That morning.

  I set out for the cathedral in the capital.

  I wore the finest clothes I owned and tried to hide my nervousness.

  Upon arriving at the cathedral, I saw over a dozen other people standing there. I didn't know their purpose, but their faces and expressions seemed empty.

  Around us, priests and cathedral attendants hurried back and forth, carrying various ritual implements and ornaments.

  "Are you Aister?" a priestly figure suddenly appeared before me.

  "Yes. May I ask something?"

  "Go ahead."

  "Who exactly are they?" I asked, pointing at the people standing in silent rows.

  "They are the promised slaves."

  "Huh?" My jaw dropped.

  "Yes. They are the slaves promised to you."

  "But those... those are the slaves I know and expected."

  "Sir, why do you keep protesting? Soon, you'll be very grateful for those slaves."

  His words were polite, but the emphasis was clear.

  "But they're like statues."

  "Sir, if you continue to protest, please feel free to leave."

  Hearing the priest's reply, my heart began to race.

  "What... what exactly will I be vowing? To whom? And why was I chosen?" I asked, panic and confusion creeping into my voice.

  "Sir... you will learn the details inside. Please proceed."

  His answer was brief, but deeply unsettling.

  This wasn't the cathedral's demeanor as I knew it.

  Despite the fear and confusion, I had no way out.

  Today, the cathedral felt utterly strange.

  Finally, we arrived before a grand, massive door—the private chamber of the Archbishop.

  "Welcome, Sir Aister," the Head Priest—or Archbishop, as he was commonly called—spoke even before I could knock.

  "Please, enter and sit here."

  I was trembling. My legs shook, but I forced myself to step inside.

  I sat directly across from the Archbishop, separated only by a small, simple yet elegant wooden table.

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  "How are you feeling, Sir Aister?" the Archbishop greeted me with a warm smile that felt, somehow, cold.

  "Fine, Your Grace," I stammered.

  "Do you have any questions, Sir Aister?"

  Thousands of questions swirled in my mind, but some strange magic in this room seemed to make them all vanish the moment I met those ancient eyes.

  "No."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes."

  The Archbishop stared at me intently.

  "I don't think you're being entirely honest, Sir Aister."

  I swallowed hard. "Actually... I have many questions, Your Grace. But they all seem to disappear in your presence."

  "Hahaha... You flatter me too much, Sir Aister."

  "No, Your Grace. I mean it."

  The Archbishop was silent for a moment, then smiled faintly. "Very well. I suppose you have the right to know who and what you will be swearing to, Sir Aister."

  He paused, creating a moment of tension.

  "Sir Aister, you will swear to Yardorh the Guide. And what you will vow is something crucial to this kingdom: a map. Not just of this kingdom, but of the entire continent, Sir Aister. And the slaves outside are the protectors who will accompany you."

  My breath caught in my throat. The entire continent? That was insane.

  "Wait... then why was I chosen? Can I still refuse?"

  "No, you cannot refuse now, Sir Aister."

  "Besides, it seems Duke Airan liked your answer."

  Duke Airan? That cynical noble who insulted me back then was Duke Airan? Did he choose me because he saw potential, or because he wanted to watch me suffer?

  "Then... when will I take the vow?"

  "Shortly, Sir Aister."

  "And when will I depart?"

  "That is up to you, Sir Aister, but I suggest you leave soon. A storm may hit the capital shortly."

  "What about my family?" I asked.

  "Don't worry. The palace will surely take care of them."

  That answer, at least, eased my feelings somewhat.

  Not long after, the Archbishop and I were summoned outside as the ritual preparations were complete.

  In the center of the grand altar, various flower petals were scattered. On the sides of the altar, priests sat in a triple-layered circular formation, surrounding the central point where I was to stand. They didn't stand; they sat in silence, awaiting my arrival and that of the Archbishop.

  "This is the vow you will recite," the Archbishop said, handing me a sheet of parchment.

  Written there was a brief but weighty sentence:

  I swear in the name of Yardorh the Guide that I shall map the entire continent for You.

  I read it silently. Nothing happened.

  "You only read it in your heart, Sir Aister," the Archbishop said, as if reading my mind.

  He smiled.

  "Once you've memorized it, stand in the center of the altar and recite it aloud."

  "Wait, Your Grace," I said, holding my breath. I wasn't ready.

  I took a deep breath.

  I gathered the last remnants of my courage, recalling every detail of that sentence. Though doubt still clouded my heart, I stepped forward into the center of the circle.

  Dozens of priests' eyes were fixed on me, but the silence was deafening.

  "I AM READY!" I shouted, shattering the stillness.

  The Archbishop raised his hand. The priests began chanting in low voices that vibrated through the floor, their bodies bowing and rising in unison.

  "Do it now, Sir Aister!" the Archbishop commanded.

  I closed my eyes, then screamed with all my might:

  "I SWEAR IN THE NAME OF YARDORH THE GUIDE THAT I SHALL MAP THE ENTIRE CONTINENT FOR YOU!"

  Silence.

  Then, darkness engulfed my vision.

  Not because I'd closed my eyes, but as if all the light in the world had been forcibly withdrawn.

  I felt a foreign energy, cold and sharp, forcing its way into every pore of my body.

  I wanted to scream in terror, but my voice was trapped in my throat. That moment stretched like hours in the void.

  Slowly, my sight returned. But the world was no longer the same.

  I saw lines.

  Strange lines of light stretched through the air, piercing walls, piercing floors, clinging to every kind of object.

  My head felt unbearably heavy. I wanted to faint and return to the comfort of my bed. Yet, among the thousands of abstract lines, one shone far brighter than the rest.

  It was as if I were seeing a different world.

  My heavy body was exhausting me further.

  That brightest line still glowed.

  The priests continued their ritual.

  Emptiness came, then suffocation, then sadness, then joy. All these feelings washed over me one by one.

  Until the priests stopped.