Whispering of Arcane Truths
In the midst of a mundane math class, where the atmosphere was filled with equations and monotonous whispers, a spark of unconventional creativity ignited. You, Y/N, a university student, sought solace from the chains of dull arithmetic by tracing pentagrams in your notebook. But not just any pentagrams, these were the same ones you absentmindedly traced in your English class. It was peculiar how the mystical book, seemingly following you, instructed you to do it in such a specific way, leaving you questioning its motives.
Amidst the backdrop of formulaic boredom, your hand meticulously crafted repetitive spirals, marking an impressive tally of 149 pentagrams. As your pen poised to sketch the 150th, an unexpected disruption shattered the rhythmic pattern. A figure, devilishly familiar, materialized through the classroom door. Clad in noir pants, a scarlet button-down shirt, a mysterious black mask, and a sleek vest, his jet-black hair framed by thin-rimmed glasses exuded an enigmatic allure.
"What the fuck do you want?" his voice echoed through the room as he opened the door next to your seat. Confusion furrowed your brow as you stared at him, bewildered. "Excuse me, but I think you've mistaken me for someone else," you replied. Unyielding, he asserted, "No mistake. I traced the calls to this location from a specific frequency. How about we step outside in the hall and clear up any misconceptions?"
Gathering your belongings, you followed him out the door, only to be abruptly pulled through another door that seemed to be connected to nothing. Panic surged through your veins as you tried to scream, only to find yourself trapped in a room devoid of light, a void that materialized from the shadows. Terrified, you looked around, realizing that the doors were already locked, leaving you in complete darkness.
"Look, if you keep sending summoning requests with half-assed intent, I just might not show up when you really need me, okay? I might think you might be pranking me." he warned as the shadows encroached.
"Summon you? What on earth are you talking about? I have no clue who you are or what you're insinuating, but I swear I haven't done anything wrong," you vehemently declared, your words dripping with a venomous intensity. Fear and confusion gripped you tightly, and you continued, "Is this about that mysterious book in the library? I swear I didn't mean to peek inside. It was glowing so brightly, and it somehow got rid of the ghost that was haunting me. I tried returning it to the library, but it's following me or something."
"What book?" the masked man asked.
"A glowing book, adorned in hues of purple and gold, with words in another language that can change languages?" you cautiously explained, your uncertainty palpable. His gaze bore into you, urging you to retrieve your journal and reveal the open page from your English class. You handed it to him. "This drawing was in the book, along with explicit instructions on how to replicate it. I must have absentmindedly doodled it during class. Somehow, I must have unintentionally infused it with some mana or something, that must have 'summoned' you."
A sigh escaped the man as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course, the one chosen to save a realm of magic doesn't know about magic at all. great." he mumbled with a sarcastic touch to his voice. Stepping closer with each uttered word, he clarified, "Look, there is no amount of mana in the world you can pour into a spell to make it work. You have to be a witch to use spells. You would have to be able to use magic beyond what the world has seen in a good long while, in order to use a summoning spell, especially a spell as strong as this one. You would have to be the lost child of the witcher and goddess."
with every step he took, you took a step back until you unexpectedly bumped into a pitch-black seat that materialized out of thin air, blending seamlessly with the dark surroundings. The seat pressed against the back of your knee, causing you to sit down, while he leaned in over you, gripping the handles of the seat, and posed a question in a low, resonant voice, "The glowing book you described—did it exhibit signs of sentience, moving on its own?"
His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it resonated deeply within you. You gave a slight nod, meeting his gaze that held a mix of gentleness and strength. It felt like a memory from a distant past, a feeling of belonging. The stories hidden in his eyes seemed so familiar, like pages from a book you had once read. But where had you encountered them before? Before you could dwell on it further, he spoke again, drawing you back to the present. "That book you hold is the Tome of the Goddess's Vision, a relic only her descendants can wield. I've been searching for you for a long time. We need your help," he implored, His words hung in the air, heavy with urgency.
Startled, you quickly interjected, trying to make sense of the extraordinary situation. "Hold on, wait a minute. You've got the wrong person. I don't have any magical abilities. I'm not some child of a goddess and a witch. Maybe I accidentally infused mana into your book, but that doesn't make me the chosen one." Your protests filled the room, but his gaze remained unwavering. With a gentle touch, he cupped your cheek, his voice firm yet reassuring, sending a jolt of recognition through your very being. "You are the person I've been searching for," he declared, his voice echoing with familiarity...