When the morning mist had not yet dissipated, Blackie had already arrived at the magic locomotive station. Today was the day when magical academies across the land would be receiving their new students.
Though since the day of "Destiny," she had received no news at all — not even an acceptance letter or an academy crest, let alone a proper report.
Yet a sliver of hope still lingered in her heart. Those who had submerged themselves in despair for too long would, when the dawn of life reappeared, grasp even the faintest light with all their might.
Blackie found a long bench in the corner and leaned against it at an angle. This position, wedged between the lampshade and the trash can, allowed her to clearly see every train door opening, while the tattered advertising banners conveniently concealed half of her body.
The morning mist had not yet lifted, but the bronze gears of the first magic locomotive had already shattered through the fog. The moment the brass gate slid open, the copper whistle of the registrar pierced the air —
"Student number A-12!"
"Here!"
The girl with a beret smiled as she responded, her braid sweeping past Blackie's cheek. Watching the girl's bright smile, Blackie instinctively shrank back into the shadows. When she came to her senses, she pulled out a bitter smile.
[This habit needs to be changed, too.]
After an indeterminate period of time, the tracks continued to transmit regular tremors as train after train departed with students. Blackie stared at her shoe tips, watching a half-leaf of ginkgo tree stuck in the cracks of the platform tiles.
Only she remained waiting for a long time, listening to the commotion, watching the chaos, from dawn until dusk. Only when the crowd had dispersed did she finally emerge from the shadows, finally sitting on the bench, her body slightly curled as if trying to hide herself within the remaining light of dusk.
At this moment, the last batch of magic locomotives was exhaling steam as they headed toward the distance. Blackie leaned against the faded wrought-iron bench, watching the magic crests on the uniforms of her classmates flash past her eyes — fire wax red, starlight silver, arcane blue. The energetic students looked like a swarm of shimmering butterflies flying away.
By the way, she had always wanted to own her own academy crest. As a child, she had pinned small flowers and doodles together on her chest, and that self-made crest she never brought herself to throw it away
"The man at the testing field was definitely lying." She laughed softly at the air, exhaled deeply, and slowly stood up, patting the dust off her bottom, preparing to leave.
Blackie left the station, heading home with a pang of sorrow in her heart. The dusk was like a layer of un-dried oil painting, stretching her shadow long and thin, as if it could be swallowed by the night at any moment. She kept her head down, her steps unsteady, like an injured tawny owl, eager only to return to the narrow yet warm rented room.
As the sky darkened, the dusk turned to ink. She walked through the familiar alley, everything seeming the same yet somehow different. Her brow furrowed slightly, her heart churning with emotions too complex to name — a riddle unsolved, a dream long forgotten. Instinctively, she turned a corner, and suddenly a pitch-black curtain unfolded in the air, like nightfall descending, swallowing everything around her. Blackie's vision was consumed by the darkness.
[An oppressive silence]
When she opened her eyes again, the world had changed. She stood in a deep, ancient forest, where towering trees with interwoven branches whispered forgotten secrets. A damp, mysterious air filled the atmosphere, as though she had crossed through time into another world.
"What... what's happening?" she murmured, her voice echoing through the forest, met only by silence. Her heart quickened, her mind flooded with questions — how could this be? She had remembered being on that familiar street, not here in this strange forest?
As she pondered, she suddenly heard soft yet rhythmic footsteps, like snow falling on stone, like moonlight shattering in the night wind — gentle yet mysterious. She froze, her heartbeat skipping a beat, instinctively stepping back as her eyes narrowed toward the source.
The forest was deathly still, save for the footsteps. She held her breath, trying to track their path, only to hear them drawing closer — like an invisible shadow advancing step by step.
"In this shadow, you see nothing... and nowhere to escape."
A deep, magnetic male voice echoed through the forest, like the whisper of night wind through dry leaves, like an echo from a forgotten dream, carrying an irresistible allure.
The approaching shadow wore a pitch-black cloak, its hem rippling in the night wind like a phantom in the darkness. Half his face was concealed by a finely crafted owl mask, while the other side revealed a young man's features — pale skin, sharp cheekbones, long silver hair dancing in the night wind like threads of moonlight, gleaming with cold brilliance.
"Blackie of Crowsight, isn't it?"
His voice was deep and magnetic, like the whisper of night wind. Blackie's breath hitched, instinctively stepping back.
"Y-You... who are you?"
She asked cautiously, her voice weak as flickering candlelight.
"That doesn't matter."
