Vanitas glanced around the space. With Kafka nowhere to be seen, it was only then that he realized he was no longer inside Fyodor’s base, but somewhere else entirely.

A space that resembled void matter. It was dark, with only faint, glittering particles scattered around, serving as the only source of light.

Seeing the man he had wanted to meet this whole time, Vanitas’s first instinct was to grab him by the collar.

Surprisingly, his hand didn’t phase through as he had expected. His fingers curled into Zen’s collar, pulling him close as his eyes contorted into a murderous glare.

"Explain yourself."

——Whoa. Easy there...

If looks could kill, that would have been enough.

"What the fuck did you do?"

The reason for Vanitas’s anger was simple. Archmage Zen had placed him in this predicament. His failure to kill Araxys and the fact that history claimed he had survived that encounter, gravely injured before going into hiding, only made it worse.

Where did he go after that?

Of course, Vanitas was the type of person who understood that there were always two sides to the same coin. History could be wrong. It could be distorted, incomplete, or entirely misleading.

But even knowing that, it didn’t change anything.

There was nowhere for him to direct his frustrations, after all.

——Then... where do I start?

"From the beginning."

* * *

When Zen turned four years old, he suddenly awakened to memories of a previous life. A life that did not quite align with his current reality. A life that contrasted the primitive nature of his surroundings and the modern world he remembered.

"...."

But memories were what shaped a person.

For Zen, who was only four at the time, those memories carried more weight than the life he had actually lived.

The years he remembered far exceeded the few he had spent as a boy in Seoul, a place that did not resemble what he knew at all.

And so, he began to wonder.

Had he gone back to the past?

The city was still called Seoul, yet everything about it resembled the Joseon era.

But that didn’t make sense. If that were true, it should have been called Hanseong, not Seoul.

Even so, as the years passed, Zen began to notice that traces of his previous life still remained.

Western influence had not disappeared. Germans, Americans, Russians, and others could still be found scattered throughout this distorted version of Korea.

And while the towering buildings he once knew were gone, replaced by the traditional landscape of Hanseong he had only read about, there were still remnants of modern practices, things like vehicles and other traces that did not belong in this era.

By the time Zen turned ten, he had belatedly arrived at a conclusion.

This was not the past.

This was far into the future of the life he once knew, a realization that made even less sense than anything before it.

"...I don’t understand."

The last thing he remembered was running.

After defecting from Korea, he had been implicated as an international spy. With no other choice, he fled, boarding a plane bound for Madrid.

Then, somewhere along the way, a sudden light appeared, swallowing everything whole.

And when he opened his eyes again, he was here, reborn into a peasant family of rice farmers.

But even that didn’t last.

When he was eight, his parents were killed under the corruption of the King’s army, leaving him and his little sister, Yuna, to fend for themselves.

But to say he had fully assimilated into this life as Zen after eleven years would be a lie. Too much had happened in his previous life for him to simply forget it.

"I’m Chae Eunwoo..."

And so, to make sure he never forgot, to hold onto what remained of his identity, Zen muttered those words to himself.

Hungry and starving, Zen resorted to whatever tricks he could. Unfortunately, this small body, barely sustained on what little he could find, could not keep up with the experience he carried from his previous life.

More often than not, he would be beaten and left in alleys by older children. To survive each day, he had no choice but to steal, just to keep himself and his little sister alive.

One day, Zen came across a hut deep in the forest. Thinking he had struck fortune, he attempted to rob the place, only to be stopped by the woman who lived there.

"You brat."

A woman who, strangely enough, even Zen couldn’t overpower.

"Ah...?"

Zen paused as she glared at him. A sudden chill ran down his spine as he took in her appearance.

"...M-Minjeong-ssi?"

Because, for some reason, she looked exactly like his lover from his previous life.

Ever since that day, the woman, who introduced herself as Jihyeon, took Zen and his little sister, Eunah, in.

"Do you really not have memories of a past life?"

"I’ve already told you many times. No. And those kinds of beliefs don’t suit you, Zen."

It had to be said, but despite looking exactly like her, she claimed to have no memories of a previous life.

That only made things more confusing for Zen. Even so, he chose not to press the matter any further.

More importantly, he had begun to realize something else about this world.

"...Magic?"

Mystic arts, known as magic, existed here.

