Sir. I expected better from the heir of House Kobayashi."

Sulien stared at her, eyes twitching.

Then he exploded.

"OH FOR THE LOVE OF—!"

"Get up," she said coolly, brushing off her tunic. "No time for complaints. The only

path to strength is through discipline."

"HARUKA MASARU, WHY DON'T YOU LISTEN?!"

"I'm very sorry, Young Sir," she replied calmly, bowing slightly. "Please forgive

me." "I'm only a young boy!" Sulien wailed, throwing his arms in the air. "How is it fair that I'm expected to break my spine and awaken magic by force? Shouldn't I be, I don't know, meditating under a waterfall or chanting in a cave or something?"

Ms.Masaru smirked slightly — the first crack in her usual stone face.

"A great question, Young Sir," she said, pacing around him like a general before

battle. "To awaken Balancer magic is no simple feat. It drains your soul, taxes

your mind, and tests your body. If your vessel is weak, your magic will eat you

from the inside out. That's why you must train — not just your mana, but your

flesh and focus."

Sulien blinked.

"…So basically, if I don't do this, my magic might

kill me."

"Exactly."

He looked down at the wooden sword with new fear.

"…Okay, fair enough."

*

"Kamaria, you must focus."

Mr. Hoshino's voice was calm but

urgent, like a wind before a storm.

"To awaken your magic, you must

concentrate. Let your emotions rise. Reach out—feel the spirits around you.

They're watching. Listening."

"I'm trying—" Kamaria gasped, her

small hands trembling in her lap.

Suddenly, a sharp pulse surged through

her palms. Dark smoke bled from her skin, curling into the air like tendrils of

ink in water. Time stopped. Wind froze in place. The world fell into an

unnatural silence. Then—shadows bloomed from every corner of the room. They weren't just dark—they were alive. They twisted and coiled like serpents,

circling the small girl as if claiming her.

Kamaria's heart thudded violently. Her

breaths turned shallow. And then a voice came. "Kamaria…"

It was a whisper. Low, crawling,

ancient. But inside Kamaria's head, it struck like a bell, loud and piercing,

reverberating through her skull. "Kamaria…"

The shadows deepened. Shapes began to form within them—indistinct figures, faceless, shifting. "Kamaria… you are now a shadowbinder. You have now awakened your mana. Use your magic with purpose… or suffer the consequences."

Her mouth went dry. She could barely

form the words. "O-Otherwise… what?" she asked, voice cracking with fear. A

pause. Then— "You will be cursed, not only by the outside world but by us."

Her chest tightened.

"We have given you power. It will grow-and if left unchecked, it will consume you. You must learn to control it. Master it... Or

be devoured by it."

"Wait—what?!" she cried, panicked. "I

don't even know how! How am I supposed to control magic I don't understand?! Please—tell me! Help me!"

From within the shadows, something

moved. A form stepped forward—a humanoid silhouette wrapped in black mist, eyes

glowing white-hot like dying stars.

"Aha…ahaha."

The figure laughed softly. Not kindly.

Not cruelly. But with ancient weariness, like it had watched hundreds fail

before her.

"Use your gift for good, child. Ninety-nine percent of my children turned to ruin. Be the one who doesn't. Be the outlier, Kamaria Suzuki. Or you will follow them into the abyss."

And with that, the entity melted into

the shadows. Gone.

Then—light exploded from Kamaria's

chest. It was blinding—burning—pure. A shape emerged within it: a small

child-like silhouette of light, clasping hands with the writhing shadow magic.

Together, they were dragged into Kamaria's body, sealing her fate. The house began to shake.

Windows shattered. Shelves toppled.

The light seared through the floors, walls, and ceiling—swallowing the entire

building in a radiant storm of mana. Furniture splintered. Books flew like

leaves in a gale. Downstairs, Rasetsu and Sora scrambled from their rooms,

shielding their faces as the light scorched past them.

"What in God's green earth is

happening?!" Rasetsu shouted. Mr. Hoshino stood frozen, staring up at the

glowing staircase with wide eyes. "She's been… visited." His voice quivered. "Visited?!" Rasetsu demanded. "What the hell does that mean?!" "I said she's been visited! By something… ancient. The spirits… or something beyond them!"

"KAMARIA!" Sora screamed. "SNAP OUT OF

IT!"

The house roared. Items crashed. Light

kept pouring. The spiritual energy became so heavy it crushed the air in the

room.

Then—

Silence.

The light vanished. The house went

dark.

