Chapter 1: The Locksmith’s Last Wish

"The only thing we can do, Mr. Keldan, is to pray. I’m so sorry," the doctor said in a pitying voice. He turned around and quietly left my room.

I stared at my wrist, where a needle with an IV drip was inserted directly into my vein. The busy city outside the window was so alive this evening, and the loud noise from the cars stuck in heavy traffic along the highway was full of life.

The noises did not reach me; I could hardly hear a thing. I questioned myself: How would I survive this harsh world with no one knowing that I am dying?

Earlier, I was walking back to the locksmith shop where I worked when I felt a severe headache. I fainted in the middle of the street and woke up to doctors announcing that I had stage four brain cancer, and that death could come at any moment.

I could feel my head aching despite the medicine I had already taken. My body felt fragile, and my muscles were losing strength by the minute.

Tears started streaming down my cheeks. I sank back into my hospital bed.

"How I wish I could have a great life in the next life," I whispered into the cold air and closed my eyes, hoping I would see the sunrise tomorrow.

"Lord Lerwick, please wake up and have your breakfast. The whole family has already eaten theirs," said an old man’s voice.

I was still half-asleep and wanted to sleep more, since I had never had this kind of sleep in my entire life. It was so peaceful, and I felt like I had nothing to worry about.

"Lord, please get up and prepare yourself. The head of the manor will be here soon." Again, the old man’s voice reached me. He might be a new doctor coming to inject me with medicine, hoping my disease could be cured.

"Five more minutes, Doctor," I said with my eyes closed. That was when I realized something.

"Doctor?" I spoke, my eyes still shut. My voice was not mine. It was young and completely different. I froze for a moment.

I decided to open my eyes. An elderly man was standing in front of me, wearing an old butler suit with white gloves and black shoes. His hair was silver-white, showing his advanced age. His slender glasses looked intimidating, and his sharp eyes pierced right through me.

"Who the hell are you? Where am I?" I looked around. I was inside a huge room. This was not a hospital room full of sterile equipment and white walls. It looked like something from a medieval history book, filled with antique-looking paintings and vases. My blanket was old too, but comfortably soft. My eyes landed on my hands—they were slender and young.

"Who are you?! Where am I?!" I shouted, my heart surging with panic. I was not myself.

I threw off my blanket and rushed to a huge mirror on the vanity table.

I stared at my reflection. My face was so young and entirely different. I had a bandage on my head. My hair was black, my nose was pointy, and my lips were thin and red. I froze, unable to process what I was looking at. I tried to slap myself, but I was fully awake.

"My lord, hurry and get ready. We have to make you look presentable," the old man said, leading me into a room to bathe and change my clothes.

After I got dressed, I followed the old man downstairs. The whole house was built of wood with finely crafted walls, and huge portraits lined the corridor. A full suit of metal armor holding a massive sword stood at the center of the hallway. Red curtains draped over the high ceilings, creating a theatrical effect. We walked down the grand wooden staircase. Downstairs, several maids were lined up, bowing to us and saying, "Good morning, my Lord."

It made me even more confused. ’How the hell did I become a lord? ’ I asked myself silently.

At the base of the stairs stood three young adults. A tall man in silver armor with a red cape didn’t even look up as we approached. He was busy adjusting the sheath of a steel sword bearing the family crest—the eldest of the Lerwicks.

"Keep him out of our sight, Ignatius."

The blonde girl beside him let out a soft laugh that didn’t even reach her red eyes. "Leave him be, Brother. He looks so sweet with that ridiculous bandage. Like a clumsy little squirrel that fell out of a tree again."

"A quiet stray would be an improvement," said the younger girl in a purple dress. She glanced at me with disgust, as if stepping around a spill on the floor. "Just make sure he stays in the garden. He’s embarrassing enough when visitors come."

I kept my mouth shut. I remained calm while my knuckles turned white.

Before I could process their words, footsteps echoed through the hall. Duke Alexander Lerwick walked in, and beside him was his wife, Agatha. The duke moved with absolute authority, his eyes sweeping past me as if the space I occupied were empty.

"Sander, Andrea, and Cristine, follow me. We have something to discuss," the man commanded, not even looking at me, as if I didn’t exist.

Agatha paused for a bit, showing me a sweet, fake smile with a cold stare. "Go back to your quarters, Silvester dear. The meeting is for the family’s gifted mages. You wouldn’t want to get confused, do you?"

They walked away, entered through a big wooden door, and shut it. I was left alone with the old man.

The old butler sighed softly and knelt to my eye level. "My Lord, let us take a walk in the garden. The roses are blooming well."

As we walked through the garden, Ignatius gently refreshed my memory, assuming that the concussion had left me confused. I learned my new name was Silvester Lerwick, and that I was the youngest son from a lineage of famous fire mages. Yesterday, the real Silvester had fallen from an apple tree while trying to prove himself.

"You must not take their words to heart, Young Lord," Ignatius said softly, looking out over the field of red roses. "The Lerwick bloodline values destructive magic above all else. Because you did not inherit the flame affinity, they look past you. But you are capable of far more than they think."

"My skill... isn’t it fire magic?"

"No, my Lord," Ignatius replied with a kind smile. "The magic court identified your ability as a simple passive skill, Open and Close. A minor trick for doors and small mechanisms."

I stopped as I saw something peculiar. I could see thin, golden threads floating in the air through the breeze—pure mana weaving through every leaf and petal of the roses.

A skill called Open and Close sounded like a useless trick. But to a man who had spent his entire life studying mechanics and lock systems, the word didn’t just mean doors.

It meant pathways. It meant control over entries and locks, including mana itself.

I looked down at my small hands, feeling the golden threads respond to my intent. The duke and his treasured children saw a helpless six-year-old with a useless skill.

I saw the key to unlock the pathways of this extraordinary world.