Chapter 0 – Origins

Five hundred years ago, in the heart of Nevantrax, the rain never stopped.
The sky bled gray and red, and the land itself trembled beneath the roar of something ancient.

Standing among the ruins, surrounded by fire and storm, was a woman cloaked in violet — her silver-gray hair whipped by the wind, her golden eyes blazing with defiance.

Naomi Tendou Kaname.
A witch feared and respected by all, on what would become her final mission.

“Kaname-san! We can’t hold out any longer!”
“That black smoke—it's spreading through our veins!”
“It’s no use! It’s a curse, we’re doomed!”

Their desperate voices were drowned by the storm.
But Kaname’s expression didn’t falter.

“Curse?” She scoffed, her voice cutting through the thunder. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s poison, nothing more. The weak call it a curse because they’re too afraid to face it.”

Her hand tightened around her staff. Magic runes flared at her feet, glowing with golden light that defied the darkness.

“As long as I stand, Nevantrax will not fall.”

A shadow loomed above the ruins — enormous wings, rotting scales, eyes like twin stars of hatred.
The Undead Black Dragon, once a god, now a blight upon the world.

The beast roared, shaking the heavens.
Kaname took a deep breath.

“This is it. My final spell.”

Her team screamed her name as she raised her staff toward the storm. The sigils expanded, merging into a vast circle of light that covered the sky.

“Divine Art — <Orbital Strike>!”

The world turned white.
The beam of light that fell from the heavens erased the rain itself.
And when the silence returned, the dragon was gone — nothing left but ash and scattered bone.

The soldiers cheered, some crying, some laughing. But Kaname didn’t smile.

Something was wrong.

Amid the rubble and smoke, she heard it — faint but clear.
A cry. A baby’s cry.

“Wait.” Her voice trembled for the first time that night. “Did you hear that?”
“What? A child? That’s impossible—”
“No. It’s close.”

She lowered her staff and whispered a spell.

“<Tracker>.”

Golden symbols spread from her fingertips, tracing the sound until it led her to a collapsed temple wall.

There, among shattered stones and the remains of old magic, lay a baby wrapped in burnt cloth.
The child’s right arm shimmered faintly — black scales glowing beneath his skin.

“No…” Kaname whispered. “This… this can’t be.”
“Kaname-san, that’s the curse! The dragon’s power—it infected the child!”
“We need to report this to the Church immediately—”
“No!”

Her shout froze them all.
Rain poured harder, thunder cracked, but her golden eyes burned brighter than either.

She bent down, gently cradling the baby in her arms, wrapping him in her cloak.

“You know what the Church will do if they find out.” Her voice was cold. “They’ll call him a demon. They’ll kill him before he even learns to breathe.”
“But Kaname… you’ll be branded a traitor.”
“If that’s the price for saving him… then I’ll gladly pay it.”

The baby’s crying stopped.
For a moment, only the sound of rain remained. Then — a tiny laugh.

Kaname blinked.
The child, fragile and soaked, was smiling at her.

Why are you smiling, little one?
Even after being born into this cursed world… you still find something to laugh about.

Her lips trembled, and for the first time in centuries, the Witch of Nevantrax smiled.

“Fine then,” she whispered softly. “Let’s rewrite your fate together.”

That night, Kaname vanished from Nevantrax.
She left behind her title, her power, her army — everything.
All that remained was her name… and the baby with the cursed arm.

The war ended. The world moved on.
And Kaname, now living in the human realm, raised the boy as her own.

“Kanata,” she would say every morning, brushing his messy black hair. “You’re growing too fast.”
“Then maybe you should stop feeding me so much, Grandma.”

For a while, life was peaceful.
But peace is fragile.

When Kanata tried his first spell, the magic vanished — devoured by his right arm.
No matter how hard he trained, every spark of mana he touched dissolved into nothing.

That night, Kaname sat beside his bed, watching him sleep.

This boy… he carries the dragon’s power. I thought I could seal it away, but perhaps no magic can truly bury what was born from a curse.

The next morning, she cast a sealing spell.
Bandages wrapped around Kanata’s right arm, glowing faintly with golden runes.

“There,” she said with a small smile. “Now you’re just like any other boy — just a little injured, that’s all.”
“Will it heal?”
“One day… when you find your own answer.”

Years passed. Kanata grew stronger, though his magic never came.
And then one day, Kaname stood before him with that same firm, unyielding gaze he knew too well.

“Kanata,” she said. “It’s time you went to Tokyo Magic Academy.”
“What? No! You know I can’t use magic!”
“That’s exactly why. Somewhere in that academy, you might find the truth about yourself.”
“Or I’ll just humiliate myself trying.”

Kaname didn’t flinch.

“Then fail with pride. But never run from who you are.”

Kanata clenched his fist. Beneath the bandages, the faint blue light stirred once more.
He looked at her — at the woman who saved him from the Church, from the world, from fate itself — and sighed.

“You’re cruel, Grandma.”
“Maybe. But I’m also right.”

And so, the boy with the dragon’s arm walked through the gates of Tokyo Magic Academy.

The place where his story would begin.
And the place he already swore to escape.

My name is Tendou Kanata.
And no matter what it takes… I’m getting out of that academy.