Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

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The firelight danced on the walls, producing flickering shadows that enhanced the atmosphere as Eugene leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant. Nick and Devon sat in rapt silence, their usual banter and teasing forgotten as their father began his tale.

"Aleister Crowley," Eugene began, the name rolling off his tongue like the first chord of a somber melody. "Your great-great-grandfather. He wasn't exactly a model citizen in his youth. Born into a well-off family in the capital, he wasted much of his potential by joining an organization dedicated to unsavory pleasures and research."

Nick perked up at that, his interest piqued. The vague mention of "unsavory" dealings sounded suspiciously aligned with his class's focus, and the name Aleister was one that was passed down his old family. He opened his mouth to ask but quickly shut it when Eugene shot him a look.

"The details," Eugene continued, "are better saved for another time. What matters now is that he fled. Caught in one too many schemes, he faced exile or worse. So, when the crown announced an initiative to settle the Green Ocean's frontier, Aleister seized his chance. It wasn't redemption he sought—not initially. Just survival. The capital is a den of wolves today, and back then, it was even more so. No amount of wealth could protect him from the wrath of the then-nascent state."

Eugene's voice softened, maintaining a gentle cadence that drew Nick in. "The frontier was a harsh and wild place, teeming with dangers and mysteries. The settlers who agreed to relocate weren't noble adventurers but desperate souls with nowhere else to turn. With his knowledge from the capital's academies, Aleister soon became indispensable."

Nick could picture it—the ragged procession of settlers trudging through the untamed wilderness, their hopes and fears intermingling. He imagined Aleister among them, shifty but sharp-eyed, trying to figure out how to exploit the situation.

"The Green Ocean," Eugene said, gesturing toward the window as if he could see the vast forest stretching beyond, "was no ordinary frontier. The harsh north claims more lives, and the eastern seas have their pirates, but those who die in the forest are never found. It has swallowed previous attempts at colonization, leaving behind ruins as warnings. The settlers didn't heed them and used the ruins as their foundation, and with Aleister's guidance, the village of Floria began to take shape."

Devon shifted, furrowing his brows. "So, he helped found Floria and became its leader?"

Eugene nodded, though his expression grew darker. "In a way. Aleister's knowledge made him invaluable. Even the village headsman, who carried the crown's authority, deferred to him after a time. His pivotal moment came during a troll attack."

Nick vividly remembered the sight of the massive beast lumbering toward him. Although his father had dispatched it quickly, he knew he would be in trouble against it. The little fire he could conjure would not be enough to harm it, and despite making significant progress with his wind affinity, he doubted he could cast [Windburst] quickly enough to damage it beyond its regeneration rate without extensive preparation.

"Trolls," Eugene continued, "aren't the mindless beasts they might seem to be. They're predators with their own low cunning. When they attacked, Aleister organized the village's defense, guiding the settlers to utilize their limited resources in ways they never would have considered. He fought on the front lines and emerged victorious, gaining the village's trust and admiration."

For a moment, Eugene paused, the firelight catching the glint of something unreadable in his eyes. Then he exhaled heavily as if ashamed.

"But," he continued, "the villagers didn't know that Aleister had engineered the attack."

Devon blinked. "Wait, what?"

Nick's mouth hung open. He'd expected heroics, maybe a touch of cunning, but not this.

Eugene's gaze locked onto Devon's. "Aleister had been experimenting, trying to draw the attention of creatures in the forest. He knew that if he could defeat a significant threat, he'd cement his role as the village's protector. It worked, but it came at a cost."

Nick felt his breath catch as Eugene's words painted a grim picture. The trolls' attack hadn't gone unnoticed.

"The forest," Eugene said, "is alive in ways most can't comprehend. The denizens of the Green Ocean aren't just beasts or monsters—some are every bit as intelligent as humans, if not more. The troll attack drew the attention of a pair of dryads."

Nick shivered. His encounter with a dryad had resulted in little more than a scare, but if his family had a history with them… perhaps the exaggerated reaction from his parents made sense.

"They emerged from the depths, stunning the people with their impossible grace," Eugene said, his voice growing quieter and more intense. "Their beauty was mesmerizing, their words like music. And they were predators, much like the trolls. But their weapons weren't claws or clubs—they were promises, whispers, and lies."

Nick could almost see the dryads stepping into the clearing, holding the settlers in thrall with their glowing eyes.

"They bound the villagers," Eugene said. "Not with ropes or chains, but with names. The fae have a way of stealing your essence, your will, by taking your true name. Those who succumbed became their thralls—empty shells, puppets for their masters."

Nick swallowed hard, feeling his pulse quicken. His grandfather had taught him better than to ever speak with any entity that wasn't mortal. He knew the dangers, but some illiterate farmers and laborers? They would have been defenseless.

"Aleister," Eugene continued, "knew what they were doing. He also knew that no treaty or negotiation could stop them if they had gone so far. So, he made a choice. He killed them."

Devon's eyes widened. "The dryads?"

"And the thralls they created," Eugene said grimly. "The villagers who'd lost their names were no longer themselves. They were a threat to everyone else. Aleister knew it, and he did what had to be done."

