Awakening: I Became The Supreme Mage In Another World

The boat rocked gently as it cut through the dark waters, its creaking hull a steady rhythm beneath the murmurs of exhausted passengers. 

The survivors huddled together, their faces etched with fear and weariness. Some whispered prayers to distant gods, while others sat in stunned silence, the weight of their losses too heavy for words.

Caelith sat on a wooden crate near the railing, the girl he had saved curled up beside him, her tiny frame wrapped in a threadbare blanket. 

She had fallen asleep, her face finally free of the terror that had gripped her during the attack.

He stared at the horizon, the orange glow of Velisgard's flames still visible in the distance. His mind raced with questions. Why was he here? Why this body, this world? And what kind of place was this, where dragons and Mages waged war in the skies?

He turned to the man sitting a few feet away, a wiry figure with sunken cheeks and soot-streaked clothes. 

The man was sharpening a dagger, the blade catching the dim light of the ship's lanterns.

"Hey," Caelith began hesitantly.

The man looked up, his tired eyes narrowing slightly. "What is it?"

"What… happened back there? And — this might sound strange — but what's going on in general? I'm new here."

The man snorted, his expression tinged with disbelief. "New? That's one way to put it. You must've been living under a rock if you don't know about the war."

Caelith rubbed the back of his neck. "Just humor me."

The man sighed, setting his dagger aside. "Fine. The short version? The Human Continent's been at war for decades now. It's not just us against the dragons, though they're bad enough. The demons are in on it too. They've got their own plans, and none of them are good for us."

"Dragons and demons?" Caelith repeated, trying to keep his voice steady. The surrealness of the situation pressed heavily on him.

The man nodded. "The dragons used to keep to themselves, up in their mountains and valleys. Nobody knows what set them off, but they've been attacking our cities for years now. And the demons? They're worse. They come out of the Shadowlands, corrupting everything they touch. Some say they're looking for something — some ancient relic or power, at least that's what the rumors are saying."

He leaned forward, his voice lowering. "The Mages were supposed to be our answer to all this. About thirty years ago, people started awakening with magic. They say it's the will of the gods, a gift to fight back against the darkness. But even with magic, we're barely holding on."

"Barely holding on…" Caelith echoed.

The man chuckled bitterly. "Velisgard was one of the biggest cities on the continent. If it can fall, nowhere's safe."

Before Caelith could respond, a small voice piped up beside him.

"You're weird," the girl said, rubbing her eyes as she sat up.

He blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"You don't look like everyone else," she said, studying him intently. "Your hair… and your eyes. They're different."

Caelith frowned, suddenly self-conscious. He hadn't thought much about his appearance since waking up in this body, too preoccupied with survival.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

The girl tilted her head. "Your hair's silver, like… like the moon. And your eyes — one's blue, but the other's red. It's kind of scary."

Her words sent a chill down his spine. He stood abruptly, muttering something about needing to check on something below deck.

The cramped corridors of the ship were dimly lit, the flickering lanterns casting long shadows on the wooden walls. 

Caelith found a small washroom near the rear of the vessel, its door hanging slightly ajar. He slipped inside, his footsteps echoing on the creaking floorboards.

The room was sparse, containing little more than a basin and a cracked mirror. He approached the mirror hesitantly, his reflection coming into view.

The girl hadn't been exaggerating.

His hair was indeed silver, a striking contrast to the dark, unremarkable locks he had once known. It shimmered faintly in the dim light, as if catching a glow only he could see.

But it was his eyes that truly caught his attention. His left eye was a deep, vibrant blue, while his right was a vivid crimson, almost glowing. 

The combination was unnerving, otherworldly, and completely unlike anything he had ever seen before.

"What the hell…" he murmured, leaning closer to the mirror.

He reached up, running a hand through his hair and over his face, as if touching it would somehow confirm that this was real. The reflection stared back at him, unfamiliar yet undeniably his own.

A knock at the door startled him. He turned to see the same man from above deck leaning against the frame.

"Figured I'd find you here," the man said, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. "You're not exactly blending in, you know."

Caelith shrugged, gesturing to his reflection. "Yeah, I'm starting to notice that."

The man stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "Silver hair and mismatched eyes aren't exactly common. People are going to talk."

The man smirked. "Special means trouble. Keep your head down, kid. People will notice you soon enough, whether you want them to or not."

As the man left, Caelith turned back to the mirror. He stared at his reflection, a mixture of curiosity and unease twisting in his gut.

This body wasn't his. This world wasn't his. And yet, for better or worse, he was here.

Whatever had brought him to this place, whatever had given him this strange appearance, it wasn't by accident. He could feel it, deep in his bones.

The war was far from over. And somehow, he was going to be a part of it.