ã€ŠRonan Grey: Chains of the Lowbornã€‹


 I. The Spark

    Ronan stumbled into the cavern, his breath labored and his hands trembling as he steadied himself against the jagged walls. The torch he carried sputtered in the damp air, its faint light flickering across the shadows. He had followed the whispers¡ªthose persistent murmurs that had called to him like a forgotten melody¡ªdeep into the ruins.

    At first, he thought it was just another fool¡¯s errand, probably some prank by the seniors. But now, he wasn¡¯t so sure.

    The chamber opened up suddenly, a vast, circular expanse carved into the earth. In the center, a massive stone disc lay embedded in the floor, its surface cracked but unyielding. Symbols covered every inch of it¡ªintricate, ancient, and incomprehensible. They glowed faintly, pulsing with a rhythm that matched his heartbeat.

    ¡°What is this place?¡± he muttered, his voice swallowed by the oppressive silence.

    He stepped closer, the torchlight catching on a weathered inscription carved along the edge of the disc. It was in a language he didn¡¯t know, yet somehow, the meaning pressed itself into his mind, unbidden and undeniable:

    "Seven paths to shape the world. Seven truths to bind its soul."Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    The torch flickered violently, its flame shrinking as though suffocated. And then he heard it¡ªa voice, ancient and fractured, as if pulled from the cracks of time itself.

    ¡°Do you seek the truths?¡±

    Ronan froze. His instincts screamed at him to run, but his feet wouldn¡¯t move. ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡±

    The voice didn¡¯t answer, but the symbols on the disc began to shift, their shapes twisting and reforming. Slowly, seven distinct sigils emerged, each glowing with its own color: bronze, silver, crimson, emerald, gold, sapphire, and onyx. As the light from each sigil intensified, Ronan felt the weight of something immense pressing down on him.

    A rush of images flooded his mind.

    The voice returned, this time softer, almost mournful. ¡°Seven truths. Seven paths. Each born from purpose, each undone by its own hand. Their echoes remain, scattered and hidden. Will you walk their paths?¡±

    Ronan staggered back, his head spinning. ¡°What does this have to do with me?¡±

    ¡°Because you are the first to hear their call in centuries.¡±

 1. Everything Hurts

    Darkness had a way of seeping into everything. It wasn¡¯t just the absence of light¡ªit was the absence of hope, of warmth, of anything that made life feel alive. Here, the world wasn¡¯t just dark; it was empty, drained of color. Only endless shades of black and grey that blurred together, swallowing everything.

    Ronan stood there, trying to remember the last time he saw a color that wasn¡¯t fading into the void. Was there ever a time? The thought tugged at him, distant and unreachable, like something lost long before he knew how to hold onto it. He searched his mind, grasping for even the faintest flicker of warmth, of life.

    But there was nothing. There¡¯s always been nothing.

    The slums were death in itself, stretched out over miles and miles of filth and broken lives. The sky hung low, a thick, oppressive shadow that hadn¡¯t seen the sun in days. Ronan stumbled through the narrow alleyways, his breath shallow, cold cutting through his thin clothes like blades. He dragged through the mud, every step a battle to keep moving, to keep searching.

    He had to find something. Anything.

    He could barely feel his toes anymore. His shoes¡ªif they could even be called that¡ªwere nothing more than tattered remnants of leather, holes worn through the soles so his skin pressed into the freezing ground with every step. The mud clung to his bare toes, seeping through the cracks in the shoes, sticking like sludge. His feet were raw, torn from the sharp stones and jagged debris that littered the alley. He winced with each step, but the pain had dulled long ago, replaced by a numbness that crept up his legs.

    The streets were empty except for the occasional flicker of movement in the distance. People like him¡ªdesperate, starving, hunting for whatever scraps might have been left behind. Ronan kept his head down, hands trembling as he scanned the debris lining the cracked stone walls. The structures around him had never been homes, not really¡ªjust makeshift shelters thrown together with whatever could be scavenged, housing dying people or dead people. Crumbling stones, rotted beams, and broken planks leaned haphazardly against one another, forming crooked walls that barely held out the wind. Doors were nothing more than slabs of warped wood, while gaps where windows should have been were covered in tattered rags or nothing at all.

    There was nothing here. Nothing but the stench of rot and decay.

    His stomach growled, sharp and violent, twisting inside him like a monster. He¡¯d gone too long without food, but it wasn¡¯t for him. No, this wasn¡¯t for him. His mother was waiting. His sister was waiting. They needed him to bring something home.

    A flash of movement caught his eye. Ahead, near the base of an old stone wall, a pile of rags twitched. Despite his brain telling him not to, Ronan crouched low, his body tense, eyes narrowing to pierce through the dim light. Approaching anything in these streets was dangerous. People fought like rabid dogs for the smallest scrap of food, willing to kill over the filthiest crumb. And those rags gave no sign of what or who it was. But hunger gnawed at him, sharper than fear. He had no choice.

    He moved forward, his heart pounding in his chest, each beat louder than the next. The rags stirred again, and he held his breath. His muscles coiled, ready to run. But then a rat, bloated and filthy, wriggled out from underneath, its beady eyes catching his for a brief second before it scurried into the darkness, dragging something limp in its mouth.

    Ronan exhaled, his breath shaky.

    He edged closer, the foul stench of decay hanging heavy in the air. His fingers dug into the rags, and the damp fabric clung to his arms as he pulled them aside. Beneath the heap, hidden among the refuse and grime, he found it¡ªa half-eaten loaf of bread. He held his breath again, this time in disbelief.

    It was crusted with dirt, covered in a thin film of grime, but it was whole enough to eat. His fingers closed around it, and he yanked it free. The bread was hard, almost like stone, but his stomach didn¡¯t care. His mouth watered at the sight.

    Desperation had taught him long ago that food was food. Whether fresh or rotting, it kept you alive.

    Looking around that no one saw him, he stuffed the bread under his shirt, glancing around to make sure no one had seen him. The streets were empty, but that didn¡¯t mean he was alone.

    His body ached, his muscles screaming for rest, but he had no time. His mother and sister needed him. He had to get back.

    Ronan broke into a run, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he weaved through the labyrinth of alleys. His feet slipped on the wet stones, but he pushed forward, ignoring the sting of cold air on his skin. The loaf of bread pressed against his chest as he held it tight, as if letting go for even a second would mean losing everything.

    The shelters blurred together, nothing but walls of shadows and ruin. His vision swam, his mind drifting in and out of focus. He hadn¡¯t slept in days, barely ate himself, but that didn¡¯t matter. Nothing mattered except getting this bread back to them.

    His house was close now. Just around the corner. The small, broken-down shack at the edge of the slums, where the walls leaned inward as if ready to collapse and the roof sagged under the weight of its own decay. It barely kept out the wind, the cold slipping through every crack and crevice, but it was home. It was where they were.

    Ronan stumbled up to the door, feet dragging through the muck, and shoved it open, nearly falling inside. He kicked it shut behind him, the wood groaning under the pressure. The room was dim, barely lit by the last sliver of night light filtering through the gaps in the walls. It was colder than it should have been, the air thick and stale, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones. His breath hung in the air, the white cloud of it the only sign of life.

    ¡°I found something,¡± he whispered, his voice barely holding together as he pulled the hard, dirt-crusted loaf of bread from his coat. ¡°I¡­ I found food.¡±

    The words felt strange, hollow in the quiet room. His voice echoed off the walls, returning to him unanswered. But he ignored it. He had to. He looked around, eyes darting to the corners of the room where they always sat¡ªwhere they were waiting.

    His mother sat in her usual spot by the small, rusted stove. Her frail body wrapped in a tattered, threadbare blanket that barely covered her shoulders. His sister was curled up beside her, knees pulled to her chest, shivering under a thin sheet. They looked exactly as he had left them, unmoving, quiet, waiting for him.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry it took so long,¡± Ronan continued, his voice trembling as he took a step closer. The bread shook in his hands as he held it out toward them, an offering. ¡°But I got it. We¡¯ll be okay now. We¡¯ll eat.¡±

    He moved toward them, each step heavy, as if the floor was dragging him down. His chest was tight with a painful knot of relief. He could almost feel the warmth of the room returning, the flicker of life he had been clinging to. They were here. He had done it.

    He had done it, right?

    But something was wrong. The room felt colder. Darker.

    Why was it colder? Darker?

    Ronan blinked, his steps faltering. His mother didn¡¯t move. His sister didn¡¯t lift her head. The faint smiles he had imagined on their faces wavered, flickering like the dying embers in a campfire that¡¯s been put out.

    ¡°No...¡± he whispered, his voice breaking, barely audible.

    He dropped the bread. It hit the floor with a dull thud, rolling away as his hands fell limp to his sides. His eyes darted back to his mother, then to his sister. His breath caught in his throat as the truth crashed over him, heavy and merciless.

    They didn¡¯t move because they couldn¡¯t. They hadn¡¯t moved in weeks.

    The room was empty. It had always been empty.

    They were gone. They had been gone for so long. The cold, empty shell of the house had whispered it to him every day, but he had ignored it. Clung to the memory, the illusion, because he couldn¡¯t bear the alternative.

    Ronan¡¯s knees buckled, his body crumpling to the floor. The cold stone bit into his skin, sending sharp jolts of pain through his legs, but it was nothing compared to the void tearing open inside him. His hands shook violently as he reached out toward them, as if he could still touch them, still save them.

    His breath came in shallow, broken gasps, his chest heaving, but no sound escaped him. The silence of the room pressed down on him, suffocating. His fingers scraped against the cold stone floor, searching for something, anything to hold onto, but there was nothing. Just the biting chill and the crushing weight of loss.

    He saw the loaf of bread lying beside him as his vision dimmed.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    ***

    It was cold that night, too. The wind howled against the flimsy walls of their shack, seeping through the cracks and stealing whatever warmth was left inside. He sat by his mother¡¯s bed, his sister huddled close to him, her small body trembling beneath the thin blanket they shared. His mother¡¯s breaths were shallow, each one weaker than the last, barely audible over the wind¡¯s relentless assault.

    "Mama..." his sister whispered, her voice fragile, filled with the kind of hope that only a child could still hold onto, even if that child belonged to slums. "Mama, please wake up."

    But their mother didn¡¯t stir. Her face, once full of warmth and life, at least for her kids, was pale, her skin stretched tight over her bones. She hadn¡¯t opened her eyes in days. Ronan sat there, watching her chest rise and fall, each breath slower, more labored than the one before. He couldn¡¯t look away. He couldn¡¯t leave. His heart ached, the weight of it almost unbearable, but he stayed there because he had to. Because he couldn¡¯t imagine what would happen if he wasn¡¯t there when she stopped.

    His sister clung to him, her small hands gripping his arm, her sobs quiet but steady. ¡°She¡¯ll wake up, right?¡± she asked, her voice breaking. "Ronan... she''ll wake up, won''t she?"

    Ronan swallowed hard, his throat tight, the words trapped inside him. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to believe it. But he couldn¡¯t lie to her. Not anymore. All he could do was hold her closer, hoping she wouldn¡¯t notice the tears that slipped silently down his cheeks.

    The wind outside seemed to scream, as if the world itself knew what was about to happen.

    Then her breath stopped. Just like that. One moment she was there, the next she was gone.

    His sister whimpered beside him, her head buried in his chest as if she could block out the truth. But Ronan just sat there, frozen, staring at their mother¡¯s still form. He had known this was coming. He had known for days. But nothing could have prepared him for the silence that followed. The crushing, deafening silence.

    "Mama..." his sister whispered again, her voice barely a breath.

    But there was no answer.

    ***

    Ronan woke slowly, his eyes fluttering open as a dull ache settled over his body. The room was still, the cold air pressing down on him. He tried to move, to get up, but his body refused to obey. His limbs felt weak, heavy, as if someone had injected the densest metal found in this world.

    He lay there, staring up at the cracked ceiling above him at the warped wooden beams, covered in the grime of years spent under neglect. He could see small cracks where the wind whistled through, looking like the mouths of monsters laughing down at him.

    He wanted to sit up, to force himself to move, but his muscles were numb, unresponsive. His gaze stayed fixed on the ceiling as his vision began to blur, the edges darkening as exhaustion pulled him down once more. The faint light in the room flickered, dimming.

    His eyes grew heavier. His mind drifted. And then, everything went black again.

    ***

    The wind roared that day, its icy fingers clawing at their clothes, tugging at their hair as if the very sky wanted to rip them away from their bodies. The cliffs loomed high above the valley, jagged rocks stretching down into the abyss below. Ronan stood back, his heart racing, watching as his younger sister skipped dangerously close to the edge, her shoes skimming the crumbling soil beneath her.

    "Stay back!" Ronan shouted, his voice almost lost in the howling wind. The fear coiled in his chest, tightening with every step she took toward the cliff¡¯s lip. She was always so fearless, so reckless.

    A complete opposite of him, a dark, scaredy cat.

    She turned to him, her smile wide, full of innocence. "It¡¯s fine, Ronan!" she called back, laughing, her voice light as if the world around them wasn¡¯t threatening to swallow her whole. Her hair whipped around her face as she leaned closer, staring down at the swirling river far below.

    Ronan¡¯s stomach twisted in knots. His feet moved, pulling him closer, but the ground felt heavy beneath him, every step filled with dread. "Don¡¯t¡ª" He could barely get the words out before it happened.

    The ground beneath her shifted.

    Her foot slipped on the loose gravel. The smile vanished from her face, replaced with a look of terror as she scrambled to regain her balance. Her arms shot out, hands grabbing at the empty air, but there was nothing to hold onto. The world seemed to slow as her eyes locked with Ronan¡¯s, wide with panic.

    "Ronan!" she screamed, her voice high-pitched, desperate.

    He lunged forward, his fingers reaching out, stretching toward her, but he was too far. Just a few feet too far. His heart hammered in his chest as he watched her tumble backward, her small body flipping over the edge, her scream piercing the air as she disappeared from sight.

    "No!" Ronan yelled, his voice raw, breaking as he sprinted toward the cliff¡¯s edge. His feet slipped on the loose dirt, and he fell to his knees, his hands scraping against the jagged rocks as he reached out, as if he could somehow pull her back from the void.

    He looked over the edge, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes darted frantically along the sheer drop, searching for her, hoping against hope that she had caught onto something, anything. But all he saw were the jagged rocks below, sharp as knives, and the violent river crashing against them.

    His chest tightened, the air catching in his throat.

    She was gone.

    ***

    Ronan jolted awake, the world around him a blur of darkness and cold. His heart slammed against his chest, each beat faster than the last as his breath came in short, panicked gasps. His lungs strained, pulling in air that never seemed to fill them. His body trembled, the familiar grip of fear tightening around him, suffocating him as if the room itself had turned hostile.

    He tried to sit up, his limbs weak and unresponsive. His muscles ached, as if the weight of everything was pressing down, refusing to let him rise. His hands scraped against the rough stone floor, pushing, but his body betrayed him. He collapsed back onto the ground, wheezing, his chest heaving. The ceiling above him blurred in and out of focus, blackness threatening to close in around him.

    The bread...

    His eyes flickered to the loaf lying beside him, a dirty, half-eaten thing that suddenly seemed like the only lifeline he had left.

    Ronan curled into himself, clutching his chest as if trying to hold the pieces of his shattered mind together. The silence of the room pressed in on him, suffocating, crushing.

    There was no one left to feed.

    He needed to move, needed to get to it. His fingers clawed at the floor, pulling him forward inch by agonizing inch. The cold stone scraped against his hands and knees, but he ignored it. His stomach twisted, the gnawing hunger inside a sharp, hollow ache that refused to be ignored. The bread was all he had.

    Finally, his hand closed around it. The crust was hard, rough against his palm, but he didn¡¯t care. He tore into it with shaking hands, shoving chunks into his mouth, barely chewing before forcing it down his dry throat. His body screamed for food, but it rebelled at the same time. He choked as the dry bread stuck in his throat, his chest convulsing as he coughed and gasped for air.

    He coughed harder, his body shuddering violently. His eyes watered as the crumbs caught in his throat, scraping against the rawness of his food pipe. His hand reached for his throat, clawing at it as if he could somehow force the air back in. His body heaved, desperate for water, but there was none. His chest burned, his breath coming in desperate, shallow gasps between the fits of coughing.

    He felt tears, but the dehydration had made sure there was nothing coming out of his eyes. He coughed again, harder this time, and the bread finally dislodged, his throat raw and burning. But the relief was short-lived. His body was spent, exhausted from the struggle. He couldn¡¯t stop the sobs rising up uncontrollably as the weight of it all crashed down on him.

    There was no water. There was no relief. The bread he had fought for now lay scattered around him, and his chest shook with sobs as his body broke down. He buried his face in his hands, the cold, filthy stone pressing against his knees as he curled inward. The hollow ache inside him was no longer just hunger¡ªit was everything. Everything he had lost, everything he would never get back.

    He crawled, dragging himself slowly, painfully, toward the corner of the room. His body was a shell, empty, lifeless. He pressed his back against the wall, sliding down until he sat, his legs pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them as if he could somehow hold himself together. But it didn¡¯t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

    Time ceased to exist. The cold, the hunger, the darkness¡ªit all blended into a dull, endless haze. He didn¡¯t know how long he had been sitting there. Minutes, hours, days¡ªwhat did it matter? His mind was numb, his body even more so. He stared ahead, into the nothingness, his eyes unfocused, his breathing shallow. The world had shrunk to this single, empty moment, and there was nothing left to hold onto.

    He just waited to dissolve into nothing.

    And then, something changed.

    At first, it was so small, so faint, he thought it was his imagination. A flicker of light, no bigger than a speck, appeared in the darkness. He blinked, his vision blurry, not trusting what he saw. But it was there. Slowly, the light grew, just enough to catch his attention, a soft, pale glow cutting through the blackness that surrounded him.

    The glow began to pulse, faint at first, but steady. It hovered in front of him, spinning gently in place, the light swirling like the softest mist. It was small, no bigger than his fist, but its light was warm, soft, and strangely beautiful. The room around him seemed to melt away, his vision consumed by this delicate ball of light. It glowed like a distant star, casting faint golden hues along the walls, tiny sparks dancing on its surface like fireflies in the night.

    Ronan¡¯s breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening. He didn¡¯t move. He couldn¡¯t. His mind raced, a flood of thoughts crashing into him all at once. Was he dreaming? Hallucinating? Or was this something else? The light grew brighter, the soft glow washing over him, and for a brief moment, he felt warmth again¡ªreal warmth. The kind he hadn¡¯t felt in so long. It wasn¡¯t just the warmth of the light; it was something deeper. Comfort. Safety.

    He felt tears in his eyes. He stared at the light, transfixed, and a strange thought crept into his mind. Maybe this was it. Maybe he was dying. Maybe this light was here to carry him away, to take him somewhere better. Maybe he would finally see his mother and sister again. He closed his eyes, letting the warmth wash over him, a small, fragile smile pulling at his lips as the light grew stronger, closer. He was ready. He wanted it to take him.

    Just as he braced himself for the end, the light did something he didn¡¯t expect. It surged forward, not outward into the dark void of the room, but directly toward him. His eyes flew open in shock, just as the ball of light collided with his chest in a blinding flash.

    The warmth filled him all at once, overwhelming, consuming. The light sank into him, disappearing inside, and Ronan gasped as the sensation flooded his entire being. It didn¡¯t feel like death. It felt like something alive.

    He thought about living. Some called it magic, others called it life itself. He called it a curse. He had felt it¡ªtwisting reality, bending truth, making him see what isn¡¯t there. Or maybe it''s just his grief.

    And maybe, his grief was over in death.

    That death was beautiful.

 2. Not My Problem, Not My Problem

    Ronan woke with a jolt, his chest heaving as he sucked in a desperate breath. The cold air bit at his lungs, sharp and unforgiving, the bite of frost clinging to each inhale. His vision swam, the world around him spinning in an endless whirlpool of black and grey before settling into the familiar gloom of his shack. It was a sight he had seen a thousand times before, but it never seemed any more depressing that it felt at that moment.

    For a moment, he just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, the cracked wood shifting in and out of focus as his chest rose and fell with rapid, uneven breaths. His mind scrambled, disoriented by the fact that he was still breathing, still feeling, still... alive.

    Alive.

    He had been so sure¡ªso certain¡ªthat last night would be his end. He had collapsed, broken and empty, the weight of everything too much to bear. The exhaustion, the hunger, the pain¡ªit had all been too much. His mother and sister, the only things he¡¯d ever loved, were gone, ripped away from him by the cruel hand of fate. What reason did he have left to keep fighting? Why keep waking up, day after day, in this miserable existence that was barely worth calling life?

    But instead, here I am, he thought bitterly, his lips curling into a scowl. He pushed his tangled hair back from his face, his fingers trembling¡ªnot just from the cold, but from something deeper. Something that gnawed at his bones.

    He could still feel it. The light. The faint shimmer that had appeared before him, so real, so tangible, as if it had come to take him away, to free him from this endless, hollow struggle. His mother and sister had been there, in the light. He had felt them. He had thought, finally, that maybe he could join them.

    But no. The universe, it seemed, had other plans. He was still here, in the same broken-down shack, the same biting cold seeping into his bones. The ache in his chest felt sharper than ever. He was still here, still trapped.

    "Guess the gods don¡¯t want me either," he muttered, his voice hoarse and cracking through the silence. The sound echoed faintly in the empty room, only the faint rustling of the wind outside offering any response. He let out a hollow laugh, bitter and dry, and tried to move.

    His body resisted. Every muscle felt like it had been weighed down with lead, his limbs sluggish and unresponsive. His breath came in shallow, ragged bursts, his lungs burning with the effort. For a long moment, he didn¡¯t try again. He just sat there, slumped against the wall, staring up at the cracked ceiling, the edges of his vision darkening with fatigue.

    The stillness pressed in on him, thick and suffocating. The weight of the silence seemed to grow heavier with each passing second, wrapping around him like a vice. His mind raced back to that moment¡ªthe light, the warmth, the peace he had almost felt. The release he had longed for. But now, that peace was gone, snatched away from him, and all that was left was the cold, gnawing ache of survival.

    Why am I still here?

    The question gnawed at him, burrowing into the deepest corners of his mind, but there was no answer. No reason for him to still be breathing, still fighting. The world had already taken everything from him. Why not his life too?

    He shook his head, forcing the thought away. Dwelling on it wouldn¡¯t change anything.

    With a groan, Ronan forced his body to move, every muscle protesting as he slowly stood up. His head swam, a wave of dizziness washing over him as he braced himself against the wall, his fingers gripping the rough surface. For a moment, he thought he might collapse again, but the feeling passed, leaving only a dull throb in its wake.

    As the fog in his mind began to clear, he became aware of something else. Something that hadn¡¯t been there before. An odd heaviness in the air, like the room itself had grown thicker, denser. He frowned, blinking against the disorientation, but the sensation wouldn¡¯t leave. It clung to him, pressing down on him like a weight he couldn¡¯t shake.

    The room felt... strange. As if the very air was alive, shifting and twisting in ways he couldn¡¯t understand.

    Ronan glanced around, his eyes scanning the cramped space. Everything looked the same¡ªjust as broken, just as hopeless. But then, something caught his eye. A rusted tin cup, lying on the floor near the corner. For a brief moment, he could have sworn it moved¡ªjust a slight twitch, barely perceptible, but enough to make his heart skip a beat.

    He narrowed his eyes, staring at the cup as if willing it to stay still. He waited, breath held, for another sign of movement. But nothing happened.

    "Great. Now I¡¯m seeing things again," he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples. But even as he dismissed it, the unease lingered.

    The sensation clung to him like a shroud, thick and suffocating. The room felt too small, the walls too close, the air too thick. He could almost feel it pressing against his skin, making his heart race in his chest. He tried to shake it off, to convince himself that it was just exhaustion, just hunger, but the feeling wouldn¡¯t leave.

    Then the whispers started.

    Faint at first, distant, barely audible. Like a conversation happening just beyond the edge of hearing, the words too soft to make out. Ronan froze, his blood turning cold as the whispers grew louder, closer. His heart pounded in his chest, and his eyes darted around the room, searching for the source.

    But there was nothing. No one. The shack was as empty as it had always been.

    Okay, this is definitely not right.

    The whispers faded as quickly as they had come, leaving behind only an eerie silence. Ronan¡¯s breath came in shallow gasps, his body tense, every muscle on edge. He stood there, staring at the empty room, waiting for something¡ªanything¡ªto happen.

    But there was only silence.

    Ronan let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. Losing it, he thought. I¡¯m losing it.

    He shook his head and made his way to the door, eager to escape the confines of the shack. The cold air outside, harsh as it was, would be better than this... this feeling. Whatever it was. He needed to clear his head.

    Ronan made his way to the door, eager to escape the thick air of the shack. Whatever this was, he wasn¡¯t going to find answers sitting in this decaying ruin. He stepped outside, the cold air hitting him like a slap, sharp and bitter. He sucked in a deep breath, the chill cutting through his lungs like glass. At least the cold was real, something tangible, something he could grasp.

    But as he walked through the empty streets of the slums, the feeling followed him. The whispers, the strange pressure in the air. The world around him seemed distant, blurred at the edges, like he was moving through a dream that wasn¡¯t his. He saw the familiar faces of the few people left in this place, their hollow eyes staring past him, too consumed by their own despair to notice his.

    It was in that moment, as Ronan walked through the slums, that another strange feeling came with a force. His body tensed, a knot forming in his chest as he passed a frail, hunched figure picking through the remains of a trash pile¡ªa woman, old and weary, her clothes little more than rags. He didn¡¯t pay her any mind at first. Just another lost soul like the rest.

    But then it hit him.

    A flash of something¡ªinsight. The air seemed to shift around her, shimmering briefly before his eyes, or maybe it was his delusions again. Ronan blinked, the world around him dimming as something else came into focus. The woman. He could see her¡ªnot just her, but something deeper. Her essence, her core. Desperation clung to her like a second skin, her hunger and sorrow like a weight around her neck.

    His breath caught in his throat as the sensation washed over him. He could feel her pain, her emptiness. It was overwhelming, almost too much to bear. His heart raced, and he stumbled back, his hand gripping the edge of a nearby wall for support.

    The world snapped back into place, the shimmer fading. The woman was still there, oblivious, continuing her search through the garbage. But Ronan was shaken. He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to steady his breathing. What had just happened? What had he seen?

    His mind raced, trying to make sense of anything. He had felt her emotions, her struggle. It had been so real, so visceral. But it wasn¡¯t normal. Nothing about this was normal.

    "What the hell," he muttered, his voice shaky.

    He glanced back at the woman, still crouched by the trash, completely unaware of what had just happened. Ronan turned and walked away, his thoughts spinning out of control. He needed to understand what was happening, but he wasn¡¯t sure he wanted to.

    As he hurried away from the woman, his heart was still racing, and every step felt heavy. He didn''t care to understand it. Whatever it was¡ªthis strange vision, this ability to see deeper into people¡ªit wasn¡¯t a gift. It wasn¡¯t some magical awakening that would change his life for the better. No, it was just another problem. Another weight added to the endless load he already carried.

    His feet dragged through the narrow, muddy streets, the sights of the slums passing by in a blur. The cold wind whipped against his face, but he barely felt it. His mind was consumed by the gnawing frustration, the unsettling reality that something had changed, and not for the better.

    Magic. He¡¯d heard of it before, whispered about in the corners of shelters or spoken of in hushed tones by the few who had seen such things in their lifetime. But he¡¯d never cared. Magic, power, destiny¡ªit was all for people who had something to live for. People who had a future, who weren¡¯t just scraping by in the gutter, waiting for the world to finish grinding them into dust, or grind itself to dust.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Now, here it was, uninvited, pushing its way into his life. And he didn¡¯t want it.

    What am I supposed to do with this? Ronan thought bitterly, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. I don¡¯t need to see the misery in people. I already know it¡¯s there.

    He stopped in front of an old, crumbling wall, leaning his forehead against the cold stone. His breath fogged the air as he closed his eyes, trying to force the strange sensation out of his mind. But it lingered, that feeling of having looked too deep into someone¡¯s soul, of having touched something he wasn¡¯t meant to see.

    A moment later, he felt the whisper of it again. The tingling sensation in the back of his mind, like fingers brushing against his thoughts. It wasn¡¯t strong¡ªjust a faint awareness, a tug that made his skin crawl. He gritted his teeth and pushed it away, refusing to let it in.

    I don¡¯t need this. I don¡¯t want this.

    But the whispers... they were growing louder.

    Turning away from the wall, Ronan kept moving, his steps faster now, more erratic. He needed to keep moving, to get away from whatever was happening. He wasn¡¯t going to let himself get pulled into it. Magic, abilities, seeing into people¡¯s hearts¡ªnone of it mattered. It wouldn¡¯t fill his stomach or warm his bones. It wouldn¡¯t bring back his mother or sister.

    It was nothing. And he had no time for it.

    ***

    As the day wore on, the slums seemed more suffocating than usual. The air felt thicker, heavier, and every corner seemed darker, the shadows longer. Ronan¡¯s mind raced, replaying the strange moments over and over, but every time he tried to think about what it all meant, his frustration only grew.

    People passed him by, their eyes hollow and empty, their faces etched with the same struggle he had lived his entire life. And now, with this new... curse hanging over him, Ronan felt more disconnected than ever.

    A low growl from his stomach reminded him of the more pressing issue¡ªhe hadn¡¯t eaten since yesterday, if that tiny loaf of bread could even be called food. He hadn¡¯t found much then, and today seemed even more hopeless.

    He spotted a small alley up ahead, its mouth opening into a pile of debris. The kind of place where someone might have thrown something useful away. Ronan made his way toward it, but as he approached, the tingling sensation came back¡ªstronger this time. It pulsed in the back of his mind, like a warning, like a whisper he couldn¡¯t quite hear.

    No. He forced himself to ignore it, shaking his head. I don¡¯t care. I don¡¯t want this.

    He knelt down by the debris, rummaging through the piles of broken wood and discarded scraps. The dampness clung to his hands, the cold biting at his fingers, but he pushed through it. He needed to focus on surviving. Not this... whatever this was.

    Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw someone. A figure, hunched and silent, standing just at the edge of the alley. Ronan tensed, his instincts kicking in, his hand reaching for the small and completely useless knife he kept hidden under his coat.

    But as he looked up, he felt it again. The pull. The flash of insight. It hit him like a wave, unbidden and unwanted. The figure¡¯s aura flickered before his eyes, and for a moment, he saw it clearly¡ªfear. Deep, raw fear. The kind that paralyzes you, the kind that seeps into your bones and keeps you from moving.

    Ronan clenched his fists, cursing under his breath. He didn¡¯t want to know this. He didn¡¯t care what this person was afraid of. He just wanted to be left alone, to dig through the trash and maybe find something to eat.

    But the feeling wouldn¡¯t leave him. The fear hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, wrapping around him like a chain.

    ¡°Hey,¡± a voice said, low and shaking.

    Ronan looked up, his eyes narrowing at the man standing at the mouth of the alley. The man was thin, gaunt, his clothes hanging off him like rags. His eyes darted nervously, but he didn¡¯t move any closer.

    ¡°You got food?¡± the man asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

    Ronan¡¯s stomach twisted in response to the question, but his face remained hard. He shook his head slowly, standing up from the pile of debris. He had nothing to give, and even if he did, he wasn¡¯t about to share it.

    The man lingered for a moment, his eyes pleading, but Ronan didn¡¯t budge. After a few seconds, the man turned and slinked back into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as he¡¯d come.

    Ronan let out a slow breath, the tension in his body easing as the man left. But the sensation¡ªthe weight of the man¡¯s fear¡ªremained, clinging to him like a shadow.

    He didn¡¯t want to care. He didn¡¯t want to feel it. But he couldn¡¯t stop it.

    This is going to get worse, isn¡¯t it?

    ***

    By the time the sun began to set, Ronan¡¯s legs were aching, and his hunger gnawed at him like a persistent beast. The slums were growing quieter, the shadows deepening as night crept in. But even as the darkness closed in, the strange pressure he had felt all day only grew stronger. He could feel it pressing against him, weighing him down.

    It wasn¡¯t just the slums anymore. It was inside him.

    I don¡¯t want this.

    Ronan¡¯s steps faltered as he neared his shack. He glanced around, his eyes scanning the empty streets, the faint glow of distant fires casting eerie shadows on the walls. Everything felt off, like the world around him had shifted, tilted just slightly.

    The whispers returned, faint and distant, but persistent. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his fists, trying to force them away. But they wouldn¡¯t leave. They wouldn¡¯t stop.

