A Shadow from an Old World

“This place… feels different.” Lyselle whispered, the tip of her pointed ears moving slightly in the damp, biting wind. Her eyes scanned the strange carvings on the walls of the ruins—not elf script, nor any magical runes she had ever studied. There were geometric shapes that were too regular, too ‘clean’ for this world.

Caelan nodded slowly, his hand touching one of the symbols. “I agree. This isn't from any Eirenthal culture. Even in the old demon records, there’s no mention of a pattern like this.”

Lyselle crouched down, her fingers brushing the dust off a small metal plate on the floor. As the dirt cleared, a faint light from the carving began to reflect—creating a strange, silvery gleam. The metal was cold, un-rusted, as if it refused to be consumed by time.

“…This metal,” Lyselle whispered, her eyes widening. “It’s not iron, not mithril. Not even orichalcum. It feels too pure. Like… something I’ve seen in another memory.”

“Another memory?” Caelan looked at her, his forehead furrowed. “You mean… from your old world?”

Lyselle was silent. A faint memory from her previous life—when she was still Ayaka Ishikawa, an ordinary human on Earth—slowly surfaced. She had seen something like this, in a research laboratory, in a tiny form called an alloy. But it was impossible… why would it be here, in old ruins in Eirenthal?

“I’m not sure…” she finally answered, though her voice was hesitant. “But there's a strong possibility this object… came from another world.”

The words hung heavily in the air. Caelan was silent, his eyes now sharp, as if trying to comprehend something much larger than just a ruin.

“If that's true,” he said softly, “then someone else from your world once came here. Or… something brought your world's technology to Eirenthal.”

Silence. Only the sound of the rain kept them company. Lyselle held the metal tightly, as if afraid it would vanish if she let go.

Suddenly, on the wall of the ruins, the carvings that were once dim began to glow faintly. A pale blue light slowly spread, following the lines of the symbols. It was as if their presence—or the object Lyselle was touching—had awakened an old, sleeping mechanism.

“Lyselle… look!” Caelan instinctively raised his sword, on guard.

But Lyselle was mesmerized. The light gathered, forming a faint silhouette of a man in a long robe. His face was blurry, like a fog that couldn't be captured by the eye. Only his gaze was clearly visible—sharp, full of purpose.

And then the voice was heard, heavy yet clear, as if coming from both outside and inside their heads at once.

“If anyone hears this… then I, Remiel, leave behind a legacy from the old world.”

Lyselle froze. The name echoed in her chest, like a chime shaking her bones. Remiel… a strange name, but for some reason it felt so close, so pressing.

Caelan growled, “Remiel? Who is he? A sorcerer? An ancient king? Or—”

But Lyselle shook her head quickly, holding back her suddenly pounding heart. “No… he’s not from this world. I… I know that name. Or at least, I’ve heard it before.” “From where?” Caelan pressed.

“…From my dreams,” Lyselle answered softly. “Or maybe… from Ayaka’s memories, my old self. He… Ramiel… existed in my old world.”

The silhouette wavered, then slowly faded. But before it disappeared, Remiel’s voice once again filled the silent space:

“The day when dimensions collide will come. If you hear my name… then prepare yourself. For I will return.”

The light died, leaving a thick darkness. Lyselle was still sitting, her face pale, her hands trembling, gripping the metal that now felt unnaturally heavy.

Caelan looked down at her, his tone serious. “Lyselle… who is he, really?”

Lyselle closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know. But if my guess is right… Remiel isn't just a part of Eirenthal's past. He’s a shadow from my old world. And somehow… he’s still alive.”

Dusk began to creep behind the horizon, leaving a reddish glow in the Ardellon sky. From the balcony of the ancient library, Lyselle could see long shadows swallowing the old city below.

In the dim archive room, the smell of dust mixed with the scent of a dying candle. The silent atmosphere was filled only with the sound of old paper being turned by Lyselle's fingers.

“…This is getting stranger,” she muttered softly.

Caelan, sitting on a cracked wooden chair, looked up from the scroll he was studying. His gaze was full of confusion. “What do you mean?”

