Below him was a city—at least, what remained of one. It was ruined beyond recognition. No buildings stood, only scattered rubble.
But that wasn't the important part.
The ground was littered with bodies, blood seeping into the frozen earth. They were human.
Where am I?
The voice from earlier called again.
"Hey, Lior, what's wrong?"
Lior? Is he talking to me?
He turned.
A boy stood there, wearing a ragged military uniform far too large for his frame. He looked no older than thirteen or fourteen. Green eyes. Long, messy chestnut hair.
"Who are you?" Lior asked.
The boy blinked, clearly thrown off. "What do you mean, Lior? We've known each other for seven years. How could you not know?"
Lior frowned. "Wait… Lior. That's my name?"
The boy stared, then threw up his arms. "Yes! Of course it is. Is there another Lior walking around?"
Still hazy, Lior pressed on. "Alright, then what's your name?"
The boy exhaled deeply, clearly resigned. "It's Fenric."
"Fenric?" Lior raised an eyebrow. "What kind of name is that?"
Before Fenric could respond, Lior waved him off.
"It's fine. I don't need to know." He turned back toward the ruins. After a moment, he pointed toward them. "What happened here? Where are we?"
Fenric's face darkened. Fear crept into his eyes.
"What do you mean? Isn't it obvious?" he asked, voice low.
Lior just shook his head.
Fenric looked back over the crumbled city and spoke quietly. "It's the aftermath of a battle. Warriors of Velgrynd clashed with the mages of Xiaran."
A battle between warriors and mages, huh...
Before he could think further, Fenric continued.
"As for where we are—" He stretched his arms toward the horizon. "This is Solmira. The Silent Crown of the World."
---
A week had passed since then.
Now in a wooden shack far from the battlefield, Lior had time to think.
First, about Solmira.
One of the Twelve Continents. A place of endless snow, jagged mountains in the north, and flattened, war-scarred fields in the south. Cities—ruined and half-buried in ice—spoke of an empire long vanished. Ancient relics. Forbidden sites. Power forgotten, waiting.
Whatever that means.
But even now, Lior couldn't sleep. He twisted on the creaky bed.
Magic and everything else… just like the angel said. But still...
The real problem wasn't the world.
It's me. How did I end up here, in the middle of a war? I'm just a normal fourteen-year-old. And don't even get me started on how I look...
He stared at his pale, underwhelming hands.
I usually wake up in bodies that could pass for handsome, at least. Years of refinement, grooming, style… and now?
Short. Slender. Ghost-pale. Not doll-like—corpse-like.
At least my eyes are decent.
Muted brown, sharp. Faintly strange. Something about them cut deeper than they should.
His hair was long, filthy, and tangled—a dark brown so grimy it looked almost black.
Well, at least I got a decent name this time. Not like a certain Fenric.
---
The morning sun rose above the small hut.
In front of it, two boys were preparing to leave for the battlefield.
To scavenge, of course.
Of course I end up as a bottom-dweller. Needing to steal from corpses to survive.
This was the usual routine for Fenric. For Lior, not so much. He only regained his memories a week ago.
This time, oddly enough, he couldn't remember what happened before that. That was usually not the case.
Whatever. Not like remembering how I got to this hellhole will help.
Just then, Fenric said with a friendly smile, "Let's go, Lior."
Fenric himself was normal—oddly enough. A sweet and caring boy. He said that he and Lior somehow ended up on this continent four years ago.
At first, he didn't seem to believe Lior had lost his memories. But, after a while, he came to terms with it.
Lior tried asking multiple times how they ended up here. Fenric always avoided answering, saying it was better if he forgot.
It's the first time I forgot something. And judging by his reaction, it's better for it to stay that way.
He turned his head to Fenric, returning his smile with his own.
"Yeah, let's go."
---
The boys, now in the middle of the ruined city, decided to venture further into the heart of the battlefield.
Aside from daily necessities, they needed weapons.
It didn't happen often, but it was completely possible to run into the men of either army. If that happened, they would usually hide and wait it out.
But both of them knew: one day, they'd have to engage in combat.
With the war ramping up, the conflicts grew larger and larger. They wouldn't be able to avoid it forever—dying or killing to live.
"Do we really have to fight them, Lior?"
Fenric, with a slight tremble in his voice, asked.
"Of course. We can't keep hiding."
Lior answered without hesitation.
Looking back at the frightened boy, he gave him a somber look.
"Listen. It's not like we have to go out of our way to kill anyone. We just need weapons to defend ourselves, at least."
Then he shook his head, a small grin on his face.
"Who knows. We just might get lucky and avoid conflict until the war's over."
In an instant, Fenric's mood improved.
"Really? You think so?"
Lior just shrugged.
"Well, not entirely. But it's still a possibility. Why not stay optimistic?"
With that, he pointed to the right.
"You look over there, alright? Just don't wander too far."
Fenric nodded energetically. "Alright, don't worry."
He ran toward the place Lior pointed out.
"Alright," Lior muttered, "Let's find some weapons."
After some time, Lior still couldn't find a weapon that suited him. They were either too big, too heavy, or simply broken.
Shit. I really have no luck.
Then, he found it.
Half-buried beneath the snow, resting beside a headless corpse slumped against a shattered wall. The scabbard was stained, the wrappings worn, but the sword itself—still sheathed—was untouched. Clean. Waiting.
Lior knelt beside it.
The man never even drew it.
He placed his hand on the hilt. It felt cold, but not dead. Not yet.
This'll do.
He slid it free just an inch—steel gleamed faintly in the dim light. Nothing special. No engravings. No name.
But it was sharp. And it was his.
It was only a moment later, still absorbed with the blade, that he heard something whistling through the air.
Wha—
Another blade was heading straight for his pale neck.