    I don¡¯t care about magic. I don¡¯t care about powers. I just want this to go away.

    But deep down, Ronan knew it wouldn¡¯t. Whatever had awakened inside him wasn¡¯t going to leave him alone.

    Ronan stepped inside his shack, the familiar, cold stillness greeting him like an old adversary. He shut the door behind him with a dull thud, leaning his back against it as he let out a long, exhausted breath. His mind was still racing with the strange sensations, the flashes of people¡¯s emotions, and the oppressive feeling that had followed him all day.

    As he moved toward the corner of the room, something strange happened.

    A flicker of light, no bigger than a spark, appeared in front of him. Ronan stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening. The light hovered in the air for just a moment, shimmering like a small, delicate flame, casting faint shadows on the walls.

    His breath caught in his throat. It wasn¡¯t just light. There was something there¡ªa shape, tiny, barely visible, but unmistakably real. A figure. A small spirit. It floated for a brief second, translucent and delicate, with eyes that seemed to glow faintly in the dim room.

    And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.

    Ronan stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest. The air seemed to thicken around him, and his body refused to move. His breath quickened, panic rising like a wave, crashing over him with sudden and violent force.

    What... what the hell was that?

    His thoughts scrambled, trying and failing to make sense of what had just appeared before him. A tiny, glowing figure¡ªalive, real, and right there in front of him. Ronan¡¯s heart thudded in his chest from the sheer disbelief of what he¡¯d witnessed. He didn¡¯t understand it, didn¡¯t want to understand it.

    Why is this happening to me?

    His hands gripped his knees as he sat, staring at the empty space where the spirit had been. It wasn¡¯t dangerous, it hadn¡¯t attacked him¡ªit was just... there. But mixed with what had been happening since he woke up, everything felt wrong.

    I don¡¯t want this.

    The thought echoed in his mind, louder and louder with each passing second. This wasn¡¯t supposed to happen. It couldn¡¯t be happening. Ronan had enough to deal with¡ªscraping by, surviving another day in the slums. Magic, spirits¡ªthese things belonged in stories or someone who wanted these, not in his life. He wasn¡¯t meant for this.

    I don¡¯t want this, he repeated to himself, a tightening in his chest building with frustration. He wasn¡¯t meant for power, for strange abilities. Whatever that thing had been, whatever it meant, it wasn¡¯t for him.

    Why is this happening to me?

    The words played over and over in his mind as he stood, pacing the small space. He could still feel the faint memory of the spirit, lingering like a weight pressing against him, something just out of reach but still close enough to disturb him.

    I don¡¯t want this.

    And then, slowly, the weight began to lift. Something inside him, deep and heavy, seemed to shift. The memory of the spirit¡ªits faint glow, the otherworldly presence¡ªstarted to blur, to fade, as if pushed down by his sheer rejection.

    I don¡¯t want this.

    With every denial, with every refusal, that strange part of him that had glimpsed the spirit locked away. It felt as though a door had closed, shutting it off, sealing it away somewhere where it couldn¡¯t reach him anymore. He didn¡¯t know why, but with each insistent repetition, the unfamiliar presence dimmed until it was almost gone.

    Ronan sank to the floor, his body trembling slightly. His head throbbed as he pressed his back against the wall, his hands still shaking. But the relief, that strange sense of quiet, settled over him.

    Good, he thought. I don¡¯t want this. I don¡¯t need this.

    Whatever that spirit had been¡ªwhatever it meant¡ªhe didn¡¯t care. It wasn¡¯t his problem. Not now. Not ever.

    I don¡¯t want this.

    And with that, the weight was gone.

    Ronan closed his eyes, letting the calm wash over him, letting the silence of the shack settle in. He could finally breathe again. Whatever that spirit had been, it wasn¡¯t coming back. Not ever, if he had his way.

    I¡¯m done with this, he thought, his mind drifting toward the comfort of denial. I¡¯ll forget it. Just another problem I don¡¯t need.

    But before he could even begin to relax, something else caught his attention.

    A soft, whispering sound filled the room¡ªa faint rustling, like paper unfolding. Ronan¡¯s eyes snapped open, and he looked up, his breath catching in his throat again.

    In the middle of the room, suspended in midair, a scroll materialized. It hovered there, shimmering faintly, the parchment glowing with an ethereal light.

    What now?

    Ronan stared at the scroll, his heart still racing. Slowly, the scroll began to unfurl, the parchment smoothing out as it floated toward him. He watched, his body frozen, unsure whether to move closer or stay put. But before he could make a decision, the scroll unfolded completely, revealing ornate lettering etched in gold across the top.

    As his eyes lingered on the shimmering words, a soft, resonant voice filled the room, coming from the scroll itself. The parchment hovered just above the ground, and the words began to speak aloud, the tone both authoritative and unnervingly calm, as if it had been waiting for him.

    <hr>

    To the Esteemed Ronan Grey,

    We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the Lumenbourg University of Mystical, Combat, and General Studies. This prestigious institution has a long and storied history of guiding those with unique gifts, talents, and abilities toward greatness. Your recent awakening has signaled your readiness to embark on this journey, and it is our honor to extend this invitation to you.

    At Lumenbourg University, we offer a comprehensive education designed to enhance your mystical, martial, and intellectual abilities. Whether your talents lie in the arcane arts, combat mastery, or a variety of general studies, our esteemed faculty will ensure that you are given the tools and knowledge to hone your skills to their full potential.

    As a prospective student, you are required to attend the entrance ceremony at the university, where your abilities will be assessed, and your academic and practical path will be determined. Transportation to the university will be arranged at your convenience.

    Please note, attendance is not optional. Your abilities place you under the jurisdiction of the Mystical Accord, and as such, your presence is mandatory for your continued development of the Ravencia Empire.

    We eagerly await your arrival.

    Sincerely,

    Headmaster Aelric Starfall

    Lumenbourg University of Mystical, Combat, and General Studies

    <hr>

 3. Are You Kidding Me?

    "Are you kidding me?"

    Ronan stared at the scroll in his hands, disbelief written across his face. His fingers gripped the rough parchment, the words of the letter hitting him like a punch to the gut. The letter had practically delivered itself into his hands, unfolded as though it had a mind of its own, and now floated there in the air like some twisted joke.

    Lumenbourg University of Mystical, Combat, and General Studies? The words burned in his brain, as though mocking the reality he had known all his life.

    "No. Absolutely not." His voice was low, edged with anger, barely a whisper to himself as his grip tightened around the parchment. His heart raced, each thud in his chest a reminder of how absurd this all was. The slums were his world¡ªdirt, grime, survival. Not magic, not some ridiculous school he hadn¡¯t asked for.

    Not this world which threw him here and forgot about it, and then suddenly it remembered that he did have some value.

    His hand trembled slightly as he looked down at the scroll, and without another thought, he tore it apart. The parchment shredded easily under his fingers, the pieces fluttering down to the dirt floor like dead leaves. He felt a fleeting sense of satisfaction watching them scatter at his feet.

    ¡°Problem solved,¡± he muttered, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he turned away, trying to convince himself that tearing it up meant the problem would disappear. He kicked one of the larger scraps aside, feeling like he¡¯d reclaimed control, even for a moment.

    But the silence that followed felt... wrong. Too still. Too heavy.

    A sound, faint at first¡ªlike a soft rustling in the air¡ªmade him stop in his tracks. Ronan turned slowly, his body tensing as his eyes settled on the floor where the torn pieces lay. They were moving. Each scrap of parchment twitched, shivering like they were alive, swirling together in slow circles. A thin glow began to wrap around the fragments, lifting them from the ground, spinning faster and faster until they blurred in the air like some ethereal cyclone.

    "No... no way," Ronan whispered, his pulse quickening as he watched, his breath catching in his throat.

    The pieces of the scroll reassembled before his eyes, coming together seamlessly until the letter was whole again, floating in front of him as if nothing had happened. The delicate glow around the parchment faded, and the scroll hovered there, mocking him with its impossible return.

    His throat tightened, anger rising to the surface. "Are you kidding me?"

    In a fit of frustration, he snatched the scroll from the air and ripped it into even smaller pieces, shredding it into tiny fragments. He tossed the remains out the window of his shack, watching the pieces drift into the filthy streets outside.

    That should do it, he thought, wiping his hands on his trousers, his breath coming fast and shallow as he turned back to the room.

    And then something flew right beside him.

    And there it was again.

    Floating right beside him.

    The scroll had reappeared, unmarked, untouched, as if it had never been torn apart. It floated there, impossibly intact, like it had simply decided to come back, indifferent to his attempts to destroy it.

    Ronan¡¯s face twisted in disbelief. "You¡¯ve got to be kidding me."

    He grabbed the scroll once more, his hands shaking slightly, and threw it to the ground. This time, he stomped on it, grinding the parchment into the dirt, his boot pressing down hard. "Stay gone!" His voice echoed in the small shack, his frustration mounting with each failed attempt to rid himself of this impossible thing.

    When he stepped back, the parchment glowed faintly again, lifting from the floor, brushing the dirt away like it was dust, and floating back to its perfect, pristine form.

    Ronan stared at it, his mind blank for a moment. It didn¡¯t make sense. None of it made sense. But there it was, whole, floating, refusing to be destroyed.

    His chest tightened, frustration turning into a sharp, hot anger. "What... what do you want from me?" he growled at the scroll, as if it could answer. He clenched his fists, his eyes narrowing at the parchment that hovered in defiance.

    He grabbed it once again, his hands shaking now, and ripped it into shreds. The jagged edges of the torn parchment felt satisfying for a moment, but he wasn¡¯t done yet. He dropped the fragments to the ground, then stomped on them, grinding them into the dirt beneath his boots with all his strength again.

    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± he muttered, his chest heaving. ¡°Let¡¯s see you come back now.¡±

    The shredded pieces lay crumpled and smeared with grime. He bent down, scooping up a handful of the dirt-covered scraps, and threw them out through the gaps in the rotted wooden walls. The rest he shoved into a corner, piling a heavy brick on top of them to ensure they couldn¡¯t move. His breath came fast, his pulse pounding in his ears.

    For a moment, the room was silent, the oppressive weight of the scroll gone. He thought he¡¯d finally won.

    But no.

    The air grew still, unnaturally so, and a faint light glimmered beneath the brick. Slowly, impossibly, the pieces began to move. The dirt fell away, the fragments lifting into the air with an ethereal glow. He watched, stunned, as they floated back together, reforming seamlessly into the unblemished scroll. It hovered there, calm and pristine, as if nothing had happened.

    "Impossible..." His voice was barely a whisper now. He stumbled back, feeling the weight of the world press down on him. His small shack seemed to grow smaller, the air heavier, as if the universe itself had decided that Ronan had no choice in the matter.

    He slumped against the wall, his back pressing into the cold, rough surface as he stared at the letter that hovered so calmly in the air, mocking him.

    Ronan let out a sharp, bitter laugh, running a hand through his messy hair. "Of course. Of course, it¡¯s not that easy."

    The scroll floated there, waiting, and Ronan glared at it as if his frustration could somehow make it disappear. But deep down, he knew¡ªno matter how many times he tore it, no matter how many times he burned it, this letter wasn¡¯t going away.

    The weight of it settled on his shoulders, heavier than before.

    ¡°Fine,¡± he muttered, defeated for the moment. ¡°You¡¯re not going to go away.¡±

    But that didn¡¯t mean he had to accept it. He wasn¡¯t going to be dragged into whatever this was.

    Ronan¡¯s frustration was just beginning to settle when the first knock came. Sharp. Loud. The kind of knock that didn¡¯t belong in a place like this. He glanced at the door, his teeth clenched as he took a deep breath, already irritated.

    Who the hell would come here?

    The slums weren¡¯t the kind of place where visitors arrived, especially not with that kind of confidence. Grumbling to himself, Ronan crossed the small space, kicking aside debris as he went, and yanked the door open.

    Standing there, perfectly out of place among the filth and decay, was a man dressed in sharp, fitted attire. His clothes, while not as ostentatious as a noble¡¯s, carried an air of precision and care¡ªdark leather armor lined with polished silver, and a deep burgundy cloak. His expression was stern, the sharp lines of his face hardened by years of service. This man was not a noble¡ªhe was someone¡¯s servant, but certainly not an ordinary one.

    "Ronan, I presume?" the man asked, his voice measured, but carrying an edge of authority. He didn¡¯t wait for a response. "I¡¯ve come with a message on behalf of Viscount Rowan Kalis, of House Kalis."

    Ronan¡¯s brow furrowed. Great, he thought bitterly, crossing his arms. "And you are?"

    The man stepped into the shack without permission, his boots sinking into the dirt floor. He looked around with a quick, assessing glance, his lip curling slightly at the sight of the decrepit room, though he masked his disdain well. "You don¡¯t need to know my name," he said, his tone clipped. "But what matters is the opportunity Viscount Kalis has extended to you."

    Ronan raised an eyebrow, even more annoyed. "Opportunity, huh?" he repeated, his voice laced with sarcasm.

    The man took a small scroll from inside his cloak, ignoring the sarcasm, and held it out toward Ronan. "The Viscount has heard of you," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "He¡¯s aware of your... potential. He believes someone like you could rise above this filth," he gestured vaguely around the room, ¡°¡­with the proper guidance.¡±

    Ronan didn¡¯t take the scroll, his eyes fixed on the man. Rise above this filth? The words churned in his mind like poison. Where were they when his mother was coughing blood in the streets, begging for help? The memory of a noblewoman¡¯s sneer flashed in his mind, her delicate gloves holding a handkerchief to her nose as she walked past him and his mother without a word. They hadn¡¯t cared then¡ªwhy would they care now?

    Ronan didn¡¯t take the scroll, his eyes now fixed on the man. "So, what¡¯s the catch?" he asked, just for the hell of it.

    The servant¡¯s face remained impassive, his voice steady. "You would pledge your loyalty to House Kalis. You would serve the Viscount¡¯s interests. In return, you would be given access to education, resources, and a place far better than this." He glanced at the dirt floor beneath his feet before locking eyes with Ronan again. ¡°Your talents would not go to waste.¡±

    Ronan let out a short, humorless laugh. "You mean I¡¯d be his tool," he said, his voice sharp. "Running around doing his dirty work."

    The servant¡¯s gaze hardened slightly, though his expression remained stoic. "You misunderstand. This is a rare offer, far more generous than anything you¡¯d find here. It¡¯s a chance to escape this life, to make something of yourself."

    Ronan¡¯s smirk returned. "Escape this life? By becoming someone¡¯s lapdog?" He stepped closer, his posture tense. "I don¡¯t need charity from a man too scared to come here himself. If the Viscount wants my loyalty, he can come and ask for it in person."Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    And he will reject his offer in his face. But he didn¡¯t say that. He was being nice.

    The servant¡¯s jaw tightened at the insult, his hand clutching the scroll a bit too firmly. "You¡¯re making a mistake, you lowborn," he said quietly, his voice now cold. "Opportunities like this don¡¯t come twice. Refuse, and you¡¯ll rot here¡ªalone and forgotten."

    Ronan¡¯s eyes narrowed, his frustration rising. He motioned toward the door with a sharp gesture. "Then I¡¯ll rot. Get out."

    For a moment, the servant looked as though he might say something more, or do something more, but after a tense pause, he slipped the scroll back into his cloak and turned toward the door. "You¡¯ll regret this," he said, his voice low. "You think you can do whatever you please, but soon you¡¯ll see how wrong you are."

    Without another word, the man stepped out into the filthy streets of the slums, his form quickly swallowed by the shadows. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the shack silent once more.

    Ronan stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, his chest still tight with irritation. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he muttered, "That went well."

    ***

    Ronan had barely recovered from throwing out the dumb and arrogant visitor when the next knock echoed through his shack. It was louder, more forceful, and immediately set his nerves on edge. He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his messy hair as he made his way to the door.

    When he swung the door open, a tall, statuesque figure stood before him. This time, it was a woman clad in sharp and really tight attire¡ªdark blue leather armor with silver accents. Her even sharper features radiated cold authority, though her gaze was colder still. She looked Ronan over with a quick, dismissive glance, as if she were assessing livestock.

    "Hmm¡­," she said, her voice crisp and precise. She didn¡¯t wait for him to answer, stepping past him into the shack without a second glance. The air around her felt as icy as her demeanor.

    ¡°Make yourself at home,¡± Ronan muttered, closing the door behind her.

    She ignored his tone, casting her gaze over the dingy room with open disgust. ¡°I am Lilith, a servant of Baroness Elina Storme,¡± she announced, as though her title alone justified barging in. ¡°I¡¯m here on her behalf to extend an offer, one you, in your... unfortunate circumstances, could never hope to attain on your own.¡±

    Ronan crossed his arms, already tired of the conversation. ¡°Let me guess,¡± he said dryly, ¡°You¡¯re here to rescue me from this wretched life and turn me into the baroness¡¯s loyal servant, right?¡±

    Lilith¡¯s eyes narrowed, but her tone remained cold and controlled. ¡°You misunderstand,¡± she replied icily. ¡°This is not charity. This is an opportunity to rise above your station, to become something more than the filth you¡¯re currently wallowing in.¡±

    ¡°Charming,¡± Ronan said, his lip curling in amusement. ¡°You really know how to make a guy feel special.¡±

    Lilith¡¯s patience was wearing thin, but she pressed on, her posture rigid with discipline. ¡°House Storme,¡± she said, with a touch of pride, ¡°has weathered countless storms, both literal and metaphorical. We are strong because we know how to harness potential, how to turn raw power into something greater. The baroness could mold you into a true weapon, a force to be reckoned with.¡±

    Ronan raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the cringe. ¡°So, what you¡¯re saying is, I could go from starving in the slums to being her personal attack dog?¡±

    Lilith¡¯s eyes flashed with anger, though she quickly smothered the reaction, her composure unshaken. ¡°You would be given a life of honor and purpose. In exchange, you would serve House Storme. You would become a weapon for the kingdom, under the baroness¡¯s command.¡±

    Ronan let out a harsh laugh. ¡°Right. A life of ¡®honor¡¯ where I¡¯m at her beck and call, doing her dirty work.¡± He stepped closer to her, his eyes hard. ¡°You nobles really don¡¯t get it, do you? I don¡¯t want your life. I don¡¯t want your power. I just want you to get out of my home.¡±

    For the briefest moment, something flickered in Lilith¡¯s eyes¡ªperhaps surprise that anyone would dare speak to her that way. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by icy disdain. ¡°You¡¯re a fool,¡± she hissed, her voice low. ¡°You¡¯ve been given a rare chance, and you¡¯ve thrown it away.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well,¡± Ronan said, stepping toward the door and pulling it open, ¡°I¡¯ve gotten a pretty good lesson in the art of throwing things away. Now, if you¡¯d kindly leave.¡±

    Without another word, Lilith turned on her heel and swept past him, her armor glinting in the dim light as she exited the shack. She didn¡¯t look back.

    ***

    Ronan closed the door behind Lilith and exhaled slowly, trying to push down the frustration boiling in his chest. Before he could take another breath, yet another knock came at the door. He clenched his fists, his patience wearing dangerously thin.

    He opened the door to find an older man standing there, his expression one of exaggerated pity. The man was shorter than most, with a round belly barely concealed beneath his fine green and silver robes. His thinning hair was slicked back, and his small eyes gleamed with calculated kindness.

    ¡°Ah, Ronan, my boy!¡± the man exclaimed with a beaming smile, as if they were old friends. ¡°I¡¯m Malven, a servant of Earl Tavin Draven, whose land you live in. You poor, poor soul, living in such dreadful conditions. I¡¯ve come to offer you a way out of this misery!¡±

    Ronan narrowed his eyes. Someone who had never cared about what happened to his kind before is right here begging on his doorstep. He sighed inwardly. Here we go again.

    Malven stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, his eyes darting around the small, crumbling shack with barely veiled disgust, though he quickly masked it with a false smile. ¡°You must be terribly hungry, my boy,¡± he continued, his voice dripping with exaggerated sympathy. ¡°It breaks my heart to see someone with such... potential, wasting away in a place like this.¡±

    ¡°Get to the point,¡± Ronan said, his voice flat. ¡°What does your master want?¡±

    Malven chuckled lightly, as if Ronan¡¯s bluntness amused him. ¡°Oh, nothing much,¡± he said, waving a hand dismissively. ¡°My lord simply wishes to... assist you. To take you under his wing. After all, someone of your potential shouldn¡¯t be stuck in a place like this.¡±

    Ronan raised an eyebrow. ¡°Assist me? Your master¡¯s had plenty of chances to do that before now.¡±

    Malven ignored the jab, his false smile unwavering. ¡°Times change, my boy. We can offer you so much¡ªfood, shelter, luxury. You deserve better than this squalor. The earl would be delighted to see someone like you rise above it all.¡±

    His voice lowered, and he leaned in conspiratorially. ¡°All we ask is your loyalty. A simple exchange, really. A life of comfort in return for your devotion. You could leave this place behind forever.¡±

    Ronan crossed his arms, his face unreadable as Malven continued his speech, talking about riches and luxuries Ronan had never imagined. To Malven, it must have sounded like an irresistible offer. But to Ronan, it was just empty words.

    When Malven finally paused, Ronan gave a short, sarcastic nod. ¡°Right. Sounds great. Sign me up.¡±

    Malven¡¯s face brightened, clearly thinking he had won Ronan over. ¡°Wonderful! I knew you were a smart lad. You¡ª¡±

    Ronan stepped closer, his voice cold. ¡°On one condition,¡± he said, leaning in. ¡°You take your false promises, your master¡¯s sudden concern¡ªand get out, never to return.¡±

    Malven blinked, his smile faltering. ¡°What...?¡±

    ¡°Get. Out,¡± Ronan repeated, his patience finally gone.

    Malven¡¯s face flushed with anger. ¡°You... insolent wretch!¡± he sputtered. ¡°Do you have any idea who you¡¯re talking to?!¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± Ronan replied, stepping back and opening the door wide. ¡°And I¡¯m telling him to get out.¡±

    Malven stormed past him, his robes flaring dramatically as he muttered curses under his breath. He paused at the door, turning back to glare at Ronan, his face twisted in anger. ¡°You¡¯ll regret this, gutter rat.¡±

    Ronan just stared back, unfazed. ¡°Maybe. But not today.¡±

    Ronan shrugged, slamming the door behind him with a satisfying thud.

    He stood there in the silence, his lips curling into a wry smile. Regret? That word had no meaning for someone like him.

    Ronan wasn¡¯t afraid of death¡ªhe had made peace with that long ago. If it came, it came. In fact, it seemed almost laughable that these nobles thought threats would mean anything to him. What did they think they could take from him that life hadn¡¯t already stolen?

    Ronan slumped back against the door after he left, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. The quiet returned to his shack, but his mind raced, unable to let go of the strange reality he now faced.

    Why me?

    People talked about magic like some unattainable miracle, a gift given to only a few across the kingdom. And yet, here he was¡ªan unwashed nobody from the slums¡ªand nobles from all corners of Ravencia were knocking on his door. Not just one or two, but multiple nobles, all clamoring to recruit him like he was some kind of prize.

    He had always known magic was rare, but there in this world. It was everything everyone ever wanted. He might have, perhaps, thought about it himself once or twice when he was younger, when he at least had his mom and sister. But magic was never what he had needed, both then and now.

    His stomach churned with more than just hunger. Magic. Why the hell did it have to be magic? He didn¡¯t even care about magic. Hell, he would have traded it in a heartbeat just for a full meal, or a warm bed. But no¡ªfate had thrown him something rare, something precious, and as always, it had come with strings attached. Big, choking, blood-stained strings.

    Ronan cursed under his breath. Fate had always been cruel to him, toying with him like some cosmic joke. First his mother, then his sister, and now this. He was so tired of it. Tired of this wretched life. Tired of surviving on scraps while these nobles played games with power. And now, they were after him. Because of some power he never asked for.

    Why did they care so much? He knew what magic could mean in this world. The chance to become something more than human, to wield unimaginable strength, to reshape your own destiny. It was the stuff of legends¡ªrare enough that kingdoms bent over backward for even the smallest trace of it. And now he had it when his mother and sister weren¡¯t here. Of course, he did. Just his luck.

    Ronan¡¯s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He didn¡¯t want it. He didn¡¯t want any of it. Magic had never been something he desired¡ªhe just wanted to live, to get by without the weight of the world crushing him under its heel. But now, he couldn¡¯t even escape that.

    His lip curled in disgust. They¡¯ll be back, he thought bitterly. And when they came back, maybe they wouldn¡¯t be offering fancy deals or empty promises. He had spat in their faces, and he could figure nobles didn¡¯t forget things like that. They¡¯d come with soldiers next time¡ªor worse.

    But I¡¯ll be dead before they get the chance, he thought darkly.

    Hunger gnawed at his insides like a vicious animal. It had been clawing at him all day, relentless and unforgiving, the kind of hunger that made every breath feel like an effort. His stomach cramped painfully, reminding him of how long it had been since he ate something. He had found that filthy bread earlier, but that too, he had coughed it up.

    He let out a shaky breath, his mouth dry, his tongue thick and swollen. The emptiness in his gut was spreading, the kind of hunger that left him weak and lightheaded. His body was wasting away, and he knew it. If he didn¡¯t find food soon, he wouldn¡¯t last much longer.

    Ronan grimaced, running a hand through his tangled hair. Starvation, he thought grimly. That¡¯s how I¡¯ll go out. Not in some grand battle, not by some noble¡¯s sword. No, he would die alone in this shack, rotting away in the same filth he had always known. It was almost funny, in a cruel, twisted way.

    Maybe that¡¯s how it should be, he thought bitterly. At least death by starvation won¡¯t be as humiliating as letting one of those nobles take me.

    He imagined them returning¡ªEarl Thorn, Viscount Kalis, Baroness Storme¡ªeach of them waiting with thinly veiled contempt, ready to pounce the moment he showed any weakness. Ready to claim him for their own purposes.

    Too bad for them, he thought, grimly amused. They won¡¯t get the satisfaction. I¡¯ll be gone by then.

    The hunger clawed at him again, sharper this time, and he doubled over, clutching his stomach. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he felt dizzy, his knees buckling under the strain of staying upright. He leaned against the wall, breathing heavily, his mind spinning.

    ¡°Damn it,¡± he whispered. ¡°Damn this life. Damn everything.¡±

    He cursed his fate, cursed the cruel hand he¡¯d been dealt. It felt like the universe had gone out of its way to ensure that everything good in his life was ripped away from him. And now, even death seemed like it was playing a waiting game, dragging it out as long as possible before it finally claimed him.

    Ronan slid down to the floor, resting his back against the cold stone wall. He didn¡¯t know how much longer he could hold on like this. He was too tired, too weak. His whole life had been a struggle for survival, and now, in the end, it felt like the struggle wasn¡¯t even worth it anymore.

    He closed his eyes, resting his head against the wall as his thoughts drifted. Maybe this was the way it was always supposed to end. Just him, slowly fading into nothingness, forgotten by the world that had never cared about him in the first place.

    Or maybe not.

    He cursed under his breath at the sound of another knock.

 4. Ill Decide How My Story Goes

    The knock came again. Soft but persistent. Ronan froze, staring at the door, his body tense. Another one. He should¡¯ve expected it by now¡ªno one was going to leave him alone after what had happened earlier.

    For a brief moment, he considered ignoring it. Maybe if he stayed quiet enough, they¡¯d go away. But he knew better. The rickety walls of his shack couldn¡¯t keep out the cold, let alone someone determined enough to come for him. It wouldn¡¯t hold long if they decided to push their way in.

    He sighed heavily, dragging himself up from the floor, his stomach twisting painfully from hunger and exhaustion. What now? he thought bitterly as he made his way to the door, his movements slow and deliberate.

    When he pulled the door open, there they were¡ªtwo figures standing at the threshold. Their faces were obscured by hoods, but it was the scent that hit Ronan first. The rich, warm smell of food. It twisted his stomach into tighter knots, the hunger gnawing at him like a starving animal.

    The taller of the two figures stepped forward, lowering his hood. Sharp eyes, dark hair, and an unsettling calm radiated from the man as he spoke. ¡°Are you Ronan?¡±

    Ronan stared at the man for a moment, his gaze flicking between him and the shorter figure behind. There was something about this man¡ªsomething different from the others. No air of superiority, no condescension, just a calm, calculating presence.

    ¡°Depends,¡± Ronan rasped, his voice hoarse. ¡°Who¡¯s asking?¡±

    Slowly, the taller man reached up and pulled back the hood of his cloak, revealing his face.

    He was tall, his dark hair slicked back neatly, framing a face that was sharp and angular. His eyes, an unsettling shade of pale gray, seemed to assess everything at once¡ªcold, calculating, and ever-watchful. A faint shadow of stubble lined his jaw, giving him a more weathered look, but his posture and bearing were unmistakably noble. His clothes, finely tailored but practical, hinted at wealth without flaunting it. His expression remained calm, almost too calm, as if every movement was carefully controlled.

    The man tilted his head slightly, watching Ronan with a quiet intensity. He extended his hand, but when Ronan showed no interest in it, he slowly took it back. ¡°I am Marquess Gideon Vandross.¡±

    The name carried weight, but Vandross didn¡¯t seem to flaunt it. Ronan¡¯s eyes flicked toward the large basket held by the second figure. The shorter person, a woman, cradled it with care. The smell of food wafted through the cold air, and Ronan¡¯s stomach clenched again.

    The marquess noticed, his eyes lingering on Ronan¡¯s face before he offered a faint smile. ¡°I can see you¡¯re hungry,¡± Vandross said smoothly. ¡°There¡¯s no need to starve yourself on account of us. Eat.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s jaw tightened, his stomach twisting at the thought of food. The offer was tempting¡ªfar too tempting¡ªbut he wasn¡¯t about to give this man the satisfaction of watching him break.

    ¡°I¡¯ll eat when I¡¯m ready,¡± Ronan replied, his voice hard, defiant. He kept his distance, his arms crossed, though his gaze betrayed him, drawn again and again to the basket. But not in front of them. He wouldn¡¯t let them see him falter.

    Vandross studied him, his sharp eyes assessing everything in a way that unnerved Ronan. His smile didn¡¯t waver, but there was something colder behind it. ¡°Very well,¡± the marquess said softly. ¡°I¡¯m not here to force anything on you.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s muscles tensed. This was where the trap usually came in¡ªwhere the promises turned to demands, where the noble would remind him of his place. But Vandross didn¡¯t push, didn¡¯t seem eager to corner him. Instead, he stood there, silent, waiting. Watching.

    ¡°Then what do you want?¡± Ronan asked, sharper than he intended, his hunger and exhaustion making him quick to anger. He hated being hungry. Hated being at the mercy of anyone, let alone a noble with veiled intentions.

    Vandross¡¯s smile faded slightly, though his voice remained calm. ¡°I want an understanding,¡± he said, his tone even. ¡°You might have been asked for loyalty and service for your magic, to get food, wealth, perhaps even power. I¡¯m not here to offer those things.¡± He paused, watching Ronan¡¯s reaction closely. ¡°I¡¯m offering a chance.¡±

    ¡°A chance?¡± Ronan scoffed. ¡°A chance at what? You think I¡¯m going to throw myself at your feet because you¡¯ve got a loaf of bread?¡±

    The marquess didn¡¯t flinch, his gaze steady. ¡°No. I think you¡¯re smarter than that. And I think you¡¯re smart enough to know that I¡¯m not offering charity.¡± He took a small step forward, his presence somehow both unthreatening and commanding. ¡°What I offer is not power, Ronan. It¡¯s freedom.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s eyes narrowed, but something about the word lingered in the air. Freedom. That was something no one had offered before. It was always about servitude, about being someone else¡¯s tool. He was sick of it.

    Just as the word echoed in his mind, Ronan felt something strange. A quiet, unfamiliar sensation, almost like a whisper at the back of his thoughts. It wasn¡¯t something he understood¡ªit wasn¡¯t rational¡ªbut it was there, undeniable.

    It was as if something deep inside him was tugging at his instincts, sharpening his perception. His gut told him something he couldn¡¯t explain: the marquess wasn¡¯t lying. The man¡¯s words weren¡¯t hollow promises. For reasons Ronan couldn¡¯t quite grasp, he knew that Vandross¡¯s intentions, at least in this moment, were genuine.

    He blinked, his mind trying to catch up with the feeling. Why was he so sure? Why did this moment feel... clearer than others? He shook the thought off, forcing his expression to remain hard, but the sense lingered.