Kamaria knelt in the center of her

room, shaking, panting, burning with mana. Her eyes slowly opened—black and violet, swirling with power. She clutched her head. "W-What… just happened?" she whispered. "Kamaria!" Rasetsu and Sora ran to her, collapsing beside her and pulling her into their arms. "Are you okay, hunny? Kamaria, look at me!" Sora cried, running her fingers through her daughter's hair. "What happened, kiddo?" Rasetsu asked, voice trembling. "You scared the life out of us… Are you hurt?" Kamaria blinked slowly. "I-I don't know. I was just meditating with Mr.

Hoshino…" "You've awakened your magic." Mr. Hoshino interrupted, stepping forward, voice calm but grave. "That was a visitation. Likely from the

ancestral spirits… or worse."

"You heard something," he added.

"Didn't you?" Kamaria nodded slowly, eyes still haunted. Mr. Hoshino went pale.

"Then you must listen to what they told you. Some ignored their warnings. And

to this day, no one knows what happened to them." Sora and Rasetsu stared at

him, mouths ajar. "How?!" they gasped in unison. "No one in our bloodline has

ever shown magic—never. We've always just pretended to have power!" Rasetsu

blurted. "That's why we were so shocked when we thought the training might

awaken something…" Sora whispered. "We didn't think it would actually work,"

she finished, voice shaking. Mr. Hoshino didn't smile. He didn't blink.

"Shadowbinder blood skips generations… sometimes centuries. But once the spirits choose their vessel—there's no turning back."

Kamaria trembled quietly in her

mother's arms.

She was five years old.

And the darkness… had already found

her.

*

Sulien was still struggling.

Despite every ritual, meditation,

every desperate attempt to spark something — nothing came. He had done everything. Every chant. Every focus drill. Every soul-deep breath he could muster. Still… no magic.

His heart carried hope. But his body…

was tired. And his father — Kagetsu Kobayashi, ever the pragmatic lord — had finally given up. "No more of this," Kagetsu said sharply. "You're done." Sulien's head snapped up, eyes red from suppressed tears. "But Father—" "No buts, mister," his father cut in, stern and cold. "Since you've failed to awaken your

magic, you'll be trained as a swordsman. You have no choice." Sulien's breath

caught in his throat. It wasn't just the words. It was his father's tone —

flat, distant — like something inside him had finally given up on his son. "Ms.

Masaru." Kagetsu turned, not looking at Sulien. "Make him the best swordsman

you can. Since he won't be a Balancer… we'll make sure he's at least useful." His

voice dripped with disappointment. Like Sulien's failure had cost more than

just power — like it had cost worth. Sulien sat there, stunned. He was eight

years old, but in that moment, he felt smaller than ever.

He thought I guess I am a disappointment

like what my old father thought of me too before I was born — that same heavy

silence from my mother before he walked out the door and never coming back- as

she explained many times

Maybe that's why he left, Sulien thought bitterly. I wasn't good enough then

either.

Ms. Masaru bowed to Kagetsu. "Yes,

Master. I will train him as best I can. You have my word." Sulien stared at the

ground. The world blurred behind his tears.

Why me-?

"Get up." A sharp voice cut through his spiral. Sulien looked up, startled. Masaru's voice was like iron. "Stop sulking. Get up, Young Sir."

His throat clenched. The tears broke

free. He couldn't hold it anymore. "I—" he choked, "I just wanted to make

someone proud…"

His knees hit the dirt. He curled inward,

clutching his legs, shoulders shaking with every sob. Masaru stared, lips pressed into a thin line. Her expression softened. She knelt beside him and did something she had never done in all the years she trained him — she hugged him.

"Sulien," she said gently. "It's okay." He trembled in her arms. "Not everyone

awakens their magic at the same time. Some take longer. Some need a different

path." "Y-Yeah?" he sniffled. "Then why… why did he look at me like that? Like

I was just… nothing."

Masaru sighed softly. "Because he had

hopes. But sometimes… those hopes blind us to who someone already is." She

pulled back and looked him in the eyes. "Maybe this is the push you need to

show him who you really are. Not with magic — but with heart. And if that

doesn't work…" She smirked. "You'll just have to become the best damn swordsman the world's ever seen." Sulien wiped his face with his sleeve.

"Do you really think I can?" "Think

so? I know so. Now get up. Show him."

He stood slowly, steadier now.

Stronger.

I really shouldn't have gone to that

dumb party, he thought bitterly. Maybe then I wouldn't be sobbing over magic I

never asked for.

He squared his shoulders and faced

her. "Ready?" "Ready," he said, eyes set.

But as he sprinted toward Masaru,

something stopped him mid-step. Everything stopped.

