SACRAMENTIS: Astral Incarnation

"Every night, those dreams feel like a call from the future, revealing secrets hidden behind the shadows of the past. But unfortunately, I don't believe in superstitions."

Year 92, 7th Era of Conquest, Midgaria.

This world is ridiculous.

They call you Astral Voyagers—those summoned through a ritual, praised only to be enslaved by fate.

I was always there when my grandfather bled his fingers dry at the temple, calling forth people like you. Perhaps you have heard of the term before. Perhaps you are a former Astral Voyager. Or maybe someone you loved once disappeared without a trace, summoned to a world they never knew. Who knows? Maybe you'll be next.

You might be familiar with stories like these—ones from the animated films you've watched, from the comics you've read. Tales where an outsider is summoned to another world and becomes a hero. You might think it sounds amazing. But trust me, being an Astral Voyager is not a blessing. It is a chain. A shackle binding you to destiny.

I have seen dozens of Astral Voyagers arrive.

They come in chaos, faces filled with confusion and fear. Some cry, some scream, others simply sit there, staring into nothingness. None of them arrive prepared. None of them are the brave warriors the legends make them out to be. They come as ordinary people—broken, lost, and alone.

And then, as always, we feed them lies.

The temple welcomes them with reverence, whispering sweet, honeyed words into their ears:

"You were chosen by this world."

"You are the heroes destined to save us."

"Do not be afraid. You will find your new purpose here."

We—the empire, the nobles, the rulers—reinforce the illusion with praise and empty promises. We tell them their old world is gone, that they are already dead, and that the only path left is to embrace their role as saviours.

And most of them… believe.

The ones still caught in shock, the ones too desperate to question anything, the ones clinging to something—anything—will go along with it. They will pick up a sword, don the cloak of a hero, and convince themselves that this is what they were meant for.

But I know the truth.

I have seen their eyes lose their light. I have seen those who could not accept reality crumble, swallowed by despair and hopelessness. I have watched them break, one by one, as the world they were forced to love demanded more and more from them.

And I… I could do nothing but watch.

Because I am part of the system that grinds them to dust.

I am the crown prince—someone who, even without uttering a single word, is complicit in this grand deception.

Do you think being an Astral Voyager is a dream?

Yes.

A nightmare.

But if it happens to you—if you suddenly wake up in a strange place, your body feeling lighter than ever, the air brushing against your skin differently, and the sky stretching wider than you have ever seen before…

Then I, Elenio Seluna de Hawkins, the crippled crown prince of this selfish empire, will greet you with a smile.

A smile woven from lies.

"Welcome to Midgaria."

"The Empire of Five Races—the land of humans, elves, beasts, dwarves, and Undine."

"A nation that controls ninety percent of this world, a nation that has stood firm amidst an endless war."

"You are now one of us."

I will say it in a calm voice as if my words carry warmth. I will look at you with open acceptance as if you have truly found a new home.

But it is all a lie.

Midgaria is no fairy tale with a happy ending. It is not a world that will embrace you with open arms. This empire is a battlefield, and it has been one for the past seven hundred years.

So, welcome...