The man's lips curled slightly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. He slowly raised his hand, a dark blade forming in the air like Death's scythe, carrying a suffocating chill.
"The protagonist now... is you."
No sooner had he spoken than the dark blade shot forward like a venomous snake, aimed straight at her throat!
Blackie almost instinctively rolled away, her body tracing an arc through the night like a shadow. However, the blade's shockwave followed, tearing through the air like Death's sigh, rushing toward her. The shockwave struck a nearby locust tree, splitting it in two, branches and splinters raining down like a storm.
Her breath came in ragged gasps, the sounds of her heartbeat, the wind, and the sonic boom weaving into a suffocating symphony. The man's attacks came one after another, his movements as light as a shadow, each strike like a dance — elegant yet deadly.
"Who the hell are you?!"
She shouted, her voice trembling.
"Ask who I am... when you don't even understand yourself, isn't it?"
The man's lips curved into a meaningful smile, as though he had already seen through her.
Blackie's forehead was drenched in cold sweat, tears sliding down her face, dripping onto her tense shoulders, icy like frost. She had no time to breathe, only dodging, rolling, evading, as if playing a cruel game with Death.
Her body was already exhausted, her muscles like torn fabric, every nerve stretched to its limit. Yet she had no choice but to keep running, dodging, responding. Her legs trembled, her heartbeat almost bursting from her chest.
Then came another dark blade, slicing through the air toward her face. Instinctively, she sidestepped, but the attack still grazed her cheek, pulling a strand of hair.
Blackie's pupils contracted sharply. At the moment of death, memories surged like a tidal wave. She saw her childhood loneliness, the eyes of misunderstanding, the people and events that left scars in her heart.
"Every time... it's always me who gets these bad luck..." Her voice was low and raspy, as if she had swallowed glass shards, filled with an indescribable exhaustion and anger.
Her vision blurred, emotions roared like a storm. In that instant, a black energy rose from her chest like ink, wrapping her in a shadowy mist.
Her heartbeat was almost inaudible, her voice almost swallowed by the shadows. Yet the dark blade flying toward her suddenly shattered like falling into an abyss — disintegrating, vanishing.
A black aura surrounded Blackie, her hairpin falling during the battle. Her long hair, black as crows' feathers, floated slightly in the night. She moved slowly, expressionless, as if her consciousness had sunk into the darkness, becoming part of it.
"Every time..." Her voice became hollow, yet carried an unsettling authority, not her own, but an echo from another world.
"Not only magic... can it also swallow consciousness?" The man's eyes flickered with surprise and interest, "Fascinating... this is quite rare." A meaningful smile curled at his lips.
Blackie's figure moved like a ghost in the night, her movements no longer controlled by herself but by a deeper force. She threw a punch, her fist radiating distorted black light, not a physical entity but carrying an eerie pressure, tearing tiny space cracks in the air.
The man did not evade. Instead, he extended his hand and gently pushed forward, a dark orb of light forming in his palm. The twisted sphere seemed to contain countless tiny shadowy figures writhing within, expanding as it advanced.
The black sphere collided violently with the invisible shockwave in midair, emitting a screeching explosion that felt as if the heavens and earth had been torn apart. Light radiated in all directions, completely shattering the night in this confrontation.
Blackie's pupils remained pitch-black, like an eternal abyss that never closed, as if her soul had already fused with some unknown power. Suddenly, she surged forward, no longer fearing, struggling, or hesitating. Each movement seemed to pull at the cracks in the sky, black aura swirling around her like living entities — both an externalization of her emotions and an extension of her soul.
The man did not retreat. Instead, he slightly lifted his lips, as if expecting something. He softly chanted, his voice like a whisper from a distant dream: "Come... let's see who's shadow you really are."
Blackie did not respond. She stopped her steps five paces away from the man. In the next instant, she appeared like a ghost behind him.
She extended her left hand, her five fingers curling like claws, black light flickering at her fingertips as she lunged toward the man's nape. The man reacted almost instantly, his body moving like a leaf in the wind to evade the attack. But Blackie's movements were faster — her right leg swept outward, the roaring sound of air being torn slicing toward the man's waist.
The man crossed his palms in front of him, barely blocking the attack, yet still being pushed back half a step, a thread of blood escaping from his lips.
"Hmph... quite surprising." He wiped the blood from his lips, his voice tinged with excitement.
No sooner had he spoken than Blackie's figure once again approached like a ghost. Her right fist wrapped in pitch-black magic seemed to split the night sky, pouring out both silence and fury. The air twisted as her fist passed, emitting a piercing screech.