This world bore a striking resemblance to Earth. They were racing across the city aboard a train powered entirely by magical energy — smooth, silent, and impossibly fast.

  In the cabin across from him sat the Director. His new boss.

  Niro studied his surroundings carefully, searching for differences between this world and the one he had left behind. Yet aside from the magical core humming at the heart of the train, everything else felt eerily familiar. The architecture, the rhythm of the city, even the way people moved — it all mirrored Earth in ways that unsettled him more than the differences ever could.

  Beyond the window, an enormous metropolis sprawled in every direction. Things flew through the air, crowds flowed through the streets below, and the whole city pulsed with restless, chaotic life. It was almost overwhelming.

  Niro turned his gaze to Director Von.

  "How long until we reach the academy?"

  "Oh, we're nearly there. Another five minutes or so."

  The Director answered without lifting his eyes from the book he had been reading since they boarded.

  True to his word, about five minutes later the train slowed and they stepped onto the platform.

  "Follow me."

  The Director walked ahead at a steady pace, and Niro fell into step behind him. This district was quieter than the city center — more modest in appearance, with its own brand of unhurried stillness. Few people moved along these streets, and those who did had nowhere urgent to be.

  "We've arrived."

  After several turns and a gentle climb up a low rise, they finally reached their destination.

  Before them stood a large, imposing building — reminiscent of a government institute or a prestigious university, though with a character distinctly its own.

  "The academy is relatively new — built in our era," the Director explained, his gaze drifting upward along the facade. "Hence the architectural style, which differs considerably from institutions with centuries of history behind them. But do not let that fool you. Our knowledge and magical research stand at the very forefront of the field."

  With that, he walked forward. They passed through the security checkpoint and stepped inside.

  Niro was immediately struck by a strange sense of familiarity — as if he had stepped back into a university. The aesthetic was older than anything on Earth, yes, but the atmosphere was unmistakably the same: that particular blend of purposeful energy and idle wandering that only academic spaces possessed.

  The interior opened onto a modest courtyard, open to the sky above. Students of various ages moved through it, absorbed in their own affairs, carrying the casual confidence of people entirely at home in their surroundings. It looked, for all the world, like an ordinary university campus. The only thing that shattered that impression was the magic flickering between their fingertips.

  The Director seemed to notice Niro's fascination.

  "The academy does impose restrictions on magical use," he said, his tone measured. "However, basic spells are permitted without penalty — provided, of course, that safety is maintained. Even simple magic has been known to cause considerable chaos when left unchecked."

  As the Director spoke, Niro's eyes moved from student to student. From one pair of hands, a stream of water arced gracefully through the air. Another student coaxed currents of wind into elegant spirals. A third pressed their palms to the ground, reshaping the earth itself into shifting, intricate forms.

  In one corner, a group appeared to be competing — constructing small stone golems and pitting them against one another in rough-and-tumble brawls, chunks of rock breaking away with each exchange. It was genuinely entertaining to watch.

  "You'll have plenty of time to observe all of this," the Director said. "We do things differently here compared to the older schools. Magic is not an end in itself — it is a tool. What we truly teach is sound moral judgment and a deep understanding of knowledge."

  Niro absorbed this as he continued to look around. He would be teaching here, after all. He needed to understand this place.

  Before long, they arrived at the Director's office. It was nothing extravagant — a spacious room lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves, the air carrying the faint, pleasant weight of old paper.

  The Director settled behind his desk and gestured for Niro to take a seat.

  "Right then. You'll have the first week to settle in. After that, the terms of your contract apply. The rest of your time is your own — though I would advise you not to leave the academy grounds just yet." He paused. "Are you ready?"

  Niro exhaled slowly and nodded.

  "Excellent. I'll have someone show you to your office now. Your laboratory and living quarters are located within the same space."

  The Director reached over and activated a small magical device on his desk — compact, elegant, and clearly functional.

  So communication devices already exist here, Niro noted.

  A few moments later, a woman of middle age appeared in the doorway. Despite the fine lines that time had drawn across her face, she carried herself with a quiet, effortless grace. She wore a deep navy magical robe that gave her an air of composed authority.

  She stepped inside, glanced briefly at Niro, then turned her attention to the Director.

  "You called, sir?"

  "Matilda, this is Niro — our new instructor. Please show him to his office."

