"Wait," He said finally, his voice low and uncertain. "Is this… Earth?"
Everyone looked at him. Elara tilted her head, brows furrowing slightly. Eldarion blinked as if trying to decide whether to laugh or not. Gareth, though, didn't move—his expression unreadable under the hot sun.
Ivan swallowed. "I mean… I said I came from Earth. That's what we called it. But now I'm wondering—did I get it wrong? Is this still Earth, and I'm just... missing something?"
"Yes, this is earth, It's what the oldest ruins call it—Erda, or Earth, depending on the tongue." Gareth continued, "It's common knowledge that all sentient beings—humans, elves, dwarves, even beastkin—came from what we call the Ancestral Rift, a fracture between realms that opens every few hundred thousand years, and We call this continent Spei. That's what matters."
Eldarion, for once quiet, nodded slowly. "It's not just a myth, boy. Magic itself reacts to it. That rift is how this world breathes; it's how this world releases the mana it constantly builds up. And sometimes… that energy leaks into other realms, Including yours, it seems. Maybe it's true that you come from another world. I'm saying you probably might have fallen through it."
The fire crackled again from a smoldering patch of forest behind them, louder this time, as if something in the air had shifted with Eldarion's words.
A rift, Ivan thought, staring into the flames. That's what they believe.
He curled his fingers around the dead phone tucked in his palm, its edges pressing into his skin, reminding him that the truth wasn't as romantic as ancient myths or the media suggested. The reality of being in a burning forest with strangers who had just rescued him from the wyvern they had killed, as well as an old mage who spoke of other worlds, was far more terrifying than any storybook adventure. He hadn't been pulled here. He'd died.
His hands remembered the wheel. His ears remembered the screech of tires. His brain still echoed with that voice—the entity in the fog who spoke of calculations, of balance, of mistakes made and fates rewritten. The one that handed him this second life like a game reset, with cosmic fingers crossed behind its back.
But how could he explain that? How could he say, "I died in a truck accident and got handed magical powers by something older than time because I amused it?"
How could he admit the strangest part of it all—that the voice had told him he was right? That his self-diagnosed, half-joking confession about being autistic had been confirmed by the universe itself?
He swallowed. It was indeed funny, but also he couldn't say that. So he looked up at Eldarion and offered a nod. He couldn't tell them the truth—not yet. So he lied with a half-truth and a shrug.
"Yeah," he said, his voice calm. "That makes sense. I do remember falling into some weird glowing ditch."
Elara crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing beneath the pale flicker of the firelight. The warmth of the burning forest didn't seem to touch her. "That still doesn't explain how you did it," she said. "Conjuring weapons out of your body, with no mana presence? No magical fluctuation. No spell patterns. Just nothing. That's not natural."
Ivan turned to her, still seated near the fire, his legs crossed loosely beneath him. The flicker of flame danced across his face, casting subtle shadows over his young, too-smooth features. But he didn't look rattled. Not like before.
He offered her a small shrug, his voice even as he fabricated another lie with a slight truth to it. "I don't know what to tell you. I wasn't born with this. I didn't even know I could do it until I was dying of thirst under a tree."
Elara blinked. "…What?"
"What I meant is, I only realized I had these abilities after arriving in this world a few hours ago," Ivan said, acting as if giving up a secret. "It's a long story, but I promise it's the truth. I had just set up a camp behind that hill," he said, pointing at the grassy hill a couple of miles away.
"So you're saying you've had those abilities since you came to this world? That almost sounds like a champion to me," Elara said, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.
"Nonsense—a champion, in this age of peace?" Eldarion finally interrupted, stepping closer to Ivan. He began tracing symbols in the air, his fingers glowing as he cast an appraisal spell.
"It takes immense power and time to summon a champion. If one had truly been called forth, the ripple in the world's fabric would've been impossible to miss. The mana alone would've sent ripples of mana throughout the land, yet there has been no such disturbance reported."
His voice lowered, almost grim. "Besides, the knowledge of summoning was sealed away over eighty years ago. The last one who held it exiled himself, obsessed with finding a spell to reverse the seal that bound the Demon King—and the champions who sacrificed themselves in order to trap him. We call those lost warriors 'heroes' now."
Eldarion's fingers stilled mid-air, the glowing appraisal symbols flickering once before vanishing completely. After a long pause, his eyes widened. not in fear, but in raw disbelief.
"…What in the?" he whispered. "i think Elara might be right!"
The old mage stepped back, peering at Ivan as if truly seeing him for the first time. His hands trembled slightly, but not from age. No, this was something else—something deeper. Reverence? Alarm?
"Elara," he said without looking at her, his voice low and deliberate, "did you sense it?"
Elara shook her head slowly. "There was nothing. I felt no signature, No trace of magic."
"That's because…" Eldarion's brows furrowed hard, his tone darkening, "there is no mana in him."