Lyselle placed a parchment sheet on the stone table. On it were inscribed foreign letters—not ancient Eirenthal script, nor the language of the elves. The shape was more similar to the Latin letters from her old world, though chaotic and mixed with local script.

“This… is the language from my old place,” she whispered, almost in disbelief. “Earth.”

Caelan immediately straightened up. “Earth? You mean your world before reincarnation?”

Lyselle nodded slowly. Her heart was beating fast, as if every word in front of her was reopening an old wound that hadn’t truly healed. She stroked the surface of the parchment with her delicate fingers, feeling the faded ink marks.

The writing was only a fragment, but enough to make her breath catch:

“Project R: Gateway Stabilizer… Prototype v.0.3…”

The letters were like shadows from the past life of Ayaka Ishikawa.

Something that shouldn't be possible in this world.

“It seems… someone else from your world came here,” Caelan said, his voice heavy.

“They didn’t just come,” Lyselle replied with a cold gaze. “They left something behind. And that something—technology, knowledge—could be the root of all the corruption we’re seeing now.”

She paused for a moment, then took a deep breath. A name flickered faintly in her memory. A name she had heard in passing when she was still Ayaka on Earth.

“…Ramiel.”

Caelan frowned. “Ramiel? Who is that?”

Lyselle closed her eyes for a moment, trying to dig up the memory. She never truly knew the person, only heard rumors among the company she used to work for.

“In my old world, he was one of the architects of a major failed project. A project to open a gateway between dimensions… something they called a ‘Stabilizer’. But that project—at least according to the official records—ended in disaster. Many were lost. Including… Reian Shinoda.”

Lyselle’s voice weakened as she said the name. There was still a pulsing pain in her heart, the shadow of the man she admired but who was snatched away from her just like that.

Caelan looked at her seriously. “And you think… Ramiel might not just be a legend in your world? That he… could still be here?”

Lyselle slowly raised her face. Behind her emerald eyes, there was a mix of fear and determination.

“I don’t know. But all these signs… seem to be leading me towards him. If Ramiel is really in Eirenthal, he could be the key. Either the key to salvation… or to destruction.”

Night fell.

The old library seemed to transform into a labyrinth of shadows. The candles burned dimly, creating a wavering light that reflected the golden writing on the covers of worn books.

Caelan walked toward a collapsed shelf, lifting a rusty metal box. He slid it onto the table, making a heavy thud that echoed.

“Lyselle, look at this.”

The box was not made by a local craftsman. Its material wasn’t Ardellon iron, but a foreign, smooth metal, as if made with a precision machine from the modern world. On its surface was a triangle symbol with electrical lines.

Carefully, Lyselle opened its mechanical lock. A familiar click sounded, like the sound of an office safe on Earth. Inside was a small object: a circuit chip, burned at the edges but still intact in the center.

Lyselle’s heart pounded. She knew this object. The chip was exactly the same as the one used in the prototype of the dimensional portal machine, at the tech company she used to work for.

Caelan touched the object, then quickly pulled his hand back. “It’s warm… as if it’s still alive.”

Lyselle stared at the chip for a long time. “This isn’t just a relic. This is proof… that our world once truly came into contact with Earth. And Ramiel—he might be the one who brought it here.”

The night wind blew in from the broken window, rustling the parchment.

“In that case…” Caelan spoke softly, but his tone was firm. “We have to find out where Ramiel is. Or at least, who is still carrying his teachings.”

Lyselle looked down. “Yes. Because if he’s still alive… then all the conflicts we’re facing are just the surface of something much bigger.”

She held the small chip tightly, as if afraid the world would snatch it away.

In her heart, a new fear was born: that her journey wasn't just about fighting the corruption of the four kingdoms, but about facing a shadow from her own past—and a mysterious man named Ramiel, who might already be waiting behind the veil of dimensions.

The air in the underground chamber grew heavier. The ruins they stepped on were not just ordinary buildings—they were like a tomb of knowledge deliberately buried so it would never again touch the light of the world.