    ¡°Freedom,¡± Ronan echoed, his voice flat, trying to maintain control. He backed away and let him enter inside. There was nowhere to sit for a noble and Ronan crossed his arms and asked, ¡°And what¡¯s the price for whatever freedom you are offering?¡±

    Vandross¡¯s lips twitched into a small smile. ¡°There¡¯s always a price, of course. I¡¯m not pretending otherwise. But I¡¯m not asking for your life or your loyalty. You¡¯ve been in this slum long enough to know how the world works. You want something more than just survival¡ªyou want control. Over yourself, over what happens next.¡±

    Ronan crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes hard. ¡°And you¡¯re going to give me that? Control?¡±

    ¡°I can give you the tools,¡± Vandross said, his voice smooth, persuasive. ¡°But how you use them is up to you.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s heart raced, though he kept his expression guarded. The marquess was good¡ªtoo good. He knew how to get under Ronan¡¯s skin, how to dangle just enough hope without making promises that sounded hollow. But now, with this strange sense clouding his thoughts, Ronan could feel that this wasn¡¯t the usual noble game. Vandross was being truthful¡ªat least as truthful as someone like him could be. Although the strange part was that he felt like he could trust his words.

    And that only made it more unsettling.

    Ronan frowned, suspicion gnawing at him. ¡°People like you don¡¯t come to places like this,¡± he muttered, his eyes narrowing. ¡°How¡¯d you even find me? How did all these people coming to this dump find me? How do you all even know my name?¡±

    Vandross¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, but a flicker of something¡ªamusement, perhaps¡ªglimmered in his eyes. ¡°You think you¡¯re hidden?¡± He tilted his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. ¡°There are ways, Ronan. Ways that go beyond word of mouth. You¡¯re not as invisible as you believe. I know about you. And I know about your history. I know you got the acceptance letter for the university. Everyone who awakens their Magic, Aptitude or Anomaly at whatever age gets it.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s gut twisted. He knew something strange had been happening ever since the letter appeared, ever since those strange whispers of magic stirred around him. He had tried to push it all aside, but there was no denying that people¡ªpeople like this marquess¡ªwere finding him. People who had no business in these slums. He was pretty sure the Marquess used some pretty heavy words but he didn¡¯t quite catch all of it. And what he did catch, he didn¡¯t understand completely.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Ronan asked, his voice sharper now, the edge of his anxiety creeping into his words. ¡°What ways?¡±

    Vandross chuckled softly, the sound barely audible in the cold air. ¡°Let¡¯s just say... the moment you tapped into magic, the world took notice. There are ancient systems in place, ones older than either of us, that track those who awaken to magic.¡± He glanced at Ronan, his gaze lingering. ¡°Once you light the spark, it¡¯s almost impossible to hide. Almost being the key word here.¡±

    Ronan blinked, trying to process what Vandross had said. ¡°Systems? Like what?¡±

    The marquess¡¯s smile remained, but there was a little more thoughtfulness in his eyes now. ¡°Let me explain it in a language you can understand. Think of it as a network. Something that monitors magic across the land, ensuring that no new awakening goes unnoticed. Those with access... well, they can track it, detect it. That¡¯s how I found you. That¡¯s how the university and the nobles found you.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s chest tightened, feeling a lot naked. He had no idea that simply having magic could put him on someone¡¯s radar¡ªlet alone an entire system. He had never asked for this, never wanted it, but it was too late now. The magic was there, and apparently, people knew.

    ¡°And what happens now?¡± Ronan asked, his voice low.

    Vandross raised an eyebrow, his expression calm but unreadable. ¡°Now? Now, you decide what you want to do with it. As you can guess, not everyone in this world awakens to magic. In terms of numbers, you can say it¡¯s almost 1 in 5000. You are basically a Celestium Crystal once you awaken your magic, hence the noble servants you met with. Magic isn¡¯t something you can ignore, Ronan. You either control it, or it controls you.¡± He paused, letting the words sink in. ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m offering¡ªa way for you to control it. To use it, instead of letting it use you.¡±

    He let those words sink in. Then he asked, ¡°What¡¯s a Celestium Crystal?¡±

    Vandross blinked, clearly not expecting that to be Ronan¡¯s first question. His calm, composed exterior cracked for a fraction of a second, a brief look of surprise flickering across his face. Then he chuckled, low and almost approving, as if he found Ronan¡¯s curiosity more amusing than frustrating.

    "You cut right to it, don¡¯t you?" Vandross mused, slipping a hand into his coat pocket. ¡°A Celestium Crystal is a rare... Wait.¡±

    From his pocket, he withdrew a small, iridescent crystal, no larger than a pebble. It shimmered faintly in the dim light, casting an otherworldly glow that danced between shades of blue and silver. He held it up between his fingers, turning it so the light caught on its many facets.

    The woman beside him shifted, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Marquess, are you sure¡ª?"

    He silenced her with a raised hand, his gaze never leaving Ronan. "I¡¯m sure." His tone was firm, final, leaving no room for argument.

    Vandross stepped closer, holding the crystal out to Ronan. "This is what you¡¯ve become¡ªsomething rare, something powerful."

    Ronan hesitated, but then slowly held out his hand. The Marquess put it in his hand and Ronan looked at it closely.

    It was pretty. Wish his sister could see this; she loved shiny things.

    ¡°And what makes me so interesting?¡± Ronan pressed. ¡°What is it that I have that you need?¡±

    This time, Vandross hesitated, but only for a moment. His eyes locked onto Ronan¡¯s, and there was a sharpness in his gaze, something that felt... aware. ¡°You know the answer to that,¡± the marquess said softly. ¡°You¡¯ve felt it, haven¡¯t you? Something inside you has changed. Magic, Ronan. Now you have value people like me seek.¡±

    Ronan sighed. Magic. He had tried to push the thought aside, but he couldn¡¯t ignore it anymore. Not with what had been happening. The spirit, the letter¡ªeverything was pushing him toward something he couldn¡¯t explain.

    ¡°And you think I can help you?¡± Ronan¡¯s voice was lower now, wary.

    Vandross smiled again, but it was thinner, more calculating this time. ¡°I know you can.¡±

    Ronan wasn¡¯t convinced, ¡°I want to know your true motives.¡±

    Vandross¡¯ gaze turned dark, ¡°You are not entitled to that.¡±

    The kind of life Ronan had lived had told him that backing down didn¡¯t really yield results most of the time, ¡°Then why the hell do you think you are entitled to my cooperation?¡±

    Vandross stared at him a little longer than he was comfortable with and then laughed, ¡°I knew I liked you.¡± After a small pause, he said, ¡°You are not entitled to my true motives because they don¡¯t concern you. But I can tell you this. You have the power to change the face of the whole empire. And I have no intention of forcing you into anything.¡±

    Ronan felt a sudden tightness in his chest. For the first time in the entire conversation, genuine nervousness crept into his gut, gnawing at the edges of his mind. He shifted his weight slightly, uncomfortable with the weight of Vandross'' words. ¡°I don''t want to change the empire,¡± he muttered, his voice more defensive than he intended.

    Vandross tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with a calculating interest. ¡°That,¡± he said smoothly, ¡°is your choice to make. You can decide that for yourself. But let me tell you this: you won''t be able to make any decision worth a damn while rotting away in the slums.¡±You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    Ronan¡¯s patience snapped. He clenched his fists, his voice rising with frustration. ¡°What the hell do you want from me? Stop dancing around with all these fancy words and tell me what you really want!¡±

    Vandross didn¡¯t flinch at Ronan¡¯s outburst. In fact, the faintest trace of a smile curled at the edge of his lips, as if he had expected this. ¡°Alright,¡± he said, his voice finally clear and direct. ¡°I want you to become my adoptive son.¡±

    Ronan blinked, caught off guard by the sudden declaration.

    ¡°All I want,¡± Vandross continued, his gaze unwavering, ¡°is for you to take my name and attend the university under my sponsorship. No tricks, no hidden motives. That¡¯s it.¡±

    The room fell into a tense silence. Ronan stood there, his mind racing as the weight of what Vandross had just said settled over him like a heavy blanket. It was so straightforward that it felt like a trap.

    Ronan swallowed, feeling the weight of the offer. ¡°What do you gain from this?¡± he asked, his voice slightly unsteady.

    Gideon¡¯s smile widened. ¡°To change the game, Ronan. And you¡¯re my piece on the board.¡±

    Ronan stared at him, his mind spinning. His gut feeling, the one he didn¡¯t understand, still told him that Vandross was being honest. The marquess wasn¡¯t lying, but there was something more to it¡ªsomething Ronan couldn¡¯t quite grasp yet.

    ¡°I¡¯ll¡­I¡¯ll think about it,¡± Ronan muttered, his voice low.

    Vandross nodded, as if he¡¯d expected that answer. ¡°Take your time,¡± he said, his voice soft, unhurried. ¡°I¡¯ll return tomorrow. Until then, eat. You¡¯ll need your strength.¡±

    The marquess turned, gesturing for his companion to follow. The woman set the basket of food beside him. Before they could leave, Ronan stopped him, ¡°Wait.¡±

    He crossed the distance between him and the Marquess and held out the crystal he didn¡¯t ask back to him, ¡°Here.¡±

    The Marquess looked at him funny, ¡°You can keep it.¡±

    ¡°I have no use in holding on to something that means nothing to me.¡±

    The Marquess tilted his head, considering. A slow smile crept onto his face, but it wasn¡¯t one of amusement anymore. It was understanding.

    "Very well," Vandross said softly, his fingers closing around the crystal as he took it back. "Perhaps you''re right."

    He turned towards the door and said, ¡°Don¡¯t think it¡¯s the end of your world, Ronan. Your world doesn¡¯t end¡ªever. It keeps going, whether you¡¯re ready or not. Whether you fight or surrender, it never stops. It doesn¡¯t care if you believe in it, and it sure as hell doesn¡¯t care if you give up.¡±

    And then they disappeared into the night.

    For a long moment, Ronan didn¡¯t move. His eyes stayed locked on the door, his thoughts in haywire. He didn¡¯t really trust Vandross, but there was something different about him. Something that didn¡¯t feel like a trap, even if he couldn¡¯t fully believe it yet.

    His gaze shifted to the basket. The smell hit him again, stronger now, rich and warm. It twisted his stomach into knots, the gnawing hunger pulling at him relentlessly.

    Without thinking, Ronan lunged for the basket. His hands tore at the cloth covering it, fingers trembling as he yanked it away. Inside was bread, meat, fruit¡ªmore food than he had seen in weeks. His stomach twisted painfully, his hunger so overwhelming that he barely noticed what he was doing.

    He stuffed the bread into his mouth, tearing at the soft, warm loaf with his teeth like a wild animal afraid it would be taken from him. The bread was fresh, rich, and buttery¡ªnothing like the dry scraps he was used to. But he didn¡¯t care. His throat burned as he swallowed without chewing, each bite a frantic attempt to silence the gnawing hunger that had taken root inside him.

    The meat followed¡ªtender, succulent, and dripping with juices. It practically melted in his mouth, the taste rich and savory, but Ronan didn¡¯t savor it. He was too desperate. His hands shook as they tore at the food, stuffing more and more into his mouth. He chewed quickly, barely tasting the luxury of it, too consumed by the need to fill the hollow ache inside him.

    The fruit was sweet, bursting with flavor that might¡¯ve brought someone else to tears of joy. But for Ronan, it was nothing more than sustenance. He ate mechanically, his body trembling as he gulped down bite after bite, the juices spilling down his chin and hands. The richness of the food contrasted starkly with the squalor around him, but it only fueled his desperation.

    But with every bite, the food began to taste bitter. Not in his mouth, but deep inside him. It was as if the act of eating, of surviving, made the ache in his chest worse. He ate faster, as though trying to fill a void that couldn¡¯t be filled.

    His hands slowed, and suddenly, the food wasn¡¯t enough. His chest tightened painfully, and tears welled in his eyes.

    His mother. His sister.

    He gasped, a sob choking him as the memories rushed back¡ªtoo sharp, too raw. Their faces, their laughter, the warmth of their presence, all gone. Taken from him. The food in his mouth turned to ash as tears streamed down his face.

    "Why..." The word came out broken, a whisper that barely left his lips. "Why did this happen to me?"

    The sobs came harder now, his chest heaving with each breath. He kept eating, his body acting on instinct, but his heart was breaking with every bite. He didn¡¯t want to eat. He didn¡¯t want to be here, alone, choking down food in this cold, empty shack. He wanted them. He wanted his mother, his sister. But they were gone.

    Tears blurred his vision as he stuffed another piece of bread into his mouth, chewing frantically, trying to keep the grief at bay. But it was too much. The pain, the loss¡ªit overwhelmed him, crushing him from the inside out.

    His body shook as he wept, his hands trembling as he reached for more food, unable to stop. He hated this. He hated how pathetic he was, how weak he felt, how broken. He hated the world for taking everything from him.

    "Why..." His voice cracked, barely audible through the sobs. "Why me?"

    He didn¡¯t know who he was asking. He wasn¡¯t sure it mattered. No one was listening. No one cared. He was just another forgotten soul in this cursed place.

    Suddenly, something lodged in his throat. He gasped, choking, his body lurching forward as he coughed, the piece of bread stuck tight. Panic surged through him as he clawed at his throat, desperate for air.

    His hands fumbled blindly through the basket, and by sheer luck, they found a pitcher. He grabbed it, his fingers shaking as he brought it to his lips. It was milk¡ªcold, fresh. He gulped it down, the liquid soothing his burning throat as he gasped for air.

    The blockage cleared, but Ronan didn¡¯t stop. He drank and drank, barely noticing as the milk dripped down his chin, mixing with his tears. His sobs quieted for a moment, but the grief was still there, heavy and suffocating.

    When the pitcher was empty, he tossed it aside and reached for more food. He kept eating, his hands moving automatically as the tears continued to fall. His chest ached, his throat was raw, but none of it mattered. He couldn¡¯t stop. He couldn¡¯t let himself feel the full weight of the emptiness that had swallowed his life whole.

    He cried harder, his sobs muffled by the food in his mouth, his body shaking uncontrollably as he tried to fill the void. But the more he ate, the more the ache inside him grew. He missed them so much. They were all he had, and now they were gone. And he was alone.

    The sobs finally quieted, exhaustion settling into his bones as the last of the food disappeared. Ronan slumped against the wall, his body spent, his hands limp in his lap. His eyes were swollen, his throat sore, but the tears kept coming, silently now, as he stared at the empty basket beside him.

    He didn¡¯t know how long he sat there, his mind numb, his body trembling from the weight of it all. His eyelids grew heavy, the room spinning as exhaustion overtook him.

    And then, mercifully, sleep claimed him, pulling him into the dark, empty void where the pain couldn¡¯t reach him. Not for a little while, at least.

    ***

    The next morning came slowly. Ronan stirred, his body aching as he blinked against the pale light creeping through the cracks in the walls. For a moment, he stayed still, unsure if he was awake or caught in some lingering dream. Then, the pain hit.

    His stomach cramped painfully, a dull ache that spread through his entire body. He groaned, curling in on himself, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle. The food from the night before sat heavy in his gut, a bitter reminder of the desperation that had overtaken him.

    Too much... too fast.

    Ronan forced himself to sit up, wincing as the pain in his stomach flared. His throat was raw, his head pounding. The shack felt smaller, more oppressive, as the memories of the previous night washed over him.

    The marquess. The food. The offer.

    He swallowed hard, his mind racing despite the dull ache in his body. He didn¡¯t trust Vandross¡ªhe didn¡¯t trust anyone. But the truth was undeniable: even if he didn¡¯t know what the right answer was, but maybe he didn¡¯t need to.

    A knock echoed through the shack. Ronan¡¯s heart sank. He already knew what it was.

    For hours now, messengers and servants had been coming¡ªnobles sending their lackeys to the slums to recruit him, each with promises more elaborate than the last. The offers had all been the same¡ªpower, wealth, status. Empty words from people who didn¡¯t know him, who didn¡¯t care. They only saw his potential, his newly discovered magic, and what it could do for them.

    He rejected every one of them.

    He didn¡¯t need to see them to know it was another servant, another messenger sent by someone far too comfortable in their noble life. Desperation clung to them, not for themselves but for the masters they served, trying to collect Ronan like some prized asset.

    But he wasn¡¯t going to fall into their traps. He wasn¡¯t going to be anyone¡¯s pawn. No one would control his fate¡ªhe wouldn¡¯t let them. Not after everything he¡¯d lost. They were the kind of people who would never understand what it was like to suffer, to be forgotten, to live without hope.

    And yet, they had come here. They had come looking for him. He was no longer invisible. No longer ignored. The world had changed around him, and now, like it or not, he was part of it. But one thing solidified something in his mind.

    He wasn¡¯t going to let them control his fate. If he was going to do this, it would be on his terms.

    He was probably going to need a plan.

    And he was going to make one right after he yelled at the person who just knocked.

    ¡°LEAVE ME ALONE!¡±

    There was a pause, and then a familiar voice responded, calm and measured. ¡°That might be difficult if you¡¯re planning on agreeing to my offer.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s eyes widened as he swung the door open. Standing in the doorway, hood down, was Marquess Gideon Vandross. His dark eyes gleamed with that unsettling calm, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles.

    ¡°You,¡± Ronan muttered, stepping back to let him in. ¡°Didn¡¯t expect you back so soon.¡±

    Vandross entered the shack, his eyes sweeping over the cramped space. ¡°I did say I¡¯d return tonight. But it seems your yelling at the messengers might cause some trouble if you decide to go through with our deal.¡±

    Ronan closed the door behind him, crossing his arms. ¡°I¡¯ll cross that bridge when I get to it.¡±

    The marquess raised an eyebrow, amused. ¡°Fair enough.¡± He turned, fixing Ronan with a sharp look. ¡°Have you made your decision?¡±

    Ronan hesitated for only a moment before nodding. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ve made up my mind. But I have three conditions.¡±

    Vandross¡¯s interest piqued, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. ¡°Go on.¡±

    Ronan straightened, his voice steady. ¡°First, I will keep my freedom. I¡¯m not some puppet for you or anyone else. We work together, but I won¡¯t serve you.¡±

    Vandross nodded, clearly expecting this. ¡°Agreed.¡±

    ¡°Second,¡± Ronan continued, ¡°I need the right to walk away. No strings, no questions. If I feel like I need out, I¡¯m out.¡±

    ¡°Reasonable,¡± the marquess replied, his expression still calm. ¡°You have my word.¡±

    Ronan narrowed his eyes, making sure his next point was clear. ¡°And third, you don¡¯t control me. You might give me the tools, but my choices are my own. No manipulation, no games.¡±

    Vandross paused for a moment, considering Ronan¡¯s words carefully. Then he smiled, slow and calculated. ¡°I accept your conditions. I give you my word¡ªyou will have your freedom, the right to walk away, and your autonomy.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°How can I trust you? Words mean nothing when you don¡¯t know someone.¡± He paused. ¡°They don¡¯t mean anything even if you do know them.¡±

    The marquess raised an eyebrow, then gave a faint smirk. With a casual flick of his wrist, a piece of parchment appeared out of thin air, materializing between his fingers. The movement was smooth, almost unnatural, and for a moment, Ronan couldn¡¯t help the flicker of surprise that crossed his face.

    Vandross noticed and smirked a little more, the gleam in his eyes almost teasing. ¡°Surprised?¡±

    It looked official¡ªheavy parchment with intricate lettering that was definitely beyond anything Ronan had ever seen before. But there was one problem.

    ¡°I can¡¯t read,¡± Ronan muttered, glaring at the marquess.

    The marquess tilted his head, his smile softening slightly. ¡°No matter. This is a pact created with magic¡ªan ancient contract. I don¡¯t need you to read it; It is an empty parchment which will fill with words as I say then I need your consent. Once we agree, the pact will be bound by magic itself. It¡¯s not something either of us can break, even if we wanted to.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s skepticism flared, but he couldn¡¯t ignore the pull of the offer. He took a step closer to inspect the parchment. ¡°So, this paper binds you to your word? No loopholes? No tricks?¡±

    ¡°None,¡± Vandross assured him. ¡°It holds both of us accountable. Should I break the terms, the consequences fall on me. And the same applies to you. It''s magic, Ronan, not noble lies.¡±

    Ronan studied the parchment for a long moment, still wary, but he knew wanted to take this chance. And on some primal level, even if he couldn¡¯t quite understand, he felt like that Marquess was telling the truth. If this deal could truly offer him freedom... then maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk.

    He clenched his fists and nodded. ¡°Alright.¡±

    The marquess¡¯s smile widened, but there was no hint of malice¡ªjust calm satisfaction. ¡°Good.¡±

    Vandross straightened, his expression becoming more formal, his voice resonating with authority. He flicked his hand, and the glowing parchment floated between them once again. Slowly, he began to speak the terms aloud, his tone precise and deliberate.

    ¡°I, Marquess Gideon Vandross of Ravencia, hereby enter into a binding magical pact with Ronan Grey, based on the following terms.¡±

    As he spoke, words magically started to appear on the parchment, swirling in cursive. He glanced at Ronan briefly, then continued.

    ¡°First, Ronan Grey shall retain his complete freedom and autonomy. He will not be bound to servitude, nor shall he owe any allegiance beyond the terms of this pact. He will have the right to make his own choices and act according to his will.

    ¡°Second, Ronan Grey may choose to walk away from this pact at any time. No retribution, no binding consequences, and no pursuit. Should he find this deal unsatisfactory or wish to part ways, he may leave freely.

    ¡°Third, no manipulation or deceit shall be used to control, subvert, or coerce Ronan Grey. His decisions, actions, and paths remain his own. The assistance provided by Marquess Gideon Vandross shall be in good faith, offering only tools, resources, and knowledge to further his development.¡±

    Vandross¡¯s gaze locked onto Ronan¡¯s. His voice dropped slightly, the weight of the moment palpable.

    ¡°In return, Ronan Grey agrees to use his gifts and abilities to assist Marquess Gideon Vandross in fulfilling his goals, with the understanding that both parties gain equally from this arrangement. Should either party fail to uphold their end of the pact, the consequences will fall directly upon the one in breach, enforced by the binding power of magic.¡±

    The parchment glowed slightly, shimmering with energy, as Vandross finished. His dark eyes met Ronan¡¯s as he asked, ¡°Do you, Ronan Grey, consent to these terms as said aloud?¡±

    Ronan felt a pressure in the air, the gravity of the situation sinking into him. This was no casual agreement. The magic binding this pact would hold him accountable just as much as it would Vandross.

    He took a deep breath, his voice steady as he responded, ¡°Yes. I consent.¡±

    The parchment shimmered brighter, then dissolved into golden particles that vanished into the air. A soft hum of magic lingered in the room for a moment before everything fell still.

    Vandross gave a slow nod, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his lips. ¡°Then it¡¯s done.¡±

    Vandross¡¯ eyes lingered on the spot where the parchment had dissolved, then shifted to Ronan, curiosity gleaming beneath his calm exterior. He tilted his head slightly. ¡°You know, Ronan, I find it curious. You never once asked if my goals were evil or good. Even if it doesn¡¯t matter now, weren¡¯t you the least bit curious?¡±

    Ronan remained still for a moment, his expression unreadable, before meeting Gideon¡¯s gaze. His voice was low, steady, carrying a weight that seemed far beyond his years.

    ¡°The world doesn¡¯t care about good or evil,¡± Ronan said. ¡°It¡¯s cruel to everyone¡ªwhether you¡¯re right or wrong, strong or weak. In the end, I don¡¯t care what you believe.¡± He straightened, his tone unwavering. ¡°I¡¯ll decide what¡¯s right or wrong when the time comes. Not you. Not anyone else.¡±

 5. The Price of The Pastry

    The next morning, Gideon returned, his tall, imposing figure unmistakable as he entered the small, crumbling room that Ronan had spent his last night in. Beside him stood the same woman from the previous day, her face as impassive and unreadable as ever. Without much preamble, Gideon¡¯s voice cut through the silence. ¡°Have you packed all your belongings?¡±

    Ronan stood there, his eyes flicking down to the floor for a moment. He didn¡¯t have anything to pack. Nothing material, nothing of any real value. He had never owned much, and what little he had was either broken, lost, or too useless to even think about bringing. But there were two things he would take with him.

    Around his wrist was a braided bracelet, worn and frayed from years of wear. It was small, simple, but meaningful. His mother had made it for him years ago, before she got sick. Before everything fell apart. Well, everything had always been apart. The rough threads of the bracelet rubbed against his skin, a reminder of the life he had lived and suffered, with his poor mother and sister.

    In his hand, he held a small, torn-up teddy bear, barely recognizable as a toy anymore. Its fabric was matted with dirt, its seams threatening to split open at any moment. But it had belonged to his sister. It had been hers until the very end, and now, it was the only thing of her that remained. The last connection he had to her.

    He looked up at Gideon, who stood silently watching him. Gideon¡¯s gaze moved over the bracelet and the teddy bear, a faint crease forming between his brows. For a brief moment, it seemed like Gideon might say something, some passing comment about the pitiful state of Ronan¡¯s ¡°belongings.¡± But instead, Gideon simply raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. He said nothing.

    ¡°Come,¡± Gideon said, turning sharply on his heel. His long coat swept behind him as he moved toward the door, the woman silently following in his wake.

    Ronan hesitated for a moment, his eyes lingering on the room that had been his home for so long. It wasn¡¯t much¡ªa dirt floor, crumbling walls, the stench of rot always present in the air¡ªbut it was all he had known. And now, he was leaving it behind. He clutched the teddy bear tightly in his hand and followed Gideon out the door.

    The streets of the slums were just as filthy and crowded as always, but today, there was something different in the air. The usual noise¡ªthe shouts, the coughs, the constant desperation¡ªwas quieter, more subdued. As Ronan walked behind Gideon, he could feel the eyes of the people around him, their gazes following him, lingering on the strange sight of a boy from the slums walking side by side with a man dressed in gold.

    Some of them looked at him with amazement, their faces showing disbelief, as if they couldn¡¯t quite comprehend what they were seeing. To them, it must have seemed impossible¡ªsomeone from the slums, leaving with a noble. It wasn¡¯t something that happened everyday, or ever. People like Ronan didn¡¯t leave. They stayed here, trapped in the filth and grime, scraping by day after day, with no hope of ever seeing a world beyond the narrow, decaying streets, only to slowly fade away from existence.

    Others, however, weren¡¯t so awestruck. Glares followed Ronan as he walked, their eyes hard with resentment and bitterness. It wasn¡¯t difficult to understand why. Why him? Why did he get to leave when they were still stuck here, still living in the same misery, the same hopelessness? The unspoken accusations were palpable in the air. Ronan could feel them like daggers aimed at his back, but he kept his gaze forward, refusing to acknowledge them.

    Then there were those who seemed more hesitant. Fear filled their eyes, and some of them looked as though they wanted to approach him, to say something, to warn him maybe. But they didn¡¯t. Whether it was fear of Gideon or something else, they stayed back, watching him from a distance but never daring to take that step closer.

    As they walked further from the heart of the slums, the air around them began to change. The narrow, filthy streets began to widen, the buildings gradually becoming more well-kept. The further they walked, the less of the slums remained, the familiar rot and decay fading behind them. The smell of filth and waste that had clung to Ronan all his life slowly gave way to something cleaner, fresher.

    It felt like stepping into a different world, one that Ronan had never been a part of.

    Once they were clear of the slums, Gideon slowed his pace, glancing down at Ronan as if considering something. ¡°How do you want to travel?¡± he asked, his voice casual, as though this were a simple, everyday question. ¡°By Dimensional Gate or by carriage?¡±

    Ronan blinked at the question, caught off guard by it. Travel? He had never thought about how to travel before. He had never been given a choice about anything in his life, let alone something as foreign as this. Dimensional Gate? Carriage? They were just words to him. Concepts that belonged to a world far removed from his own.

    He didn¡¯t know how to answer. What difference did it make?

    Seeing his hesitation, Gideon smiled faintly, as if amused by Ronan¡¯s confusion. ¡°No matter,¡± he said smoothly, brushing the question aside as if it had never been asked. ¡°We¡¯ll take the carriage for a while. It will give you time to see the world outside the slums. Then, when we¡¯re in Silverwood, we¡¯ll use the Dimensional Gate to reach the Vandross territory.¡±

    Ronan let out a sharp, bitter laugh. ¡°Ah, the world outside the slums? What a privilege,¡± he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ¡°I can¡¯t wait to see what I¡¯ve been missing¡ªclean streets, real food, people who don¡¯t stink of desperation. Truly a dream come true.¡±

    Gideon¡¯s gaze remained steady, unfazed by the edge in Ronan¡¯s tone. ¡°I imagine it will be... enlightening,¡± he replied, his calm smile never wavering.

    Ronan scoffed but gave a nod, his smirk not fading. ¡°Yeah, sure. Enlightening.¡±

    Ronan followed Gideon to the carriage, his steps heavy with a mixture of disbelief and apprehension. When they reached it, he froze for a moment, staring at the sleek black carriage that stood before him. It was unlike anything Ronan had ever seen¡ªelegant, polished, and far too pristine for the filthy streets of the slums. Its dark, gleaming surface reflected the dull sunlight, and the silver accents along the edges glinted sharply, giving the entire vehicle an almost regal appearance. The horses, tall and muscular, stood perfectly still, their glossy coats gleaming, their bridles adorned with intricate, finely crafted designs.

    The carriage doors were engraved with subtle patterns, delicate spirals and curves that seemed to dance across the surface, details Ronan would never have imagined could exist. The wheels looked almost too clean to be real, their spokes crafted from some kind of polished wood, reinforced with metal that shone even in the fading light of the day. Everything about it screamed wealth and power¡ªtwo things that had always been distant concepts to Ronan.

    When Gideon opened the door, the interior seemed even more surreal. Stepping inside, Ronan felt out of place. The seats were made of soft leather, their plush cushions sinking slightly under his weight as he sat down. They were smooth to the touch, without the rough, ragged feeling of the broken-down things he had grown accustomed to in the slums. It felt foreign and luxurious in a way Ronan couldn¡¯t quite comprehend. The carriage walls were lined with rich, dark wood, polished to a gleam, with intricate designs subtly embedded in the grain, a level of craftsmanship Ronan had never seen before.

    Ronan sat stiffly, feeling like an intruder in a world that wasn¡¯t meant for him. A small lantern fixed to the carriage wall cast a warm, gentle light over the interior, making the space feel almost unreal¡ªlike something out of a dream rather than his gritty reality.

    With a dry chuckle, he leaned back slightly, the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. ¡°Well, this is a bit much for a ride, isn¡¯t it? Should I expect gold-plated cushions next?¡±

    Gideon glanced at him, his lips curving into a faint smile, clearly unbothered by the sarcasm. "We reserve those for longer journeys," he replied smoothly, his tone light and easy. "But I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find this comfortable enough."

    Ronan rolled his eyes, though he couldn¡¯t help but feel that he was rubbing off on the noble.

    The exchange, as brief as it was, almost felt normal. He shifted his gaze back to the window, not expecting much¡ªbut the moment he did, the world outside grabbed his attention. Even though he tried to suppress it, Ronan couldn¡¯t help but feel a small sense of awe creeping in.

    The winding roads were flanked by towering trees, their leaves shone with a faint silver hue as the sun rose behind them. Beyond the road, vast fields of blackened earth stretched into the horizon, dotted with towering smokestacks billowing thin trails of smoke into the sky. The air seemed to hum with the distant clang of metal striking metal¡ªthough faint, it was constant. Shadows of figures, blacksmiths perhaps, moved like ants, hammering away at molten steel.

    The land was a curious mix of industry and nature. For every patch of trees which were shining silver, there was a forge or a mine, veins of industry cutting through the otherwise quiet landscape. Streams of water flowed lazily through the fields, their surface shimmering under the dull sky. Ronan could make out strange, intricate metal structures by the roadside¡ªwhat they actually were, he couldn''t tell.

    Even though he didn''t fully understand what he was seeing, Ronan couldn''t deny the strange allure of it. This was the world outside the slums, a world he had never seen, and no matter how much he hated to admit, it was beautiful.

    Without turning from the window, Ronan asked, ¡°Where are we?¡±

    Gideon shifted in his seat, his eyes following Ronan¡¯s gaze outside. "This is the Ironhold. The territory of Earl Tavin Draven," he explained. "The Ironhold is known for its blacksmiths and metalwork. They produce some of the finest weapons and armor in all of Ravencia. Most of the empire¡¯s military supplies come from here."

