A shadow fell over the town as a gigantic swallow soared gracefully through the skies.
Perched atop its back was a lazy-looking, elegant youth—John Singer. A smaller swallow sat perched on his head like a crown, and in his hands, he held a black leather-bound diary, its pages flipping in the wind as he reclined effortlessly.
From below, the horde of beasts erupted in cheers and bows, welcoming him with a vibrant rain of petals and colorful leaves. It was a grand reception—until gasps filled the air.
Without warning, a blue electric arc cracked across John's face, a sharp slap emitted directly from the diary itself.
The beasts recoiled in horror, some even flinching. Did the book just attack him?
But John remained calm, unfazed.
Truth was, he wasn't reading the diary at all. He couldn't. Not yet. The symbols inside were still unintelligible to him—a mystery bound in ink. He only kept it open to maintain his human form, as the diary seemed connected to his current state.
