After all, it's best not to expect anything.

That was what Conor believed, because then he would never be hurt, or abandoned.

See, the people of Elision had always put their trust and hope in prophecies, superstitions and the like. Their land was founded thanks to a prophecy, the fourth sage who managed to successfully showed the truth of the world. The one who dispelled the fog and enlightened mortals to the strata of the world. He was then crowned King. Before him were other sages, scattered throughout the world.

The first sage strengthened people's belief in the Goddess, especially the Goddess’s arrival once a year, to deliver eternal knowledge to the Origin Gear. He was from the land of Laeve, which is adjacent to Carmina, later this person was made High Priest, and his successors went across the continent. The second sage studied eyr and various resources all around Cradle, and managed to discover the secrets of magic. They dubbed him the First Mage, and it was to him that technological advancements and every discoveries could be attributed.

The third sage succeeded in banishing the Second Age of Chaos. She foresaw the coming of a hero, who would eliminate the monsters—called svatghir, and the specters controlling them from an ancient kingdom which no longer existed in recent times. They called this sage the Great Oracle, and it was her new generation that became the bane of Conor's life.

Every time a child of Elision grew up, he or she would traditionally be brought before the Great Oracle. To have his future enlightened. Now that Conor was old enough, he was taken by his father and mother to the Tower of Divination.

On that day, few people were visiting the tower. So there wasn't much of a line. Conor's mother and father should have been suspicious, but they just thought nothing of it. Maybe it was the heavy rain, they thought. They paid the guard at the tower, and he opened the door so the Halier family was led by a servant to the meeting place. Young Conor didn't speak much, just noticed the many decorations and statues that adorned the room. His small hands held tightly to his mother's fingers. Nervous but also excited. Because meeting the Great Oracle was an honor for a child who was about to grow up. This was where his fate would be determined.

And how unfortunate Conor's fate was.

"This child will die at the age of eighteen." Said the Great Oracle.

At that moment, Conor didn't know what he was feeling. But his hair stood on end, his chest felt tight and pounding. His hearing was faint, and all he saw was his sobbing mother and frantic father.

"There must be a mistake." Conor's father tried to argue, which only made matters worse because the Great Oracle did not want any defiance of her prophecy.

"I suggest you do what needs to be done. This meeting is over." The Great Oracle turned around, and the woman walked out of the room followed by her servants. Back to the top of the tower, to interpret the Mirror of the Ages.

The meeting started slowly but ended so quickly it was almost like the blink of an eye.

As the Halier family was dragged out Conor could only see the Great Oracle's white dress disappearing behind a large door, long and pale as unclear snow.

The worst prophecies usually only happen about once every hundred years, they often said. Turns out, it had already been a hundred years.

The Halier family had no business with a useless child, let alone one who would only die young in the future. They didn't want to go to the trouble of taking care of him and then throwing away their hard work. So that night, as the rain and mist hid their tracks, they left Conor in a dark and inconspicuous alley with their last words to him being: "It's not your fault, it's your death."

Later, Conor learned that his family had left Elision, for another land across the sea. The house where they lived was now left abandoned, empty and hollow.

Cowering in the corner of the alley, Conor watched the rain fall. Damp and wet, he hugged himself. He slept and ate what was available in there. Not daring to steal, he only got pity from passers-by. But no one wanted to talk to him. A homeless boy, people thought. Perhaps those who had bad divination results, rare indeed, but still appeared once every hundred years.

He stayed in that state for quite a while before being picked up by someone.

At first, Conor was just curious. The boy saw the man carrying a heavy suitcase, he had a tall body with dangling arms. Neat hair under a top hat, wearing a coat and tie. He looked like a very important person. But Conor had never seen anyone wear a mask before, a mask that grinned from side to side. The shape of what should have been his eyes were only thin slits forming an inverted crescent moon. The look of someone scoffing.

Conor followed the man.

A few steps later the man stopped. Then he resumed walking, and Conor followed him. Not long after, the person stopped again. Conor as well froze in silence. Conor knew the man was aware of his presence, he himself was not hiding. The masked man tapped his boots on the concrete road. He reached for something from his pocket, which did not escape Conor's notice.

The first to speak up was the man.

"Do you like chocolate?"

"No." Conor was surprised to see the man throw something at him. A chocolate bar. Conor glanced at it grimly, he didn't have a sweet tooth, but he was so hungry he didn't care about his preference anymore. He ate it slowly as he continued to stare at the man in the top hat. Conor continued to chew, then heard the man say.

"You know, I could have poisoned that food."

Conor shook his head slowly. "It's okay." Then he continued in a whisper. "I'm going to die anyway."

"Death is absolute, son." The man said. "I figured this is because of a prophecy. Why else would a ragged child come following me if he hadn't been abandoned by his family?"