    Ronan¡¯s eyes flicked to the dark smoke curling into the sky from the distant forges, the clang of hammers faint but constant. He nodded, more to himself than to Gideon, as the carriage rumbled along the road.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    "We''ll be taking the Dimensional Gate soon," Gideon continued. "It''s in Silverwood, just beyond Draven''s lands."

    Ronan thought back for a moment, his mind connecting a faint memory. "I might''ve kicked out someone who used that Draven name," he said, almost offhandedly.

    There was a momentary pause, and Ronan noticed Gideon''s eyes narrow ever so slightly. A flicker of concern crossed his otherwise calm expression, but it vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. "It''s alright," Gideon replied with a small, controlled smile, though the faint hint of worry lingered beneath his calm tone. "Earl Draven has many servants. I''m sure it won¡¯t be a problem."

    Ronan raised an eyebrow, sensing that Gideon was choosing his words carefully, but he let it go, returning his gaze to the window as the scenery passed by.

    But he did hear the almost barely perceptible whisper of him saying, ¡°Maybe we should have used the Dimensional Stone.¡±

    What the hell deal was up with this Dimensional Gate or Stone or whatever?

    ***

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir. We are not allowed to let you pass,¡± came the voice of a soldier, firm and unyielding.

    Gideon¡¯s gaze turned to the window as the carriage slowed. He exhaled sharply, his irritation barely concealed as he turned toward Ronan. ¡°Stay here,¡± he ordered, his tone low but absolute. ¡°No matter what, do not come out.¡±

    Before Ronan could respond, Gideon stepped out of the carriage. Ronan leaned forward, careful not to make any noise, his eyes narrowing as he peered through a small gap in the curtains, watching the scene unfold from the gap.

    Gideon approached the commotion with a calm yet dangerous presence. ¡°What¡¯s the issue here?¡± he asked, his voice sharp as steel.

    The soldier at the border straightened, though he still looked uneasy. "Apologies, my lord, but I have strict orders. The boy in your company¡ªRonan¡ªis not allowed to pass. He is part of the Ironhold territory, and I¡¯ve been commanded to ensure he stays within our borders."

    Gideon maintained his composure. But his eyes, cold and calculating, locked onto the soldier. "By whose orders?"

    The soldier hesitated, clearly out of his depth, before responding, "Earl Tavin Draven, my lord."

    Ronan watched intently from the shadows of the carriage, his heart pounding as Gideon stepped forward.

    "Do you know who I am?" Gideon¡¯s voice had taken on a dangerous edge as he pulled out a scroll bearing his sigil, flashing it before the soldier¡¯s eyes. "I am Marquess Gideon Vandross, and I will not be delayed by such trivial matters. If you think to bar me from passing, then you overstep your place."

    The soldier paled instantly, stammering as he tried to explain, "I¡ªI¡¯m sorry, my lord, but these orders¡ª"

    Before the soldier could finish, the Earl himself approached. Earl Tavin Draven, a lean but commanding figure, emerged from the shadows, his presence immediately drawing attention. He wore a long, charcoal-gray coat adorned with silver filigree, the fabric catching the light with a subtle sheen, hinting at both elegance and power. His black hair, swept back immaculately, contrasted with the pale complexion of his face. His narrow, calculating eyes, as cold and sharp as steel, flicked between Gideon and the soldiers, assessing the situation with quick precision.

    The Earl¡¯s expression held no warmth¡ªhis thin lips pressed into a tight line as he regarded the scene with a detached, almost dismissive air. The rings on his fingers glinted in the light, showing his authority and wealth. With a slight adjustment to the heavy cloak that trailed behind him, Draven stepped forward, his posture upright and unyielding.

    He stopped in front of Gideon, his nod curt, his eyes showing a hint of displeasure, and the tension between them thickened like a storm about to break.

    "Marquess Vandross," the Earl greeted, his voice dripping with politeness, but the underlying challenge was clear. "I was not expecting you to be traveling through my territory. And I believe this young man belongs to me."

    Gideon didn¡¯t flinch, his eyes narrowing slightly as he met Draven¡¯s gaze. "I was not aware you laid claim to people as though they were property, Draven. He may have been born in your territory, but as of now, he travels under my protection. His status here is no longer your concern."

    The Earl¡¯s lips tightened, his eyes gleaming with annoyance. "The boy belongs to the Ironhold. He has no place in the company of nobles. Surely you can understand my position, Marquess. I¡¯m simply ensuring the integrity of my land."

    Gideon gave a small, humorless smile. "Integrity? Is that what you¡¯re calling it?" He stepped closer to the Earl, his voice lowering. "It sounds more like you¡¯re overstepping your authority, interfering in the affairs of other nobles. You know the rules of magic awakening. So, let me make this very clear: Ronan is under my protection. I hold the right to bring him where I choose, and unless you intend to start a conflict over one boy, I suggest you stand down."

    The air between them thickened with tension as the Earl¡¯s gaze hardened. His jaw clenched, and his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, but he kept his voice measured. ¡°I see you haven¡¯t lost your flair for dramatics, Vandross. However, that still doesn¡¯t imply you can take people out from my territory without my permission.¡±

    Gideon¡¯s smile remained, though his eyes sharpened. ¡°I¡¯m well aware of that, Draven. And I wouldn¡¯t question your authority¡ªunless it was absolutely necessary. But let¡¯s be honest, is stopping us here really worth creating waves? I doubt this is the kind of conflict you want spreading beyond your borders.¡±

    The Earl¡¯s eyes flickered, a hint of irritation crossing his face. He paused, the weight of the standoff hanging in the air. ¡°You assume much, Vandross. I¡¯ve handled my affairs without your input for quite some time.¡±

    Gideon¡¯s gaze didn¡¯t waver. ¡°Then you know how quickly small matters can turn into larger ones, especially when it comes to influence.¡±

    For a moment, Draven stood motionless, the muscles in his jaw twitching with barely concealed fury. The guards shifted nervously, glancing between their Earl and the Marquess.

    Finally, Draven exhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing. ¡°Very well,¡± he bit out, his voice cold and controlled. ¡°But I will remember this insult.¡±

    Gideon¡¯s smile widened, just enough to show a hint of superiority. ¡°Do remember it, Draven. It will save us time the next time our paths cross.¡±

    With a sharp wave of his hand, the Earl dismissed his guards, who were visibly relieved as they stepped aside, allowing the carriage to pass.

    Ronan watched in silence as Gideon returned to the carriage, his expression unreadable. He climbed back in without a word, giving the signal for them to move forward. As the carriage started moving again, Ronan felt the weight of what had just transpired and the sheer power of the man sitting across from him.

    "You handled that well," Ronan muttered, breaking the silence.

    Gideon glanced at him, a faint smile playing on his lips. "It¡¯s what I do."

    Ronan sat in silence, staring at the passing landscape but lost in his own thoughts. A few days ago, he was nothing¡ªjust another face in the slums, scraping by without anyone giving him a second glance. Now, people were arguing over him like he was some rare prize. It felt surreal, almost laughable, that someone like Earl Draven would care enough to claim him when just a few days prior, he was invisible to the world. The absurdity of it gnawed at him. He wasn¡¯t used to being wanted¡ªmuch less fought over, even if he felt like a pig for slaughter.

    The carriage passed through rolling fields of silver-tinted trees, their leaves glistening in the light as they entered a new territory.

    ¡°This is Silverwood,¡± Gideon said, breaking the silence. ¡°A place known for its lush forests and the exquisite craftsmanship of its artisans. It¡¯s ruled by Marchioness Elara Verin, a good friend of mine. She¡¯s fair, strong-willed, and someone who understands the game we play as nobles. Her people craft some of the most sought-after items in the empire.¡±

    Ronan, still trying to take it all in, raised an eyebrow. ¡°A Marchioness as a friend? Sounds like I should be on my best behavior.¡±

    Gideon chuckled. ¡°That would be wise. Elara¡¯s known for her generosity, but cross her, and even I might not be able to help you.¡±

    Ronan snorted quietly, half-amused, half-exhausted by everything. His gaze returned to the world outside, and despite his skepticism, he couldn¡¯t help but admire the scenery. Silverwood was stunning¡ªvast groves of silver-leafed trees stretching for miles, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. The air here felt fresher, cleaner, and everything seemed to shimmer under the soft sunlight. It was a far cry from the grime of the slums, a world Ronan never thought he¡¯d experience.

    As they entered a bustling marketplace nestled between the trees, Ronan¡¯s attention was caught by the vibrant colors and sounds of vendors hawking their goods. Among the stalls, something on a vendor¡¯s cart drew his eye¡ªa row of freshly baked pastries, their golden-brown crusts glistening with glaze. The smell wafted through the air, rich and sweet, making Ronan¡¯s stomach growl involuntarily. His mouth watered despite himself.

    Gideon glanced at him, and noticed the subtle change in Ronan¡¯s expression. Without a word, he signaled the driver to stop. The carriage came to a halt, and before Ronan could process what was happening, Gideon stepped out, exchanged a few words with the vendor, and returned with a small package wrapped in cloth. He handed it to Ronan with an unreadable expression.

    ¡°Here,¡± Gideon said simply.

    Ronan blinked, staring at the bundle in his hands, feeling a mix of discomfort and something he didn¡¯t understand, well up inside him. He wasn¡¯t used to gestures like this. For a moment, he hesitated, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. But instead of easing him, the unfamiliar feeling made his chest tighten. His throat constricted, and a wave of panic surged through him.

    His heart pounded harder, the sound of it thudding in his ears. The air felt too thick, too heavy, like the walls of the carriage were pressing in, stealing the breath from his lungs. His fingers gripped the edge of the seat until his knuckles turned white, but the pressure did nothing to slow the wave of panic crashing over him. The world blurred around the edges, closing in on him. His throat felt tight, and each gasp for air only seemed to draw the walls closer.

    What the hell is happening with him!?

    Gideon noticed the sudden change, his eyes widening in confusion. ¡°Ronan?¡± he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

    ¡°Don¡¯t¡­ touch me!¡± Ronan gasped, pressing himself back into the corner of the seat, his vision swimming as he fought against the panic. His defenses had shot up, every instinct telling him this was all wrong¡ªthat he didn¡¯t belong here, that he was out of place.

    Gideon, clearly unsure of what to do, withdrew his hand and remained still, his expression carefully neutral. ¡°Alright,¡± he said softly, keeping his distance.

    His mind raced, trying to reconcile the unfamiliar feeling of being given something without expecting to pay a price. It felt wrong, foreign, as if this simple gesture was a trick¡ªjust another way to remind him how far removed he was from the world of nobles. He wasn¡¯t meant for this, wasn¡¯t meant for any of this.

    Ronan closed his eyes, willing the panic to subside, forcing himself to take slower, deeper breaths. He focused on the rhythm until, slowly, the crushing weight on his chest began to lift. His breathing steadied, and the world gradually came back into focus.

    After what felt like an eternity, Ronan opened his eyes again. His breathing slowed, but the pounding in his chest lingered. Every muscle felt tense, and the sweat beading on his forehead felt cold against his skin. It wasn¡¯t until his vision cleared that he dared open his eyes, though his hands were still shaking, his mind slow to catch up with his body. He dragged his palms across his face, wiping away the sweat, the panic, the embarrassment.

    ¡°This never happened,¡± he muttered, his voice hoarse.

    Gideon gave a slow nod, his face expressionless. ¡°Of course.¡±

    The carriage began moving again, and Ronan turned his gaze back to the window, doing his best to push the episode from his mind. But he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that, no matter how hard he tried, the walls of this new world were still closing in on him.

    Well, he was still going to eat that stupid pastry.

 6. A Place I Dont Belong

    The carriage came to a smooth halt, the faint creak of the wooden wheels breaking the otherwise quiet afternoon. Ronan glanced out the window, and his eyes widened. They had arrived at a towering stone archway¡ªunlike anything he¡¯d ever seen before. The structure stood tall and ancient, etched with intricate runes that shimmered faintly in the air, casting a soft glow that seemed to pulse in rhythm with the energy coursing through it.

    Beyond the archway, a small gathering of wealthy travelers, merchants, and guards milled about. Fine carriages lined the cobbled road, their horses snorting impatiently as their handlers fussed over getting to the archway. Market stalls had been set up around the entrance, selling rare goods and delicacies that Ronan couldn¡¯t even name. The scent of roasted meats and exotic spices filled the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation and the occasional jingle of coins being exchanged.

    The sheer grandeur of the place made Ronan feel as if he¡¯d stumbled into a world that wasn¡¯t meant for someone like him. Everything seemed too polished, too perfect, as if the very air itself was different. The air around the archway felt charged, almost too electric.

    ¡°What... is this?¡± Ronan asked, trying to sound indifferent but failing to hide the awe in his voice.

    Gideon, stepping down beside him, gestured toward the archway. ¡°This is the Dimensional Gate,¡± he said, his tone casual, as if the sight before them was just another mundane detail of daily life. ¡°It connects distant places in an instant, allowing us to travel great distances without wasting time. Efficient, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    Efficient wasn¡¯t the word Ronan would have used. It was... unnerving. There was something too perfect about it, too powerful. The slums had no such magic. He had heard stories, of course, whispers of gateways that could take you across the world in a blink, but those were tales told by slum people desperate for some kind of escape. This... this was real. And it was terrifying.

    ¡°Right,¡± Ronan muttered, staring up at the glowing runes. ¡°Efficient.¡±

    Gideon glanced at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. It feels strange at first, but you¡¯ll get used to it.¡±

    Ronan scoffed under his breath, eyes still locked on the archway. Get used to it? Yeah, sure. Like I¡¯m going to get used to anything in this world. Seventeen years and I didn¡¯t get used to the slums.

    Without waiting for a response, Gideon stepped forward toward the arch. He gestured for him to follow as he slowly moved to stand right in front of the arc. Ronan followed, though his feet felt heavy, as if each step toward the gate brought with it more reluctance.

    The runes on the archway seemed brighter as he drew closer, looking like burning patterns. For a moment, Ronan felt his heart race, an irrational part of him screaming to turn back, to run. But there was no turning back.

    Gideon paused just before the gate, glancing over his shoulder at Ronan. ¡°Ready?¡±

    Ronan hesitated, feeling the energy of the gate thrum in the air, a low hum that made the hairs on his arms stand on end. He clenched his jaw and gave a small nod, forcing himself to take a step forward, closer to the glowing arch.

    The moment he crossed the threshold, it was like stepping into a void. The world blurred, colors blending together in a rush, and for a split second, there was nothing but silence. Complete and utter silence. No sound, no feeling¡ªjust emptiness. And then, just as suddenly as it had vanished, reality snapped back into place.

    They were standing in a completely different place.

    Ronan blinked, his vision clearing, and looked around. The lush greenery stretched out before him, endless fields of vibrant green and gold, dotted with trees that shimmered in the sunlight. The air smelled different¡ªcleaner, fresher, as if even the scent of the land had been purified.

    He turned slowly, eyes wide with disbelief. They had crossed what felt like worlds in an instant.

    Gideon, as calm as ever, began walking forward. ¡°Welcome to the Midlands.¡±

    Ronan remained rooted to the spot for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. The slums, the filth, the desperation¡ªeverything he¡¯d known felt like it was a universe away now. He was standing in a place that felt unreal. And yet, here he was, in the middle of it all, wearing tattered rags that barely passed as clothes. His worn-out shoes, covered in grime, contrasted sharply with the polished boots of the travelers around him. The fine fabrics and gold-stitched garments of the people milling about only made his threadbare outfit seem even more pathetic, like he was an intruder in a world that would never accept him.

    He shook his head, forcing himself to move, sitting in the carriage as luxurious as the one before, or probably even more.

    The Midlands.

    In the distance, small streams wove through the fields like veins of that Celestium Crystal, reflecting the sky in a thousand directions. The water in the pools and rivers on the other side was unnaturally clear, almost glowing, and Ronan could see schools of tiny, shimmering fish darting beneath the surface. Near the streams, large, bird-like creatures with emerald-green feathers and long necks dipped their heads to drink, their eyes glowing faintly with a magical light. Every now and then, the creatures would emit a soft trill, adding to the weird chorus this place seemed to sing.

    Ronan¡¯s eyes widened as they passed by villages nestled among the hills. The houses were crafted from pale stone, with vibrant mosses and ivy creeping up their walls, giving them a lived-in, yet somehow enchanted look. Tiny floating lanterns hovered above the doorways, glowing softly even in the daylight. They moved lazily through the air, following invisible currents as if they were weightless.

    Vendors, as they moved through what seemed like a marketplace, sold strange and wonderful things Ronan couldn¡¯t even name. He saw one shopkeeper through the window, with a thick, dark beard holding up a glittering vial of liquid to a group of curious onlookers. As he spoke, the liquid inside shifted colors¡ªfrom crimson to gold, then to deep violet¡ªits surface reflecting. Across from him, another vendor, an elderly woman with intricate tattoos covering her arms, was selling carved wooden figurines that seemed to move on their own, tiny gears whirring as their limbs bent and twisted with lifelike precision.

    The people here looked nothing like those in the slums. There were even people whose clothes were bright, adorned with jewels or embroidery, their faces clean and content, as if they¡¯d never known hunger or struggle. Ronan glanced down at himself, at the dirty rags he wore, and for the first time since arriving, he wanted to disappear, to melt into the earth and vanish.

    They traveled deeper into the Midlands, the road gradually rising as the carriage wound its way toward wherever they were going. The further they went, the more the landscape opened up, revealing lush gardens that seemed to stretch on for miles, their flowers blooming in colors so vibrant it was almost blinding. There were deep purple blossoms the size of the rats found in the slums, their petals shimmering in the light like velvet. Golden vines climbed up wooden bars and fences, their leaves shaped like delicate lace, glowing faintly as though they held the last rays of the sun within them.

    And then, beyond the gardens, a castle came into view.

    Ronan had never seen anything so grand. The estate itself was built from smooth, dark stone, its towering spires casting long shadows over the grounds. The windows were tall and arched, with stained glass that depicted beauties and mythical creatures in vivid detail. Above the entrance, an enormous, intricate clockwork mechanism spun slowly, its gears and cogs turning in perfect harmony, ticking away time with a soft, metallic rhythm that echoed through the air.

    A fountain stood at the center of the courtyard, its water cascading over three layers of polished stone. At the top, a statue of a winged figure stood frozen mid-flight, its outstretched hand holding a glowing orb that seemed to shine like the sun. The water in the fountain sparkled, reflecting the glow of the orb, casting shimmering patterns on the ground.

    As they passed through the gate leading into the castle, Ronan felt a growing sense of unease. This place¡ªthis entire world¡ªwas too perfect. It was a place where everything seemed enchanted, where even the flowers bloomed with magic, and yet here he was, a boy from the slums, dirty and out of place.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    As they reached near what he supposed was the entrance, Ronan noticed the quiet bustle of activity around the grounds. Though there were no signs of Gideon¡¯s family, the estate was far from empty. Servants moved swiftly across the courtyard, their polished black uniforms stark against the lush greenery surrounding them. Butlers and maids attended to various tasks with precision, some trimming the hedges while others carried trays of delicate glassware and plates toward the grand entrance of the mansion. Everything was done with a quiet efficiency that seemed almost rehearsed, as though every movement had been practiced to perfection.

    Ronan felt even more out of place than before. He could feel their eyes on him¡ªfleeting glances from the staff as they passed, though none of them lingered. If they thought anything of the ragged boy standing next to their master, they didn¡¯t show it. Their expressions remained neutral, as if they had been trained not to question anything that happened within these walls.

    It was weird and he wasn¡¯t really sure if it was the magic or just him being delusional, but their indifferent expressions didn¡¯t stop him from sensing the different emotions these people were feeling.

    Honestly, he had tried to ignore those feelings, each and every time he felt like he was feeling someone else¡¯s emotions, chalking it up to whatever. But in some insignificant instant between the time the Marquess brought him that really, really sweet pastry and feeling the jealousy and uncomfortability of the maids, he was ready to admit it.

    I have powers where I can sense people¡¯s emotions.

    They stepped out of the carriage, and Ronan¡¯s feet met the stone courtyard with a quiet thud. His eyes traveled up the length of the estate¡¯s towering spires, and the reality of the situation began to sink in. This wasn¡¯t just a step up from the slums¡ªit was a different world entirely. He clenched his fists, trying to suppress the flood of emotions that threatened to surface.

    Gideon¡¯s voice broke through Ronan¡¯s thoughts. ¡°Welcome to the Vandross estate,¡± he repeated, his tone calm but with an edge of satisfaction. ¡°This will be your home for now.¡±

    Home. The word sounded strange, almost foreign. How could this place ever feel like home to someone like him? The home he did know was filled with extreme poverty and disease, where every day was a battle for survival. This... this was something else entirely.

    A tall man in a pristine butler¡¯s uniform approached them, his hands folded neatly behind his back. His face was impassive, but there was a sharpness in his gaze that made it clear he missed nothing. ¡°Shall I prepare Master Ronan¡¯s quarters?¡± the butler asked, his tone neutral with a hint of warmth.

    Master Ronan. The words made Ronan¡¯s stomach turn. He wasn¡¯t a master of anything, let alone someone deserving of this kind of treatment. It felt like a joke, a cruel one at that.

    And he still did not understand how every single being he met knew his name.

    Gideon nodded curtly, glancing briefly at Ronan before addressing the butler. ¡°Yes, Reginald. Make sure everything is in order. He will be staying in the east wing.¡±

    Reginald gave a slight bow and turned to lead the way inside, leaving Ronan to follow in his wake. They entered the grand hall, and the sheer size of it made Ronan feel small and insignificant. The ceiling stretched high above, adorned with ornate carvings and chandeliers that sparkled with a warm, golden light. The walls were lined with tall windows, each framed by heavy and red velvet curtains that looked too fine to touch.

    As they walked, the sound of their footsteps echoed faintly through the hall. Servants passed by them silently, their eyes downcast, attending to their duties without a word. The air was thick with a sense of order, and yet, to Ronan, it felt suffocating.

    But he didn¡¯t see any noble women and children wandering about.

    ¡°Where¡¯s your family?¡± Ronan asked suddenly, the question slipping out before he could stop himself. It had been on his mind ever since they arrived, even though there¡¯s a possibility they wouldn¡¯t come out for someone as insignificant as him. But he was still being adopted into their family. For a place so grand, it seemed strange that there were no signs of Gideon¡¯s family.

    For the briefest of moments, Gideon¡¯s expression faltered. His usual calm demeanor wavered, just enough for Ronan to catch a glimpse of something else¡ªsomething darker. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the familiar mask of indifference.

    ¡°My work keeps me occupied,¡± Gideon replied smoothly. ¡°There are matters that require my attention elsewhere. As for the rest... some things are better left unsaid.¡±

    Gideon turned around and walked away saying, ¡°It would be best if you remember that you will be called my family now. I won¡¯t tell you to come to me if you need anything, but come to me if you need anything. Rest for now, we will talk tomorrow.¡±

    Ronan didn¡¯t press further. He had learned long ago that when someone deflected a question, it was best not to pry. But the unease lingered, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

    They continued through the hall until they reached a large staircase that spiraled upwards. Reginald stopped at the base, turning to face them. ¡°If you would follow me, Master Ronan, I will show you to your quarters.¡±

    Ronan hesitated for a moment before nodding and following Reginald up the stairs. He didn¡¯t sense any emotion from Reginald. He didn¡¯t know why, but these days, there had been a lot of stuff he didn¡¯t know the reason for. And honestly, this strange emotion sensing power had a mind of its own. His every step felt like he was being dragged further away from the world he knew and deeper into this strange, opulent one.

    They reached the east wing, where the corridors were quieter, the air cooler. Reginald stopped in front of a large door, turning the handle and pushing it open to reveal Ronan¡¯s room. It was larger than any room Ronan had ever seen, way bigger than the shack he used to call home. The bed alone was bigger than that shack, draped in fine linens that looked like they had never been touched. The walls were lined with shelves filled with books, and a large window overlooked the gardens below, the sunlight streaming in through the glass.

    Ronan stepped inside, his eyes wide as he took it all in. It didn¡¯t feel real. None of this did.

    ¡°This will be your room for the time being,¡± Reginald said, his voice calm and professional. ¡°If you require anything, just ring that bell on the bedside table.¡±

    Ronan nodded absently, still trying to process the sheer size and luxury of it all. He felt a lump forming in his throat, a mix of emotions he couldn¡¯t quite untangle. Was this what life was like for people like Gideon? For people who had never known hunger or cold?

    But as the door closed behind Reginald, leaving Ronan alone in the vast room, he realized that probably no amount of time could make him feel at home here. This wasn¡¯t his world. It might never be.

    He sank down onto the edge of the bed, the soft mattress sinking under his weight in a way that felt foreign, unnatural. His hand absently reached into his satchel, pulling out the torn teddy bear, clutching it tightly in his hands. It was the only thing in this room that felt real to him¡ªthe last connection to the life he had left behind.

    As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the room, Ronan lay back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. The fabric of the bedding was soft, too soft, and everything around him felt cold, pristine, and utterly uninviting. No matter how much he tried to adjust, the walls of this new world closed in on him. He was an intruder here.

    Ronan sat up abruptly, unable to lie still any longer. His eyes roamed the room, taking in the large, intricately carved furniture, the curtains that hung from the windows, thick and heavy. A polished wardrobe stood against the far wall, and beside it, a writing desk that looked like it had never been used. His gaze moved toward the three doors lining one side of the room, their pristine brass handles glinting in the last rays of sunlight.

    Curiosity tugged at him, despite the unease gnawing at his chest. He stood up, walked to one of the doors, and pushed it open. The air was cool inside, and what lay beyond took his breath away.

    A bathroom. A massive bathroom.

    The floor was lined with smooth tiles, so clean they reflected the light from the crystal chandelier hanging above. The bathtub was large enough to fit several people, its white marble sides gleaming in the dim light. Gold fixtures adorned every surface, from the taps to the ornate mirror that covered nearly the entire wall. A plush rug was draped across the floor, soft under his bare feet as he stepped inside.

    Ronan stared at the vanity, at the delicate bottles and brushes neatly arranged, the soft towels folded perfectly by the sink. He approached the mirror, his reflection staring back at him.

    And that was when reality hit him.

    His clothes, tattered and filthy, hung off his thin frame. His hair, matted with dirt, stuck out in wild clumps. His skin looked pale, his eyes hollow, and the sight of himself against the backdrop of such opulence made him feel like a stain on the world he now found himself in. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips, though it held no humor.

    ¡°Look at you,¡± he muttered to his reflection. ¡°A real masterpiece, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    His hands gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white, as he leaned closer to the mirror. He didn¡¯t like the reflection of the boy in the mirror. He was someone who didn¡¯t belong. He was someone who never should have stepped foot in this world.

    With a sigh, Ronan pulled away from the mirror, feeling the sting of self-loathing wash over him. He couldn¡¯t bear to look at himself any longer.

    He walked back to the main room, the soft carpet muffling his steps. The bed still loomed in the center. Without thinking, Ronan moved to the far corner of the room, where the shadows were deepest. He dropped down onto the floor, curling up against the wall, his back pressed against the cold surface.

    The torn teddy bear was still clutched tightly in his hands as he lay there, eyes wide open, staring at nothing. The floor was hard and uncomfortable beneath him, but in some twisted way, that felt right. It was what he was used to.

    In this corner, hidden from the overwhelming grandeur of the room, he felt a small semblance of comfort. A place he could pretend he belonged.

    In a place I don¡¯t belong.

 7. The Difference Between Gold And Gravel

    Ronan woke with a start, his body stiff and aching from the cold, hard floor he had chosen to sleep on. The bed, soft and uninviting, had loomed in the room like a foreign entity, too luxurious for him to even consider. He blinked groggily, his eyes adjusting to the dim morning light filtering through the curtains.

    A faint wave of unease pulled Ronan from his grogginess. His heart lurched, and he shot upright, instantly alert. His hand instinctively went to where his mother¡¯s bracelet was, checking it as if it might vanish at any moment. It was the same hand holding his sister¡¯s teddy bear.

    Standing in the room, near the door, was the butler from yesterday¡ªReginald, if he remembered correctly¡ªalong with three maids, all perfectly still, perfectly quiet, looking straight ahead. They weren¡¯t looming, not in a threatening way, but their presence unsettled him. He could definitely sense some discomfort from two of those maids. And was it jealousy he sensed from the third?

    He looked at himself lying in one corner of the room while they all stood there. He hadn¡¯t trusted the bed. Too soft, too foreign. That wasn''t how you survived in the slums. You stayed alert, even in your sleep. But now, there was no rotting wood beneath him, no foul smell hanging in the air. The contrast only made him feel more out of place.

    ¡°Young master,¡± Reginald¡¯s voice cut through the thick silence, smooth and polished like the marble floors of the estate. ¡°We have prepared your breakfast.¡±

    Ronan blinked, still trying to make sense of where he was.

    Young master.

    He swallowed hard, the words grating on his ears. He was certainly not one of these polished, pristine people who glided about like ghosts.

    He thought about telling them not to come uninvited into the room but this wasn¡¯t his place. And as much as he loved to be a hater, he couldn¡¯t, for the life of him, get any words out from his mouth.

    His eyes followed Reginald¡¯s gesture, landing on a table by the window. The sight that greeted him made his stomach clench. Spread before him was more food than he¡¯d seen in his lifetime. Fresh bread, eggs, slices of fruit that gleamed under the soft sunlight¡ªfood that looked so impossibly good it almost didn¡¯t seem real. His mouth watered instantly, his hunger awakening like a beast clawing at his insides.

    But then, another feeling hit him¡ªshame. Just a few days ago, the meal he had eaten was scraps, barely enough to sustain him. Now, even if he wasn¡¯t a saint or cared much about people in general, he felt a pang of uneasiness looking at so much food, just for him.

    Did he really deserve this?

    The maids, still as statues, waited quietly. Ronan¡¯s eyes flicked toward them, catching their calm, emotionless expressions. Their presence felt suffocating. They were there¡ªprofessional, practiced, ready to serve some boy from the slums, dirty and raw.

    Slowly, he stood up, his bare feet brushing the cold floor as he walked toward the table, feeling the maids¡¯ silent eyes on him. His hunger gnawed at him, but as he sat down, he hesitated, his hand hovering over the bread. The scent of fresh food made his stomach growl audibly.

    With a sharp intake of breath, Ronan grabbed the bread, tearing into it without thinking. He devoured it, stuffing it into his mouth like a man starved¡ªwhich, in a sense, he was. His movements were rough, hurried, as if the food might disappear if he didn¡¯t eat it fast enough. The soft, warm bread melted on his tongue, and the eggs were rich and full of flavor, nothing like the stale, half-rotten garbage he¡¯d been used to back in the slums.

    For a few moments, he forgot himself, lost in the simple, animalistic act of eating. But when he looked up, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he caught sight of the maids. They were still there, not particularly watching him. And suddenly, the embarrassment hit him. Hard.

    He had eaten too quickly, too messily. The contrast between his ravenous appetite and their calm, collected presence made him flush with shame. He slowed down, forcing himself to chew more deliberately, but the damage was done. He couldn¡¯t shake the feeling of being out of place, of being watched. His hunger still gnawed at him, but he swallowed hard, trying to compose himself.

    When he finally finished the meal, he leaned back in his chair, the sensation of fullness making him feel strange, almost guilty. The maids moved in without a word, clearing the plates with practiced grace. Ronan glanced at them, but their expressions gave nothing away.

    ¡°Your bath is prepared, Young Master,¡± one of the maids said softly, her voice like a whisper of wind through the trees.

    Ronan blinked, his confusion growing at the mention of a bath.

    Even though he had been traveling for days with the Marquess, he was still wearing the same ragged clothes from the slums. He hadn¡¯t changed once, and the layers of dirt clinging to his skin had become a second layer to him, something he barely noticed anymore. He sniffed at himself, not fully aware of his own scent but certain he probably smelled bad¡ªreally bad. The fact that no one had mentioned it made him feel both relieved and self-conscious. Even the Marquess, who had been in close quarters with him, hadn¡¯t said a word about it.

    Funny how, when survival¡¯s no longer the struggle, you start caring about things that never mattered before.

    Ronan glanced briefly at the servants who were waiting nearby, their faces neutral and polite. They didn¡¯t flinch, didn¡¯t wrinkle their noses, didn¡¯t even acknowledge his state of filth. He was grateful for that. At least they had spared him the embarrassment of bringing it up.

    The concept felt distant, almost foreign. In the slums by the cliff, clean water was a luxury they rarely had, and bathing wasn¡¯t a daily ritual¡ªit was a necessity only when the grime became unbearable. Proper baths, with warm water and scented oils, were the stuff of fairy tales.