Welcome to a world that will never let you go—one that will shackle you as a tool of fate for the sake of our selfish desires.

~~~

I opened my eyes. Damn it, this place again.

I let out a sigh, staring up at the dark sky above me.

Tonight, the same dream haunts me once more.

An ancient building stretches before me in silence. Its walls have crumbled, its roof long gone, leaving only the remnants of a grandeur eroded by time. Rows of decayed wooden pews stand in disarray, some reduced to mere splinters. At the far end of the hall, a fractured altar still stands, defiant against ruin.

Once, this place must have been magnificent.

Now, only a shadow of its former glory remains.

And for some reason… I always find myself returning here.

My feet carry me toward the weathered altar, the sharp scent of blood piercing my senses, so strong it nearly makes me gag. Yet my expression remains blank. I continue walking through the suffocating air, past the stench of fresh blood—so familiar that I no longer need to wonder where it comes from.

In the stifling silence of the night, a girl's lifeless body lies on the altar, drowning in a crimson pool that has seeped into the stone beneath her. A sword is buried deep in her chest, the gaping wound a silent witness to a tragedy long past.

I stand before her, staring wordlessly.

No shock, no disbelief—only cold acceptance.

This dream never changes.

"Zura…"

I whisper her name, my voice barely audible.

In the early nights when this dream first plagued me, I used to scream. I used to cry until my voice was hoarse, drowning in unbearable grief.

But now?

Only silence remains.

My fingers brush against her cold cheek.

Kazura Soratha—the name I gave her, though her very existence had been a gift from my grandfather. A present for my sixth birthday.

That old emperor had bought her from the slave market and wrapped her in a red ribbon as if she were nothing more than merchandise. His depravity knew no bounds.

Beyond filling the palace with his concubines, he had another sick habit—disguising himself as a commoner and wandering through the black markets, his eyes gleaming with fascination as he purchased slaves. Zura had been one of them. From that day on, she was always by my side.

I exhale slowly, letting the cold of her lifeless skin seep into my fingertips. But, as always, this fleeting stillness never lasts.

The night breeze stirs, carrying with it something far heavier than the crisp chill of the air.

From the darkest corner of the ruined temple, where the light cannot reach, black smoke begins to coil and writhe, gathering into a monstrous silhouette. That entity—dark as a starless night—stares at me with burning red eyes filled with nothing but mockery and menace.

Then, a hoarse, grating laughter breaks the silence.

"It's been a long time since you last wept for that little slave girl, hasn't it?" The voice slithers into every corner of the stillness, making my stomach churn with disgust.

Every night, it comes.

Every night, it stands there, grinning from the shadows.

A nightmare with no end.

He called himself the child of ruin, the most devoted disciple of death. I called him Abyssian—the Abyss demon that had plagued Midgaria for seven hundred years—the sworn enemy of the Astral Voyagers.

Every time he appeared in my dreams, the world seemed to plunge into an abyss of endless darkness. Night after night, he crawled into my consciousness, turning my sleep into a prison without light.

"Whose fault is it if I'm starting to get used to all this?" I muttered under my breath, lowering my gaze to avoid his piercing stare, trying to hide the fear still etched on my face.

The demon let out a low chuckle, his raspy voice slithering through the air like venom. "No need to whisper, boy. I can hear everything in this place… even the trembling of your frightened heart."

I clenched my fists. "Why does it always have to be in my dreams? Why every night? Why… her?"

My gaze shifted back to the lifeless figure on the altar—Zura. Her body lay cold beneath the moonlight, its pale glow slipping through the cracks of the ruined temple. I was sick of seeing her like this. Sick of watching her die over and over again.

The demon's laughter faded, replaced by a sinister whisper that echoed through the crumbling walls. "The answer remains the same, just like every other night," he hissed. "I am the nightmare left behind by your past… and that girl is the nightmare that fate has carved for your future."

I lifted my head, glaring at him with pure hatred. His form wavered above the altar, shifting like a living shadow, his glowing crimson eyes cutting through the darkness. The longer I stared, the more real he became—no longer just a figment of my dreams.

Without warning, his body expanded. The black smoke that composed him thickened, swirling violently, forming a vortex that swallowed me whole in its suffocating grasp. My breath hitched. A chilling cold crept into my bones.

This nightmare, this curse… when will it end?

I no longer had the strength to run. Like every night before, my body froze in terror. Before I could react, tendrils of shadow wrapped around me, coiling tight like an unrelenting serpent.

The pressure in my chest grew unbearable, my lungs screaming for air as if the world itself was rejecting me. I struggled, but the more I fought, the tighter the grip became. I was trapped in a battle between dream and reality, forced to face the demon that emerged from the darkness.