"Eighteen. Later. When I’m eighteen." Conor said, wiping the corner of his lips with the back of his hand, removing the remaining chocolate from there.

"Fine." The man with the tall hat said. "In that case, what do you want from me?"

"I just want to follow you." Conor replied softly.

"You need to be more specific. No one does anything without a reason." The man said. "Some insist they don't have one, but deep down if we dig deeper there is something. Whether philosophical or material."

"I...just..." Conor paused for a moment, processing his own thoughts. Then with a hardened gaze he looked at the man intently. Full of the benevolence of a child. "...Want to see your face behind that mask."

There was a moment of silence, then Conor saw the man's shoulders relax and the next there was laughter coming from the man with the suitcase. It was an airy laugh that echoed through the lonely, rainy streets.

"Come with me and take this." The man handed the suitcase to Conor who struggled to lift it. "Grow up well and maybe I shall teach you how to break a prophecy."

***

There was the sound of rattling chains, heard before Conor even opened his eyes.

"Awake already? Good. Watching you sleep was fun, but I was getting tired of seeing that innocent face of yours."

"Huh?" Conor blinked. He no longer seemed to be in the auditorium. His surroundings were pitch black except for something in front of him. His eyes still couldn't see clearly.

Wait, what's going on? Conor frowned in confusion. Didn't I just...

"You're dead." The voice said. Cutting through the silence.

It was only when Conor looked up that he noticed the cage. Hanging right in front of him. It was large and made of old brass, which gave it a dirty and dingy feel. Inside the cage, there was a young man, sitting with one leg dangling out of the cage's opening, his clothes shabby and gray, his ankles and hands shackled, long chains around his sides. A prisoner in a cage.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

The prisoner lifted his head, he sat back to enjoy the scene, and grinned at Conor like a beast that had found new prey.

“What are you talking about…ugh!” As if he had just regained his memory, Conor touched his stomach and waist, and found that his clothes were covered in blood. That's right…Cecily stabbed him, and then…then the monster came…

"It's a shame, isn't it? Dying." The young man said.

”So…I'm dead?” Conor repeated without thinking.

"Yes."

"I don't feel anything," Conor said. His body no longer felt incredible pain. Yet why did it seem like he had lost something?

"Haha...hahaha..." He held back the tears from flowing down his face. “No…no…I can't die.” He said. "I promised…"

For a few moments, the prisoner just stared at Conor who was slumped in silence. All he heard were a few words about 'birthday', 'divination', and 'failure'. Conor himself kept thinking about how much he had disappointed Preben. He messed everything up.

"What is this place?" Conor asked after a long time, his feelings still a jumbled mess. He rubbed his eyes, afraid and confused at the same time, sullen and restless.

Yet the dark-haired young man just looked at him carelessly. "You brought the book?"

"Book?" Conor stared at the prisoner. Right! That book! He had taken great pains to guard it against Cecily. Conor looked around and found his suitcase on the side. It was wide open, and Conor saw Preben’s book among the other scattered books. Conor couldn't help but smile in relief; at least he had managed to protect the tome.

"Destroy it."

"What…?"

The prisoner adjusted his sitting. Then he said to Conor, "I can revive you, but you have to get me out first."

"How…?"

The prisoner raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. Conor was miffed.

“But this book is indispensable,” Conor said, holding the book tightly to his chest. He couldn't afford to do anything that would break his promise to Preben Raphax.

"That’s right. Because that book is mine," the prisoner said.

Now, Conor was even more confused. "What does that mean…?"

The prisoner actually smiled at Conor, and if Conor hadn't been faced with a dilemma eating away at his soul, he might have found that smile charming.

"You don't know anything at all, do you?"

In the next second, the prisoner in the cage burst out laughing, apparently finding everything that's happening right now hilarious and interesting, as if having an epiphany that only he knew about.

"Then tell me," Conor demanded.

"Have you ever opened that book?" the prisoner asked, his smile amused and meaningful, making Conor nervous.

Open…? “No…I never opened it.” Conor glanced away, unwilling to meet the prisoner's gaze. He held the ancient book in his hands tighter. The engraving on the cover digging into Conor's skin. "I wasn't told to."

"Oh, I see." The prisoner rested an arm on his raised knee. "How about you try opening it right now?"

“Should I?”

"What do you think?" The prisoner countered. Conor frowned, hesitated, then slowly began to open the padlock on the cover. It felt cool against his finger, made a small 'clicking' sound, and Conor began to turn the cover over and open the yellowed pages... only to find them empty.

There was no writing on the wrinkled, thick, rough paper that emitted a strong, old smell.

In fact, the book had a hole in the middle. The pages were cut into an irregular circular shape that penetrated through to the back cover.

“This is…” Conor trailed off.

“My heart.” The prisoner chimed in.

"What?"