Gareth frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, his body is... Foreign, his bloodlust is comparable to a kitten, but that doesn't make him harmless right away. Structurally sound, physically human, but utterly devoid of the natural mana circulation we all possess. Even a child born without training will passively absorb some mana from their environment. It flows through our veins. But him?" He gestured sharply toward Ivan. "There's nothing. No core. No flux. He's empty."
Eldarion took another step forward, squinting harder. "And that's the strange part. If a being like that stood in a place as rich in ambient magic as this forest, they should be suffering. The body rejects imbalance. Mana deprivation usually kills within days—fever, weakness, organ failure." He turned, face pinched in awe and mild horror. "But he's not sick, Not even slightly affected."
Gareth exhaled, a hand on his hip even now stressed that he's now looking at someone that defied the laws of nature. "So... does that prove He isn't from another world?"
"Oh, I've no doubt about that," Eldarion replied with a grimace. "He did mention that He's from another world."
"what about his abilities?" Elara brought up the same question again, hoping for a clear answer this time.
"meh… It's hard to say," Eldarion admitted, scratching his head. "but what I do know is that it doesn't draw from this world's pool; it's something else entirely. I'd wager it's external, Like… an anchor to the place he came from. the rift does strange and unpredictable things to those who pass through it."
They all looked at Ivan.
A hush had fallen over the clearing, broken only by the distant crackle of burning wood and the occasional snap of a shifting branch. The adventurers stood close, instinctively drawing inward as if the boy in front of them was something volatile—something unfamiliar. Even Gareth, usually composed, had his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, not out of threat… but out of unease.
Ivan didn't meet their eyes. He sat a little apart from them, just outside the circle of firelight, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees. His face was still, unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. His hands moved restlessly—thumb pressing against fingertip, fingertips brushing over the fabric of his pants in tight little circles, as if trying to smooth out creases that weren't there.
To the others, he looked like someone unraveling under the weight of a revelation. Shaken by the idea that he might be something beyond human. Something dangerous. Something sacred. But inside? He wasn't shaken. He was stunned—because it worked. They believed him. Or, more accurately, they believed the parts of the lie that were closest to the truth. And that scared him more than anything.
Ever since he failed college, he's been living in the same smoggy city air, the mechanical grind of life, and the forced smiles he wore in front of angry customers who treated service workers like dirt. He wanted a break from fluorescent lights and complaints about late orders, from the endless loop of "Yes sir, of course ma'am," while hiding how frayed he'd become inside.
Now here he was—somewhere between myth and mystery—labeled something not quite human, possibly divine. A walking paradox. A puzzle piece that didn't fit, and yet, the worst part? It somehow did.
Maybe being a kid in this world somehow helped him lower their guard. "i guess he did help me a little by turning me into a kid," He chuckled to himself. It was a strange twist of fate, but one he was starting to appreciate. This world wasn't a fairy tale. It was real, brutal, and unforgiving. Maybe not so different from Earth after all.
A hand gently rested on his shoulder. Ivan blinked, pulled from his spiral of thought. Elara knelt beside him, her expression softer than he'd ever seen it—her usual sharp edge dulled by something genuine.
"…I'm sorry," she said. "For treating you like a threat."
He opened his mouth, but she beat him to it.
"You're weird, yes, Very weird." Her lips quirked into the faintest smirk. "But I don't think you're dangerous, Not to us."
Ivan managed a small smile, tight but honest. "Thanks," he murmured. "I appreciate that."
Gareth stepped forward next, his arms crossed but his tone gentler than usual. "I think we can all agree that we've been through a lot, and I know you have nowhere to go, so why don't you stay with us for a while?"
Ivan's eyes widened in surprise, but he was grateful for the unexpected offer. "I'd like that," he replied softly, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders as he finally found a place where he belonged.
And Eldarion, of course, gave him a crooked grin, squinting as if trying to see through him again with those old mage eyes. "You're something the world hasn't seen in an age, boy. Could be trouble. Could be hope. But whatever you are…" He paused, then leaned in. "Can you summon booze?"
Ivan blinked. "what?"
"I'm serious!" Eldarion threw his arms up. "You can pull weapons out of thin air, but why not wine? Or ale? Or anything that can lift a man's spirits after a long day of fighting?
Ivan blinked again, then let out a quiet laugh. He had never tried drinking alcohol all his life, but the idea of summoning one was definitely intriguing. I mean… I can try."
He placed a hand on a nearby rock, eyes narrowing in focus. A second later, with a faint shimmer of light, a small, already open brown bottle appeared in his palm. A beer, and it's Cold. Definitely that one brand he saw in commercials.
Eldarion snatched it like a starving man. "HA! I knew it! Magic and miracles!"
"You're insufferable," Elara muttered, rolling her eyes.
"Don't be jealous," Eldarion said. "You can't summon booze. I can. Well, he can, but I'm drinking it, so technically, it's mine."
Elara gave him a solid smack to the back of the head. Gareth didn't even try to hide his snort.
Ivan just sat there, smiling quietly as the laughter returned to the clearing, warming it more than the fire ever could.
Maybe the world was harsh.
But for now, he wasn't alone in it.