And the woman before him, Jihyeon, was a witch capable of wielding it. Finally, with a mentor and a guide, Zen was able to realize just exactly what this reality was.

"It’s known as the White Nights," Jihyeon said. "I’m not exactly sure what caused it, but according to historians, this world isn’t what it used to be centuries ago. On a certain day, a bright white pillar appeared. People and animals began to change, and then... mana was born..."

According to Jihyeon, those capable of perceiving and utilizing this new phenomenon, something akin to a sixth sense, were regarded as witches, mages, shamans, and the like.

Mana, often described as a new element altogether, was not something everyone could use. That alone made the practice of mystic arts obscure.

For most people, whose bodies had not adapted to mana, these individuals were nothing more than myths, or worse, something to be feared.

And the White Nights had apparently been the cause of the Great Reset, throwing the world into something that could only be described as an apocalyptic state.

According to what little remained in recorded history, the world before that event had been far more advanced.

Civilizations had flourished, technology had reached heights that now only existed as memory, and nations had stood with clear borders and identities.

Then, it all collapsed.

The sudden emergence of mana had disrupted everything. Infrastructure failed, governments lost control, and whatever order once held the world together began to crumble.

Those who adapted survived.

And those who didn’t were either left behind or erased completely.

Over time, what remained of humanity rebuilt itself, but not as it once was. Kingdoms rose where nations had fallen, traditions replaced systems, and the world regressed into something that resembled older eras, even as remnants of the past still lingered.

That was why nothing fully made sense.

Fragments of modernity coexisted with the structure of the past. Languages, names, and customs overlapped in ways they shouldn’t have. It wasn’t a complete reset, but it might as well have been one.

"Since you claim to have memories of a past life, then that changes everything," Jihyeon said. "You, Zen, are living proof of humanity’s past."

"...You believe me?"

Surprisingly, Zen possessed the aptitude to utilize mana, far more efficiently and profoundly than even Jihyeon. For that reason, she took him in as her apprentice.

Flicker——!

At that moment, however, the haze began to fizzle out. In Vanitas’s peripheral vision, Archmage Zen slowly dissolved.

"Ah. Fuck."

That was all he said as the first seal finished showing him what it intended. Vanitas rubbed his temple as a sharp migraine began to set in. It seemed that directly interacting with Archmage Zen consumed a significant portion of his mana.

And that alone said a lot. Vanitas’s current mana capacity could already be considered at the level of an Archmage.

"What was that?" Kafka spoke from beside him.

Vanitas continued rubbing his temples for a moment before answering.

"Did you see that?"

"See what?"

It seemed he hadn’t.

"Never mind. Do you feel anything strange?"

"Not really. You, however, looked strange."

"Me?"

"When that magic broke off, and you put your hand on it, you just stood there like a statue. I tried getting your attention, but you didn’t even blink."

"...."

Vanitas took a moment to steady himself. Whether it was the cancer or the strain on his mana, he couldn’t tell, but a sudden wave of exhaustion hit him. Even so, he turned his gaze toward Kafka.

"Where are you staying these days?"

"The room above this."

Above this...

It was nothing but wreckage. Broken pillars and scattered debris. There was no proper room to speak of.

It seemed Fyodor was treating this child well.

"Pack your things. You’re coming with me."

* * *

"...Is this your son, Professor?"

"Do I look like I’m joking, Anastasia?"

Vanitas had no proper way to look after the boy. The only connection he had left that still held both influence and resources was Anastasia and the Gambinos.

"No, seriously, who is this kid?!" she said, frowning. "I don’t have time to look after strays. I barely have enough time for myself!"

"Give him a room and enough allowance for his daily necessities. I’ll come back to check on him from time to time."

"Professor, you can’t be serious," Anastasia grumbled. "Is he really your kid?"

"He might be someone the Gambinos will need in the future."

"Huh?"

Anastasia turned and looked the boy over, assessing him. He was scarily malnourished, and while his features were striking enough that he might grow into a handsome young man, the Gambinos weren’t some degenerate crime family running a prostitution ring.

"Can he fight?" she asked.

"He tried stabbing me."

"Oho."

That was enough to catch her interest. She turned fully toward Kafka.

"Alright, boy. From now on, call me big sister."

Kafka only glanced between the two of them, unable to follow the conversation.