Orphanage Number Six had once been the grand mansion of the Reynolds clan. Now, it was a vast, dilapidated building, more a reminder of its former glory than of its current state.

After Doomsday, which had left many children orphaned, the mansion was turned into an orphanage, and Leila was one of those who had found at least some kind of roof over her head.

Like all mansions of magical clans, it wasn't connected to the city's magical source, a puzzling oddity Leila had never understood. For Orphanage Number Six, this meant no running water, no light, no heat. The old walls creaked with every step, and the windows barely retained warmth. In winter, the mansion was as cold as the heart of Madame Grimm, the headmistress, and in summer, it was stifling, much like her office. In the enormous halls, which were impossible to heat, children slept cramped together in narrow bunks, covered with thin blankets. They were often sick, and the meager food didn’t help them recover.

Leila was lucky enough to have her own room—tiny, with a small window high up near the ceiling, but it was hers, a privilege she earned by paying for her little corner.

The morning began with a loud knock on the door, jolting Leila out of her narrow bed.

"Leila Stormhart, get up\! You need to go to the market\!" Madame Grimm’s unpleasant voice called.

Leila quickly slipped into her old dress, swiftly tamed her chestnut hair with a few hairpins, and dashed into the hallway, where several other children were already gathered. The headmistress, a strict and miserly woman, stood by the exit, waiting for her.

“Remember, Leila, today you need to bring more coins, or I’ll throw you out on the street\!” Madame Grimm said, eyeing her intently with watery eyes. The headmistress tightened the knot of her hair at the top of her head, making her look like a startled fish. “And don’t even think about keeping any for yourself\!”

*Of course, sure*, Leila thought with a barely noticeable smirk, smiling and nodding with the most honest expression she could muster. If Madame Grimm had her way, she would take nearly all of Leila's earnings, leaving just a few crumbs that wouldn’t even cover the most basic necessities. Her magical gift was both a blessing and a curse here.

This was her daily grind: up before dawn, small tasks for bent coppers—meager earnings that quickly flowed into Madame Grimm’s greedy hands. Leila often thought the headmistress rose early not out of concern, but to squeeze every possible resource from them—pure pragmatism and greed, no sympathy.

“How tired I am of this routine,” Leila muttered under her breath as she stepped around a puddle. “Up before dawn just to make a few coins at the market before my real work. Why doesn’t Madame Grimm try living off the scraps she leaves me?”

Leila's main job was at Madame Irene's artifact shop, where she spent most of her day recharging amulets and protective charms. It was the only time she felt needed and useful, and Madame Irene even let her read books. She was a weak mage, never formally taught magic, and even thinking about the Academy seemed impossible. But her late husband had been a mage. Some even said he was a kinmage of one powerful clan, though Madame Irene never mentioned it, despite often speaking fondly of him.

“No matter,” Leila told herself, raising her eyes to the sky. “The Academy trials are coming soon, and I’ll do everything I can to enroll. There may be few spots for the clanless, but they do exist.”

At such an early hour, Argenta, the capital of their beautiful kingdom, Narlendor, was already awake. Leila headed to the market, skillfully weaving through early passersby and street vendors. Her workday began with small tasks for bent coppers: charging amulets and helping with simple spells—meager earnings that quickly flowed into Madame Grimm’s greedy hands.

“Good morning, Leila\!” Madame Fleet greeted her, handing her a bundle of amulets. “How did you sleep?”

“Wonderfully, if you consider my bed could be mistaken for a stone slab,” Leila replied with a smirk, taking the amulets. “What do we have today?”

“Only three, but each needs a good recharge,” Madame Fleet said, nodding toward the bundle. “One for home protection, another for luck in trade, and the third… well, as usual, for love.”

Leila rolled her eyes, biting back a smile.

“A love amulet? Seriously? Who needs it this time?”

“Oh, you know our postman, Varin Higgs. He’s fallen in love again.”

“For the third time this month,” Leila sighed, taking the amulets. “Well, let’s get to it.”

Leila focused, feeling the flow of magical energy through her fingers. Recharging amulets was a routine task for her, but there was a certain charm in it. The protection amulet glowed a soft blue, the luck amulet a bright gold, and the love amulet a pink that made Leila snicker.

After finishing the recharges, Leila bid goodbye to Madame Fleet and made her way to Madame Irene’s artifact shop.