    Without a word, he nodded stiffly, standing up and following the maids. His legs felt heavier than they should, like every step toward the bath weighed him down. The maids moved efficiently, leading him through the door to the adjoining bath. Ronan hesitated at the threshold, glancing over his shoulder as the door clicked shut behind him.

    The air smelled faintly of lavender and something rich, like citrus. The bath itself, a large marble tub filled with steaming water, was more luxurious than anything Ronan could have imagined. He glanced around the room, taking in the small details¡ªthe soft towels folded neatly on a nearby table, the gold-trimmed fixtures, the wide mirror that reflected the pristine space back at him. It looked even more grand than it looked last night.

    It all felt wrong, like he didn¡¯t deserve to be here.

    He began to strip off his clothes, each movement slow and deliberate, as if he were shedding the last remnants of the life he had known. The tattered, dirty rags fell to the floor in a heap, the only clothes he had left. The last thing he removed was the braided bracelet his mother had made for him, its threads worn and frayed from years of wear. He set it carefully aside, next to the bath, before stepping in.

    The water was warm¡ªtoo warm. It enveloped his foot in a way that felt both soothing and suffocating. He stood for a moment, staring at the cloth and soap laid out for him, hesitating. The thought of scrubbing away the filth, the layers of grime that had clung to him for years, felt like tearing away pieces of himself. The dirt was more than just filth¡ªit was a shield, a reminder of where he came from, a part of his identity.

    But with a sharp breath, he grabbed the soap, forcing himself to scrub. The first pass was light, almost reluctant, as if he hoped the dirt would stay. But the more he scrubbed, the more the skin underneath became visible, and something snapped. He scrubbed harder, digging into his skin, his movements frantic. His nails scraped at the grime, tearing at it like it was the last piece of his old life he could cling to. The cloth bit into his flesh, and he didn¡¯t stop, not even when he saw red mixing with the water. But he didn¡¯t care.

    He scrubbed until his arms trembled and his breathing came in ragged gasps.

    Finally, he stopped, his body aching, his skin burning. The water around him was murky with dirt, the proof of a life that clung to him like a second skin. He climbed into the tub, sinking into the water. The heat felt unbearable at first, stinging the places where his skin had torn, but he sank lower, letting the heat wrap around him.

    As the water soothed his raw skin, his eyes grew heavy. The warmth seeped into his bones, pulling him under, and despite himself, he felt his body relaxing, his mind drifting. The world around him blurred, and before he knew it, his eyes closed. For a fleeting moment, it felt good. Too good.

    And that¡¯s what bothered him the most.

    ***

    Ronan had barely registered the passage of time when a gentle knock stirred him from his uneasy slumber. His eyes fluttered open, the warmth of the bath still lulling his body into a dazed state, but the voice that followed the knock brought him back to reality.

    ¡°Sir?¡± It was Reginald¡¯s calm voice, soft but insistent.

    Ronan jolted upright in the tub, splashing water onto the floor. His heart raced for a moment, panic gripping him before he remembered where he was. He blinked, the remnants of sleep clinging to his mind, disoriented by the sudden transition from the peaceful warmth of the water to the cold reality around him.

    ¡°I¡ª¡± Ronan stammered, catching his breath. ¡°Sorry¡­ I didn¡¯t mean to¡­¡±

    ¡°There is no need to apologize, Young Master,¡± Reginald¡¯s tone was even, unfazed by Ronan¡¯s sudden start. ¡°Take your time. I just wanted to make sure you didn¡¯t catch a cold.¡±

    Cold? Catch a cold?

    What kind of stupidity was that old man spouting?

    He didn¡¯t say that though, when he stepped out. He exhaled, steadying himself. He watched as Reginald stepped forward, extending a thick, pristine towel toward him. Ronan hesitated, then slowly reached out, taking the towel and feeling its softness against his skin. He stood from the tub, the heat from the water evaporating into the cooler air of the room, leaving him feeling raw and exposed.

    Reginald handed him a robe, simple yet made from fine fabric, and Ronan slipped into it. The sensation of the luxurious material against his skin was foreign¡ªtoo smooth, too soft, too perfect. It almost made him feel more vulnerable than before.

    When he stepped out of the bathroom, he was greeted by the sight of an array of clothes spread out before him, laid out with precise care. Luxurious fabrics in deep blues, rich silvers, and muted greens, all finely crafted, their embroidery delicate and intricate. The shirts were made from materials so fine that Ronan had never even dreamed they existed¡ªsilk, perhaps, or something even softer. The trousers were tailored perfectly, with gold-threaded accents, and there were polished boots lined with leather so smooth they looked like they had never been worn.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    For a moment, Ronan just stood there, staring at the choices laid out for him. They were too perfect. Too clean. He wasn¡¯t used to choosing anything, least of all something as extravagant as this. His fingers hovered over the clothes, unsure where to start.

    ¡°Young Master,¡± Reginald prompted gently. ¡°You may choose whichever you like.¡±

    Ronan swallowed, his throat dry. He reached out and picked a simple tunic and trousers at random, something that seemed less adorned than the others. The fabric felt impossibly soft in his hands, and as he dressed, the maids helped adjust the fit, ensuring that each piece lay perfectly against his extremely thin body. He didn¡¯t protest, but he couldn¡¯t shake the awkwardness of it all. Every movement felt stiff, like he was trying to wear someone else¡¯s skin.

    Once fully dressed, Reginald gestured toward a tall, ornate mirror at the far side of the room. Ronan took a hesitant step toward it, his stomach knotting with a strange, uneasy feeling.

    When he finally looked into the mirror, the person staring back at him felt like a stranger. The reflection was clean, polished¡ªtoo clean. His hair, though still damp, was combed back, and the clothes he wore hung perfectly on his frame, tailored to make him look more like a noble than a boy from the slums.

    For a moment, he didn¡¯t see himself as the person in the mirror. But then, as he looked closer, he saw it¡ªthe faint traces of the slums still clinging to him. The lines of hardship etched into his face, the wary glint in his eyes that hadn¡¯t faded despite the luxury surrounding him. No matter how finely dressed he was, no matter how much they tried to make him look like he belonged, he knew the truth.

    You don¡¯t belong here.

    The boy in the mirror didn¡¯t argue, just stared back with the same hollow eyes.

    Reginald cleared his throat softly, breaking the silence in the room. ¡°Marquess Vandross has requested that you meet him when you are ready, sir. He¡¯s waiting for you in the study.¡±

    Ronan tore his gaze away from the mirror, still feeling unsettled by the sight of himself dressed in such fine clothes. He gave a small nod, trying to suppress a little bit of his feelings. Reginald motioned toward the door, and without a word, the maids stepped aside to make way for him.

    As they walked through the estate, Ronan couldn¡¯t help but marvel at the sheer size and elegance of the place. Every hallway was lined with paintings, statues, and intricate tapestries that were maybe telling stories of Ravencia¡¯s history. The marble floors gleamed underfoot, and the occasional servant moved quietly along the corridors, bowing their heads as Ronan passed. Despite the grandeur of it all, Ronan felt like a shadow moving through a world he wasn¡¯t supposed to touch. The vastness of it all only made him feel smaller, more out of place.

    They passed through a grand hall with large windows overlooking the estate gardens, where perfectly manicured lawns stretched out into the distance, dotted with fountains and statues. The sunlight filtering through the windows bathed the space in a warm, golden glow, making everything seem even more surreal.

    Eventually, they stopped outside a heavy wooden door. Reginald gave a polite knock, then opened it for Ronan to enter. The study was a stark contrast to the bright hallways they had just walked through. It was dimly lit, the walls lined with shelves of books, and the scent of parchment and ink filled the air. A large, mahogany desk stood in the center of the room, cluttered with papers and ledgers, and behind it sat Gideon Vandross, his focus entirely on the document he was reviewing.

    For a moment, Ronan hesitated at the threshold, unsure whether he should speak or wait to be addressed. But before he could decide, Gideon looked up, his sharp eyes meeting Ronan¡¯s. The light from the desk lamp cast long shadows across his face, making his expression hard to read.

    ¡°Ah, Ronan. Come in,¡± Gideon said, his voice calm but commanding. He gestured toward a chair across from him. ¡°Please, sit.¡±

    Ronan stepped forward, his movements awkward as he approached the desk and lowered himself into the chair. His left leg drummed nervously while sitting in the chair, and though he tried to appear indifferent, the space and the man in front of him made it hard to breathe easily.

    Gideon set down his pen and leaned back in his chair, observing Ronan for a moment before speaking again. ¡°I trust you are settling in well?¡± His tone was polite, but there was an edge to his words, a subtle hint that he was studying Ronan¡¯s every reaction.

    Ronan hesitated before answering, unsure of how much to reveal. ¡°I¡¯m... getting by,¡± he said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. ¡°It¡¯s different.¡±

    Gideon raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on his lips. ¡°I can imagine. It¡¯s not every day someone from the slums finds themselves in a place like this.¡±

    Ronan bit back a sarcastic reply, not wanting to provoke a deeper conversation about his discomfort. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, waiting for Gideon to continue.

    After a pause, Gideon¡¯s expression grew more serious. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his fingers steepled together. ¡°There¡¯s something important I need to discuss with you, Ronan.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s heart skipped a beat. Was it some kind of new condition, some hidden price for the luxuries he was now surrounded by? He straightened in his seat, his eyes narrowing slightly. ¡°What is it?¡±

    Gideon¡¯s gaze remained steady, but his voice became a little deeper. ¡°I¡¯ve given this a lot of thought, and I believe that for you to truly start anew in this world, you need more than just a change of clothes and surroundings. You need a new name.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s stomach tightened at the suggestion. His name? The last piece of his old life? He hadn¡¯t expected this. ¡°You want me to change my name?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Gideon said, his tone firm. ¡°I want you to take the name Vandross. Become part of my family. It will give you standing in Ravencia, protect you from those who would see you as nothing more than a lowborn.¡±

    The words hung heavy in the air. Ronan stared at Gideon, his mind racing. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. To take the name Vandross? To become part of this world? The very idea felt like betrayal¡ªto his mother, to his sister, to everything he had endured in the slums.

    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± Ronan blurted out, his voice more forceful than he intended. ¡°I¡¯m not... I¡¯m not someone who belongs with that name.¡±

    Gideon¡¯s eyes darkened slightly, but he didn¡¯t seem surprised by the rejection. ¡°I understand your hesitation. But you need to think of this practically. This isn¡¯t about erasing who you are¡ªit¡¯s about survival.¡±

    Ronan shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m not just going to abandon who I am.¡±

    Gideon leaned back again, folding his arms across his chest. ¡°I¡¯m not asking you to abandon anything. But consider this¡ªyou can¡¯t live in two worlds forever. If you refuse this, you¡¯ll always be seen as the boy from the slums, and the world can be extremely cruel at times. But with the name Vandross, you can carve out a place for yourself. A place where you decide who you are.¡±

    The room fell into a heavy silence. Ronan¡¯s mind churned with conflicting thoughts. He didn¡¯t care about being accepted into high society, nor did he want a place in this world of wealth and power. The idea of erasing what little remained of his past felt wrong. His name¡ªGrey, although granted was a name every lowborn had¡ªwas all he had left of his mother, his sister, the life he had struggled through. He wasn¡¯t ready to let it go.

    Gideon, observing Ronan¡¯s hesitation, spoke again, his voice softer but firm. "I¡¯m not asking you to fit into this world, Ronan. You don¡¯t have to seek anyone¡¯s acceptance, nor am I trying to change who you are. But to survive here, you need more than just your wits. You need a name that holds weight¡ªone that can shield you from the worst this empire has to offer."

    Ronan¡¯s jaw tightened. "It¡¯s the only thing I have left."

    Gideon studied him for a long moment, his sharp eyes calculating. ¡°Then we won¡¯t discard it,¡± he said slowly, a hint of concession in his voice. ¡°We¡¯ll merge it. You can keep your name, but you¡¯ll need to add mine for protection. Ronan G. Vandross. It¡¯s a compromise. You hold onto what¡¯s yours, but you¡¯ll gain the protection my name offers.¡±

    Ronan thought about it a little and realized he didn¡¯t completely hate the idea. ¡°And what exactly do you get out of this?¡±

    Gideon¡¯s lips curved into a thin smile. ¡°I told you, didn¡¯t I? A strong ally with potential.¡±

    Ronan mulled over the offer, still uneasy but unable to deny the logic in Gideon¡¯s words. He didn¡¯t trust him fully¡ªthere was still a part of the Marquess that remained a mystery¡ªbut for now, the compromise seemed like the only option.

    After a long pause, Ronan nodded slowly. "Ronan G. Vandross, then. But don¡¯t expect me to become someone I¡¯m not."

    Gideon¡¯s smile widened ever so slightly, but there was something darker behind his eyes, something that hinted at plans yet unspoken. "Of course, Ronan. I remember our contract. You don¡¯t have to worry." He extended his hand, waiting for Ronan¡¯s response.

    Ronan hesitated, then reached out, gripping Gideon¡¯s hand. The man¡¯s grip was firm, and though his smile held a hint of warmth, there was still something unreadable behind his eyes.

    ¡°I¡¯m not asking for you to trust me completely,¡± Gideon said, his tone calm and measured. ¡°But I hope there comes a day when you can understand that I have no intention to be your enemy.¡±

    Ronan nodded slowly, his grip loosening as he withdrew his hand. ¡°Maybe,¡± he muttered, still uncertain.

    Gideon leaned back in his chair, the faintest glimmer of approval flashing in his eyes. ¡°Good. Now, you only have about a month before you actually start attending the university. But we don¡¯t have a lot of time to prepare for all the important things.¡± He gave a brief pause, contemplating, and then continued, ¡°You also have the matter of learning language skills, but I will give you a few days to settle down first. Reginald will show you around the estate. Get a sense of the place, explore the grounds. This is your home now, after all.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s eyes flicked toward the door where the butler, Reginald, stood silently. He wasn¡¯t sure how to feel about being referred to as part of this place. Home? It didn¡¯t feel like it.

    With a nod from Gideon, Reginald gestured for Ronan to follow him. The walk was quiet at first, the only sounds being the soft echo of their footsteps against the polished floors. Ronan¡¯s unease was palpable, the luxury of the estate a constant reminder that he was far from the world he had known.

    As they moved deeper into the estate, the silence between them grew uncomfortable. Ronan felt the weight of it pressing down, unsure whether to say something or remain quiet. Reginald, with his stoic expression and sharp movements, gave no indication of discomfort¡ªhe seemed to glide through the hallways with a quiet purpose.

    When they passed a particularly ornate room, its doors slightly ajar, Reginald broke the silence, his tone emotionless as always. ¡°The west wing. The former lady of the house enjoyed reading there, and it is now reserved for the master¡¯s private research. He told me you can also use it at your leisure.¡±

    Former Lady?

    Should he probe for more? Or not?

    Thinking about it, he realized it actually wasn¡¯t his business. So he decided not to say anything, merely nodding as his eyes trailed over the rich, gleaming wood of the door, the intricate carvings on its frame, and the faint smell of old parchment that wafted from inside. Every room they passed seemed more luxurious than the last¡ªgolden accents on the furniture, pristine tapestries, chandeliers that sparkled even in the dullest light.

    Reginald¡¯s voice cut through the silence again as they turned a corner. ¡°You¡¯ll find the stables beyond the garden. The horses are well-bred, trained for long distances and battle. Master Vandross prefers to travel by carriage, but he rides when necessary.¡±

    Ronan raised an eyebrow, only half-listening to the details. His attention kept drifting back to the luxury of it all. It wasn¡¯t just material; it was a reminder that this world was built for people who had never suffered, never known hunger or desperation. Even as he walked, the weight of it felt like a burden on his shoulders.

    They walked past large, arched windows overlooking a fountain, its water sparkling in the sunlight. The gardens were as carefully arranged as the rooms inside, with each flower and tree placed with a precision that made Ronan¡¯s stomach churn. This world, with its order and control, was everything the slums weren¡¯t. It was everything he had never been.

    As they neared the end of the tour, Ronan found himself lost in his thoughts, barely paying attention to Reginald¡¯s words. They walked through one final hallway, the quiet stretching between them again, until they came to a stop outside a large set of doors. Reginald turned to Ronan, his face as blank as ever. ¡°This is the eastern wing, where the master¡¯s quarters and your own room are located.¡±

    Ronan glanced around, noting the opulence even here. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I should be here.¡±

    Ronan realized it after he had said it, that he said it out loud. He turned towards Reginald and saw him staring at him. The butler¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, but there was a brief flicker of something behind his eyes.

    ¡°Few of us ever truly know where we belong,¡± Reginald said quietly, his voice calm, and probably safer than usual. ¡°The important thing is not whether you should be here, but what you will do now that you are.¡±

    Ronan blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected answer. For a brief moment, the usual stiffness in Reginald¡¯s posture seemed to fade a little, and Ronan sensed something from him the first time¡ªan emotion that wasn¡¯t quite visible but hung in the air between them. There was caution, yes, but there was also a hint of empathy, a quiet understanding of what Ronan was going through. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was enough to make Ronan pause.

    After Ronan didn¡¯t say anything, he saw a flicker of something else in Reginald¡¯s expression¡ª hesitation, perhaps¡ªbefore he spoke again.

    ¡°If there¡¯s anything you require,¡± Reginald said, his voice softer than before, ¡°you need only ask.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t much, barely more than a passing statement, but there was something in the way it was said that gave Ronan pause.

    Maybe, just maybe, he shouldn¡¯t judge people so quickly.

    He might not be the only one who had suffered.

 8. The Art Of Making Brain Fry

    It had been three days since Ronan arrived at the mansion, and while the sheer size of the castle still intimidated him, he had begun to notice a few things. The servants moved around him with an eerie precision¡ªalways respectful, always expressionless. Despite their outward neutrality, there were moments when Ronan could feel their emotions, a fleeting sense of discomfort or curiosity toward him. Even though he could admit that he had powers related to sensing emotions or something, he wasn¡¯t really any close to getting used to it.

    Reginald the Butler, his supposed guide in the large mansion, was always around when Ronan needed something, though Ronan had made it a point to avoid asking for anything. The older man seemed attentive without being overbearing, offering help without forcing it. Even so, Ronan preferred to handle things on his own, slipping through the days without causing a stir.

    The mansion itself, though large and filled with luxurious stuff, was strangely impersonal. He noticed early on that there were no photos, no portraits, no traces of the people who lived there before. It was as if the mansion existed outside of time, a place designed for purpose rather than for living. The rooms, with their perfectly arranged furniture and spotless windows, felt like set pieces in a life that wasn¡¯t his.

    During the day, he roamed the garden more than anywhere else, wandering aimlessly among the rows of perfectly maintained flowers. He wasn¡¯t doing anything in particular¡ªjust walking, his mind flickering between old memories and the uncomfortable present. The flowers were vibrant, reminding him of the simple flowers he and his sister used to pick for their mother from the wilds outside their small home. A bitterness curled in his stomach every time he thought about it.

    He hadn¡¯t been hungry since arriving. That was the strangest part. He had eaten so many delicious meals¡ªthings he¡¯d never even dreamed of tasting before¡ªbut something about it felt wrong. He should¡¯ve been grateful, he knew that, but the food left a hollow feeling inside him. It wasn¡¯t the taste or the abundance, but the fact that it still felt like none of it mattered anymore. No matter how much he ate, it didn¡¯t change anything.

    Ronan tried to be angry. He wanted to be angry¡ªat Gideon, at the servants, at the world that had thrown him into this absurd situation¡ªbut all he felt was sadness. He had everything in front of him, more than he could have ever asked for, and yet, it felt meaningless. The meals, the flowers, the mansion itself¡­ it was all empty.

    I wish I could¡¯ve given these flowers to my mother and sister, he thought bitterly, and that food to my mother and sister.

    The sadness twisted deeper. His mother and sister were gone, and now he was here, in this beautiful place, surrounded by everything he had once dreamed of giving them but no longer could.

    Ronan stood in the garden, his gaze wandering over a patch of strange flowers he had never seen before. Their petals shimmered in the sunlight, each one a deep blue that seemed to catch the light and reflect it in shades of silver. The flowers were small, no larger than the palm of his hand, with long, twisting stems that curled around one another like vines, forming patterns on the ground. Tiny flecks of gold dusted the petals, giving them an otherworldly glow.

    He crouched down and reached out to touch one, his fingers brushing against its soft surface. The flower felt fragile, almost like silk, its cool petals smooth against his skin. He didn¡¯t know what it was called, or even if these flowers had names. They looked so delicate.

    Back home, although scarce, the flowers were wild and untamed, growing wherever they could find a chance. He remembered the tangled masses of greens and yellows, the rough edges of the blooms he and his sister would pick and place in old clay jars around the house. Those flowers, with their crooked stems and faded petals, were still pretty.

    What would Raya think of all this? he wondered.

    His thoughts were interrupted by the quiet sound of footsteps approaching. Ronan looked up to see Reginald walking toward him, his usual calm, reserved expression in place.

    "Young Master," Reginald said with a polite nod, "The lord requests your presence."

    Ronan blinked in surprise. He hadn¡¯t seen Gideon since their brief conversation three days ago when he first arrived at the mansion. Though Gideon had been kind, there was something about him that felt distant, like he was always working a few steps ahead of everyone else. It made Ronan uneasy.

    Ronan rose to his feet, brushing off the dirt from his trousers. He gave the flowers one last glance before following Reginald back toward the mansion. The walk was silent, as it usually was with Reginald, but Ronan didn¡¯t mind. He liked the silence.

    When they reached the study, the door was already open. Ronan stepped inside and immediately noticed that Gideon wasn¡¯t alone. A man in dark robes stood beside him, his hands clasped together as if waiting for something.

    Gideon greeted Ronan with a nod and a small smile, but there was a sense of formality in the air. ¡°Ah, Ronan. How are you feeling?¡± Gideon asked, his voice polite.

    Ronan just shrugged, not bothering to answer out loud. He still wasn¡¯t used to all of this¡ªthe mansion, the wealth, the strange way people spoke to him like he was someone important.

    Wait, maybe he should¡¯ve answered verbally, since they were in the presence of someone?

    Gideon didn¡¯t press the issue. Instead, he gestured to the man beside him. ¡°This is Tobias. He¡¯s here to get you started on the most basic information you''ll need for your studies.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s stomach did a few flip-flops. He knew this was coming¡ªhe couldn¡¯t just drift through this new life forever without learning the things he was supposed to know. Still, the thought of formal studies, of sitting down and learning things about stuff that didn¡¯t seem important until now, made him feel uneasy. He glanced at Toby-What, who had a small smile on his face.

    He gave a respectful nod. ¡°Young Master Ronan, it¡¯s a pleasure to meet you. I¡¯m Tobias, and I will tutor you on the most basic information you need before starting at the prestigious Lumenbourg University. Congratulations on your acceptance, by the way.¡±

    Ronan shifted awkwardly, not sure what to say, so he just gave a half-hearted ¡°Uh, hey.¡± The whole thing felt weird. It wasn¡¯t like people in his old life introduced themselves with formalities and polite gestures.

    ¡°You¡¯ll need to learn a lot to catch up,¡± Gideon continued. ¡°But if we do ignore everything else you need to learn, you¡¯ll need to learn the language of the Empire properly before the university semester begins.¡±

    Ronan stared back at him, a knot tightening in his chest. He had never really learned anything in his life, except for scavenging for food and how to ignore his hunger. His mind raced with doubt. Could he even do this? He had never been the book-smart type¡ªjust a survivor. That¡¯s all he had ever been.

    Gideon could see the hesitation in Ronan¡¯s eyes, but he pressed on. ¡°Don¡¯t worry so much. You already know how to speak the language, now you need to learn to read and write it too. There are a lot of ways to learn Ravencian, many of which are shortcuts,¡± he said, his tone more serious now. ¡°We don¡¯t have a lot of time before the semester starts, but the ultimate decision is up to you. There are five common methods people usually do this.¡±

    Gideon gestured toward Tobias and he stepped forward and continued where Gideon left off. ¡°The first method is the traditional way¡ªlearning through books, tutors, and practice. However, as you can imagine, this method takes months or years¡ªtime you don¡¯t have much of.¡± He glanced at Gideon, who gave a subtle nod.

    ¡°The second option is using a spell. With the right incantation, we can temporarily embed language knowledge into your mind. But this is a temporary solution¡ªthe spell will fade, and the knowledge will disappear after a few days.¡±

    The idea of knowledge just vanishing from his mind felt¡­ wrong. What would be the use of it anyway?

    ¡°The third option,¡± Tobias continued, ¡°is to use an artifact¡ªspecifically, enchanted items that can transfer knowledge into your mind. These are rare and costly, but the effect is more stable than spells and less dangerous than memory retention. Although you will forget all knowledge once you take off the artifact.¡±

    Gideon cut in with a quiet voice. ¡°We do have access to such artifacts, and personally, I would like you to go with this option.¡±

    It was strange to hear people talking about him like he was an object to be filled with knowledge.

    ¡°For the fourth option,¡± Tobias said, ¡°there¡¯s a method used by some people called subliminal exposure. It¡¯s a passive form of learning, where you listen to enchanted recordings of the language while you sleep. It¡¯s slower than some of the other methods, but it¡¯s painless and low-risk. However, it only helps with passive understanding and requires more than four months for full comprehension.¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    ¡°I probably shouldn¡¯t mention the last method, but it''s my duty to give you complete information.¡± Tobias continued, his voice steady and professional. ¡°The fifth method is through memory retention¡ªa very dangerous technique, which probably should not be in the most commonly used methods, but there are a lot of people who use this technique in the Ravencia Empire. It is the fastest method but involves using magic to forcefully imprint the language into your mind permanently. However,¡± Tobias¡¯s expression darkened, ¡°the process is highly painful and dangerous. It is not recommended, as it can overload your brain and cause severe side effects¡ªblackouts, hallucinations, or worse.¡±

    Ronan had listened, half-interested, as the tutor laid out the options. He wasn¡¯t exactly eager to dive into learning languages¡ªhe still didn¡¯t see much about any of this. Still, memory retention had caught his attention. So he didn¡¯t have time for slow learning, and the idea of going through something dangerous just to learn a language sounded reckless. But then again, why did that have a certain allure to it? It was like he wanted to try it.

    Whatever, sometimes he didn¡¯t even understand himself.

    The danger didn¡¯t faze him; if anything, it felt like the kind of reckless move he wanted to make. If he had to do this, better to get it over with¡ªno matter the cost.

    Although, he was curious about something first.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got one question,¡± Ronan said, raising an eyebrow. ¡°If we¡¯ve got methods like these, why bother studying at all? Why not just... wham, bam, boom¡ªlearn everything with spells?¡±

    Gideon and Tobias exchanged glances, and to Ronan¡¯s surprise, Tobias burst into laughter. Gideon shook his head with a small smile. ¡°Ah, if only it were that simple,¡± he said. ¡°Magic is powerful, Ronan, but it¡¯s not omnipotent. These shortcuts are just that¡ªshortcuts. They don¡¯t give you the full picture.¡±

    Ronan blinked, a little taken aback. It was the first time he had actually seen Gideon laugh more than a smidge, and something about it seemed almost... human. He hadn¡¯t expected that from someone who usually came across as so controlled and unreadable.

    Tobias, still chuckling, stepped in. ¡°Each of these methods has its drawbacks. Take the spell for instance¡ªsure, it dumps knowledge in your head quickly, but it¡¯s temporary. The moment the spell fades, the knowledge fades with it. You might remember a few things here and there, but it¡¯s like trying to hold water in your hands. Slips right through.¡±

    Gideon nodded. ¡°The artifact method is more stable, but still not perfect. The transfer is never as seamless as traditional learning, and it doesn¡¯t teach you how to apply the knowledge. You¡¯ll know the words, but not the meaning behind them. And with memory retention,¡± he paused, his gaze sharpening, ¡°you could burn out your mind for good. One wrong move, and the knowledge overloads you, leaving lasting damage. There have been accounts of people who relied on this method just a little too much, and they died.¡±

    Tobias added, his tone more serious, ¡°And that¡¯s just language. Complex subjects like spellcraft, potion-making, or magical theory, even advanced mathematics¡ªno spell can fully teach you those. You need experience, practice, and time. Magic can enhance learning, but it can¡¯t replace it.¡±

    Ronan leaned back slightly, processing what they were saying. He didn¡¯t like the sound of any of it. ¡°So, basically, I¡¯ll be hitting the books either way.¡±

    Gideon smirked. ¡°Yes. No matter which method you choose, there¡¯s no escaping the hard work. You¡¯ll learn that in time.¡±

    Well, now he felt stupid.

    Gideon waved his hand and said, ¡°Okay, so how do you want to proceed?¡±

    Ronan had made up his mind.

    ¡°I¡¯ll go with memory retention,¡± he said, his tone even, almost casual.

    Tobias frowned slightly. ¡°Young Master Ronan, it¡¯s not a decision to take lightly. The risks aren¡¯t just about pain¡ªit could leave lasting damage.¡±

    Ronan shrugged. ¡°Yeah, but it¡¯s the quickest, right? Besides, lasting damage¡ªwho doesn¡¯t love a bit of risk every now and then?¡±

    Gideon tilted his head, clearly weighing Ronan¡¯s response. ¡°You seem awfully sure about that.¡±

    Ronan met his gaze, the corner of his mouth quirking just a little. ¡°I¡¯m just not going to spend months with my nose in books if I don¡¯t have to. Seems like a win-win, minus the potential brain-frying part. Besides, I have a feeling I can handle it.¡±

    The room went quiet for a moment, both Gideon and Tobias exchanging glances. Ronan could sense their hesitation, but he wasn¡¯t interested in long explanations or drawn-out concerns. He just wanted to be through with it.

    Gideon finally gave a nod. ¡°If that¡¯s what you¡¯ve decided.¡±

    Ronan leaned back slightly, feeling more sure of his decision than he expected.

    Tobias cleared his throat, glancing at Gideon before speaking. ¡°Very well, Young Master Ronan. I¡¯ll need some time to make the necessary preparations.¡±

    Ronan gave a brief nod. ¡°Take your time,¡± he said, though inwardly, he was eager to get this over with.

    As Tobias turned to leave, Ronan noticed Gideon watching him closely, something unspoken lingering behind his sharp gaze. For a moment, it seemed like Gideon wanted to say more, but he stayed silent, his lips pressed into a thin line.

    Ronan raised an eyebrow, but Gideon said nothing. The silence stretched, and Ronan decided not to push it.

    ***

    The next day, Ronan found himself standing in front of an elaborate setup in one of the mansion¡¯s smaller chambers. The room was dimly lit, casting long shadows across the walls where intricate runes had been etched into the stone floor. At the center was a large, circular pattern filled with glowing symbols¡ªsome familiar, but most completely alien to him.

    Several tall, silver pillars surrounded the circle, each topped with a glowing crystal that pulsed faintly, almost in sync with his own heartbeat. The air felt heavy with magic, thick and electric, making his skin prickle.

    In the middle of the circle was a single ornate chair, dark wood with silver inlays, positioned almost like a throne but built with straps along the armrests and legs, ready to hold him in place. The chair itself had intricate carvings of symbols Ronan had no idea about, giving it an ancient, foreboding feel. In front of the chair, a set of crystal vials sat neatly on a table, each one filled with a different colored liquid, their contents shimmering as though alive.

    Tobias was already there, busy checking each part of the setup with a calm precision, his fingers tracing the edges of the glowing runes, adjusting the alignment of the silver pillars.

    ¡°Quite the setup,¡± Ronan muttered under his breath, eyeing the chair warily. ¡°Looks more like an execution chamber than a classroom.¡±

    Tobias didn¡¯t look up from his work, but a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ¡°It may feel that way, Young Master Ronan, but I assure you, it¡¯s not that grim.¡±

    Ronan glanced at Gideon, who stood quietly at the edge of the room, watching the preparations. Gideon hadn¡¯t said much since agreeing to the memory retention method, but his expression was unreadable, a touch of tension hiding beneath his usual calm exterior.

    The air felt dense as Ronan approached the chair.

    ¡°Take your seat,¡± Tobias gestured. ¡°We need to begin.¡±

    Ronan gave a small shrug and sat down, feeling the cold wood against his back. The chair creaked slightly under his weight, the inlaid carvings giving off a faint hum of magic. Tobias stepped forward, holding a small vial filled with a shiny, metallic liquid.