"Khakhakhakha! As always, you look absolutely pathetic!" His voice rumbled through the silence, dripping with amusement. "A descendant of the first Astral Voyager—the first emperor, the sole heir of the imperial bloodline… No, I suppose, the only creature in this world born without Mana."

I remained silent, refusing to answer his mockery—because every word he spoke was true.

In this world, where Mana—magical energy tied directly to one's soul—was everything, I had been born without it. A flaw beyond forgiveness.

Mana wasn't just a power. It wasn't just a means of survival. It was the very foundation of one's Soul Code, something known as the Arcana Codex.

Every being in Midgaria is born with an Arcana Codex—an invisible tome etched into their soul. Within this Codex, the laws of their magic are inscribed, their limitations are set, and their fate is written.

 A noble is born with a complex Codex filled with symbols and spells that allow them to wield magic on a grand scale. A farmer, on the other hand, possesses only a few simple lines—just enough to ignite a hearth or heal a minor wound.

But me? I have no Codex at all. No pages, no spells, no trace of Mana flowing through my veins.

 I am an anomaly.

 A mistake.

I clenched my teeth, struggling to suppress the storm of emotions swelling in my chest. "It's not my fault I was born with a void Codex! I—I'm not happy being a failure among the imperial family either!" My voice trembled despite my desperate attempt to hide the pain beneath it.

Suddenly, the ancient pillars of the ruined temple exploded with a deafening roar. Debris scattered, and dust filled the air. I flinched, instinctively shutting my eyes as the rubble flew past me. When I reopened them, the demon was grinning—a twisted, toothy smile stretching across his face.

A wave of hot wind swept over me, carrying the stench of sulfur and blood. His massive shadow loomed through the haze of destruction, crimson eyes burning like embers in the darkness.

"A failure, huh?" His voice echoed, hoarse and taunting. "I agree."

He stepped closer, his voice slithering into my mind like poison. "Let's negotiate again. If you choose to ally with me, I'll give you the power to surpass your siblings, to silence the ridicule of your people… the strength to protect that girl."

I remained silent. My body trembled, but my resolve did not waver. No. I wouldn't involve myself any further with this demon. Nothing good would come from striking a deal with him. I wouldn't just destroy myself—I would drag Zura and the Emperor into a never-ending abyss.

Swallowing my fear, I forced a bitter smile. "N-no, thank you. O-once my brother ascends the throne and replaces me as crown prince, I-I'll leave the palace and live a peaceful life with Zura."

The demon's grin widened. He lifted his other hand, sending a coil of black smoke toward Zura's body on the altar.

My eyes widened in horror.

"ZURA!" I knew this was just a dream, but watching her body writhing as if consumed by the demon's cursed smoke made my blood boil with fury.

I struggled, thrashing in his grip, but it was useless.

"Khakhakhakha! That girl will meet a gruesome end—far worse than this," his voice thundered, filling the space with a suffocating dread. My body tensed, and my heart pounded wildly as he continued with a sly whisper, "Whether by my hands, your people's, or perhaps… your own."

"STOP IT! ANYTHING BUT HER!"

My heart pounded with burning rage. I didn't know when the fear shackling me had turned into a blaze of fury. Zura—the girl I loved—was in danger. I swore to myself—no matter what, this demon would never leave my nightmares and lay a single finger on her.

"Khakhakhakha! That's why you need power, boy." He sneered, his voice creeping into my mind, seeping in like venom. "Sell your soul to me, and I'll grant you the strength to silence them all."

"No!" I shot back without hesitation. My voice might have quivered, but my resolve stood firm.

The demon leaned in closer, pressing deeper as if trying to peel away the layers of my soul. "Stubborn, aren't you?… But you'll accept it, sooner or later."

The dark silhouette expanded, swallowing everything around me in creeping shadows.

"And once you are truly bound to me, I will drag you into an abyss of endless despair."

A shiver ran down my spine. My breath hitched, and my body, still caught in its grip, was paralyzed by fear.

"But it seems… tonight is not the night." Its voice echoed, growing distant. "The light of Solstara has risen from the east. Until we meet again in the next darkness."

I clenched my fists in frustration. "Why?! Why do you keep tormenting me?! Please… just stop! I hate these nights with you! Leave and never come back!"

My scream reverberated through the void. But the demon only laughed before its form vanished like smoke in the wind, leaving me in suffocating silence.

My chest remained tight as if an unseen force was strangling me. Then, slowly, I felt another pull—something drawing me away from this nightmare.

In the midst of the emptiness, a voice called out. A voice I recognized.

"Nio…"

That gentle voice pierced through the darkness, pulling me back from the endless nightmare. A warmth seeped in, guiding me back to reality.

I jolted awake, my body drenched in cold sweat. A lingering dizziness clouded my senses, making every movement feel sluggish. Yet, I forced myself to turn toward the source of the voice.

A girl sat at the edge of my bed, her hair as white as clouds, her porcelain-like face sculpted with delicate perfection, and her eyes—calm and blue like the midday sky.

Kazura Soratha. Zura.

"Nio? Are you alright?"