His breath.

His heartbeat.

The world.

Masaru's voice echoed from somewhere

far away."Young Sir?" But he couldn't respond. The sky above them suddenly

shifted — a deep, impossible twilight settling in like a curtain drawn over the

sun. The moon rose, unprompted by time, climbing to meet the sun mid-sky.

Day became night.

The two celestial bodies collided — a

perfect eclipse.

The world split.

Half bathed in blinding gold.

Half drowned in silent shadow.

Then—

Boom.

A shockwave burst from Sulien's body,

tearing through the training field. Light erupted from one hand. Shadow poured

from the other.

A vortex of wind spiraled upward,

shaping into a colossal balance sigil — one half glowing like dawn, the other

writhing like midnight smoke. It hovered above him, ancient symbols pulsing

with life. Spirits twisted through the air like celestial ribbons, howling and

humming in languages long forgotten.

"WHAT'S HAPPENING?!" Sulien screamed,

but his voice was swallowed by the wind.

Then, pain.

Something gripped his heart — hard.

Invisible fingers clenched around his heart, trying to crush it like glass.

He cried out. "LET ME GO!" It didn't

listen.

He fell to his knees, clawing at his

chest, veins glowing gold and violet. And then—he pushed back.

He fought. He refused to be taken.

The grip loosened.

A magic shockwave burst from him

leaving rainbow streams of light left in the sky, making the world seem magical. A magic shielded itself around him as he fought.

The sky was beautiful.

And then with a final cry, Sulien

flung the force from him.

The winds collapsed.

The eclipse trembled and slowly faded.

The sigil dissolved into the sky like

smoke into stars.

Then silence.

Only the magic streams in the sky were

left and the soft crackle of magic still sizzling in the air like static.

Crowds had gathered. People stared in

awe, shielding their eyes from the aftermath. "SULIEN!" Masaru sprinted toward him, barely staying on her feet. "Can you hear me?!" "My baby!" Minori appeared, her voice raw with panic. "Are you okay?!" "AH-HA!" Kagetsu roared, arriving last. "That's my son! THAT'S my boy! Show them what you're made of!"

Just as the dust began to settle,

Sulien felt hands on his back — invisible, but warm. A whisper, faint:

"We will always be with you."

He turned to look—but no one was

there. The magic vanished. He collapsed to his knees, trembling. Minori rushed to

him, pulling him into her arms. "Sulien, oh god , are you alright? What happened?!" she sobbed. Masaru stumbled, dizzy and pale. "D-Did you pass…?" shemuttered, nearly collapsing beside them. Kagetsu approached slowly, his voice

quiet now. "Sulien," he said, pride thick in his voice. "No one… in our family

has ever awakened a Balancer gift like this. I'm proud of you, son." Sulien

stared at him, eyes wide. The tears came again.

But this time… not from pain.

Not from shame.

From relief.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I—I didn't

think I could…"

Masaru tried to stand but slumped to

the ground, half-laughing, half-dazed. "Yeah… me too," she muttered. "You

nearly took down the sky." Kagetsu looked at her with new respect. "And I'm

proud of you too, Haruka Masaru. You've trained my son well."

Masaru blinked up at him.

"…You're welcome," she grunted.

Then passed out.

*

As the generations passed and more

Balancers, Shadowbinders, and Mages were born — as their powers awakened with greater intensity and frequency — so too did the hatred between them. It seeped deeper into the land like a festering wound that no magic could heal. No historian, no record keeper, no ancient tome could say why the enmity had first taken root. It was simply always there — like a curse passed through blood, etched into the soul of Feline itself. To the outside eye, they were one

country, bound by a single landmass and shared history.

But in reality, they were three

fractured nations, severed by ideology and bloodshed, each more unwilling than

the last to bend. Each region crowned their own monarch, bestowed with ancient titles that spoke to the essence of their power:

The Mages, masters of the elemental and arcane,

worshipped under the rule of the Phoenix Monarch — a title evoking rebirth

through flame, and the eternal nature of knowledge through destruction and

healing.

The Shadowbinders, feared for their communion with

spirits, memory, and shadow, were ruled by the Chort Monarch — a name

given by others, whispered in dread. Chort meaning demon. And while the

Shadowbinders themselves rarely used it, they did not deny it.

The Balancers, caught between the dual forces of

light and darkness, followed the Qilin (Kirin) Monarch — named after the

celestial beast said to appear only in times of great change. A harbinger

of both peace and divine reckoning.

But despite their lofty titles, the

monarchs were not diplomats.They were weapons. And their crowns, thrones, and

palaces sat on land soaked with centuries of unseen war.