    ¡°This is Mind''s Veil Elixir,¡± Tobias explained, handing the vial to Ronan. ¡°It will open your mind to receive the magic. Drink it quickly.¡±

    Ronan hesitated only for a moment before raising the vial to his lips. The potion slid down his throat, tasting like rusted iron. Almost immediately, he felt a heavy fog descend over his thoughts, dulling his senses and making his limbs feel leaden. The edges of the room blurred, and the glowing sigils on the floor seemed to grow brighter, almost alive.

    Tobias began fastening the straps around his wrists and ankles, moving with careful precision. The restraints were tight but not uncomfortable¡ªjust enough to keep him still.

    ¡°This is necessary to prevent any movement during the process,¡± Tobias explained, strapping his arms in place. ¡°The magic can cause involuntary reactions.¡±

    Ronan didn¡¯t respond, only giving a slight nod.

    Once Tobias finished the preparations, he raised his hands over one of the crystals, his voice low as he began chanting the incantation. ¡°Retinentia Verba,¡± he murmured, and instantly the runes on the floor flared to life, casting an eerie light around the room.

    The magic hit Ronan like a wave, his body tensing as the energy surged through him. A sharp pain exploded in his mind, intense and overwhelming, as if his thoughts were being torn apart and forced back together. His muscles tightened, his breath caught in his throat. Every nerve felt like it was on fire.

    The knowledge was pouring into him¡ªwords, symbols, meanings¡ªbut all at once, too fast to grasp. His mind reeled under the pressure, trying to make sense of the flood, but the pain made it impossible. He clenched his teeth, straining against the restraints, but the magic held him in place.

    Tobias¡¯s voice echoed somewhere in the background, but Ronan couldn¡¯t focus on the words. It was like being submerged in a storm, his thoughts crashing and colliding, his vision blurring as the pain reached its peak.

    He thought he might¡¯ve shouted a little.

    And then, slowly, the intensity began to fade. The bright glow of the runes dimmed, and the crushing pressure in his mind began to ease. Ronan slumped in the chair, his body drenched in sweat, his breathing ragged. The pain was still there, but distant now, like a dull throb echoing in his skull. His vision returned to normal, but his mind felt really full. It was like all the blood of his body was in his brain right now.

    Tobias stepped forward, unstrapping Ronan¡¯s wrists and ankles, his movements efficient. ¡°It¡¯s over. Now all you need to do is rest.¡±

    Ronan tried to sit up, forcing himself to stand, but his legs felt weak, unsteady beneath him. Tobias tried to give him a hand, but he pushed it away. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± he muttered, trying to shake off the lingering dizziness. He took a step forward, determined to hold himself together.

    But the moment he moved, the room spun violently, his vision darkening around the edges. He swayed, his body giving out beneath him, and before he could hit the ground, Gideon was there, catching him with a firm grip.

    ¡°Take it easy,¡± Gideon¡¯s voice was calm, but there was a note of concern. He supported Ronan, holding him upright as the dizziness overwhelmed him.

    Ronan tried to blink the haze away, but the weight of the ritual was too much. His knees buckled, and despite his best efforts to stay conscious, the darkness closed in. He fainted.

 9. The Lyrias

    Ronan slowly stirred, his body feeling as if it were weighed down by stones. His eyes fluttered open, but the world around him was blurred, as if he were seeing it through a thick fog. A dull, constant ache pulsed in his head, like a distant drum beat that wouldn¡¯t stop. He blinked several times, trying to clear his vision.

    Shapes came into focus¡ªReginald standing nearby, his face as unreadable as ever, along with a few maids hovering around. One of them was pressing a warm, heated cloth against his forehead, the sensation soft but oddly soothing.

    Reginald''s eyes flicked over to him as soon as he moved. Without a change in expression, he said, ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you awake, Young Master Ronan.¡± His tone was formal, but there was the faintest hint of relief behind it.

    That was weird. Wasn¡¯t he supposed to be without emotions?

    Ronan groaned slightly, trying to sit up, but his body protested, exhausted beyond belief. Every muscle ached, and his mind felt like it was wrapped in a thick blanket, suffocating him. When he tried to think¡ªtried to focus on anything¡ªthe ache in his head sharpened, warning him to stay still.

    Reginald watched him for a moment, then gave a nod. ¡°I¡¯ll inform the Lord that you¡¯ve woken up.¡±

    Ronan wanted to respond, but the effort felt like too much. Instead, he just sank deeper into the pillow, letting the faint heat from the cloth on his head offer what little comfort it could.

    He stared up at the ceiling, too tired to care about anything beyond the weight pressing down on him. It was easier to stay still, to just exist in this fog, and let the world go on around him.

    Not long after Reginald left, the door creaked open softly. Ronan¡¯s tired eyes shifted toward the sound, and he saw Gideon enter the room, his usual composed expression softened by a hint of concern. The change was subtle, but in someone as guarded as Gideon, it was noticeable.

    Gideon approached the bedside, his gaze lingering on Ronan for a moment before he spoke. ¡°Don¡¯t talk. Don¡¯t even think, if you can help it,¡± he said, his voice firm but gentle.

    Ronan lay still, the heaviness in his limbs making even the idea of speaking impossible. His head still throbbed, though the pressure had dulled just a tiny bit compared to when he first woke up, or maybe he was getting used to it. He let his eyes rest on Gideon, waiting, sensing that there was more to come.

    Gideon pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down, his movements deliberate, as if he were choosing each action with care. He glanced at Ronan¡¯s forehead and then met his eyes again. ¡°You¡¯ve been asleep for a week.¡±

    Ronan blinked, the information hitting him slowly, as if his mind was wading through thick mud to comprehend it. A week? He wanted to say something, but even the thought of forming words made his headache pulse painfully.

    Gideon leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving Ronan¡¯s. ¡°I knew it wasn¡¯t my place to stop you from going through with the ritual,¡± he continued, ¡°but what you did... that was dangerous. More dangerous than you realize.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s mind flickered with memories¡ªfragments of the ritual, the searing pain, the feeling of his mind unraveling. He flinched at the thought but said nothing.

    Gideon let the silence stretch for a moment, as if letting the weight of his words settle. ¡°You were on the edge of something irreversible, Ronan,¡± he said, his voice softer now, but no less serious. ¡°Pushing yourself like that, without understanding the risks... it could have cost you more than just a headache.¡±

    For a brief moment, Gideon¡¯s composure slipped, and Ronan could see genuine concern in his eyes. ¡°I know you might think you¡¯re insignificant. That you¡¯re just another piece in a much larger game, and maybe on some level, we all are. But that¡¯s not the complete truth.¡±

    Ronan stared up at the ceiling, the words floating through the fog in his mind, hitting some part of him he hadn¡¯t expected. Gideon¡¯s tone shifted, becoming almost... personal.

    ¡°Life is precious, Ronan. Even with all the hardships, even when it feels unbearable.¡± He paused, as if choosing his next words carefully. ¡°You need to learn to cherish it, even when it''s hard.¡±

    The silence that followed felt heavy, and Ronan found himself unable to look at Gideon. He couldn¡¯t find his usual sarcastic edge, not with the weight of those words pressing on him.

    Gideon stood up from the chair, straightening his coat. ¡°Rest,¡± he said, his voice firm but kind. ¡°You need to stay in bed for at least another week. Let your mind recover. The headache will fade in time, but don¡¯t rush it. Give yourself the space to heal. We will talk later.¡±

    He hesitated for a moment, as if he had more to say, but then turned and quietly left the room, leaving Ronan alone with his thoughts.

    Despite Gideon¡¯s warning not to think, Ronan couldn¡¯t help it. It had been so long since someone had cared about him like that.

    His life story wasn¡¯t that unpredictable. He was only ten when his mother had died and thirteen since that terrible accident with sister had occurred. For years, it was him, and his grief. Even lying in the bed, he knew just a single thought about his mother and sister would bring him to tears.

    He loved them.

    He had never known his father.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    He had never known Raya¡¯s father.

    And he wondered. A noble, caring for a child from the slums. That sounded something completely illogical. It was something straight out of a dream. Something that weirdly made him scoff.

    A noble, caring for a kid from the slums? The thought seemed ridiculous. People like him didn¡¯t get saved by nobles, or anyone for that matter.

    Still, as much as he wanted to dismiss the idea, it lingered. His mind, though foggy and aching, wouldn¡¯t let go of Gideon¡¯s words. The concern had been real¡ªhe couldn¡¯t deny that. It wasn¡¯t pity or some hollow attempt at nobility. Gideon¡¯s warning had been firm, but behind it, there was something else. Maybe not love, but... care.

    Stop it. He shook his head slightly, trying to push the thought away, but the effort made his headache flare. His fingers clenched around the blanket as memories of his mother and sister resurfaced, uninvited. The familiar ache of grief tightened in his chest, pressing against his ribs, sharp and relentless.

    But now, lying here, sore and exhausted, something tugged at the corner of his mind. Why would someone like Gideon even bother with me?

    With a frustrated sigh, Ronan closed his eyes, willing himself to stop thinking. I can handle this alone, like always.

    ***

    Five days had passed since Ronan had woken up, and the lingering headache had dulled to a faint throb, though his mind still felt raw and fragile. Following the instructions he¡¯d been given, he had rested, barely moving from bed, except for this¡ªthe garden.

    The fresh air was a welcome escape from the heaviness of his thoughts. He wandered through the quiet paths, letting his mind drift, careful not to push too hard against the fragile boundaries of his consciousness. He stopped in front of a particular flower, its deep violet petals catching the light just right, making them look almost metallic. It was striking, standing out against the other plants around it, and there was something about it that made him pause.

    As he knelt down to get a closer look, he was interrupted by a voice behind him.

    "Ah, the Lyrias," the voice said, old and weathered but carrying a gentle warmth.

    Ronan blinked and turned around, surprised. Standing just a few feet away was a very, very old man, bent slightly with age but with sharp eyes that twinkled beneath bushy white eyebrows. His skin was wrinkled, weathered by years in the sun, and his clothes were simple¡ªa worn, earthy-colored tunic. Despite his age, the man exuded a kind of quiet vitality, like he was as much a part of the garden as the flowers themselves.

    ¡°The Lyrias,¡± the old man repeated, taking a few slow steps forward. ¡°A rare flower, only blooms once every five years.¡±

    Ronan straightened up, still feeling a little off-balance from the sudden intrusion. The old man¡¯s gaze rested on the flower before turning back to Ronan, a soft smile on his lips.

    ¡°They say it represents resilience,¡± the man continued, his voice low but steady. ¡°It endures the harshest conditions¡ªlong winters, scorching summers¡ªyet, it always blooms. Always finds its way back to life.¡±

    Ronan shifted, unsure if he liked where this conversation was heading. ¡°Sounds like a lot of effort for a flower.¡±

    The old man smiled faintly. ¡°Maybe. But some things are worth the struggle, Young Master. It¡¯s not about how often it blooms, but what it takes to get there.¡±

    Ronan glanced back at the flower, the bright red pollen in the center looking like a pupil.

    The old man straightened up, glancing around the garden with a quiet reverence. ¡°Every flower here has its own tale. Some, you might say, reflect the people who tend to them.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s eyes followed the old man¡¯s gaze, landing on a cluster of pale blue flowers growing low to the ground, their petals delicate yet spread wide, reaching hungrily toward the sun.

    ¡°That one there,¡± the old man pointed, ¡°is Inveil. It blooms in the hottest seasons, thriving in drought when everything else withers away. Fragile-looking, isn¡¯t it? But it¡¯s stronger than it seems.¡± He paused, a small smile tugging at his lips. ¡°Just like some people.¡±

    Ronan raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re saying I¡¯m a flower now?¡±

    The old man chuckled softly, the sound deep and weathered by age. ¡°Not exactly, Young Master. But nature teaches, if you care to notice. Some things look weak, but they¡¯re the ones that endure the longest.¡±

    Ronan crossed his arms, his gaze still on the Inveil. It felt strange, listening to an old man talk about flowers and strength, but something about it wasn¡¯t irritating. In fact, it was... oddly comforting. Like this man understood something deeper about struggle that no one else had ever bothered to explain.

    ¡°What about that one?¡± Ronan asked, nodding toward a tall stalk with vibrant yellow petals, standing proudly in the sunlight.

    The old man¡¯s expression softened as he looked at it. ¡°Ah, Solaris Crest. That one thrives under the most intense sunlight. It grows in places where the heat burns everything else. Its seeds wait, sometimes for years, before they find the right moment to bloom. But when they do, they grow beautiful.¡±

    ¡°How is it that these flowers are growing here? I don¡¯t sense such a hot climate here.¡±

    The old man smiled, as if expecting the question. ¡°Ah, this garden isn¡¯t just any garden, Young Master. I personally created this with the temperature control artifact the Lord gave me.¡±

    Ronan nodded, the old man¡¯s words swirling in his head. There was something almost poetic about the idea of these flowers enduring through harsh conditions, only to come out stronger.

    Without meaning to, Ronan found himself touching the flower, the tension in his chest easing slightly. It wasn¡¯t some life-altering moment, but it was something¡ªan understanding that seemed to be quietly forming between him and the old man.

    The old man dusted his hands off, his eyes twinkling with quiet knowing. ¡°You don¡¯t have to say much, Young Master. Sometimes, it¡¯s enough just to sit and listen.¡±

    Ronan looked at him for a long moment. He wasn¡¯t sure what it was, but the old man¡¯s presence felt... calming. He wasn¡¯t pushing Ronan toward anything, just talking.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Ronan muttered, his voice softer than usual. ¡°I guess it is.¡±

    The old man smiled, the lines in his weathered face deepening with warmth. He gave a slight nod, as if the conversation had done exactly what it was supposed to. Without another word, he turned and wandered back down the garden path, his steps slow and steady.

    Ronan stood there a moment longer, his eyes lingering on the flowers. He still didn¡¯t know what to make of it all, but there was a quiet comfort in knowing this place¡ªand this old man¡ªwere here. The garden, the flowers, the quiet... It was like a small reprieve from everything else.

    As the old man¡¯s figure disappeared behind the hedges, Ronan finally turned and made his way back to the mansion.

    Wait, what was his name again?

 10. The Grey

    Ronan sat at the heavy oak desk in the study. The air in the room was thick with the scent of old parchment and polished wood. His fingers traced idle patterns on the edge of the desk as Tobias stood before him with a large map spread across the board.

    It was so amazing that he could actually read and understand the language. Magic was convenient.

    ¡°We will begin with the Ravencia Empire,¡± Tobias started, his voice calm and measured. ¡°Ravencia is one of the oldest and most powerful empires in the known world, though you might not have heard much of it in your previous life.¡± He gestured toward the map, where the empire sprawled across vast lands, its borders clearly defined.

    Ronan¡¯s eyes traced the map, lingering on the strange, almost unnatural shape of the empire. The crescent of land seemed to cradle the circular island in the center, Soleas. It felt deliberate, like the empire had been designed that way, cut off and protected. The way the Midlands connected the crescent to the capital reminded him of a bridge, holding everything together. Without it, the capital would have been an isolated dot in a sea of nothing.

    It looks like it¡¯s protecting itself from everything, he thought, narrowing his eyes. The vast expanse of water around Soleas made it seem even more distant, unreachable. It was as if the empire¡¯s rulers had drawn the lines themselves, keeping the heart of power far away from the rest of the world, both inside and outside the borders.

    Ronan let out a small breath. Makes sense, he mused. Keep the important people far away from the ones that struggle.

    ¡°Historically, Ravencia has been an isolated empire,¡± Tobias continued, his finger tracing the empire¡¯s borders on the map. ¡°It does not seek relations with neighboring kingdoms, nor does it involve itself in foreign matters. The empire values self-sufficiency, relying on its own resources and strength rather than alliances. In fact, the world maps, if there exist any in the empire, are not in circulation.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s eyes followed Tobias¡¯s hand as it moved, but his mind was already wandering slightly. Isolation. Self-sufficiency. He didn¡¯t know much about politics or anything for that matter, but he was sure that was fishy.

    Ronan frowned, leaning forward slightly. ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound suspicious at all,¡± he muttered. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t there be maps? Or why keep them hidden?¡±

    Tobias paused for a moment, as if expecting the question, then nodded. ¡°It may seem odd, yes. But there are a few reasons behind it.¡±

    He straightened, his tone becoming more formal. ¡°First, security. Ravencia¡¯s rulers have always believed that knowledge of the empire¡¯s geography could be used against them. By limiting access to detailed maps, they prevent foreign powers¡ªor even internal dissenters¡ªfrom exploiting any weaknesses in its defenses.¡±

    Ronan raised an eyebrow, but didn¡¯t interrupt. The idea made some sense, though it felt paranoid.

    ¡°Second,¡± Tobias continued, ¡°control. By keeping the outside world distant and unclear, the empire maintains a kind of unity. The people of Ravencia are less likely to seek out foreign lands or ideas if those places are unknown to them. It strengthens loyalty to the empire, because there¡¯s nothing else to compare it to.¡±

    Ronan let that sink in. It was strange, but he could see how that might work. If you didn¡¯t know what was beyond your borders, why would you care about it?

    What he was actually surprised by was how they were being so blatant about it.

    ¡°And finally,¡± Tobias said, his voice taking on a more serious note, ¡°the last reason is tradition. Ravencia has always been an isolated empire. For centuries, the emperors have kept the outside world at arm¡¯s length, believing that Ravencia should stand alone. This mindset has shaped everything from its military policies to its education. The empire does not share its knowledge lightly, nor does it seek to gain knowledge from others.¡±

    Ronan frowned again. ¡°So... no one¡¯s curious? No one ever wants to know what¡¯s out there?¡±

    Tobias¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change. ¡°Curiosity is natural, but in Ravencia, it¡¯s often discouraged. The empire is vast enough that most citizens never feel the need to look beyond its borders. Also, Ravencia being surrounded by water from all sides helps reinforce this tradition. The only side that is not surrounded by water is the Cliff of Isolation, which is a dangerous location. For those who do want to venture outside, well... there are ways of ensuring they remain loyal to the empire.¡±

    The Cliff of Isolation?

    ¡°Is the Cliff of Isolation¡­¡±

    Tobias nodded, ¡°Yes, it is the cliff which is near the slums of Ironhold.¡±

    The cliff where his sister had died. His grief tried to bubble out like lava. But he slowly tried to shake it off. It didn¡¯t help much, but he tried to ignore it.

    ¡°The empire has a long history,¡± Tobias continued, his tone still even, ¡°dating back over a thousand years. It was founded by Emperor Vaelor I, a ruler who unified the fractured clans and smaller kingdoms that once fought over this land. He forged the empire through both military strength and diplomacy, establishing a central authority that has lasted through the centuries.¡±

    Ronan raised an eyebrow slightly. It was still strange to imagine a place that didn¡¯t seem to care much about the rest of the world. But no one cared about anyone in this forsaken world.

    ¡°Over time, Ravencia has developed a unique culture¡ªfocused inward, on its own people, its own lands,¡± Tobias explained. ¡°The empire¡¯s economy thrives on its own resources¡ªmetals from the mountains, fertile farmlands, and rich trade routes within its borders. There is little need to rely on trade with other kingdoms, which is why Ravencia remains a mystery to much of the outside world.¡±

    Ronan shifted slightly in his chair, trying to focus despite the slight ache still lingering in his head from the memory retention process. The history didn¡¯t exactly interest him, but he knew he needed to listen. This world he had been thrown into operated on rules and traditions that stretched far back, rules he barely understood.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    Ronan¡¯s gaze flicked to the map again. The isolation Tobias described seemed both like a strength and a weakness. A place that didn¡¯t rely on anyone else could be strong... but what happened when things fell apart inside those walls? He didn¡¯t ask the question aloud, though. It felt like the kind of thing no one would answer anyway.

    Tobias paused, letting the weight of the empire¡¯s history settle before continuing. ¡°It¡¯s important to understand that while Ravencia remains isolated, it is not stagnant. Innovation and progress are key to its strength. The empire prides itself on advancing in areas like magic, science, and military strategy. That¡¯s part of what makes Ravencia so formidable, despite its lack of external allies. And as you know, the Lumenbourg University of Mystical, Combat and General Studies, which you have been accepted into, being one of the biggest powers in the empire.¡±

    Ronan leaned back in his chair, trying really hard not to judge. This empire was like a fortress¡ªstrong, impenetrable, self-reliant. But something about it still felt... fragile. He didn¡¯t know why, but the idea of all this power, focused inward, made him uneasy.

    ¡°And how do the people fit into all this?¡± Ronan finally asked, his voice quieter than usual.

    Tobias glanced at him, his expression a little stoic. ¡°The people of Ravencia are proud of their empire.¡±

    Ronan raised an eyebrow, unable to hold back a scoff. ¡°Yeah, sure. Proud. Maybe the ones who aren¡¯t fighting for scraps in the slums.¡±

    Tobias¡¯s gaze softened as Ronan¡¯s words hit the air, but he didn¡¯t argue. ¡°I understand why you¡¯d feel that way, given where you¡¯ve come from. But the empire, like many things, has a structure, a system designed to keep things... functional, even if it isn¡¯t always fair.¡±

    Ronan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. ¡°Yeah, right. ¡®Functional¡¯ for those at the top.¡±

    Tobias didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°True. Those at the top have power, but they also have responsibility¡ªresponsibility to manage the land, its people, and to maintain the balance of the empire.¡± He paused for a moment before continuing. ¡°Ravencia¡¯s caste system is deeply ingrained. The Emperor Caste, at the highest level, rules over all. Below that, the Noble Caste manages the empire¡¯s regions. Then comes the Elite Caste¡ªcommanders, scholars, magicians. They¡¯re the intellectual and magical leaders who advise the nobility.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°So, it¡¯s a pyramid. The lower you are, the less you matter.¡±

    Tobias sighed. ¡°It may seem that way, and in some ways, it¡¯s true. But each caste plays a role. Below the Elite Caste, you have the Merchant Caste, those who control trade and commerce. Then the Artisan Caste¡ªskilled craftsmen who create the empire¡¯s finest goods. And of course, there¡¯s the Warrior Caste, the soldiers and guards who protect the realm.¡±

    Ronan gave a humorless chuckle. ¡°And where does that leave the rest of us?¡±

    Tobias met his gaze, a flicker of sympathy in his eyes. ¡°The Farmer Caste and the Servant Caste make up much of the empire¡¯s working class. They keep the empire running, but they lack the status of the higher castes. And then... there are the Outcast Caste and the Grey Caste¡ªthose who have fallen through the cracks of society. The poorest, the most downtrodden.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s jaw tightened at the mention of the Grey Caste. He knew exactly where he fit in that system. He didn¡¯t need a lesson to remind him of it.

    ¡°The caste system is rigid, yes,¡± Tobias continued. ¡°But there are opportunities to rise, especially for those with exceptional talents or those who are able to attend institutions like Lumenbourg University. It¡¯s one of the few places where the lines blur, where people from different castes can excel based on their abilities rather than their birthright.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s fists tightened slightly at his sides, the words settling in uncomfortably. Opportunities to rise? His eyes flicked back to the map as Tobias spoke, but the meaning of the words weighed heavily in his chest. Opportunities, he thought bitterly. Where were the opportunities for the people in the slums? For his mother, who¡¯d scraped by until there was nothing left? For his sister, who...

    He could feel the familiar, dull ache creeping into his chest, that old, quiet grief clawing its way back up to the surface. He shifted in his seat, swallowing the lump in his throat, trying to ignore it. Tobias kept talking, his voice calm, rational, as if explaining the system made it somehow... bearable.

    Ronan¡¯s jaw clenched as Tobias continued. ¡°Lumenbourg¡ªplaces like that¡ªthey break the mold. You¡¯re here now, Young Master. That already proves¡ª¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Ronan cut in, his voice low but laced with an edge that hadn¡¯t been there before. Something was unraveling inside him. ¡°You¡¯re telling me that me sitting here at this desk is proof of what? That the system works? That I¡¯m lucky?¡± His heart pounded in his chest as the words came, faster now. ¡°How is that supposed to make sense when all I¡¯ve seen is the exact opposite?¡±

    Tobias hesitated, sensing the shift in Ronan¡¯s tone. ¡°I¡¯m not saying it¡¯s fair. I¡¯m saying¡ª¡±

    ¡°And how does that justify anything?¡± Ronan¡¯s voice grew harder, sharper, the anger bubbling up now. He could hear it, feel it, but it was too late to stop it. ¡°How does me being here justify what my mother went through? Or my sister?¡±

    Tobias¡¯s face flickered with something like discomfort, but Ronan didn¡¯t stop.

    ¡°Do you think this... this freaking school is supposed to make everything better? That it¡¯ll magically erase the fact that people like us¡ªpeople in the Grey Caste, as you so fancily put¡ªhave been left to rot in the streets?¡± His voice rose, breaking through the quiet of the room. ¡°How does any of this make sense when they¡¯re dead? Where were their opportunities?¡±

    His fist slammed down on the desk before he even realized what he was doing. The sound echoed in the room, sharp and final. Ronan¡¯s chest heaved¡ªthe years of helplessness, of watching everything fall apart while the rest of the world just moved on.

    Tobias flinched at the sudden outburst, his calm demeanor shaken for the first time. His eyes darted to the desk, then back to Ronan, his face growing tight with unease. He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. ¡°Young Master¡­ I¡ª"

    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that,¡± Ronan spat, his breathing heavy. ¡°Do you think just because I¡¯m here, because I¡¯m sitting at this fancy desk, that any of this makes sense? That my family suffered for some ¡®greater good¡¯ in this sick hierarchy?¡±

    Tobias looked down for a moment, clearly uncomfortable, his hands clasping together tightly. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t expect you to accept it, sir. I¡¯m not justifying what¡¯s happened to you, or to anyone else. The system¡ªthis empire¡ªit¡¯s flawed. And I know it must seem like no one cares about the ones at the bottom. But¡­ things are changing.¡±

    ¡°Changing?¡± Ronan scoffed, his voice filled with disbelief. ¡°What could possibly be changing?¡±

    Tobias cleared his throat, his nervousness more evident now. ¡°The current emperor, Emperor Eldor V, he¡¯s been quietly pushing for reforms, trying to create more opportunities for people who have been neglected. He understands that the caste system is outdated and unfair, but you have to realize¡­ disrupting a system that¡¯s been in place for over a thousand years isn¡¯t easy.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s eyes burned with intensity. ¡°So what? That¡¯s not going to bring back my family.¡±

    Tobias hesitated, his gaze softening as he looked at Ronan. ¡°No, it won¡¯t bring them back,¡± he said, his voice quieter now. ¡°But you have something most people in the Grey Caste never get. You have a chance to change things, for yourself and for others like you. You¡¯re in a position to make a difference. To make sure what happened to your family doesn¡¯t keep happening to others.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s jaw tightened, the fire in his eyes dimming slightly. The weight of Tobias¡¯s words pressed on him, making him feel like he was carrying a burden he never asked for. He didn¡¯t sign up to fix this broken system.

    He exhaled sharply, his voice low but resolute. ¡°This lecture is over.¡±

    Tobias paused, then nodded, sensing that there was no point in pushing further. ¡°Yes, Young Master.¡±

    Ronan stood there for a brief moment longer, his gaze hard, before turning on his heel and walking out of the room.

 11. Too Much Information

    The following day, Ronan found himself back at the desk in the study, though his mind wasn¡¯t entirely on the lesson ahead. He leaned back slightly in the chair, arms crossed, his thoughts drifting back to the outburst he¡¯d had with Tobias the previous day. He couldn¡¯t help but feel a twinge of guilt for how he¡¯d handled it. Yelling at the guy hadn¡¯t really accomplished anything, and deep down, he knew it wasn¡¯t Tobias¡¯ fault that the world was so messed up.

    But still... everything Tobias had said rubbed against old wounds, ones that hadn¡¯t healed, and probably never would.

    When Tobias entered the room for today¡¯s lecture, there was a brief silence between them. Tobias moved about calmly, setting up the lesson materials like usual, but there was a subtle tension in the air. Ronan shifted in his seat, unsure how to break it, or if he even should.

    After a few moments, Ronan¡¯s voice cut through the quiet, though he didn¡¯t look directly at Tobias. ¡°Yesterday... I was just...¡±

    He trailed off, not really sure what he wanted to say. He wasn¡¯t the kind of person to apologize outright¡ªespecially for something like that. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the awkwardness creep in.

    Tobias glanced up from the papers, and he had a smile on his face. ¡°I understand, Young Master,¡± he said quietly, his tone steady. ¡°I cannot imagine what you might have gone through. You don¡¯t have to explain yourself. Lord Gideon had warned me about this.¡±

    This Lord Gideon knew an awful lot about him, and he wasn¡¯t sure how he felt about that. Ronan¡¯s gaze flicked toward him briefly, and then he nodded, though he didn¡¯t respond.

    ¡°I just wanted to say, I know that you didn¡¯t have any prejudice.¡±

    Tobias moved over to the desk, pulling out a thick folder and placing it in front of Ronan. The leather binding looked worn, but inside, the papers were meticulously organized, each page filled with neat writing and detailed information.

    ¡°These,¡± Tobias began, ¡°are the names and details of the key nobles in the Ravencia Empire. You¡¯ll need to familiarize yourself with them.¡± He paused, glancing at Ronan with a knowing look. ¡°It may not seem important now, but in your future, it will be critical to know who holds power and where.¡±

    Ronan frowned, flipping through the pages. He wasn¡¯t particularly thrilled about the idea of memorizing the names of people he hadn¡¯t even met¡ªpeople who, in his mind, had probably never spared a thought for someone like him. But something told him Tobias was right. He was in a different world now, and it was clear that knowing the names of these people would matter.

    Tobias continued, pointing to the first name on the list. ¡°The current ruler of the empire is King Eldor V Von Heisenberg. He¡¯s been on the throne for over three decades. Known for stabilizing the empire after his father¡¯s turbulent rule, his majesty has pushed for reforms in various sectors¡ªespecially education and trade. He¡¯s also quietly started to loosen the restrictions on the caste system, though... as you can imagine, change comes slowly.¡±

    Ronan nodded, half-listening as Tobias spoke. He could see a name written in bold at the top of the page: King Eldor V. The man seemed like an enigma to him, someone so far removed from the world Ronan had known, yet now he was supposed to care about his achievements.

    Maybe he is as nice as Tobias claims, but whatever.

    ¡°And then there¡¯s Archduke Caelan Aeris,¡± Tobias continued, moving on. ¡°One of the most powerful figures in the empire. He¡¯s been the king¡¯s most trusted advisor for years, especially in military strategy and international relations. If you¡¯re to understand the balance of power, you need to know that Archduke Aeris controls much of the military presence inside and outside of Soleas.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s eyes flicked over the details, a list of titles and achievements following Aeris¡¯ name. He fought the urge to tune out, but something about the sheer scale of it all kept him listening.

    ¡°There are four dukes, each controlling vast provinces within Ravencia,¡± Tobias said, moving on slowly. ¡°Then, five Marquesses, who manage the more strategic regions and are often involved in trade and economic policies. Beyond them are eight earls, ten viscounts, and fifteen barons. Each holds sway over different territories, managing resources, and ensuring the empire¡¯s stability.¡±

    Ronan looked at the endless stream of names, ranks, and titles. It was overwhelming. Even if it was clear he needed this information, whether he liked it or not.

    ¡°Start by memorizing these key figures,¡± Tobias said, tapping the folder lightly. ¡°Their names, their allegiances, and their influence. It will make things clearer for you as you navigate your new life.¡±

    Ronan sighed. This was going to be a long road.

    Tobias glanced at Ronan¡¯s weary expression, sensing the growing weight of everything he was being told. He paused for a moment before continuing, deciding this was the right time to mention something more personal.

    ¡°Among the Marquesses, there¡¯s one name you should know very well¡ªMarquess Gideon Vandross.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s gaze snapped back to Tobias, the name catching him off guard, even though he¡¯d heard it many times before. There was something different about hearing it in this context.

    ¡°He controls the Midlands,¡± Tobias explained, pointing to the area on the map that connected the crescent-shaped empire to the central capital. ¡°The region is one of the most important in Ravencia, both strategically and economically. It¡¯s the lifeline that ties Soleas to the outer empire. Trade, military movements, political influence¡ªeverything flows through the Midlands.¡±

    Ronan looked at the map, his eyes tracing the broad stretch of land Tobias was pointing to. He hadn¡¯t really thought about it before, but it made sense now why Gideon had so much power. The Midlands weren¡¯t just some random stretch of land¡ªthey were the connection between the empire¡¯s heart and its body.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Tobias continued, his tone a little more thoughtful now. ¡°Marquess Vandross has been a key figure in maintaining stability in the empire. His influence extends far beyond the Midlands. And, as you know, he¡¯s the one who adopted you.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s fingers tensed slightly against the desk, the reality of his situation becoming more apparent. Gideon wasn¡¯t just some wealthy noble who had taken him in¡ªhe was one of the most powerful figures in the empire. That realization made him feel even more out of place.