“Good morning, Madame Irene,” Leila greeted the shop owner as she stepped inside.

“Good morning, Leila,” Madame Irene replied, smiling. “We have a light workload today. Just four amulets for regular customers.”

Leila nodded and got to work. The first amulet was for home protection, the second for business luck, and the third for health. The last one, as usual, was for love. She concentrated, channeling magical energy into each, feeling them fill with power.

"And now I can finally rest," Leila said, finishing her work. She settled into the corner of the shop with yet another book on magic, one that Madame Irene had given her.

Today had been a quiet day at the shop. With the amulets recharged, Leila curled up with a book Madame Irene had given her. This time, it was a history book. Though she preferred books about magic, even ones she didn’t fully understand, history was important too.

She opened it, and as if by magic, the pages fell open to the section about Doomsday.

"Well, let’s see what we’ve got here," Leila muttered, getting comfortable.

Ten years ago, an event known as Doomsday occurred. According to official accounts, Doomsday was triggered by a massive natural disaster—the eruption of the Source of wild magic. These magical eruptions caused destructive storms and chaos, claiming the lives of thousands. Leila’s parents were among those killed in the most recent such catastrophe.

Leila took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the lines, as if reliving those days.

*It all started when the ground trembled*, Leila thought. That earthquake didn’t just shake the earth; it stirred all the magic that had slept beneath it for centuries. Magical geysers, like the fury of the cursed Noctus, burst forth, burying everything in their path.

Homes and mansions crumbled like cards blown over by the wind. People, animals, and even plants had no chance of survival. The unleashed force led to widespread fires, floods, earthquakes, and hurricanes, which raged for several days, leaving nothing alive in their wake.

*My parents... they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time*, Leila thought, swallowing the bitterness of her loss. Doomsday had destroyed everything she knew and loved. And those who survived were forced to hide, fleeing the uncontrollable storms and magical anomalies, which had become common after Doomsday. Now, things had mostly stabilized, although monsters and the anomalies that spawned them still occasionally appeared.

Leila sank deep into her reading, barely noticing the world around her. She always cherished these quiet moments in Madame Irene’s shop. But, as usual, the world wouldn’t leave her in peace. The door to the shop swung open, and a man walked in, immediately catching her attention. He was very different from the usual customers of Madame Irene.

The man, of indeterminate age with a hint of noble gray at his temples, had hair that stuck out in all directions, as if a comb was a foreign concept, giving him a disheveled, eccentric look. Deep wrinkles around his eyes spoke of sleepless nights and heavy thoughts, while bitter lines around his mouth revealed a tendency toward pessimism and disappointment.

Despite this, his impeccably aristocratic clothing—expensive fabrics and elegant tailoring—emphasized his high status and refined taste. An unfamiliar clan insignia, intertwined runes on a shield, was embroidered on his clothes.

What would a man like him be doing in such a modest shop?

Leila cautiously rose from her seat and greeted him, watching him warily.

"Good day. How can I help you?"

"Fetch Irene, girl. And quickly," the man said, not even glancing at her. In his hands was an old notebook bound in leather, and he was busy examining it.

Leila shrugged—kinmages had their quirks—and headed toward the door where Madame Irene usually was. Just then, the man decided to raise his gaze and look at her. His eyes widened.

"You’re alive\!" he exclaimed, jumping toward Leila. She recoiled from his sudden outburst. "I knew you were alive, Ilina\!"

Leila froze for a moment, then her heart skipped a beat. He had called her by her mother’s name. Could it be that she looked so much like her mother that the man confused them? The thought unexpectedly warmed Leila. Now, whenever she wanted to remember her mother, all she had to do was look in the mirror. To see the large brown eyes framed by thick lashes, the arch of her brows, and her lips, where the upper one was slightly fuller than the lower. And those thick chestnut curls, which required the patience of a monster tamer to manage.

"Um...sorry, I’m not Ilina. My name is Leila, and I..."

"So I see..." the kinmage said, disappointment filling his voice as he peered closely at Leila’s face. He clearly couldn’t believe it wasn’t Ilina standing in front of him."

"You knew my mother?"

The man ignored her question.

"Ilina had a daughter? I didn’t know, but all the better. I kept everything just as she asked\!" he said with great fervor. "Here, take this\!"