His words settled over the room like a suffocating blanket. Nick struggled to reconcile the image of a cunning opportunist with the man who'd made such a brutal decision.

Eugene's voice dropped to a near-whisper. "On the ashes of those dryads, Aleister swore an oath. He vowed to protect Floria, no matter the cost. That oath wasn't just words but a binding, magical promise. And it didn't die with him. It's passed down through our bloodline."

Nick's chest tightened. "You mean…?"

Eugene nodded. "It's our duty. As long as we live in Floria, we are responsible for safeguarding it. That's why I needed you both to hear this now. The last monster wave was a reminder that the forest will never allow us to fester at its side. And any day, we may be called to fulfill that oath."

The room fell silent, the fire's crackling the only sound. Nick's mind swirled with questions, doubts, and a strange sense of pride he didn't fully understand. Devon's face was pale, his usual bravado replaced with something quieter, heavier.

Finally, Eugene leaned back, softening his expression. "I know it's a lot to take in. But you're old enough to understand. And if something ever happens to me, you'll need to carry on."

Nick nodded slowly, still processing. He didn't know what the future held and suspected he might not be as bound to this oath as the others, but he understood the importance of staying true to the spirit of a family tradition better than anyone else.

The room was dark, save for the faint silver glow of moonlight filtering through the cracks in the curtains. Nick lay in bed, gazing at the wooden beams above. His mind buzzed with thoughts, refusing to settle even as exhaustion pulled at him.

The crafting. The wand. That's what he needed to focus on. Tomorrow, Rhea and Elia would rely on him to pour every ounce of his mana and willpower into the task. He had chosen to forgo a traditional ritual to build his wand, and it would be incredibly foolish not to give it his all. He couldn't just rely on this world's methods being better.

But no matter how hard he tried to push Aleister's story to the back of his mind, it crept back in. He could see it clearly now—the cunning young man, desperate to prove himself, orchestrating events he couldn't fully control. Nick swallowed hard, his throat dry.

Was he really that different?

Several times already, his experiments had gone awry. His success with [Windburst] that sent him flying flashed through his mind, and he winced. What if he had been more reckless? What if his ambition had meant catching Elia in the range? It was an unsettling thought, one he couldn't shake off.

Eventually, weariness prevailed, and Nick's eyes drifted shut. The hum of restless thoughts faded away, giving way to the deep, heavy stillness of sleep.

A sense of wrongness woke him.

At first, it was subtle, like a whisper brushing against the edge of his consciousness. But as Nick stirred, the sensation sharpened—a prickle of unease running down his spine. He opened his eyes, and his breath caught as he saw the translucent blue glow of a system window hovering before him.

His heart began to pound as he read the message.

Adrenaline surged, banishing the last traces of sleep. Nick bolted upright. Spiritual influence? Is something trying to possess me? Fuck, I can't feel anything, but that doesn't mean much, considering the power level of the closest threats.

His skin crawled as he scanned the room, his senses straining for any hint of danger.

Nothing.

The oppressive silence pressed in on him. A terrible thought struck him, and he froze mid-breath.

His family.

The fear was instant and visceral. His older brother's face flashed in his mind, and Nick felt an almost physical urge to move. Throwing off the covers, he scrambled to his feet and yanked open the door. He darted down the darkened hallway, barely glancing at his parents' door to make sure they were still there.

Devon. Please let him be okay.

Nick didn't bother knocking. He threw open the door to Devon's room. He let out a keen as he stared at the empty bed, whose sheets were rumpled and empty.

"No, no, no," Nick whispered, panic clawing at his chest. His mind raced, a thousand horrible possibilities flooding in. Had he been taken? Possessed?

Nick slapped himself hard across the face, using the sting to ground his thoughts. Think. Don't lose it now.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and concentrated. His air sense expanded outward, and he sought every crevice of the house. He found his parents first, feeling their steady breaths and finding comfort in their presence. But no Devon.

Damn. Shit. Fff… The bone!

He took off running again and lunged for his bed. He grabbed the ghostgrass pouch and ripped it open, seizing the wyvern bone. Immediately, his range expanded.

He pushed further, reaching beyond the house into the yard. The training area was empty. For a terrifying moment, Nick felt nothing but the cold night air brushing against the edges of his senses.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Then, movement. Behind the outhouse.

Nick focused, and the scene appeared in his mind's eye. Relief hit him like a wave, almost knocking him off his feet. Devon was there, alive, and…with someone? His head was very close to…

Nick staggered back a step, both dumbfounded and infuriated. His heart, which had been hammering in terror moments ago, now raced with something else entirely.

"Of all the stupid—" he muttered under his breath, already moving toward the door.

The cool night air bit at his skin as he stepped outside. Nick stomped across the grass, clutching the wyvern bone tightly. If something had happened— the system didn't lie, so it had—he wasn't going to let it go unchecked.

As he rounded the outhouse, the scene came fully into view. Devon stood with his back to him, his arms wrapped around a girl Nick vaguely recognized—a brunette from the village with pretty doe-eyes.

Devon seemed entirely unaware of his younger brother's presence, his attention wholly consumed by the girl in his arms.

For a moment, Nick didn't know whether to laugh or scream.

Instead, he cleared his throat. Loudly.