No man or woman dared cross the

invisible borders between regions. The mere sight of an opposing magic user —especially within the wrong kingdom — could result in swift and brutal

execution.

No trial.

No negotiation.

Just judgment and fire.

Even children.

Even the innocent.

The illusion of peace had lasted for decades, but now it frayed at the edges. Tension crackled in the air like the static of

a gathering storm.

Whispers turned to prophecy.

Prophecies turned to rumors.

And rumors turned to fear.

"A war is coming," the elders said in hushed tones.

"The land cannot hold them all," muttered the priests.

"When the blood of fire, shadow, and starlight mix, the end will begin," warned the wandering seers.

Markets emptied. Families fled to the

deepest parts of their homelands. Ancient weapons were retrieved from vaults sealed for generations. Even the Monarchs themselves were said to be

preparing—summoning things the world had long forgotten.

And yet…

In all of this, two souls remained

strangely calm.

Kamaria, born into shadow, who once

feared the cold hands of the dark… and Sulien, bearer of light and dusk, who

had carved strength from rejection…

Neither feared the war.

Because somewhere deep in their hearts

— no matter how little they understood it — they believed something no one else

dared to:

"If we die … we'll just wake up somewhere else."

But they did not yet know…

…some wars follow you through every life.

And this one —

had already begun.

*

"Your Royal Majesty!"

The heavy doors to the marble throne

room groaned open as an advisor stormed inside, out of breath.

His robes were disheveled, his voice

tinged with desperation.

"Rumors of war are spreading faster

than wildfire. Markets are collapsing. Riots have broken out across the eastern

quarter—buildings have been looted, lives lost. You must address the

people—calm them before we lose control."

The throne room fell silent.

The Qilin King, draped in a robe of

deep celestial blue lined with silver, shifted slightly on his throne of

sculpted obsidian. His eyes, unreadable, flickered toward the grand window

behind his court—a sweeping view of Crystoia, his capital. Smoke in the

distance. People flooding the streets like ants before a storm.

"I see," he said at last, his tone

cool and unreadable.

He reached up and adjusted the ornate

cape draped across his shoulders, its edges shimmering faintly with enchanted

thread.

"Bring me a glass of water," he said

with a calmness that unsettled the room. "I need time to consider our course of

action." "Yes, Your Majesty," a servant

replied, bowing low and hurrying off.

The advisor blinked in disbelief.

"Your Majesty—what do you mean 'consider'?! I thought a contingency plan was already in place. We were promised preparedness if tensions ever reached this level!"

The king didn't look at him.

"And I thought you, as my trusted

advisor, would be doing the same. That's why you bear the title of Qilin

Advisor. Or is it only ceremonial now?"

The advisor's face flushed with shame.

"I will deliberate," the King

continued. "For now, stall them. The riots, the unrest—manage it. Buy us time."

"But, sire—!" the advisor started

again, panic edging into his voice.

The Qilin King turned sharply toward

him, his expression hardened like steel.

"Go."

There was no room left for argument.

The advisor bowed hastily, retreating with heavy, reluctant steps. As he walked out, his mind spun with

disbelief.

"War? If that happens… our world will

fall apart. We aren't ready. None of us are." He clenched his fists as he descended the palace steps,

whispering to himself, "This can't be happening…"

Back inside the throne room, the King

remained unmoving. A servant returned with the requested

drink and handed it to him with shaking hands.

"Here you are, Your Majesty."

"Thank you."

He accepted the glass with a nod and

took a long, slow sip.

But his eyes remained fixed—not on the

court, not on the servants—but on the golden spires of the city outside. Fires

flickered in the distance, their smoke coiling toward the horizon like omens.

"War…" he muttered under his breath,

the word a stone dropped into a well of silence. "Pardon, my King?" asked a nearby servant, mistaking his murmur for a command.

The Qilin Monarch narrowed his eyes.

"I wasn't speaking to you," he

snapped, voice sharp as a blade.

A moment passed.

Then he stood, walking slowly toward

the massive arched window at the back of the room. His reflection hovered in

the glass—one half in sunlight, the other already in shadow.

"War…" he repeated, this time to

himself.

"Will it come? Is it myth… or a

prophecy clawing its way back to life?"

He looked out at his crumbling

kingdom.

At the people screaming for answers.

At a sky that looked just a little

darker than it had hours ago.

Somewhere beyond the horizon, he could

almost feel it—

A shift in the wind.

A pulse of foreign mana.

A shadow crossing a line that could

not be uncrossed.

And then, from deep beneath the palace… something stirred.