The traveler awakened with no memory—no name, no past, no clue about the powers within him. All he knew was this: he was in a world of magic and swords, where mystical arts and blades shaped destiny.
As he slowly sat up, he realized he was lying in the middle of a vast cornfield. The sun beat down from above, and the wind rustled the golden stalks around him. His mind was blank, but instinctively, he knew a few things—how to sense mana, how to channel it, and how to cast simple spells. Mana, the invisible energy that flowed through the air, was as natural to him as breathing.
Looking around, he spotted a backpack and a set of clothes laid out neatly beside him. He dressed in silence, still trying to recall who he was.
"Who am I? Why am I here? What is my purpose?" he muttered.
"And what exactly is mana...? Maybe I should try to use it."
He closed his eyes and focused, feeling the mana in the air respond to his thoughts. A spell surfaced in his mind—random but familiar. A flicker of flame danced into existence in his palm. He stared in awe at the tiny fireball, then impulsively hurled it into the cornfield.
The fireball struck one of the stalks, and within seconds, the flames began to spread wildly through the dry crops.
Panic surged through him.
"I didn't mean to do that!"
Desperate, he tried another spell. Without thinking, he summoned all the mana he could gather into his hands and formed a large orb of water. With a shout, he launched it toward the growing inferno.
BOOM.
The water burst upon impact, extinguishing the fire—but the cornfield was left scorched and devastated.
The spell had taken everything out of him. The traveler collapsed, unconscious from the sheer drain of mana.
---
In the darkness of his dreams, a colossal figure made of light appeared before him. It radiated power and wisdom.
"You have been chosen," it said in a voice like thunder and wind, "to carry the heavy burden of discovering mankind's forgotten truth… along with the others."
"The others? Who are you?" the traveler asked.
"You will know, in time. For now… farewell."
"Wait! At least tell me my name!"
"Your name is…"
Before the figure could finish, the traveler awoke.
---
He opened his eyes to find himself lying in a warm bed. The scent of herbs and wood filled the air. A girl, around his age, stood nearby, her arms crossed and her expression stern.
"Where am I?" he asked groggily.
The girl narrowed her eyes. "Who are you, and why did you destroy our cornfield?"
"I… I don't know who I am," he admitted. "And I'm really sorry about the cornfield. When I woke up, spells just started popping into my head, and I wanted to try one."
"Oh, so you thought it was a good idea to test your magic on our cornfield?"
"…Yes."
She stared at him in disbelief. "You don't even know anything about yourself? That's ridiculous. Who would believe that?"
Walking over, she placed her hand near his chest and murmured a few words. A faint glow appeared.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Just casting a truth spell… and it seems like you're telling the truth."
She sighed. "Alright then… at least tell me your name."
"I don't know my real name," he said, shaking his head. "But… just now, a name popped into my mind. Call me Orin Crimson."
Her eyes widened. "Orin Crimson? Wait… Crimson? Crimson Crimson?"
"Yes. Why?"
She took a step back. "From what I've read in ancient texts, the Crimson Clan vanished ages ago—once the strongest clan in this entire land. They disappeared mysteriously, and most major families have long forgotten them."
She scanned him carefully. "You… you match the old descriptions: red eyes, black hair, pale skin, and… a small tattoo on the palm of your hand."
Orin looked down at his palm, noticing the faint symbol etched into his skin. "Interesting. But I don't remember anything about a clan or my past."
"You really have lost your memory," she said, her voice softening. "Don't worry. You can stay here for as long as you need."
"You mean it? Why would you help me?"
"My father once had a best friend from the Crimson Clan. When they vanished, he searched for years but found no trace. Maybe… maybe you'll know something that can help us."
"I'll try, but I'm still figuring things out."
"Don't worry. Memory takes time to heal," she said kindly.
"Can I ask… where exactly am I?"
"You're in the Valera Mansion—my family's home."
"Do you have any books or a library I can study from?"
"Yes, of course. Would you like to visit the library now, or would you rather rest a bit more?"
"I think I'd like to—" Orin tried to stand, but his body refused to respond. He couldn't even move a finger.
"I… I can't move," he said. "Not even a finger. What's happening?"
"It's likely the side effect of using all your mana at once," Alice replied. "You'll need time to recover. Rest, Orin Crimson."
His eyelids grew heavy again, and he fell back into sleep.
---
In his dream, he found himself in another realm—dark and endless. A massive stone tablet stood before him, etched with names. Dozens… hundreds… all with the same surname: Crimson.
"Where… am I?" Orin whispered, staring at the ancient stone glowing faintly in the void.