He thrust the old notebook into her hands, worn and tattered as if it had passed through many hands and years. Leila opened it, but there wasn’t a single entry inside.

"Excuse me, but..."

"Now her life’s work is in your hands. Use it wisely\!"

Leila still didn’t understand anything. How could an empty, old notebook be her mother’s life’s work? And what had her mother been involved in that she had such strange kinmages as acquaintances? Was she a kinmage? No matter how hard Leila tried to remember, she couldn’t.

"Alright," Leila said. Even if it was just an empty notebook, knowing that her mother had once owned it made it incredibly valuable. "I’ll keep it..."

“And don’t even think about showing up at the Academy\!" the mage interrupted, his eyes blazing with a mad light. "Ilina studied there, and where is she now? Don’t follow in her footsteps, girl."

Leila froze, trying to make sense of his words. The mage abruptly turned and rushed out of the shop, leaving her with an empty notebook and a flood of questions. Madame Irene, who had been in the back, came out at the commotion. She followed the retreating man with her gaze and then looked at Leila with undisguised curiosity.

“What did Lord Alderic want?” she asked, raising her brow slightly.

“No idea,” Leila answered, still staring at the door through which the mage had vanished as suddenly as he had appeared. “He asked for you, but when I went to get you, he suddenly called me by my mother’s name and gave me this.” She showed Madame Irene the notebook. “Did he really know her?”

Madame Irene nodded.

“A little. They studied at the Academy together, but I can’t say for sure. Lord Alderic isn’t the type to talk about his past.”

Leila looked at the old notebook in her hands, feeling her heart race. What secrets could it hold?

“Well,” she said, recovering slightly from the shock, “I’ll try to figure this out.”

She went to her usual corner, clutching the notebook tightly, feeling that today was going to be far more interesting than she had anticipated. She sat down, opened the notebook, but there was still nothing inside. The empty pages seemed to mock her expectations.

“And what am I supposed to do with this?” Leila muttered, showing her problem to Madame Irene.

Madame Irene, inspecting the notebook with curiosity, shrugged.

“Perhaps you need to infuse it with magic, like you do with artifacts,” she suggested. “I remember my late husband working with similar items. Often, such notebooks or books were personal artifacts, and you needed to channel magic into them to access the information.”

Leila nodded, deciding to give it a try. She focused, closed her eyes, and began slowly directing her magical energy into the notebook. At first, nothing happened. Leila frowned, thinking her efforts were in vain.

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath, “nothing happened. It’s obvious that my magical pathways are different from my mother’s.”

But suddenly, the pages began to glow—faintly at first, then brighter and brighter. Leila held her breath as the first line emerged on the notebook’s page:

**The Journal of Ilina Stormhart. If you are reading this, it means I am no longer alive.**

“Wow,” Leila whispered, feeling a chill run down her spine. “This is my mother’s Journal.”

Madame Irene stepped closer, her eyes sparkling with interest.

“Well, it looks like we have something important here,” she said. “Let’s see what comes next.”

Leila turned the page, her heart pounding faster. The letters appeared one by one, as though someone were writing them right before her eyes.

**Leila, if you are reading this Journal, then I am no longer alive. I am so sorry I left you; it was the last thing I ever wanted, for you are the most precious thing I have. I love you, my dear daughter.**

Leila barely held back tears as she continued reading.

**I see that you’ve grown up and learned some magical skills. Your journey is only beginning if you are here. You’ve learned to channel power and charge artifacts, but that is not enough for you to protect yourself once you learn the truth about what I was involved in. It is dangerous and terrifying knowledge, and I thought long and hard about whether to tell you. But too much is at stake. So I made a compromise with myself: if you reach the level of mastery required to fully unlock this Journal and read everything within, then you are worthy of knowing the truth. What you choose to do with that knowledge is up to you. I love you. Always.**

Having finished reading the last lines, Leila pressed the Journal to her chest and burst into tears. Her mother had been incredible, and she had wanted Leila to continue her work. Madame Irene hurried over and held Leila in a tight embrace.

“Cry, dear, cry. You’ll feel better.”

Leila clutched the notebook tightly.

“I will find the answers, Mom. I promise,” she whispered through her tears, feeling a renewed sense of determination fill her heart. Lord Alderic had told her not to attend the Academy, but there was no other way to grow stronger and fully unlock the Journal’s secrets.