moments later…
The scene shifted fast—unnaturally fast.
A ripple of invisible energy swept across Lord Mervyn Lancaster's mansion ruins. Wind reversed. Time flickered.
And out of nowhere appeared five people in black coats, long leather and buckles, their insignias faint but elegant—a silver triangle behind an hourglass. The Eternal Service, an ultra-secret organization working directly under the Alastair government.
The leader stepped forward. Raynold—tall, late 30s, pale blond hair and sharp eyes behind round glasses. He looked around with a bored expression.
"Tsk. What a mess. Litun, get the cube out."
Litun, a scruffy, sleepy-eyed man with a crooked smile, dropped a black cube onto the ground. "Reconstruction in three… two… beep-boop."
"Don't say beep-boop," groaned Emilie, the potion mage, mixing something in a glowing vial. "You sound like a rejected alchemist's apprentice."
As the cube activated, the entire mansion rebuilt itself in seconds—wood reforming, walls rising, marble flooring sliding back into place. Not a single civilian noticed; their minds were already being wiped by Lemon, the group's stoic mage.
"Memory Erasure's done," said Lemon in a flat voice. "No one remembers the monster. Or the flying. Or the wind boy."
"Wind boy?" Aritea, the librarian, raised an eyebrow as she scrolled through a floating magical tablet. "You mean the guy who killed the thing?"
Raynold nodded. "Speaking of which—where is he?"
Litun came strolling in with a smug grin. "In the carriage. Passed out cold. Poor thing's only—what, 17?"
"He's 21," said Emilie, scanning him with a glowing needle. "Also, not a girl."
Everyone paused.
Raynold blinked. "You sure?"
"He's 158 cm tall," Aritea muttered. "And has a baby face. Understandable mistake."
Litun scratched his head. "I was about to offer him—her?—a muffin. I feel robbed."
Raynold ignored them. "Alright, so we've got a 21-year-old wind mage who took down a Class-D Beast, and survived a crash through stone and fire. That's not normal."
"Definitely not," Lemon added. "Should we kill him?"
Emilie rolled her eyes. "Wow. Straight to murder."
"We have protocols," Lemon replied flatly.
"We also have a recruitment quota," Aritea said, still typing. "If we don't bring in three more agents this quarter, the budget goes to the Department of Magical Animal Welfare."
Raynold sighed. "Alright. New plan: we wake him up, question him, offer him a job. If he declines—Lemon?"
"Memory erasure. Then dump him in the mountains."
"See?" Raynold smirked. "No murder. Unless he tries something dumb."
Litun leaned back in the carriage seat beside the unconscious Arsa. "Still can't believe this little guy cut off that thing's head mid-air. What's he made of?"
"Rage and stubbornness," Emilie said dryly.
"Same as all short people," Aritea added without looking up.
---
Outside the carriage, night returned to quiet.
The mansion stood perfectly whole, as if nothing had ever happened.
Inside the carriage, the strange, powerful, and now very unconscious Arsa began to stir.
Arsa groaned.
His head felt like it had been split in two, stitched back together with thorns, and then soaked in cold water.
He slowly opened his eyes, blinking against the strange blue light above him. The ceiling was unfamiliar—metal, not wood or stone. It looked like the inside of some kind of… underground bunker?
His body ached everywhere.
The first thing he saw wasn't a nurse. Or a doctor. Or anyone normal.
It was a man with wild brown hair, sitting cross-legged near his bedside, strumming a guitar and singing a painfully dramatic ballad with his eyes closed.
"…and then he fell from the sky, like a fallen angel who—ow!"
The singing was cut short as a book came flying and smacked him in the head.
"Enough, Litun," said a cold female voice from somewhere out of view.
Arsa flinched.
He sat up fast—too fast—and immediately regretted it as his side flared with pain.
"Ah—ghh—where… where am I?" he muttered.
"Alive," Litun said, rubbing his head. "Barely."
Then from his left, a young woman stepped into view. She had sharp green eyes, a long braid, and wore a heavy military-style coat with silver embroidery. Her arms were crossed, and she stared at him like she was analyzing a test subject.
"You're in a secure facility under Alastair jurisdiction," she said flatly. "You're safe. Sort of."
Arsa's mouth was dry. "W-what happened to the monster?"
"Dead," said the woman. "Thanks to you."
"I—I didn't mean to kill it," Arsa said quickly, hands slightly raised as if defending himself. "I just—I thought it would kill me. I didn't plan this, I swear—"
"No one's accusing you of murder," Litun cut in with a grin, lifting his guitar like a peace offering. "Well, not yet anyway."
Arsa looked between the two of them, heart thudding. The last thing he remembered was using that strange card, then the silver rifle, and the—
"Wait," he said. "That voice… after I shot it… someone said something. A woman."
"You heard a voice of a women ?" Lemon asked, eyes narrowing slightly.
Arsa nodded, unsure. "She said… the mirror ability is now mine?"
Litun gave a long whistle. "Yikes. You picked up a Class-D parasite's imprint. You've basically become part of it."
Arsa stared at him, wide-eyed. "W-what does that mean?"
"It means you're interesting," Lemon said. "Which is dangerous."
"Okay," Arsa said, his voice cracking slightly. "I don't want to be interesting. I just want to go home."
Silence.
Lemon looked at Litun. Litun looked at the floor. Nobody answered for a moment.
Then Lemon said, "Unfortunately, it's not that simple. You've seen things you weren't supposed to. Done things most trained agents can't do. And that monster you killed? It wasn't just some wild creature."
Litun leaned in a little, voice lowering. "That thing was ancient. A relic from the time before the Holy War. It should've needed a battalion to take down. You did it alone."
"I just got lucky," Arsa said weakly. "It wasn't… bravery or anything. I was scared. I didn't know what else to do."
Litun patted his shoulder. "Good. That means you're not insane."
Lemon stepped forward, eyes serious now. "Here's the deal. You've got two options. One: You join the Eternal Service. We train you. We monitor you. You work for us."
"Or?" Arsa asked.
"Option two…" Lemon said. "We erase your memories and drop you off somewhere far away. You live your life. Never talk about what happened. Never use your powers again Or kill you."
Arsa hesitated.
Litun leaned in again. "But between you and me, the memory spell sometimes causes people to forget how to walk for a week. Or poop."
"Litun," Lemon said, exasperated.
"I'm just helping him make an informed decision!"
Arsa looked down at his hands.
His fingers were still trembling.
He didn't feel like a hero. He didn't feel like some great warrior.
He felt small. Scared. In way over his head.
And yet… something in his gut twisted.
He remembered the children. The people screaming. Mr. Jenkins.
If he hadn't been there, who would've stopped the monster?
His breath shook.
"I… I need time to think," he said quietly.
"You have 24 hours," Lemon said.
She turned to leave.
Litun stayed behind and sat on the floor again, plucking at his guitar.
"No pressure," he said cheerfully. "But if you pick option two, I'm still stealing your boots. They look comfy."
Arsa said nothing.
He leaned back against the wall and stared at the ceiling, heart pounding, unsure of what his future would be.
[To Be Continued…]