  "Of course. If you'll follow me, sir."

  She gave a small nod and stepped back into the corridor. Niro glanced at the Director, who made a brief, unhurried gesture toward the door.

  He followed.

  They walked in silence through the academy's halls until the woman stopped before a particular door.

  "This will be your office and your living quarters, Mr. Niro." She turned to face him with quiet composure. "My name is Matilda. I won't offer my surname — it is the custom here to regard everyone as equals." She gave a light, graceful bow and departed.

  Niro pushed open the door and stepped inside, taking a moment to survey the room. It was generously sized. To the right of the entrance stood a writing desk and chair — his workspace. To the left and toward the center, a pair of soft sofas occupied the room with quiet comfort.

  He crossed to the nearest sofa and dropped onto it, staring up at the ceiling.

  "Finally," he breathed. "No need to look over my shoulder every few seconds."

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  He let the thought settle, then closed his eyes and allowed the tension to drain from his body. In the stillness, something surfaced slowly in his mind — an image, soft and familiar.

  The book.

  The same one from the game. Black cover. Two interlocking circles on the front.

  He hesitated for only a moment, then opened it.

  The first page was filled with text in a language he didn't recognize — its meaning completely beyond him. But alongside the writing were illustrations. The first was a map of some territory, drawn without any scale markings, making it impossible to gauge its true size.

  That, however, was not the problem that unsettled him.

  The moment he reached toward the map and let his fingers graze the page, he felt it — a distinct, pulling sensation, as if the paper itself were drawing him in.

  He didn't know what it was. But the strange calm that had settled over him since entering the academy lent him a thread of courage he hadn't expected to find.

  He pressed his hand flat against the page.

  The familiar pull returned. And then, without warning, it surged — sudden and absolute.

  Niro vanished.

  He was thrown into something like a spinning carousel — tumbling, wheeling, disoriented — until the world spat him out the other side.

  The landing was brutal. The moment he hit the ground, a sharp, acrid smell drove itself into his lungs. Sulfur. Unmistakable.

  The world around him was dark and cold.

  He scrambled to his feet and looked around. Desiccated trees stood in skeletal clusters against the sky, their blackened bark crumbling. The earth beneath his boots was scorched and lifeless — as if a firestorm had swept through and consumed every living thing, leaving only silence and ash in its wake.

  As he took stock of his surroundings, the book appeared before him — hovering in midair, its pages open. Words materialized across the page:

  [The world of Heyland, consumed by war for centuries. The cause: demons that hunger for slaughter and revel in sowing madness. But perhaps, one day, someone will rise to bring it to an end…]

  Niro stared.

  "I… transported again? A different world?"

  Panic surged through him. He spun around, searching desperately for any sign of people, buildings, civilization.

  Nothing. Only a long, barren valley stretching in every direction, smothered in ash and silence.

  "A double transit? No… that's not quite right…"

  He frowned, thinking. Then something reached him — quiet and instinctive, a feeling tethered to the book somewhere at the edge of his awareness. An understanding: he could return at any moment. But if he forced it, the passage would close for a time afterward.

  The realization loosened the knot in his chest. He exhaled slowly.

  Looking more carefully at his surroundings, he picked out the faint ghost of what had once been a village — skeletal outlines of small structures half-buried in the soot.

  "There was a village here, too…"

  He murmured it to himself and walked forward. In every direction, the earth was scorched black, littered with the charred remains of whatever had once stood there. Given the sulfur hanging in the air, the cause wasn't difficult to guess. Demons.

  He picked his way through the ruins, scanning carefully. No bodies. No dried blood. Only ash and the absolute silence of a place that had been abandoned by life itself.

  The surrounding terrain formed a shallow valley. Not far from the ruins, a road wound upward toward a distant rise of hills — their slopes smothered in the same blackened, dead roots. Niro kicked through the debris with the toe of his worn boot until he found what he was looking for: a branch, solid enough to grip, long enough to serve as a makeshift weapon.

  Clutching it, he began climbing.

  With every step upward, a deep, creeping unease settled heavier in his gut.

  He reached the crest of the hill and stopped.

  The view that opened before him stole the breath from his lungs.