Her soft, cool hand pressed against my forehead, gauging my temperature with eyes filled with concern.

I mustered a smile, hiding the lingering fear that haunted me each night. I didn't want Zura to worry.

"I'm fine. Just another nightmare." My voice was light, though unease still lurked beneath it. I added, "I dreamed about falling from a great height this morning."

Zura arched an eyebrow, her expression doubtful. "Really? But you always wake up drenched in cold sweat like this."

She pulled out a handkerchief and gently wiped my forehead, her movements tender like those of a mother tending to her child.

I leaned back, just slightly—not because I disliked it, but because Zura's constant care sometimes made me feel like an overgrown baby who couldn't survive without a caretaker.

She sighed, perhaps disappointed by my reaction. But I needed space, even in the warmth of her concern.

Silence stretched between us until I finally broke it. "So?" I turned to her, trying to shift the mood. "What brings my beautiful fiancée here so early in the morning?"

A small smile played on her lips as if she were choosing her words carefully before speaking. "There's an urgent meeting. The Emperor has summoned you to the throne room."

"I see." I nodded, pushing myself up. "I'll get ready right away. You can go ahead if you're prepared."

Zura studied me for a moment before nodding and rising to her feet. Her steps were light, but something within me resisted watching her leave so easily. I watched until her figure disappeared beyond the door, leaving behind a swirl of emotions I couldn't quite put into words.

Once Zura's footsteps had fully faded beyond the door, I rose from the bed, shrugging off my night robe without caring where it fell. Standing before the mirror, I stared at my reflection—my body clad only in calf-length trousers.

Dark red hair—a signature trait of the imperial family. Crimson eyes. A thin frame that looked as though only skin stretched over bone. A body seemingly frozen at the age of twelve, despite the truth that I was already fifteen. At a mere 147 centimetres tall, it was no wonder people mistook me for a child. Even Zura, at eighteen years old, towered over me by eighteen centimetres. If we walked together, it wasn't hard to imagine strangers assuming she was my older sister rather than my fiancée.

I sighed softly, then let my gaze fall to the pendant resting against my collarbone—a five-leaf clover with a deep green jade stone hanging from a cord the colour of vine tendrils. My fingers brushed over it, tempted, for a fleeting moment, to take it off. But I quickly banished the thought.

"Even in death, never take off this necklace, Nio… No matter if the whole world rejects you, I will always love you… forever."

A vision of a woman with long, pink hair and the pointed ears of the Elven kind flashed through my mind. Her golden eyes, usually so warm, were filled with panic and sorrow. I could still recall how she struggled, her tears falling endlessly as the Hierophants—the high priests of the temple—along with their Acolytes, dragged her away from me. Her fingers reached out as if hoping to grasp the child I had been, the child who could do nothing but stand there, frozen.

Back then, I had been small and weak.

Back then, all I could do was watch as her figure grew more distant, her cries drowned beneath the reverberating chants of prayers echoing through the temple halls—prayers that made it seem as though she were being purified of some grave sin.

Taking a deep breath, I shook off the memories. I had to hurry.

Grabbing the neatly folded clothes set out on the bedside table—no doubt prepared by the servants this morning—I quickly made my way to the unnecessarily large bathroom attached to my chamber.

Cold water splashed against my skin as I washed my face, chasing away the lingering drowsiness still clinging to my eyes. But no matter how much I tried to focus on the present, echoes of my dream—of that demon's voice—continued to dance in the corners of my mind.

It seemed that the demon was right. If I had power, perhaps I could silence those who mocked me as the empire's failed heir.

Damn it, what was I thinking?

Nothing good would come from accepting power from some unknown being.

I quickly ran the towel over my body, feeling the sensation of the skin that still seemed far too fragile, despite the gruelling training I had endured. I averted my gaze, forcing myself to finish getting ready as fast as possible. I didn't want to linger in this bathroom any longer. The space was too vast and too quiet, leaving my mind free to be consumed by memories I should have long forgotten and thoughts I had no business entertaining.

As I stepped out, the crisp morning air greeted me. I dressed in the garments prepared by the servants—a thin imperial robe that felt slightly oversized on my frame. Today would be a long day, and I had to hurry before I embarrassed the emperor—my grandfather—in front of the nobility.

Those people—those nobles who wished for my disappearance, hoping the title of crown prince would be given to someone more "worthy" of the imperial lineage.

They didn't know how many times I had begged my grandfather to relinquish my position to someone else. But his answer had always been the same: No.

What else could I do? The emperor had made his choice, even if the entire empire opposed it.

And because of that choice, I had to bear this responsibility, just like today.

I could only hope that my flaws wouldn't bring shame to my grandfather. And maybe—just maybe—I could prove that my existence held some worth.

Even if the world saw otherwise.