    ¡°His position gives you access to a world most people will never see,¡± Tobias added, his voice softer. ¡°But it also comes with responsibilities. That¡¯s why it¡¯s important you learn these things, Young Master.¡±

    Ronan didn¡¯t respond right away, his thoughts spinning. He¡¯d known Gideon had power, but now it felt like he was stepping into a world way, way bigger than even normal humans. The Midlands, the empire, the titles¡ªall of it was starting to feel bigger than he had ever imagined.

    Tobias¡¯s voice broke through his thoughts. ¡°This will take time, but you don¡¯t have to figure it all out at once.¡±

    Ronan nodded slowly, his eyes still on the map.

    Tobias shifted the stack of papers aside, his expression growing more serious. ¡°Since you will be starting university in nine days, I think it¡¯s time to tell you more about Lumenbourg University too,¡± he said, folding his hands together.

    Ronan perked up slightly at the mention of the university, though a part of him still felt apprehensive. It was the whole reason he was here in the first place, but he hadn¡¯t been given much information about what it would actually entail until now. Not that he himself had cared to ask.

    Tobias pointed back to the map. ¡°Lumenbourg University of Mystical, Combat, and General Studies is located here, right at the edge of Soleas, where Midlands start. It¡¯s one of the most powerful and prestigious institutions not just in Ravencia, but in the entire known world. It¡¯s where many of the future leaders, scholars, warriors, and magicians were and still are shaped.¡±

    Ronan leaned forward, more intrigued than he wanted to admit.

    ¡°The university is vast,¡± Tobias continued. ¡°It¡¯s almost like a tiny city in itself, with its own hierarchy, its own traditions, and, of course, its own power struggles. It¡¯s where students from all backgrounds¡ªnoble, elite, and even some lower caste individuals¡ªcome to prove themselves. But make no mistake, it¡¯s not just an academic institution. Lumenbourg holds political influence as well. Most of the important figures in Ravencia are its alumni.¡±

    Ronan tried to imagine what it would be like, a place filled with people who had everything¡ªthe ones who had power, status, and knowledge handed to them. But there was something else too, something Tobias hadn¡¯t said outright but was hanging in the air. It¡¯s also where the lines blur, he remembered Tobias saying earlier.

    ¡°What am I supposed to do there?¡± Ronan asked, unable to keep the frustration from his voice. ¡°I¡¯m not like them. They seem so¡­ shiny.¡±

    Tobias¡¯s eyes softened. ¡°It¡¯s not uncommon for students to feel lost at first. But once you start, you¡¯ll be able to explore different fields¡ªmystical studies, combat arts, political strategy, alchemy, and more. You¡¯ll be guided through the basics, but the choices you make after that will be up to you.¡±

    Tobias continued, ¡°At Lumenbourg University, there are several main paths students can follow, depending on their abilities and interests. The university is known for its focus on mystical studies, combat arts and political strategy, but it also offers other paths like alchemy and general studies like philosophy and more. Students from different backgrounds pursue their own fields, but since you¡¯ve been admitted through the magic quota, you¡¯ll follow the magic path.¡±

    He paused for a moment, watching Ronan¡¯s expression carefully before explaining further. ¡°In your first year, you¡¯ll be guided through the basics of mystical studies, learning to harness and understand your magic. However, you will have the option to choose a few electives¡ªsubjects that interest you, outside of magic. These could be anything from history, philosophy, or even practical combat skills if you wish to explore them.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s brow furrowed slightly. ¡°So, it¡¯s not just about magic?¡±

    Tobias shook his head. ¡°No, while your primary focus will be on mastering your magic, the university encourages students to be well-rounded. In your second year, you¡¯ll have more freedom in choosing your subjects, and that¡¯s when you¡¯ll really start shaping your future. The electives you choose can influence what kind of mage you become, what direction your studies take.¡±

    Ronan nodded, trying to absorb it all. But he didn¡¯t really think of himself as bright, evidence being he was already forgetting half of it.

    Ronan raised his eyebrows, ¡°Exactly how important is magic here?¡±

    Tobias folded his hands, meeting Ronan¡¯s eyes with a steady gaze. ¡°Magic in Ravencia, Young Master, is everything. Those who awaken to magic are rare¡ªperhaps one in five thousand. The empire itself was built on magic, and those who possess it are considered among the most valuable assets. That¡¯s why, the moment you awakened your magic, you became someone extremely important. It¡¯s a gift, but also a responsibility.¡±

    Ronan leaned back in his chair, taking in the gravity of Tobias¡¯s words. One in five thousand? He hadn¡¯t realized just how rare magic users were, or the weight that came with being one. He always felt like he was at the bottom, a nobody, but now, he was being told that in this world, his magic made him something else entirely.

    Tobias paused, sensing Ronan¡¯s unease. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to dump it all on you, but before you enter the university, this information is essential for you. Because of your association with Marquess Vandross, you¡¯ll be entering Lumenbourg as nobility. So in some way, you will be representing him.¡±

    Tobias smiled at him as he continued, ¡°Although entering as nobility comes with certain privileges. You¡¯ll be allowed to have one attendant with you during your time there, to assist you in your studies and daily life.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s brow furrowed. An attendant? The idea felt foreign, almost absurd to him. He was still adjusting to the idea of having a life that didn¡¯t involve scrounging for scraps, let alone being treated like some noble with a personal attendant.

    ¡°And who would that be?¡± Ronan asked, half-sarcastically.

    ¡°That¡¯s up to you,¡± Tobias replied, his tone patient. ¡°You¡¯ll have the freedom to choose, though your decision will need to be approved by the Marquess. It¡¯s a small tradition, but one that will follow you at the university. You¡¯ll find that it¡¯s not just a place for learning, but a place where status and alliances matter.¡±

    Ronan fell silent, staring at the map again, trying to process everything. Lumenbourg University... It sounded more like a battleground than a place of study, where people fought to carve out their futures. And now, somehow, he was part of that.

    Tobias gave him a moment before standing. ¡°We¡¯ll continue with more specifics about the university in the days to come. You don¡¯t need to feel overwhelmed by it all.¡±

    Ronan nodded absently. He was overwhelmed.

    As Tobias was packing up his stuff for the day, he turned to him, ¡°Oh, and Lord Vandross told me to notify you about the visit to the university market tomorrow. He has asked you to be ready by 11 am.¡±

    ***

    The university market was unlike anything he had ever seen before.

 12. Candy

    Ronan sat stiffly in the carriage beside Gideon, the steady rhythm of the wheels on the cobblestone streets filling the silence between them. Gideon seemed relaxed, his posture easy as he gazed out of the window, but Ronan couldn¡¯t shake the discomfort that clung to him. His mind wandered, still trying to process everything Tobias had told him about the university and the empire. He wasn¡¯t sure if he was ready for this.

    He also wasn¡¯t sure he had the confidence of wearing such flashy clothes outside. His shirt had actual jewels.

    Jewels!

    "You seem tense," Gideon remarked, his voice cutting through the quiet, though there was no judgment in his tone.

    Ronan shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "Just... thinking."

    Gideon didn¡¯t press him further, and for that, Ronan was grateful. He wasn¡¯t in the mood to talk, not about everything swirling in his head. He liked that about Gideon.

    Ronan¡¯s eyes drifted to the window, and the moment he caught sight of what lay beyond, every thought in his head stilled. His breath hitched. The university sprawled out before him, grand and towering, unlike anything he had ever imagined. Massive structures rose from the earth like they belonged to another world entirely¡ªarches that seemed to touch the sky, towering spires with intricate carvings, and endless courtyards filled with lush greenery.

    The buildings shimmered in the late morning light, their stone walls reflecting a strange kind of beauty¡ªboth ancient and untouchable. Each tower, each building, was laced with a kind of magic that Ronan could feel even through the thick glass of the carriage.

    He pressed his face closer to the window, unable to tear his gaze away. The place was mesmerizing. He had seen wealth and grandeur in the noble quarters before, but this? This was something else entirely. It felt alive, like every stone and arch had a story to tell, a secret to hide.

    Gideon, noticing Ronan¡¯s reaction, gave a small smile. "Impressive, isn¡¯t it?"

    Ronan could only nod, words lost in the immensity of the sight. For a moment, everything else faded away¡ªthe worries, the uncertainty, the future.

    ¡°What is this place?¡± Ronan asked, more to himself than anyone else.

    ¡°That,¡± Gideon gestured towards that massive hulk of a building, ¡°is the place you will be going to. The Lumenbourg University of Mystical, Combat and General Studies.¡±

    The carriage started to move to the left of that central building as Gideon continued, ¡°But that is not the place we will be going to today.¡±

    ¡°Then where are we going?¡±

    ¡°Patience.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s gaze wandered, taking in the impressive array of buildings passing by the carriage window, each more grand than the last. He couldn¡¯t make sense of them¡ªmassive towers, intricate spires, and bustling courtyards all seemed to blend together, a blur of overwhelming scale and beauty. It was as though the university was its own city, stretching far beyond what he had imagined.

    Minutes passed, and despite his best efforts, Ronan couldn¡¯t take in the entirety of it. Every turn revealed something new¡ªtall archways, sprawling plazas, and shimmering banners bearing the university¡¯s crest. He felt like an outsider looking in, unable to grasp the sheer scope of what he was seeing.

    After what felt like an eternity of watching this strange new world unfold, the carriage finally slowed to a stop. Gideon glanced at him, a knowing look in his eye. "We¡¯re here."

    Ronan blinked, pulling himself out of his reverie. The door opened, and he stepped down from the carriage, his boots meeting the cobblestone road. He turned, and his breath hitched.

    Before him was the university market, a scene unlike anything he¡¯d ever encountered. The street stretched wide, lined with shops of all kinds, their signs hanging proudly overhead. A bustling crowd moved through the square¡ªstudents, merchants, and scholars all mingling together. The air was thick with the smell of herbs, fresh bread, and the unmistakable tang of magic.

    ¡°This,¡± Gideon said, stepping down beside him, ¡°is the University Market.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s eyes scanned the scene before him, his heart racing with the sheer number of things to take in. He caught sight of a few shop names, painted in elaborate calligraphy and glowing faintly with enchantments. Arcane Tomes & Codices, The Brewmaster¡¯s Cauldron, Woven Enchantments¡ªeach name more intriguing than the last.

    But then, his gaze landed on one particular sign¡ªa bright, lively storefront that stood out even among the extravagant shops around it. The sign, painted in vibrant colors, read Sweet Scribe Confections. The large, cheerful letters were accompanied by images of candies that practically sparkled, as if promising magic in every bite.

    Ronan blinked, unable to look away. His curiosity spiked, and for reasons he couldn¡¯t explain, his feet began to move toward it, drawn in by the colorful display of treats in the window. He barely registered Gideon following behind him, as he entered the shop.

    As soon as Ronan stepped inside Sweet Scribe Confections, the air changed. The scent hit him first¡ªsugary, warm, with a hint of something spicy, like cinnamon mixed with magic. He blinked, his senses assaulted by the overwhelming sight of colors, sparkles, and every imaginable form of candy. Shelves lined the walls, towering above him and filled with jars, boxes, and delicate glass containers. Inside them were candies of every size, shape, and hue, some even floating gently above their displays, spinning lazily as if caught in an invisible breeze.

    A burst of laughter echoed from a corner, and Ronan''s eyes darted toward a group of students tasting a tray of brightly glowing bonbons. One of the students popped a bonbon into his mouth and immediately turned a brilliant shade of blue, giggling uncontrollably while his friends doubled over in laughter.

    Ronan''s heart raced with excitement as his eyes swept across the room. Candies that shimmered like stars, chocolates wrapped in gold foil that seemed to melt just by looking at them, and jars of chewy treats that crackled with sparks of magic.

    "Welcome!" a voice chimed in from behind the counter. A stout, jovial man with a striped apron and a beaming smile appeared. "First time here, is it? Come, come! You must try the Mystic Fizzers¡ªa house favorite." He gestured to a tray with a flourish, offering Ronan a small, fizzy candy that looked like it was swirling with tiny stars.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Ronan hesitated, but curiosity won. He picked up one of the candies and popped it into his mouth. Instantly, the candy fizzed and popped, filling his mouth with a bubbly sensation. Then, in a flash, his vision swirled with colors¡ªvivid reds, blues, and greens danced in front of his eyes. For a moment, he swore he could hear laughter, distant but warm, like a memory brought to life. He blinked rapidly, and the sensation faded, leaving a sweet, lingering taste on his tongue.

    His mouth dropped open in awe, but the shopkeeper wasn''t done. "Try this next¡ªLaughing Lemon Drops! They''ll bring a smile to even the grumpiest of faces!" Without waiting for a response, the man placed a small, yellow candy in Ronan''s hand.

    Ronan hesitated for only a second before tasting it. The tartness hit him first, but within moments, an uncontrollable chuckle escaped his lips, followed by another, and then another, until he was outright laughing. He felt his face flush with heat as he tried to stop, but the candy seemed to have other plans, tickling him from the inside out.

    Gideon, watching the whole scene, chuckled softly. "Looks like you''ve found your favorite shop," he said with a grin.

    Ronan tried to speak, but his words came out in a choked laugh. He barely managed to gasp, ¡°I¡ªdon¡¯t¡ªhave¡ªmoney!¡±

    The shopkeeper waved a hand, unconcerned. "Oh, don¡¯t you worry about that now. It¡¯s not every day we get someone as captivated as you, lad. How about a few more free samples?"

    Ronan''s eyes widened as the shopkeeper offered him another candy, a shimmering blue sphere. ¡°Starlight Pop,¡± the man explained. ¡°Tastes like the night sky.¡±

    Ronan bit into it cautiously, and immediately, the room seemed to darken. Tiny stars flickered around him, as if the universe itself had opened up before his eyes. He stared in awe as the starry scene sparkled and danced in front of him.

    But just as he started to think he was getting carried away, he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. Gideon stepped forward, his smile warm but mischievous. ¡°Well, Ronan,¡± he said, ¡°you¡¯ve had a taste of magic and candy. What do you think?¡±

    Ronan could barely respond, still marveling at the experience. ¡°It¡¯s¡ª¡± He trailed off, completely overwhelmed by the sensations, the magic, the pure joy of it all. His mind flashed back to the idea that he didn¡¯t have any money to even think about buying these delights.

    Gideon, noticing his hesitation, smirked. ¡°No need to worry about that.¡± He stepped to the counter and, in one grand gesture, reached into his coat pocket and pulled out several gleaming gold coins, setting them down with a satisfying clink. ¡°Boxes of everything.¡±

    The shopkeeper¡¯s eyes widened in delight, and Ronan¡¯s jaw dropped. ¡°Wait, wait¡ª I can¡¯t¡ª¡±

    Before he could finish, Gideon picked up another candy, a glowing pink truffle, and popped it into Ronan¡¯s mouth, silencing him. ¡°Shut up and enjoy it,¡± Gideon said with a smirk, his tone playful but firm.

    The truffle melted on Ronan¡¯s tongue, filling his mouth with a flavor that could only be described as pure bliss. His protests melted away with it, replaced by an overwhelming sense of gratitude and disbelief.

    As the shopkeeper happily began packing up several boxes of sweets, Ronan looked up at Gideon, who simply gave him a wink. ¡°Consider it a welcome gift.¡±

    Ronan, for once, didn¡¯t argue.

    And the secret was, he didn¡¯t want to argue.

    ***

    Ronan stood stiffly on the platform, arms outstretched as the tailor worked around him with quick, precise movements. The man¡¯s expression was sharp, though not unkind, and his tone matched¡ªformal, yet with an edge of authority. The magical measuring tape wound itself around Ronan¡¯s chest and arms, recording his measurements with almost unsettling accuracy.

    ¡°Stand straight, if you will, Young Master,¡± the tailor instructed, his voice clipped but professional. ¡°We need these measurements exact for your official university attire.¡±

    Ronan did as he was told, feeling awkward under the tailor¡¯s watchful eye. He wasn¡¯t used to being scrutinized like this, let alone for clothes that felt far too extravagant for him. ¡°Why so formal?¡± Ronan muttered under his breath, but the tailor caught it.

    ¡°Your university uniform is reserved for ceremonies, gatherings, and any formal events the university deems appropriate.,¡± the tailor replied, his voice cool. ¡°You may not wear it often, but when you do, it will be in front of the most important figures in the empire. Appearances matter.¡±

    Pretentious much?

    The tailor stepped back, looking Ronan over critically. ¡°The blazer will be tailored once your guild assignment is made. For now, these measurements will ensure the rest of your attire is ready promptly.¡±

    Ronan raised an eyebrow. ¡°Guild?¡±

    The tailor gave a curt nod. ¡°Every student is assigned to a guild after their initial orientation. It¡¯s tradition, and your guild will determine the final stitching and emblem of your blazer. Having your measurements now will ensure the process is faster once that assignment happens.¡±

    Ronan shifted uneasily on the platform. The feeling of being measured from head to toe was odd¡ªintrusive, even. The enchanted measuring tape ticked off numbers around his waist and arms, and he could feel the tailor¡¯s eyes on him, though the man said nothing.

    Gideon, who had been standing off to the side, observing quietly, finally spoke. ¡°It¡¯s all part of the formality of the university. The events, the uniforms, they¡¯re just another aspect of life there. You¡¯ll get used to it.¡±

    Ronan let out a small huff, watching as the tape coiled around his chest, measuring him with an efficiency that made him feel more like an object than a person. "Used to it, huh?" He muttered under his breath. That¡¯s what he had been hearing since last month.

    The tailor, oblivious to Ronan¡¯s discomfort, continued with his work, adjusting the tape one last time before stepping back. ¡°All done,¡± he said, with the same neutral tone he¡¯d used from the start. ¡°You¡¯ll be notified when your official attire is ready.¡±

    Ronan stepped off the platform, feeling the remnants of the tailor¡¯s critical gaze as he followed Gideon out into the bustling market streets.

    Shops lined the street, each more extravagant than the last. Some were filled with shimmering robes, others with magical artifacts that pulsed with faint light. Ronan¡¯s eyes skimmed the vibrant displays but didn¡¯t linger too long on any one thing.

    As they walked through the bustling streets, Ronan¡¯s eyes darted from one shop to the next, trying to make sense of the sheer variety around him. He caught sight of a sign for The Brewmaster¡¯s Cauldron, its logo featuring a cauldron bubbling over with vibrant colors.

    A little further along, they passed a shop with an elegant sign reading Woven Enchantments. The clothing in the window shimmered in the light, and Ronan could see students stepping in and out, each leaving with robes that seemed to change with their movements.

    The sounds of shopkeepers calling out their wares and students haggling over prices filled the air. The clinking of coins, the hum of enchantments, and the occasional burst of laughter created an atmosphere that clashed with Ronan¡¯s own thoughts.

    ¡°Penny for your thoughts?¡± Gideon asked, his tone light but curious.

    Ronan shrugged, glancing sideways at the people bustling by. ¡°The tailor was weird.¡±

    Gideon chuckled softly. ¡°You might need to get used to it. There are all kinds of people in the world.¡±

    Ronan huffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. ¡°Right.¡± He tried not to let his unease show, but everything here felt too extravagant¡ªtoo polished for someone like him.

    As they passed one of the larger shops, Ronan¡¯s eyes caught sight of a display of enchanted armor, the metal glowing faintly as it shifted colors in the light. He slowed for a moment, watching the way students eagerly peered into the window, admiring the gleaming pieces.

    ¡°Interested?¡± Gideon asked, noticing Ronan¡¯s gaze.

    Ronan shook his head, quick to dismiss it. ¡°Not really. Just... never seen anything like it.¡±

    Finally, after weaving through the market¡¯s various stalls, they reached the quieter end of the street where Tempest Forge stood. Unlike the other shops, this one had no flashy displays or magical effects in the windows. It was solid, almost imposing, with the faint sound of hammering coming from within.

    ¡°This is our last stop for the day,¡± Gideon said as they stopped in front of the forge.

 II. Sweet Scribe Confectionsâ€™ 50 Most Popular Candies

    <ol>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Mystic Fizzers

    Small, swirling candies filled with tiny, star-like lights. When they pop in your mouth, your vision bursts into a kaleidoscope of colors for just a few seconds. It¡¯s like seeing the world through a magical lens¡ªbrighter, more vivid, and alive, if only for a moment.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Laughing Lemon Drops

    Bright, lemon-shaped drops with a glossy sheen that seem to almost laugh themselves. Pop one in, and you¡¯ll be hit with a wave of laughter so contagious, even the grumpiest person can''t resist cracking up. The best part? It spreads like wildfire to everyone around.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Starlight Pop

    A shimmering blue sphere with twinkling flecks inside. As you savor it, the room dims, and you''re surrounded by a galaxy of stars. For a brief moment, it feels like you¡¯re floating through the cosmos, gazing at distant lights.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Giggling Gumdrops

    Colorful, glowing gumdrops that seem to hum with their own energy. When you chew them, it¡¯s as if someone¡¯s tickling you¡ªlightly, playfully¡ªleaving you giggling uncontrollably for a few minutes.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Euphoria Truffle

    A delicate pink truffle with a soft, glowing core. One bite melts away all your stress, wrapping you in a blanket of warmth and pure happiness. It''s almost like drifting into a cozy dream, where worries can¡¯t reach you.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Chameleon Chews

    Multicolored, stretchy candies that shift colors as you chew. Each hue paints itself on your skin, matching the candy¡¯s current shade. It¡¯s a fun, temporary transformation that lasts just long enough to surprise a few friends.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Frosted Fantasia

    Ice-blue, sugar-coated candies with a frosted exterior. Take a bite, and your body instantly cools down, while a misty chill forms around you. Perfect for sweltering days or cooling off after a heated moment.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Jolly Jiggler Nougat

    A squishy nougat that makes you bounce uncontrollably for a few seconds, like a springy ball, before returning to normal.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Tickle Twisters

    Spiral-shaped candies that make you twist and wiggle as if being tickled for a few moments. Fleeting fun that leaves you laughing.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Fireberry Toffee

    Red and orange striped toffee that radiates warmth. Bite into it, and a comforting heat spreads through your body, but don¡¯t be too surprised if a small puff of harmless fire escapes when you speak.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Dream Dust Mints

    Tiny, pastel mints that dissolve on your tongue in an instant. A soft drowsiness takes over, perfect for those nights when sleep feels just out of reach. It¡¯s a little dream in candy form.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Whisper Wafers

    Thin, translucent wafers that shimmer faintly in the light. Eat one, and for half a minute, you''ll catch faint whispers of nearby thoughts. It¡¯s not mind-reading, but a fun, fleeting glimpse into the minds around you.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Featherlight Fluff

    Cotton candy-like fluff that vanishes the moment it hits your tongue. For the next five minutes, you¡¯ll feel as light as air, almost like you could float away. Walking will feel more like gliding, making each step effortless.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Echo Chocolates

    Dark chocolates with a soft, glowing center. After eating one, your voice will echo with every word you say for the next hour. It¡¯s harmless but sure to make conversations a little more... dramatic.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Prism Pops

    Lollipops that constantly shift colors as you suck on them. The world around you takes on the same hue, transforming your vision into a living painting. Once the candy¡¯s gone, everything returns to normal¡ªno lasting harm, just a few minutes of colorful chaos.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Bubbleblast Bites

    Small, round candies with a fizzy coating. Each bite makes your breaths turn into large, floating bubbles. They drift lazily around until they pop with a soft, sweet scent.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Glowberry Chews

    Neon-colored gumballs that glow faintly in the dark. Chew one, and your cheeks glow faintly in the dark like rosy lanterns for a few minutes. Just enough light to amuse your friends!</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Thunder Crunch

    Hard, lightning bolt-shaped candies that crackle when you bite into them. The sound is startlingly loud, like a mini thunderstorm in your mouth. It won¡¯t hurt anyone, but you¡¯ll definitely turn heads.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Whirlwind Taffy

    Swirled taffy that seems to move in your hand, like it¡¯s caught in a breeze. Once eaten, a tiny whirlwind appears around you, gently swirling small objects like leaves or paper for a few minutes.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Radiant Ribbons

    Long strips of rainbow-hued ribbon candy. Eat one, and your body will glow softly in the dark for the next hour, casting colorful light in every direction.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Echoing Gummies

    Jelly-like gummies shaped like tiny bells. Every step you take while chewing one sends out a faint chiming echo, making you the source of a gentle, musical rhythm as you walk.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Serpent¡¯s Sweets

    Small, slick, snake-shaped candies. After eating one, your tongue flickers like a serpent¡¯s, and you find yourself hissing when you speak. It¡¯s more eerie than useful, but it certainly leaves an impression.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Phantom Caramels

    Smoky, dark caramels that seem to vanish when you try to touch them. Eat one, and you¡¯ll turn translucent for a few seconds, making you look like a ghost.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Comet Candies

    Star-shaped candies that sparkle and trail dust as you eat them. You¡¯ll feel a rush, like you¡¯re hurtling through the cosmos, even though your feet stay planted firmly on the ground.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Memory Melts

    Smooth, creamy chocolates that melt as soon as they hit your tongue. For a few minutes, you¡¯ll be completely absorbed in a vivid memory from your past, reliving it as if it¡¯s happening all over again.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Wishing Wisps

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.Wispy, cloud-like candies that dissolve into mist the moment they touch your fingers. Eat one, and you can make a small, fleeting wish¡ªlike making flowers bloom or conjuring a cool breeze. It¡¯s harmless but magical enough to spark joy.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Starburst Spinners

    Hard, glittering mints with a fiery core. Pop one in, and a burst of heat rushes through you, warming you from the inside out, then making you spin gently in place, leaving trails of sparkling stardust. A dizzying delight for a few seconds.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Cloudpuff Chews

    Soft, white candies that resemble tiny clouds. After eating one, a feeling of weightlessness takes over, as if you¡¯re floating in the sky for several minutes. You may find yourself daydreaming mid-chew.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Twinkling Tandem Treats

    Combo of two dark purple candies with a faint, almost invisible sheen. Break these paired candies, and both eaters sparkle in sync.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Crystal Crunchies

    Rock candy that sparkles like a cluster of gemstones. After chewing, your skin sparkles in direct light for the next ten minutes, making you look like you¡¯ve just stepped out of a jewelry store display.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Harmony Heels

    Musical note-shaped candies with a metallic glint. Eat one, and every step you take for the next ten minutes will produce a pleasant, tinkling melody. You¡¯ll feel like you¡¯re walking through a musical dream.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Tidal Taffy

    Blue and green striped taffy that moves and ripples like waves. Eating it gives you the odd but pleasant sensation of floating in water, even though you¡¯re standing on solid ground.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Whispering Winds

    Leaf-shaped candies that flutter lightly as if they¡¯re caught in a breeze. Once eaten, you¡¯ll hear faint, soothing whispers around you, as if the wind itself were sharing secrets just for you.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Flickerfruit Fizz

    Fizzy, fruit-shaped candies that glow faintly. As they dissolve on your tongue, you flicker in and out of sight for a few moments, as if you¡¯re slipping between realities.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Sizzle Snaps

    Deep red candies that give off a subtle warmth even before you eat them. Once you do, they make you snap your fingers uncontrollably, producing harmless little sparkles. A playful and fiery addition to any conversation.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Frostbite Crunch

    White and silver candies shaped like icicles. Eating one chills your body, making your breath come out in frosty puffs, though you¡¯ll still feel perfectly comfortable in any temperature.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Pixie Pearls

    Tiny, shimmering pearls that sparkle with every movement. Once swallowed, you¡¯ll feel the faint flutter of imaginary wings on your back, as if you¡¯ve been touched by a bit of pixie dust.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Gravity Gummies

    Chewy, weighty gummies shaped like little dumbbells. Eating one makes you feel as though gravity itself has shifted¡ªeither making you lighter, so every step feels like a bounce, or heavier, so you walk with purposeful weight.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Volcano Fizzles

    Orange and red candies that bubble lightly when touched. Eat one, and small, harmless bursts of sparks and steam pop out when you speak, giving you the appearance of a walking volcano.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Lunar Lollies

    Lollipops that glow softly, like miniature moons. Suck on one, and the world around you takes on a soft, moonlit glow, making everything look peaceful and dreamlike for a few minutes.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Rainbow Ripple Rolls

    Rolls of candy that make your body shimmer in flowing rainbow waves for a minute. You¡¯ll look like a living light show.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Venomberry Bites

    Dark, sticky, blood-red berries with a tangy burst. Eating one makes your tongue tingle and turn a dramatic shade of black for a minute, adding a spooky flair to your smile, though the candy itself is perfectly safe.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Moonlight Morsels

    Soft candies that make everything around you glimmer faintly as if lit by moonlight. The effect lasts just a few peaceful seconds.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Starfire Candies

    Tiny star-shaped candies with glowing centers. Eating one fills you with a warm, crackling sensation, almost like a fire has ignited within, making you impervious to the cold for a little while.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Phantom Pufflets

    Puff-like candies that briefly make you appear smoky and transparent. A ghostly, harmless illusion for some spooky fun.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Serene Spheres

    Round, pale blue candies with a smooth texture. As you consume them, a deep, serene calm washes over you, bringing mental clarity and soothing your nerves, even in the most stressful situations.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Jester Jellies

    Wobbly, multicolored jellies shaped like comical faces. After eating one, you¡¯ll find yourself acting silly and unpredictable for a short while, much to the amusement (or confusion) of those around you.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Velvet Mirage Nougat

    Dark, silky-smooth nougat wrapped in velvety black paper. Eating this makes you appear like a blurry, dreamy mirage for a moment. Perfect for a whimsical, fleeting escape.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Echo Pearls

    Small, iridescent pearls with a faint sheen. After eating one, your voice will echo back everything you say for a few minutes, as if you¡¯re talking in a grand hall, no matter where you are.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Velvet Veil

    Soft, velvety candies that melt on the tongue. Eating one gives you the sensation of being wrapped in an invisible, comforting veil, soothing your mind and body for about fifteen minutes, perfect for moments when you need a little peace.</li>

    </ol>

 13. Of All Things, A Toot

    Ronan stood in front of the rundown building, and he could feel the contrast between this shop from the others. Unlike the shining, clean storefronts around it, the forge had an almost faded presence. Its stone walls were darkened from years of soot and smoke, and the sign, simple yet bold, hung above the door. The letters, carved into iron, read Tempest Forge¡ªno glowing enchantments, no fancy designs. What it looked like was just raw, unpolished power in old walls.

    He could feel the heat emanating from inside, even before stepping through the door. As soon as they entered, the air was thick with warmth, the sound of metal clanging against metal filling the space. Weapons lined the walls, from gleaming swords and enchanted staffs to rough, practical daggers. The space was so weird with the items it had that it looked more like an attic in an old house.

    A man stood behind a massive workbench, hammering away at a piece of metal that glowed orange under his hands. His arms bulged as he worked, his skin streaked with soot and sweat. There was no mistaking the power in the way he moved¡ªevery strike of the hammer precise, every motion deliberate.

    Ronan¡¯s eyes wandered around the room, taking in the weapons, some looked to be pulsing with a faint glow, others simple but deadly. The heat and the noise overwhelmed his senses, but there was something grounded about this place. He liked this place.

    The man finally looked up, noticing them. His sharp eyes softened when they met Gideon¡¯s, and a grin spread across his soot-streaked face. ¡°Well, look who decided to darken my doorstep,¡± the man said, his voice gruff yet warm. He wiped his hands on his apron and approached, offering Gideon a firm handshake.