Lyselle walked slowly, her delicate fingers brushing the dust from the stone carvings. The script no longer used Eirenthal letters, but a strange geometric pattern intertwined like clockwork. She closed her eyes, trying to interpret it with the help of the faint memories from her past life as Ayaka Ishikawa.

“This… is a machine language,” she whispered softly.

Caelan raised an eyebrow. “Machine language? You talk as if these things aren’t from our world.”

Lyselle nodded slowly, her eyes glinting in the faint light of a pulsating blue crystal on the wall. “They’re not. These artifacts… are from my old world. The world where I was born before.”

Silence fell between them. The words struck Caelan’s chest like lightning. He had always known Lyselle was different, but this was the first time he felt how great the distance between them actually was.

“In that case,” Caelan swallowed, “why are there relics from your world here, under Ardellon?”

The question hit Lyselle right at a weak spot. She had no definitive answer. But the recording she had just activated—a rectangular metal panel that lit up when touched—began to speak on its own.

A man’s hoarse, heavy voice, with a very foreign accent, echoed in the room:

[Project ‘Ramiel’… phase three has begun. Dimensional energy is stable. If this is successful, a new world will open—]

The voice was cut short, replaced by a sharp hum before the recording died out.

Lyselle froze. That name… Ramiel.

A shiver immediately ran down her body, as if every fiber of her magic was rejecting the presence of that name. Ramiel wasn't just a word—he was an echo of something much bigger, more dangerous.

Caelan looked at Lyselle with a serious gaze. “You know that name, don’t you?”

“…No.” Lyselle turned her face away, hiding the unease creeping into her heart. “But I can feel it. Ramiel isn’t just an ordinary man. He’s… something that shouldn’t be in Eirenthal.”

The light from the metal panel flickered once more, then died forever. But the words—Project Ramiel—were now deeply embedded in their minds.

Lyselle clutched her robe tightly. A part of her wanted to destroy all these relics, to let them be buried in the dust again, but curiosity and fear were mixed into one.

“Caelan,” her voice was almost trembling, “I’m scared. If this is truly connected to my old world… then not just Ardellon is in danger. The entire continent could be shaken.”

Caelan, though he didn't fully understand, patted her shoulder gently. “Then we’ll face it together. Whatever it is.”

In the depths of the ruins, something else seemed to be listening. Like an invisible eye watching, waiting for the right moment to open the curtain of war.

And for the first time, the name Ramiel echoed in the air of Eirenthal—a name that would change the course of history forever.

The night in Ardellon grew late, but the tension never truly subsided. The bonfire that blazed in the center of the village square offered little warmth to the hundreds of pairs of eyes staring blankly at the embers. The sounds of the children, which had been noisy earlier, had now faded, replaced only by the whispers of adults who were either praying or simply strengthening their hearts.

Lyselle stood at the edge of the bonfire, her white robe shimmering faintly in the orange-red light. The night wind carried the scent of dry earth and the saltiness of blood that still clung to some of the village houses.

Beside her, Caelan sat leaning on his spear shaft, his face serious but his eyes repeatedly glancing at Lyselle. As if there was something he wanted to ask, but it was held back by the weight of his own thoughts.

“Caelan,” Lyselle’s voice finally broke the silence. “You feel it too, don’t you?”

Caelan looked up, his forehead furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Lyselle closed her eyes for a moment. The air around her trembled faintly, like an invisible ripple. “A foreign energy. It doesn’t come from elf magic, demon magic, or even human magic. Something that doesn’t belong in this world…”

The words made Caelan fall silent. He knew Lyselle wasn’t the type to hallucinate easily. If she felt it, it meant something real was there.

Before he could respond, an old man from the village approached with a stumbling gait. His hands were trembling, and in his grasp was a strange object—a small, silvery metal fragment, covered in fine scratches that looked like a pattern but were foreign.

“Your Highness… this… we found it buried in the ground near the old well.”

Lyselle accepted the object. Her heart immediately began to pound.