  An immense, scorched plain stretched from horizon to horizon — a wasteland of ash and ruin that seemed to reach the edge of the world. In the far distance, a lone fortress rose against the bleak sky, ringed by mountains on all sides. Nothing else interrupted the desolation — no trees, no roads, no signs of life. Only the silence, broken faintly by the distant movement of birds.

  Then he saw it.

  The fortress was under siege.

  Above it, a massive flying creature circled in wide, predatory arcs. At the walls below, countless other shapes swarmed and clawed and pressed against the stone. Niro had never seen anything like them, but the conclusion needed no deliberation.

  Demons.

  His heart hammered.

  Memories cascaded through him in rapid succession. Not long ago, he had found himself dropped into one foreign world, forced to learn its laws and survive its dangers by instinct alone. And now he stood in a third — a world locked in centuries of unending war against creatures that existed only to destroy.

  "Steady," he told himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "Survival first. If the book hasn't told me I'm stuck here, then this is just another situation to navigate. Different dangers, same principle."

  His thoughts moved fast.

  "The difference is this: back there, it's people who want me dead. Here, it's the world itself."

  He drew a long breath and lifted his face toward the sky. The clouds above were dark and bruised, veined with the occasional flash of silent lightning. Something deep inside him — something he couldn't name — began to fracture and reshape, like a bone setting itself after a break.

  He exhaled sharply.

  "Survive," he said aloud. "That's all."

  Crack.

  The sound reached him before thought could.

  Instinct turned his entire body before his mind had finished registering the noise.

  At the base of a charred tree, crouched on all fours, something was watching him. Dark crimson skin, stretched taut over a lean and predatory frame. Oversized fangs gleamed in its open jaw. Its arms were long and sinuous, ending in curved black claws.

  The demon's eyes studied him with wary, hungry patience — a gaze that balanced caution against appetite. As they stared at one another, the creature began to close the distance between them, slow and deliberate, moving the way a hyena moves when it doesn't want to spook its prey.

  Niro took stock of his position with cold clarity.

  "A demon." He swallowed. "Stay calm. I have the book."

  He repeated it to himself, quietly and firmly, feeling the book's presence hovering at the periphery of his consciousness like a dim but steady light. It wasn't much — but it was something. A lifeline. A tether.

  First, understand what I'm dealing with. Though given this war has lasted centuries, 'not very strong' is probably wishful thinking.

  He leveled the branch at the creature like a sword and planted his feet in a combat stance. He could leave at any moment. But something held him in place — not ignorance or bravado, but a principle he had carried with him from his previous life: try, before retreating. He had always believed you couldn't truly assess a situation without testing it first.

  The thought seemed to flow directly into his body. His heartbeat slowed. His hands steadied.

  The demon appeared to understand his intention. It bared its teeth in something between a grin and a snarl — and launched itself forward. But it didn't come in a straight line. It zigzagged, darting left and right in quick, jagged movements, trying to confuse him, to fracture his focus.

  Then Niro noticed something that surprised him.

  It's… not that fast.

  Confidence sharpened in his chest. He waited, watching, measuring each feint. The demon cut closer and closer — and then sprang, hurling itself directly at his face.

  Niro was ready. He snapped to the side —

  And forgot he was standing at the edge of a hill.

  The ground vanished beneath him. He tumbled down the slope in a graceless cascade, the world spinning end over end. The demon, landing where he had stood, righted itself instantly and plunged after him.

  The incline was steep. During one brutal rotation, the branch connected with a half-buried stone and split cleanly in two.

  He kept rolling.

  The slope finally leveled out, and the momentum bled away enough for him to claw himself to a stop. He shoved himself upright, ignoring the filth coating his clothes, and whipped around to face his pursuer.

  The demon had navigated the descent with effortless, infuriating grace.

  Within seconds, it was in front of him again. No feints this time. No hesitation. It simply launched itself straight at him.

  There was no time to dodge.

  Niro set his jaw, raised both arms, and seized the demon by the wrists.

  The collision drove them both into the earth with a heavy thud. But Niro recovered fast — faster than the creature expected. He wrenched it over, forced one of its arms flat against the ground, straddled it, drew back his fist, and drove it down with everything he had.

  Crack. A soft, wet collapse.

  He had been preparing to strike again.

  His fist stopped mid-swing.

  The demon's head was embedded in the scorched earth.

  Crushed.

  Niro stared at his own fist in silence. Then at the demon. Then at his fist again.

  "What the hell?"