WHAT IS TRUTH

Long before kingdoms drew borders and legends were carved into stone, the world itself was alive with magic.

The skies shimmered in shades of violet and gold. Rivers glowed faintly under moonlight, carrying whispers of ancient spells. Floating lanterns drifted endlessly above cities, powered not by fire but by pure mana. Every living being, from the smallest insect to the mightiest dragon, possessed magic as naturally as breathing.

Magic was not a gift.

It was existence itself.

And then—

It vanished.

For a single, terrifying moment, the world fell silent.

The glowing skies dimmed into dull gray. Enchanted lights collapsed from the air. Spells froze halfway through casting. Creatures sustained by mana cried out in confusion as the energy sustaining them disappeared.

Color drained from the world like paint washed away by rain.

No magic.

No light.

No warmth.

Only emptiness.

Then, just as suddenly as it disappeared—

magic returned.

The colors rushed back. The skies reignited. Spells resumed as if nothing had happened.

But the world would never truly be the same again.

Because at that exact moment, in the royal capital of the Kingdom of Elarion…

a child was born.

Inside the grand royal castle, servants hurried through golden corridors while priests and royal mages gathered in panic.

The newborn prince lay quietly in his mother’s arms.

Unlike other royal children, he did not cry.

He simply stared.

His eyes were calm — unnaturally calm — as if observing the world rather than entering it.

The court astrologers trembled.

The Archmage stepped forward, attempting a simple detection spell.

Nothing happened.

He frowned and tried again, pouring more mana into the spell.

Still nothing.

A murmur spread across the chamber.

Another mage attempted healing magic near the child.

The spell dissolved instantly.

Like mist touching sunlight.

Gasps echoed through the hall.

“Magic… disappears near him,” one mage whispered.

The realization struck them all at once.

The timing.

The global loss of magic.

The birth.

Fear replaced reason.

“This child caused it.”

“He is an anomaly.”

“A being rejected by magic itself!”

Voices rose louder.

“He is a devil!”

The king, seated upon his throne, watched silently, his expression growing darker with every accusation.

The Archmage bowed deeply.

“Your Majesty… any magic within several steps of the child ceases to function. Even enchanted artifacts fail.”

The king’s hand tightened on the armrest.

“A world without magic cannot exist,” a noble declared. “If this child grows, he may erase magic entirely.”

The hall erupted into agreement.

“Kill him.”

The words spread like wildfire.

“Kill the devil child!”

Even the king’s resolve began to waver.

Slowly, painfully, he stood.

“If the child threatens the kingdom…” he said, voice heavy, “…then even royal blood cannot protect him.”

The queen’s eyes widened in horror.

“No!” she cried, clutching the baby close. “He is our son!”

Silence fell.

The king avoided her gaze.

“You may choose,” he said quietly. “The kingdom… or the child.”

Tears streamed down her face.

After a long moment, she stood.

“I choose my son.”

The king closed his eyes.

“Then leave this castle. From this moment forward, neither you nor the child belong to the royal family.”

And just like that—

the prince was exiled on the day he was born.

The queen traveled far from the capital, abandoning jewels, status, and comfort.

Eventually, she arrived at a settlement on the kingdom’s outskirts — a slum inhabited by people considered failures.

People born with weak or unstable magic.

In a world defined by magical ability, they were outcasts.

Yet unlike the nobles, they did not fear the child.

When magic failed near him, they simply shrugged.

“We never relied on magic anyway,” one old woman laughed.

They welcomed the queen, not as royalty, but as another struggling soul.

And for the first time since his birth, the child lived among kindness without fear.

She named him Null.

Because magic became nothing around him.

Null grew up believing he was simply talentless.

In a magical world where children summoned sparks before learning to walk, he could not produce even a flicker.

Spells failed near him.

Magic tools broke.

Training instructors eventually gave up.

He learned to survive without magic — relying on observation, physical skill, and logic instead.

To him, magic was just something other people used.

Life was peaceful.

Until the dream.

One night, far away in the royal castle, the king awoke drenched in sweat.

He had seen destruction.

His kingdom burned.

Magic itself collapsed into nothingness.

And standing at the center of the ruins…

was Null.

Unchanged.

Untouched by chaos.

Watching silently as the world ended.

The king’s heart pounded with terror.

“The devil child…” he whispered.

Fear overcame guilt.

He summoned his knights immediately.

“Find the boy,” he ordered. “Kill him.”

Moonlight bathed the slum in silver when armored knights arrived.

They moved silently toward a small house at the edge of the settlement.

Inside, Null slept.

His mother sensed danger first.

Steel shattered the door.

Knights rushed in, swords glowing with enchantments.

“By royal order—”

Before they could finish—

Null moved.

He stepped between them and his mother.

The moment he approached—

their weapons vanished.

Not broke.

Not shattered.

Vanished.

Armor crumbled into dust.

The glow of enchantments died instantly.

The knights staggered backward, suddenly exhausted, as if their strength itself had been drained.

“What—what is happening?!”

Panic filled their voices.

Magic circles flickered and disappeared before forming.

Their bodies weakened rapidly.

Fear overtook training.

They fled.

Silence returned.

Null stood frozen, breathing heavily.

“…Mother,” he said slowly. “What just happened?”

She hesitated.

For eighteen years she had hidden the truth.

But now there was no reason to lie.

And so she told him everything.

His birth.

The accusation.

The exile.

The king’s decision.

The word devil.

Null listened quietly.

When she finished, he said nothing.

He simply turned and walked outside.

“…Null?” she called softly.

But he didn’t stop.

That night, without farewell, he left the only home he had ever known.

Deep in the wilderness, Null rested beneath a lonely tree.

The sky stretched endlessly above him.

For the first time, he felt… empty.

A streak of light crossed the heavens.

A falling star.

He barely glanced at it.

But the star did not pass overhead.

It descended.

Closer.

Closer.

The air trembled as it approached.

When it entered a two-meter radius around Null—

the meteor began to dissolve.

Stone vaporized instantly, turning into particles of light.

Layers peeled away as if reality itself rejected its existence.

Within seconds, the massive rock completely disintegrated.

And where it once had been—

a boy stood.

Silver-haired.

Unharmed.

As if born from the star itself.

Null’s eyes snapped open.

He stared in shock at the stranger standing before him.

The night fell silent.

And unseen by Null, an invisible field surrounded him — a perfect sphere extending two meters in every direction.

A domain where magic, supernatural laws, and unnatural forces ceased to exist.

An ability beyond magic itself.

Axiom.

A principle absolute and undeniable:

If an attack or power does not obey real-world logic…

It cannot affect him.

The boy from the star

Null could only stare.

And beneath the silent sky—

the story truly began.