~~~

I took several deep breaths, trying to calm myself before quickening my pace. I couldn't afford to be late to the throne room. The grand halls of the castle were already filled with nobles and important figures, all seemingly making their way to today's meeting as well.

Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me. A thick aura of hatred clung to the air, making the hairs on my neck stand on end.

I turned my head.

A man stood there, towering over me with a far stronger build. His crimson hair marked his imperial bloodline, while his golden eyes—bright, sharp, and brimming with emotion—glinted with unmistakable disdain. His tall, broad-shouldered frame only made my own small and weak stature feel even more insignificant.

I didn't know him. But judging from his features, he was undoubtedly a member of the imperial family—an uncle or perhaps a cousin. Honestly, I couldn't remember all of them. My grandfather had too many concubines, and he even set a historical record in Midgaria by filling every chamber in the imperial harem during his reign.

The man sneered. "I didn't know the Emperor still kept filth in his main palace."

I swallowed hard, forcing myself not to tremble before him. His gaze was so piercing that I instinctively lowered my head, avoiding his eyes.

He took a step closer, each footfall echoing against the cold marble floor. I could feel the weight of his presence, like a predator that had just found easy prey.

"Do you think this place belongs to you?" His voice dropped to a quiet, menacing tone. "A talentless disgrace like you should know your place."

I clenched my jaw, holding back the storm brewing in my chest. This wasn't the first time I had heard such words. Since childhood, I had grown used to the condescending stares and hushed whispers that branded me as the imperial family's greatest mistake.

But that didn't make it any easier.

The man suddenly grabbed my collar, hoisting me off the marble floor. My feet dangled in the air as I was forced to meet his cold, gleaming eyes.

"Listen carefully," he hissed. "No matter what happens in the throne room today, you will stay silent. You will not speak, and you certainly won't volunteer for the special unit His Majesty is forming for the new Astral Voyager."

I held my breath. They were really going through with it. I had suspected as much, but hearing him confirm it made the weight of reality press even heavier on my chest.

I had already heard from the Emperor that they would be performing the Astral Voyager summoning ritual again. This would be the fifth time in recent years proof that the crisis caused by the Abyss Gates had yet to be resolved, even with the existing Astral Voyagers.

"I don't care what you're thinking, Elenio." That guy tightened his grip as if making sure I absorbed every word. "Don't cause trouble. Don't draw attention to yourself. You're already enough of a disgrace as it is."

I wanted to slap his hand away. I wanted to look him in the eye and tell him I didn't care about his warning.

But I did nothing.

I simply stood there, letting his hatred drench me like an unrelenting downpour.

Then, another voice cut through the tension—calm yet sharp enough to shatter the moment.

"Finnian!"

A man with long, shoulder-length red hair—the unmistakable mark of the imperial bloodline—approached us. He was clad in the long white robes of the Hierophants, adorned with intricate golden embroidery tracing elaborate patterns along the sleeves and hem. A sash decorated with blue crystal ornaments wrapped around his waist while a sheer outer robe fluttered softly with each step he took. His shoulders bore a layered mantle, and upon his chest was the sacred emblem of Midgaria, carved with exquisite detail.

Uncle Arcanis.

The only person in this imperial palace, aside from Gramps, who stood by my side. As the current Hierophant of the temple, he often shielded me whenever the nobles or other family members sought to demean me.

"The meeting is about to begin. Why are you still here?" His voice was calm and wise, though his sharp gaze left no room for argument.

The man called Finnian released his grip on me, letting my body drop to the ground. I stumbled slightly, struggling to regain my balance before I could fall completely.

"Brother?" Finnian took a step back from me, his demeanour shifting to something more composed. "I was just taking a short walk, Brother. I was about to head inside."

Uncle Arca gave him a small nod before turning his attention to me.

"Are you sure you weren't harassing Elenio?" he asked, gently placing his hand on my head. His touch was light but grounding.

Finnian let out a dry chuckle. "Hahaha… Of course not, Brother. Well then, I'll be going in first." Without waiting for a response, he quickly made his way into the meeting hall, leaving me alone with Uncle Arca.

His hand remained on my head as if he could sense the unease still lingering inside me.

"Sorry if he bothered you." Uncle Arca offered a soft smile, warm yet steady. "His words can be harsh, but believe me, he's a good kid."

I only gave a small nod.

"Come on, let's go in. The meeting is about to start."

I took a deep breath, feeling a little calmer walking beside him. But the fear still clung to my chest, weighing me down.

At the very least, I had to keep myself in check today. I couldn't afford to embarrass Gramps in front of the nobles.

Hopefully.