The object… wasn’t a magical artifact, but technology.

Its shape resembled a fragment from a machine—with small engraved letters that were not part of any language in Eirenthal.

Caelan snatched it from Lyselle’s hand, his eyes widening. “This… is too precise for human craftsmanship. It couldn't have been forged by an Ardellon blacksmith, or even a dwarvish expert. It’s as if… it was made by an invisible hand.”

Lyselle swallowed hard.

In her faint memories, from her past as Ayaka Ishikawa, she recognized the markings. Japanese.

Her hands trembled as her fingers traced the engravings that only she could read.

It read:

「R-EX Prototype 03」

“…What does it mean?” Caelan asked, his eyes full of questions.

Lyselle didn’t answer right away. How could she explain? How could she tell Caelan that this object came from another world—from Earth—from her own world of origin?

If this object was here, it could only mean one thing: another hand had opened the way between worlds.

Lyselle closed her eyes. In her mind, the faint voice she had once heard in a dream echoed again. The voice of a man, low, full of authority—as if calling to her from behind the curtain of dimensions.

“You think you’re the only one who crossed over, Lyselle? No. I’m here too… and I will change this world my way.”

Her body trembled, but she forced herself to stand tall.

A bad premonition began to grow: that the owner of that voice was the one who would shake all of Eirenthal—Remiel.

Caelan looked at Lyselle deeply. “You’re pale. You know something, don’t you?”

Lyselle opened her eyes. The bonfire reflected a sharp light in her silver irises.

“There is something bigger than just Ardellon’s famine or the corruption of the nobles. There is a foreign power… that might be even more dangerous than a war between kingdoms.”

The night wind blew hard, making the bonfire flare up. The villagers looked over, as if sensing the change in the atmosphere.

Lyselle clutched the artifact tightly. Her heart was pounding, but her eyes were now filled with determination.

“Starting tonight, we must be prepared. Because whatever is behind this object… will be the beginning of a storm that will sweep through all of Eirenthal.”

And in the dark Ardellon sky, faintly, it was as if an unseen eye was watching them.

The damp smell of old stones filled the silent chamber of the temple. The magic lantern Arven carried trembled faintly, its light highlighting ancient carvings on the walls depicting the gods. But Lyselle's attention was drawn to something that shouldn't have been there.

On a cracked altar, amidst centuries of dust, lay a silvery-black metal object. Its shape was sleek, long, with straight lines that were too precise for ancient carvings.

Lyselle slowly approached, feeling a strange coldness that didn't come from magic.

“…This isn’t an artifact from Eirenthal,” she muttered in an almost whisper.

Valen frowned, trying to touch it, but Lyselle quickly held back his hand.

“Don’t. You don’t know what its effects are. The energy inside it… is foreign.”

Sirion, who was usually calm, looked uneasy this time. “Foreign how? You speak as if this object… isn’t from our world.”

Lyselle looked at the object with a gaze full of doubt. She had a faint recollection—a memory of Ayaka Ishikawa from her previous life. The metal lines, the mechanical patterns, the glint of cold steel—all of it reminded her of technology from Earth.

Her hands trembled.

“…As if, someone from outside this world… left their mark here.”

A heavy silence enveloped the temple. The wind coming through the cracks in the walls felt biting.

Arven swallowed, his voice cracking. “So… it’s not just you, Lyselle. There’s… someone else?”

No one answered.

Suddenly, the metal object trembled, emitting a faint red light from small cracks in its body. A low humming sound echoed in the room, making the walls seem to vibrate.

Lyselle stepped back, her heart pounding.

“Is it… activated?”

But before they could react further, the light abruptly went out—as if only giving a brief warning.

Silence reigned once more.

In the distance, faintly, Lyselle felt a fleeting foreign presence. Not a spirit, not a demon, not an elf. Something cloaked in darkness, yet intelligent… and watching.

“—Remiel.”

The name just popped into her mind, even though she had never seen his figure.

Lyselle pulled her robe tighter, looking at the metal object once more. “We are not alone in this game.”