Chapter 1 – Memories of Youth

Amidst the chaos stood a thirty-three-year-old man, breathing heavily. His name was Zareen. Once, he had been just an ordinary student. Now he was known as both an activist and an academic. He had a wife and two children waiting for him at home, but his ideals would not allow him to simply stay behind closed doors while the people cried out for change.

But that day, fate seemed to block the path before him. The clashes between protestors and soldiers had turned brutal. Rocks flew through the air, screams blended with sobs—and then—

“Bang!”

The crack of a gunshot tore through the noise.

Zareen felt his body jerk backward. Heat spread across his chest, followed by a burning pain so sharp it stole his breath. He fell hard onto the rough asphalt, warm blood quickly seeping from the gunshot wound and spreading across the ground, even reaching his face. His vision wavered, the world spinning out of control.

“Ugh… blood…” he whispered faintly, barely conscious.

His trembling hand reached for a small pendant hanging around his neck. The little trinket glimmered faintly, reflecting what seemed like the last bit of light he could still see. Where did this come from? he wondered, his thoughts foggy. Its origin had been forgotten for as long as he could remember.

“Whose… is this…?” His voice was barely audible as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

His awareness began to slip away. The shouts, the stomping feet, the chaos—it all grew distant. The real world dimmed. In that deep darkness swallowing him whole, something else slowly emerged, as though a door to memory had been forced open.

---

Flashback: Eighteen Years Ago

Zareen was fifteen years old, a middle school student.

It was supposed to be an exciting morning—the final day of semester exams. But young Zareen lay curled beneath his blanket, his face tired, his eyes dull.

“Zareen! Wake up! You’re going to be late for school!” his uncle’s voice rang out from outside the room.

Zareen groaned, his voice hoarse. “Yeah, yeah… just a minute…” He didn’t want to get up. His body felt heavy after staying up all night. His books were still open on the desk, but only the last three pages had actually been read. The rest? He had given up on them long ago.

His eyes darted to the wall clock: 6:37 AM. The school bell would ring at seven. Walking would take thirty minutes. Running would take twenty—but that meant sprinting nonstop.

“Oh no!” he yelped, leaping out of bed. He threw on his blue-and-white school uniform, shoved whatever books he could grab into his bag, and almost forgot his pencils and exam card if not for a last-second glance at the desk.

He rushed out of his room, hair a mess, tie hanging loose. “Uncle, I’m heading out!”

“Be careful, don’t trip!” his uncle called back.

But Zareen was already sprinting down the road before the words were finished.

---

By the time the school bell rang, Zareen had just reached the gate, panting hard. Luckily, the proctor hadn’t entered the classroom yet. He collapsed onto his seat, his face flushed, chest heaving.

That day’s exam was math—his lifelong nemesis. The numbers on the paper seemed to dance before his eyes, the strange symbols mocking him.

“What kind of question is this?” he muttered, cold sweat running down his temples. “I studied last night, but nothing’s sticking…”

Time flew by. He managed to answer only a few questions; the rest he guessed at random. When the bell rang signaling the end of the test, he sank back into his chair with a long sigh.

“Finally, it’s over…”

His classmates cheered in relief and quickly packed their bags to go home. But Zareen stayed behind.

“You guys go ahead. I’m going to the library for a bit,” he said.

Home was always quiet, with his uncle busy at work. For Zareen, the library was far more comfortable than going home early.

---

The school corridors were still lively. Some students were practicing for sports week, the sound of volleyballs echoing across the court. And there, Zareen saw someone who made him stop in his tracks: Nomy, the most popular girl in school.

She had just finished practice, her face glowing with sweat. She waved at him with a bright smile.

“Hey!” she called.

Zareen instinctively nodded, awkwardly. “Uh—hi…”

That was all. Yet his heart thumped wildly, his face burning. He remembered the first time they met back in first year—when Nomy had helped him pick up the books he’d dropped. From that moment on, he had quietly kept his feelings for her hidden.

“If only I could be closer to her…” he muttered as he headed to the library.

---

The library was quiet, only a few students scattered in the corners. Zareen signed the attendance log and wandered between the tall bookshelves. His eyes scanned rows of dusty, thick volumes until one caught his attention—a dark brown book with strange circular engravings on its cover.

“Huh? A storybook?” he whispered.

He opened it. The pages were filled with mysterious symbols, diagrams of magic circles, and writing he couldn’t recognize. On the last page was a tiny instruction: “Place your finger on the circle.”

“Seriously?” he muttered. But curiosity won. He pressed his fingertip against the page.

“Ow!” The sharp edge cut him. A drop of blood fell onto the paper—and was immediately absorbed. The circle began to glow faintly.

Startled, Zareen slammed the book shut. “What the—” He sucked on his bleeding finger, grabbed the book, and slumped onto a bench, using it as a pillow.

“Just a quick nap…” he mumbled.

His eyes closed. His body felt light.

---

“Cling… clang…” The sound of bells echoed.

Zareen opened his eyes. The library had changed. The shelves were taller, torches with blue flames floated in midair, casting an eerie glow. The atmosphere felt otherworldly, silent, magical.

“Where… am I?” Zareen whispered, walking carefully.

Suddenly, a black vortex appeared before him, sucking him in. He tumbled, landing somewhere else.

Footsteps echoed. From behind the shelves emerged a small girl with silver hair, holding a tiny staff that gleamed softly. Her face was innocent, but her eyes were sharp.

“So, someone finally came…” her voice echoed.

Zareen blinked. “A little girl?”

She pouted. “Who are you calling a little girl, brat?! I’m over two thousand years old.

”Zareen’s jaw dropped. “Yeah, right. I don’t believe you.”

“Believe me or not, that’s not my problem,” she said with a huff. “I am Gifa, the witch who summoned you to this world.”

---

They sat together at a long table. Zareen still doubted her words—until Gifa effortlessly solved every math problem he threw at her, explaining each solution faster than a calculator.

“How about now? Do you believe me?” she asked smugly.

Zareen scratched his head. “Incredible… I didn’t even know the answers, but you solved them all. Alright, maybe you’re not an ordinary kid after all.”

With a proud smirk, Gifa transformed into a stunning adult woman. Zareen’s nose bled instantly and he covered his eyes in panic.

“Wait! At least change your clothes too!” he yelped.

Gifa giggled, returning to her childlike form. “Still doubting me?”

Zareen bowed his head in defeat. “Alright, alright, I believe you, ancient one…”

And so, from that strange encounter, Zareen’s journey began—a journey that would cross worlds, eras, and the limits of himself.