“Inside the book should be my heart.” There was a glint in the prisoner's gaze, something Conor couldn't read. “But it will not appear unless it is brought before me and destroyed.”

Why does Preben Raphax have this…? And why—

Conor raised his head and stared at the prisoner in the cage, his voice echoing brittlely in the darkness. “Who exactly are you?”

The prisoner continued to smile meaningfully. “Come closer,” he said to Conor.

The Long Forgotten, come out of the chains that imprison you.

Svatghir attacks have been getting more violent lately; it's a sign, I think.

Monsters have surrounded the burning auditorium. The police unit, along with firefighters, have arrived to extinguish the fire and inspect it.

“Do not lose that book, understand?”

…At least, until you meet him.

In front of Conor, a pillar appeared vaguely with a depression at the top, the shape of which resembled a small standing fountain. It's just that, when Conor approached the object, the basin suddenly burst into flames, lighting up some of the dark place like a big torch.

Conor placed the book into the exploding torch. The flames engulfed the ancient book, devouring it in a burning surge. It destroyed the pages, burst into flames, and smoke came out of the torch, small at first and then grew bigger, until Conor coughed and had to step back before his breathing became more difficult. Behind the smoke, Conor dimly saw a shape, large at the top and curved at the bottom, like a heart, which in an instant was lost in the ash and smoke.

There was the sound of something clanging, and suddenly the cage opened, then fell with a loud bang behind the billowing smoke. Deafening.

***

Because he was looking down so much, he kept staring at the back of his teacher's purple robe as he hurried along the hallway, the robe sweeping across the white marble floor. He came to know, through the robe, that his teacher was a meticulous and very neat person because the robe, even though he had always worn it for the past 20 years, looked so new, clean, and spotless. The brilliant velvet, he imagined, his teacher would always wash gently using natural ingredients and the latest eyr powered battery dryers. Through that thinking, his teacher was much more meticulous than he was, though he himself could be said to be obsessive about perfection. He wasn't like that before, but over 10 years of living at the academy had made him develop a personality that tended to be...formal and thorough. Even though he wouldn't call himself a snob or a stickler for the rules, since he still enjoyed teasing his colleagues.

Daian Stokey recalled the events of a few moments ago when he was called to the Professor's office. He went there often, usually to send performance reports of the Stallus Organization or to coordinate academy activities. But he never went out. Never accepted case studies or official trips, even though he was the student with the highest achievement scores at his grade.

His entire academic life was actually quite monotonous and boring: reading old books, writing scientific papers, taking exams, and making proposals, without ever leaving the gate.

Once, when he was 15, in his first year at the academy, Daian tried to climb the tall white wall via an oak tree perched on the side behind the observatory room. He saw the tree and found an opportunity. He managed to reach the third branch when he was discovered by other students and his teacher and finally was assigned to write 50 manuscripts as punishment. This experience reminded him that while in the academy, he should shun all desires for things that are not science.

Even though it was locked from the outside world, that didn't mean the Berghant academy didn't hear the rumors spreading behind the gates. Students used them to scare others. Some believed, some didn't, and some believed too much. Rumors were scary; if they were not handled, they would become even more chaotic and worse. Like tap water in a barrel that was already full, it flowed without anyone stopping it.

Headmaster Oririé squinted at Daian and the teacher sitting next to him. They looked back at the Headmaster. Daian saw his beard twitch. It was straight and looked like it had just been combed. Headmaster Oririé placed a folder on the table. Victor Allueschen, Daian's teacher, opened the folder and read its contents carefully.

“He Who Devours Sin? The Specter Long Forgotten?” Victor held his breath. "Goodness, is it true that he's back?"

“We have reason to think so,” the Headmaster said. "Recently, the monsters have become more active. They have come out of the Abyss of Gear and the damaged ley lines, raiding settlements and travelers. The Council of Thirty has sent police knight units to several points to repel attacks. I also heard that one of the specter's heart fragments had been found and kept for years without anyone knowing.”

“Is this based on those rumors?” Victor asked.

“Rumor or not, we live in the land of consecration. Fate has built this nation since the Second Age of Chaos, leaving those of feynth blood to ashes.” Headmaster Oririé exhaled, sunlight filtering through the curtained window and spreading along his side in a glorious manner.

“Consider this an important order,” the Headmaster said. “Go out and search for one of the creature's spectraopsis until it is found.” Then he added deeply, “And then bring it back here.”

After the meeting, Daian chased Victor down the hall enthusiastically, his green robe fluttering with his movement. “Teacher, what happens if we find one?”

"We make the academy's desires come true," Victor answered lightly. "Prepare your things. We will be carrying out a mission.”

Daian never once questioned what that desire was, or how they would complete this mission. But he had been chosen because he was the student with the highest academic achievements in his grade, along with his tutor.

He had once cut open a frog in the laboratory; this was no different.