    ¡°Orin,¡± Gideon said, returning the handshake with equal strength. ¡°Good to see you again.¡±

    Orin turned his attention to Ronan, eyeing him up and down with a quick, appraising glance. ¡°So, this is the one you¡¯ve been talking about, huh?¡±

    Ronan shifted under Orin¡¯s scrutinizing gaze, but before he could respond, Orin chuckled. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, kid. You¡¯re in good hands. I deal in everything¡ªenchanted weapons, wands, makeshift gear. If it¡¯s something that can be used in a fight, I can make it.¡±

    Orin gestured to the various weapons displayed around the shop. ¡°You see, some folks think all that matters is the magic. But magic or not, a weapon¡¯s got to be reliable. And if you want something with a bit of flair? Well, I can make that too.¡±

    Gideon, standing beside Ronan, grinned. ¡°Orin¡¯s the best. He won¡¯t say it himself, but he¡¯s known for crafting some of the most powerful enchanted weapons in the empire. Even makes custom pieces for the nobility.¡±

    Orin shrugged, clearly used to Gideon¡¯s praise. ¡°I make what needs to be made. Sometimes, that¡¯s a sword with runes that can slice through steel, and sometimes it¡¯s a wand that fits in the palm of your hand.¡±

    Ronan looked around the room, his eyes drawn to a staff resting on a rack near the wall. The staff seemed to glow faintly, pulsing in time with the forge¡¯s heat. Next to it, a dagger gleamed, its blade simple but sharp, with a faint magical aura.

    Orin raised an eyebrow, noticing where Ronan¡¯s gaze lingered. ¡°Interested in something? Or just browsing?¡± He grinned, leaning back against the workbench. ¡°I can make you something that¡¯ll last, kid. You¡¯re not here just for show, are you? And judging from the lanky body you have, I don¡¯t think you want a weapon.¡±

    Ronan said almost instantly, ¡°I want a weapon.¡±

    Orin laughed, ¡°I like your spirit. But-¡± He patted Gideon¡¯s back, or more like, hit it loudly, ¡°You¡¯re a magic user, aren¡¯t ya?¡±

    Ronan made a face at Orin¡¯s words, the casual mention of him being a magic user sending a pang of uncertainty through him. He had wanted a weapon¡ªa real weapon¡ªbut he was supposed to be all about magic, wasn¡¯t he? The whole reason he was here, standing in this forge, was because of his magic, not some sword or dagger. And yet... the idea of having a weapon felt like something tangible, something real he could hold onto. He had always felt vulnerable, always unarmed in a world that could tear you apart at any moment.

    He glanced nervously between Orin and Gideon, unsure of how to respond. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

    Orin noticed his expressions right away. His grin softened into something more understanding. ¡°Kid, you¡¯re lookin¡¯ like you¡¯ve seen a ghost.¡± He chuckled, patting the workbench beside him. ¡°Listen, you¡¯ve got options. Just ¡®cause you¡¯re a magic user doesn¡¯t mean you can¡¯t have a weapon. Hell, some of the best magic users I know keep a blade on ¡®em.¡±

    Gideon stepped in, sensing Ronan¡¯s unease as well. ¡°He¡¯s right, Ronan. Magic is a tool, just like a weapon is. There¡¯s no rule that says you can¡¯t have both.¡±

    Ronan blinked, their words slowly registering in his mind. He had assumed it was one or the other, that he was supposed to focus solely on magic.

    Orin folded his arms, his grin still in place but less teasing now. ¡°I can make you something that suits you. Could be a staff that doubles as a weapon. Or maybe a wand that fits into the hilt of a blade, ready when you need it. You don¡¯t have to settle for one or the other. That¡¯s the beauty of my craft.¡±

    Gideon nodded, his tone reassuring. ¡°Orin doesn¡¯t take requests from just anyone. He¡¯s selective, and trust me, if he didn¡¯t like you, he wouldn¡¯t even be offering. He owes me a favor¡ªactually, he owes me his life¡ªbut he¡¯s still picky about who he makes things for.¡±

    Orin laughed, a deep, hearty sound that echoed through the forge. ¡°Damn right I¡¯m picky. But anyone who¡¯s got this one vouching for ¡®em¡ª¡± he jerked his thumb at Gideon, ¡°¡ªwell, let¡¯s just say I¡¯m willing to make an exception.¡±

    Ronan watched the two men, noticing how different Gideon seemed with Orin. There was an ease between them, something Ronan hadn¡¯t seen before. He couldn¡¯t help but wonder what Orin meant by owing Gideon his life, though he didn¡¯t ask. It wasn¡¯t really his business.

    For all of Gideon¡¯s formality, there was clearly a deeper connection here. What had Gideon done to earn that?

    Not that he was that interested to know. He glanced around the forge, his mind drifting back to the weapons.

    Ronan¡¯s gaze wandered around the forge, taking in the assortment of weapons displayed on the walls and workbenches. His eyes landed on a heavy, two-handed axe first, its blade gleaming with an unnatural sheen. The dark steel seemed to hum with quiet power, and Ronan could feel the weight of it just by looking at it. It was clearly enchanted, the runes etched into the metal glowing faintly, but he shook his head. It didn¡¯t feel like his kind of weapon.

    Next, he noticed a massive broadsword hanging on the wall. The blade was thick, its edge gleaming with an intense sharpness. It looked like it could cleave through anything in its path. The weapon had a raw power to it, heavy and forceful, clearly built for someone with more brute strength than finesse. And frankly, it seemed kind of scary to even wield.

    Then, his eyes fell on a sword displayed near the back of the room, its handle wrapped in dark leather, the blade simple but clean. Without thinking too much about it, he picked it up, testing its weight in his hands. The metal felt cold, heavy, and as he awkwardly tried to swing it, the blade wobbled in his grip.

    ¡°Ugh,¡± he muttered, lowering the sword, feeling the disappointment sink in. ¡°Yeah, swords aren¡¯t my thing.¡±

    Gideon smirked, watching from a distance, his arms crossed over his chest. ¡°You¡¯ve got to find what works for you.¡±

    Ronan shrugged, setting the sword back down. ¡°Guess I¡¯m not the knightly type.¡±

    Orin chuckled from his place at the workbench. ¡°Swords are overrated anyway. Too much love around them. You need something that fits you, not something that looks good on a battlefield.¡±

    Ronan moved over to a bow next, testing its string with a tug. The bow was finely crafted, but it felt... wrong. He pulled back the string experimentally, but the action felt stiff and unnatural in his hands.

    ¡°Yeah, no,¡± Ronan muttered, setting it aside quickly. ¡°This feels even worse.¡±

    Orin raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re not much for traditional weapons, huh?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t know,¡± Ronan said, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling a little embarrassed by how clumsy he felt with everything.

    Orin watched Ronan for a moment, then smiled slightly. ¡°Alright, kid, let¡¯s try something different. Close your eyes.¡±

    Ronan frowned but did as he was told, unsure of where this was going.

    ¡°Now, picture yourself in a situation,¡± Orin began, his voice steady and patient. ¡°You¡¯re out in the wild, maybe in a place you¡¯ve never been before. Suddenly, you hear footsteps¡ªsomeone¡¯s coming. You¡¯re not sure how many, but you know they¡¯re after you. What¡¯s the first thing you do?¡±

    Ronan shifted uneasily, his mind scrambling for an answer. "Uh¡­ I don¡¯t know, maybe¡­ hide?"Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    Orin nodded encouragingly. ¡°Yeah, hiding¡¯s smart. Keep yourself unseen. But then, one of them spots you, charges straight at you. What would you do?¡±

    Ronan hesitated, clearly unsure. "I guess¡­ I¡¯d try to run? Or maybe block them somehow, I don¡¯t know..."

    Orin grinned, clearly enjoying this process. ¡°Alright, but say you can¡¯t run¡ªnowhere to go. You need to defend yourself. What would feel right in your hands? Not a sword, obviously¡ªyou already said that. Something else.¡±

    Ronan bit his lip, the scenario feeling uncomfortably real. ¡°Something¡­ light? I don¡¯t know, something that¡¯s not too hard to swing¡­ maybe something that could, like, knock them back?¡±

    Orin¡¯s eyes twinkled as he guided Ronan further. ¡°Good, you don¡¯t need to know exactly, but think of how you¡¯d move. How would you fight? Fast, from a distance? Or up close?¡±

    Ronan shifted again, feeling the pressure. ¡°I¡­ I guess I¡¯d want to keep them away. But I¡¯d need to hit them if they get close, right?¡±

    Orin chuckled. ¡°Exactly. You¡¯re thinking more like a fighter now. You need something flexible, that can work both near and far. What if they¡¯re right on top of you?¡±

    Ronan shook his head, feeling out of his depth. ¡°I¡¯d¡­ I don¡¯t know, maybe just try to hold them off? Keep them back long enough to do something?¡±

    Orin went over to the display and picked up a spear.

    Orin handed Ronan the spear, the smooth, dark wood feeling solid in his hands. ¡°Here,¡± Orin said with a grin. ¡°Give it a go.¡±

    Ronan hefted the spear, trying to mimic the stance he¡¯d seen in stories. It felt... okay at first. The length gave him a sense of control, but when he tried a couple of jabs, something was off. The movements felt awkward, like he had to put too much effort into making it work.

    He frowned, stepping back as he tried a wider swing. It wasn¡¯t terrible, but it felt like the spear was making him work harder than he needed to. He couldn¡¯t picture himself using it for real.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, I guess,¡± Ronan muttered, handing it back to Orin.

    Orin gave a knowing nod. ¡°It¡¯s not bad, but it doesn¡¯t fit you, does it?¡±

    Ronan shook his head. ¡°Feels like I¡¯m fighting the weapon, not with it.¡±

    Orin grinned, setting the spear aside. ¡°That¡¯s what I thought. You¡¯re not a spear guy either. You need something that moves with you, not against you.¡±

    Orin stroked his chin, a thoughtful look crossing his face. He gave an audible huff, then turned back to Ronan. "Alright, kid. Let me ask you this¡ªwhat do you prefer when it comes to your magic? A wand or a staff?"

    Ronan blinked, caught off guard by the question. ¡°What¡¯s the difference, really?¡±

    Orin grinned, clearly ready to explain. ¡°Well, a wand is quick, precise. Think of it like a scalpel. It¡¯s good for detailed work¡ªspells that need focus and accuracy. It¡¯s light, easy to carry around, and you can whip it out in tight spots. But it doesn¡¯t have the power a staff can pack.¡±

    He gestured to a staff hanging on the wall, taller and thicker than any wand Ronan had seen. ¡°A staff, on the other hand, is like a hammer. It channels more energy, packs a bigger punch, and is better for large-scale combat. You can cast more powerful spells, but it¡¯s heavier, harder to maneuver. It¡¯s also a better weapon by itself if you ever run out of magic.¡±

    Ronan thought about both, and came to the conclusion that he wasn¡¯t as invested wands and staffs, as he was in getting a weapon, ¡°I guess it doesn¡¯t matter.¡±

    Gideon, who had been quietly watching from the corner, finally spoke up. "It matters more than you think, Ronan." His tone was calm but firm. ¡°You¡¯re going to need something that fits you¡ªboth as a magician and as someone who¡¯s not used to relying on traditional weapons.¡±

    Orin¡¯s eyes suddenly lit up, and a wide grin spread across his face. He let out a loud, triumphant laugh, clapping his hands together as if he¡¯d just solved the greatest puzzle of his life. ¡°Ah! I¡¯ve got it!¡± he exclaimed, his voice echoing through the forge. ¡°Hold on, kid, I think you¡¯re going to love this.¡±

    Without another word, he darted to the back of the forge, moving with surprising speed for someone his size. The sound of clattering metal and muttered words filled the air, as Orin rummaged through various boxes and shelves.

    It was a little comical, a person with such a large body, jumping around like a kid.

    When Orin returned, he was carrying a beautifully ornate case, which kind of stood out like a sore thumb in the forge. The case was adorned with intricate markings and set with colorful gemstones that glimmered in the light of the forge. Orin opened the case with a flourish, revealing the weapon inside.

    Nestled within was a long staff, its surface smooth and polished to perfection. The staff itself was made from thick, dark wood, giving it an air of strength. Three glowing runes, vibrant in color, were etched into its surface, standing out against the deep wood. Ronan stared at it, a little unsure of what he was looking at. It seemed so simple, yet even someone from the slums could see it was something really really amazing.

    ¡°Go ahead,¡± Orin said, offering the staff to Ronan with a grin. ¡°Hold it.¡±

    Ronan reached out, gripping the staff. It felt solid in his hands, heavier than he¡¯d expected, yet balanced. It was a really handsome staff, but it was just that-a staff. He furrowed his brow.

    Weren¡¯t we focused on weapons right now?

    He looked at Orin. With a gleam in his eye, the blacksmith stepped closer and pointed to one of the colorful runes near the top. ¡°You¡¯re not just holding a regular magic staff. You¡¯re holding one of my greatest creations, the Whisperblade.¡±

    He pressed the rune, and with a soft click, the ends of the staff began to shift. Hidden mechanisms inside the wood sprang to life, and sharp, huge blades extended from both ends, gleaming dangerously under the forge¡¯s light. The blades had a slight iridescent sheen, shifting between shades of dark silver and deep blue. Ronan blinked in surprise, staring at the dual blades now protruding from the staff.

    ¡°These blades are made of Nightsteel and can be deployed with just a flick of your wrist,¡± Orin said with a grin. ¡°Perfect for when you need a weapon in a hurry.¡±

    ¡°Nightsteel?¡±

    ¡°Nightsteel?¡±

    Ronan looked at Gideon who spoke at the same time, his tone surprised to his questioning tone.

    Orin nodded his head looking at the staff, ¡°Nightsteel is incredibly strong and lightweight, giving it the perfect balance for both offensive and defensive. What makes it truly unique is its ability to absorb and channel magical energy, meaning the blades can be infused with spells to enhance it, perfect for a mage.¡±

    Ronan was still absorbing that when Orin pointed to the second rune. ¡°Now, here¡¯s more,¡± he said, pressing the rune in the center of the staff. A hidden compartment opened with a quiet hum, revealing a small wand hidden inside the core of the staff. The wand looked like a miniature version of the staff itself, with the same polished wood and runes, though it was much lighter.

    Ronan was completely amazed. He couldn¡¯t help but grin. The Whisperblade Staff was more than just a weapon¡ªit was a perfect blend of versatility, magic, and deadly practicality.

    Orin noticed the grin and chuckled. ¡°Oh, you think that¡¯s all, huh?¡± He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening as he pointed to a third, smaller rune near the base of the staff, a faint purple glow pulsing from it.

    Ronan tilted his head, curious. ¡°What does that one do?¡±

    With a mischievous glint in his eye, Orin tapped the rune lightly, and suddenly, the staff began to vibrate in Ronan¡¯s hands. It wasn¡¯t alarming, but it was definitely strange. And then, with no warning at all, the staff let out a loud, musical toot, like a horn blast from nowhere.

    Ronan¡¯s eyes widened in surprise as Orin guffawed, slapping his knee. ¡°That, my boy, is the ¡®Surprise Rune.¡¯ Perfect for a distraction or just giving your enemies a good laugh. Nothing like a good bit of chaos in a fight, eh?¡±

    Ronan shook his head in disbelief. ¡°A horn? Seriously?¡±

    ¡°Life is not meant to be all fight and serious, my boy. Laugh a little!¡±

    Ronan rolled his eyes, but despite himself, a tiny bit of smile slipped through the cracks.

    The name was Whisperblade, but there was actual toot installed in it.

    Orin stepped back, gesturing to Ronan. ¡°Go on, give it a swing. Let¡¯s see how it feels in your hands.¡±

    Ronan hesitated for a moment before gripping the staff more firmly. He swung it cautiously at first, feeling the weight shift with each motion. Surprisingly, despite its length and the heavy blades on either end, the Whisperblade Staff felt nice. The blades sliced through the air with a smooth, clean sound, and even though he wasn¡¯t a trained fighter, Ronan could sense the potential power in every movement. It was almost like the staff was guiding him.

    ¡°Well?¡± Orin asked, leaning against his workbench with a satisfied grin. ¡°Not bad, eh?¡±

    Ronan nodded, a little breathless. ¡°Yeah¡­ it feels good. It¡¯s... smooth.¡± He couldn¡¯t think of another word to describe the strange sense of control the staff gave him. It was like the weapon responded to him, matching his movements naturally.

    Gideon, watching quietly from the side, crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. ¡°Are you sure about this, Orin? Giving him something this... well, this powerful?¡±

    Orin chuckled, brushing a hand over his soot-stained apron. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure. I like the kid.¡± He walked over, giving Ronan a once-over. ¡°There¡¯s a weird kind of fire in his eyes. Something that says he¡¯s not just about the magic or power or revenge, or any hidden motive. This staff suits him.¡±

    He folded his arms, nodding with approval. ¡°Besides, the things I make aren¡¯t meant to sit on a shelf looking pretty. They¡¯re made to be used.¡±

    Gideon chuckled softly. ¡°I should¡¯ve known you¡¯d say that.¡± There was a rare hint of warmth in his tone as he turned to Orin. ¡°So, how much is this going to cost?¡±

    Orin¡¯s grin widened. He scratched his beard, his eyes twinkling with amusement. ¡°For you? Hmm, let¡¯s call it an old debt paid. And besides,¡± he added, nodding at Ronan, ¡°I want to see the journey of this weapon in his hands.¡±

    Gideon still seemed uncertain. ¡°And you¡¯re just going to give it to him for free?¡±

    Orin grinned, shaking his head. ¡°Not exactly. Kid¡¯s going to have to prove himself, earn it in a way. This staff isn¡¯t for just anyone. I¡¯ll consider it... a long-term investment.¡±

    Gideon shook his head, ¡°You are one big unpredictable goofball.¡±

    Orin patted his back again, ¡°And you need to smile more, my friend!¡±

    As Orin and Gideon continued their playful banter, Ronan¡¯s grip tightened on the staff. He didn¡¯t say anything, but inside, his mind was a mess.

    These days, he didn¡¯t understand anything anymore.

    As Gideon waved his goodbye to Orin, who was putting on his working goggles again and yelling to come by more often, Ronan felt weird holding such a large box in his hands.

    ¡°I will give you a Vaultstone when we get home.¡±

    Seeing the clueless look on his face, Ronan continued, ¡°It''s a stone which is able to store stuff in a pocket dimension. You will learn more about these in your school.¡±

    So much magic.

    As they stepped out of the forge, the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the street. The warmth of the day was beginning to fade, replaced by the coolness of early evening.

    Gideon walked beside him, hands casually tucked into his coat, his sharp eyes scanning the street. Ronan¡¯s mind was still at the forge when something suddenly cut through the calm air¡ªa blur of motion.

    A boy, no older than Ronan, darted right past them, nearly knocking the box out of his hands. He was quick, his ragged clothes whipping in the breeze as he sprinted down the street. Behind him, a shopkeeper¡¯s voice rang out, breathless but furious, ¡°Thief! Stop him!¡±

 14. The Dance Of Hope On Illusion

    ¡°Thief! Stop that boy!¡±

    Ronan¡¯s head snapped in the direction of the shout, just in time to see the young boy darting down the street. His small legs pumped furiously as he weaved between pedestrians, a look of sheer panic on his face. Behind him, two burly goons gave chase, their heavy footsteps pounding on the pavement as they yelled threats.

    Instinctively, Ronan¡¯s heart raced. He knew that look. He knew that fear. It was like staring at a mirror, his past playing out in front of him.

    Without thinking, Ronan¡¯s feet began to move, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. He pushed past a few people, trying to get a better look. The goons were gaining on the boy, their expressions dark with anger as they neared the terrified child. It wasn¡¯t a fair chase, not by a long shot. The boy was too small, too weak to outrun them for long.

    Just as one of the goons reached out and grabbed the boy by the back of his shirt, yanking him to the ground, Ronan found himself shouting.

    ¡°Hey! Stop!¡±

    The words left his mouth louder than he intended, and the street seemed to quiet for a brief second. The goons halted, looking up in surprise. The boy squirmed in the dirt, clutching something in his hands.

    A bread.

    Just a freaking loaf of bread.

    Ronan¡¯s eyes flicked down to the boy, and his heart clenched. The kid was tiny¡ªcouldn¡¯t be older than nine or ten, with a wild head of brown hair that stood out against his freckled face. His eyes were striking, a vivid green flecked with gold, darting around like a cornered animal. A faint scar ran across his left eyebrow, cutting through the hair there. His clothes were ragged, practically hanging off his skinny frame, and dirt streaked his face, accentuating how pale and malnourished he looked. He clutched the bread to his chest like it was the most valuable thing in the world, his small hands trembling as he stared up at Ronan with a look of desperation.

    One of the goons, a heavyset man with a scar running down his cheek, sneered at Ronan.

    ¡°What¡¯s it to you, kid?¡± he spat, holding the boy down with his boot. ¡°This little rat stole, and he¡¯s gonna pay.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s blood boiled. The boy¡¯s wide, terrified eyes met his, and it was like looking into the face of his own self¡ªhelpless, scared, and desperate.

    ¡°I told you to stop,¡± Ronan growled, stepping closer, his fists clenched. He could feel their stares, but he didn¡¯t back down. His chest tightened with a mix of anger and some more anger. He wasn¡¯t about to let them hurt this kid.

    Before things could escalate further, a calm but firm voice cut through the tension.

    ¡°That¡¯s enough.¡±

    Gideon had stepped forward, his presence commanding. Without a word, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small pouch, tossing it toward the goons. The heavier one caught it mid-air, the clink of coins audible as he weighed it in his palm.

    ¡°That should cover the bread,¡± Gideon said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

    The goon hesitated for a moment before his greed won out. He shoved the boy aside, letting him scramble free. With a grunt, the two men turned and lumbered off, counting their spoils.

    Ronan rushed over to the boy, helping him to his feet. The boy, dirt smudged across his face, looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. ¡°Th-thank you,¡± he stammered, clutching the bread tightly to his chest.

    Gideon stepped closer, his gaze softening as he looked at the boy. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± he asked, his voice calm yet firm.

    The boy sniffled, trying to catch his breath between sobs. ¡°S-Suri,¡± he hiccuped, wiping his eyes with a dirty sleeve. His grip on the bread never loosened, as though letting it go would mean losing everything.

    Gideon knelt down slightly to meet Suri¡¯s gaze, his tone gentler now. ¡°Alright, Suri. Tell me, why did you steal the bread?¡±

    Suri tried to speak, but his words came out in broken fragments, his teeth chattering a little. ¡°M-mother... she¡¯s sick... no food... I... I didn¡¯t... have... no money...¡± His words tumbled out, one after another, barely making sense, his voice shaking with fear and exhaustion.

    Ronan, still kneeling beside the boy, looked up at Gideon, unsure of what to do. This was all hitting too close to home, and seeing Suri in such distress only made him more frustrated with himself for not knowing how to help.

    Gideon, however, remained calm. He placed a reassuring hand on Suri¡¯s shoulder, his voice steady and composed. ¡°Breathe, Suri. You¡¯re safe now. No one¡¯s going to hurt you. Just take your time and tell us what¡¯s going on.¡±

    The boy hiccuped again, his breath shaky, but he nodded slowly, trying to calm down as best he could. His tears continued to fall, but his sobs slowly began to subside.

    Suri''s breathing began to steady as he sat between Ronan and Gideon, clutching the bread tightly against his chest. After a few moments, he wiped his nose on his sleeve and, in a shaky voice, started to explain.

    ¡°M-my mother¡­ she¡¯s really sick,¡± Suri said, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°She¡¯s been in bed for months. We don¡¯t have any money left, not even for food. I tried to get help, but no one... no one would listen.¡±

    Ronan felt a knot tighten in his chest as Suri continued, his words halting and broken. The boy wiped his eyes with his sleeve again, clearly struggling to keep from breaking down completely.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know what to do. But then... I remembered how much she loved this bread. It¡¯s her favorite.¡± He looked down at the loaf, his hands trembling. ¡°I just wanted to bring it back to her. So maybe, just maybe... she could feel a little better. Even if it¡¯s just for a moment.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s jaw tightened as he listened. It was all too familiar¡ªthe desperation, the need to do something, anything, to help someone you love. Suri¡¯s words hung in the air, raw and heavy with emotion.

    Gideon¡¯s eyes softened as he listened, and his voice remained calm and steady. ¡°You did what you thought was right, Suri. But stealing... it isn¡¯t the answer.¡±

    The boy sniffled again, his gaze lowering to the ground. ¡°I know... I know it¡¯s wrong. But... I didn¡¯t have any choice.¡± His voice cracked as tears started to pool in his eyes again.

    Ronan exchanged a glance with Gideon, silently pleading with him to do something¡ªanything. He couldn¡¯t just walk away now, not after hearing the boy¡¯s story. Gideon seemed to understand, his expression thoughtful as he looked down at the young boy.

    After a brief pause, Gideon stood up, extending his hand to Suri. ¡°Let¡¯s go see your mother, Suri. Maybe we can help.¡±

    Ronan glanced at Gideon, a swirl of confusing emotions tightening in his chest. This guy was making him question a lot of things in the world, and it was becoming a jumble of things in his mind, piling up, with no outlet.

    ***

    The carriage rattled gently as it made its way through the quieter streets. Suri sat between Ronan and Gideon, clutching the loaf of bread like it was his lifeline. His eyes were still red and puffy, but he had calmed down, his breathing steadier now.

    Ronan stared out of the window, the city passing by in a blur of lights and shadows, but his mind wasn¡¯t on the journey. His thoughts kept pulling him back, back to memories he didn¡¯t want to dwell on. His own mother, her frail body wasting away in the slums. The fear, the helplessness he had felt, watching her slip further away with each passing day. He hadn¡¯t been able to do anything for her. Not even a proper burial. Not even something as small as a good meal to comfort her at the end.

    He clenched his jaw, shaking the thoughts away. This wasn¡¯t about him right now.

    When the carriage finally came to a stop, the guards outside protested as Gideon made to step down. Their eyes flicked toward Suri and then back to Gideon with disapproval.

    ¡°Lord Gideon, it isn¡¯t wise¡ª¡±

    One look from Gideon, a sharp and cold gaze, silenced them instantly. The guard cleared his throat and stepped aside without another word.

    Ronan followed after them, his heart heavy as they walked through the narrow alleyways, led by Suri¡¯s small form. His eyes flickered back to the boy, to the bread he clung to so tightly. Something about it all felt like a cruel cycle.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    Suri stopped in front of a crumbling, run-down house. Although it was better than the garbage Ronan used to live in, it was barely holding itself together. Suri glanced back at them, hesitating for a moment, before pushing the door open and stepping inside. Ronan felt a knot tighten in his stomach as they followed.

    The inside of the house was small, dark, and cold. Suri led them toward a small room where, lying on a tattered blanket, was a woman. Her breathing was shallow, her skin pale and gaunt. She looked like she was barely holding on.

    Suri knelt beside her, his small hand resting on her frail arm. "I got your favorite, Mama," he whispered, placing the bread beside her.

    Ronan watched the scene unfold, his throat tight. He tried but it couldn¡¯t just be about Suri and his mother anymore. It was about everything he had lost, everything he had tried to forget.

    The frail woman stirred, her body trembling as a series of harsh, wet coughs racked her chest. Her eyelids fluttered weakly, barely managing to open. She tried to speak, but another fit of coughing cut her off, her body shaking from the effort.

    ¡°Mama?¡± Suri¡¯s voice cracked, his small hands trembling as he gently touched her arm. ¡°Please, Mama, say something¡­¡±

    But she couldn¡¯t. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, and her lips parted as if to speak again, but no words came. Suri¡¯s eyes filled with tears, his voice breaking as he turned to Ronan and Gideon, desperation written all over his face.

    "Please," Suri sobbed, "You have to help her! Please, do something! Don¡¯t let her die!"

    Ronan¡¯s heart pounded in his chest, a rush of panic and anger surging through him. He looked at the woman, at Suri¡¯s tear-streaked face, and something inside him snapped. This couldn¡¯t be happening. Not again. Not when there had to be something they could do.

    ¡°Gideon!¡± Ronan''s voice was sharper than he intended, his emotions pushing him to the edge.

    Gideon¡¯s eyes flickered with a rare moment of uncertainty as he knelt beside the woman, placing two fingers gently on her wrist to feel for a pulse. His expression remained stoic, but Ronan could sense the tension there, the understanding of how dire the situation truly was.

    ¡°She¡¯s¡­ very weak,¡± Gideon said quietly, glancing up at Ronan, his voice low.

    Ronan¡¯s jaw tightened, a fresh wave of anger rising inside him. It wasn¡¯t fair. It wasn¡¯t right. He clenched his fists, wanting to argue, to scream, to force the universe to give them a second chance. He couldn¡¯t accept that this was the end, that they were too late.

    ¡°No,¡± Ronan said through gritted teeth. ¡°There has to be something. Anything. We can¡¯t just¡­ let her die.¡±

    Gideon gave him a long, measured look, clearly weighing his options. Finally, he sighed and turned toward the guard standing near the entrance. ¡°Fetch the doctor. Now.¡±

    The guard hesitated, glancing between Gideon and the scene before him. For a moment, he seemed unsure, but the silent command in Gideon¡¯s eyes was enough to send him into action. Without another word, the guard rushed out to follow the order.

    The room fell into a tense silence, broken only by the sound of the woman¡¯s ragged breathing and Suri¡¯s quiet sobs. Ronan stood there, his chest heaving with frustration, feeling the helplessness claw at him. Even with all the magic, all the power in this world, some things remained just out of reach.

    And that was the cruelest part of it all.

    The doctor arrived within minutes, striding in with an air of quiet confidence. He was a tall man, with salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed back and a thin, silver monocle perched on his nose. His dark robes, adorned with small symbols of healing magic, swayed as he moved with practiced precision. Despite the dire surroundings, there wasn¡¯t even a flicker of disgust or hesitation in his expression as he took in the shabby room. Instead, his sharp, calculating eyes scanned the space before settling on the woman lying on the bed.

    ¡°Lord Vandross,¡± he greeted with a respectful bow, his tone formal but calm. ¡°It¡¯s an honor to serve you.¡±

    Gideon nodded in acknowledgment, his gaze serious. ¡°This woman needs help. Do what you can.¡±

    Without missing a beat, the doctor knelt beside the woman and immediately got to work, setting down a black leather bag and pulling out various instruments Ronan couldn¡¯t quite make sense of. Thin metal rods, small vials filled with glowing liquids, and a peculiar-looking glass orb¡ªall of which seemed both foreign and strange to Ronan. His mind, however, was too preoccupied to dwell on them. His eyes kept flicking back to Suri, who was still kneeling by his mother¡¯s side, silently weeping, holding her cold hand.

    The doctor worked swiftly, placing the orb over the woman¡¯s chest and muttering under his breath. The orb flickered with dim light as he moved it slowly along her body, its glow fading as it reached her extremities. His brows furrowed in concentration, and after a few more minutes of quiet examination, the doctor straightened up, his face grim.

    "She¡¯s suffering from late stage Crimson fever,¡± the doctor began, his tone steady but grave. ¡°a blood condition that has weakened her immune system and caused internal damage to her heart, lungs and liver. And I¡¯m afraid it has already reached her brain. And-,¡± he hesitated, glancing sympathetically at Suri, ¡°she¡¯s severely malnourished. Her body lacks the strength to fight back.¡±

    The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

    Ronan felt the breath leave his body as the weight of the doctor¡¯s diagnosis settled in. His eyes widened in shock, a lump forming in his throat. He had been prepared for bad news, but this¡­ this was worse than he¡¯d imagined. He swallowed hard, the frustration rising in him again, threatening to spill over.

    Suri, on the other hand, broke down completely. His small frame shook with violent sobs, his hands clutching at his mother¡¯s sleeve as if holding her tighter could somehow make her stay. ¡°No, no, no,¡± he choked out, his voice barely a whisper as he shook his head. ¡°She can¡¯t¡­ she can¡¯t die. She just can¡¯t.¡±

    The doctor stood back, his expression compassionate but firm. ¡°I¡¯m afraid there¡¯s nothing I can do to save her. She has only a few hours left at best.¡±

    Suri kept crying, his small frame trembling with each sob. The sound was raw, filled with despair, and it echoed in the small, suffocating room. His hands clung to his mother¡¯s limp arm as if his touch could somehow keep her tethered to life.

    The doctor, standing by quietly, gave a slow nod before continuing in a quiet tone. ¡°I can give her some medication to ease the pain and make her last moments as comfortable as possible. It won¡¯t cure her, but it¡¯ll help her pass away more peacefully.¡±

    Gideon, standing near the door, gave a curt nod of agreement, his usual composed demeanor tight with an edge of sadness. ¡°Do what you can,¡± he said softly, his voice lacking its usual firmness.

    As the doctor moved to prepare the medication, Ronan stood there, feeling a crushing sense of helplessness. It wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d watched someone die like this. His own mother had wasted away in front of him, and there had been nothing he could do. He had never been able to give her any comfort, any peace. No proper goodbye, no last moment of solace. He had simply watched her fade, powerless and alone.

    And now, here he was again. Watching someone else suffer. Watching another family fall apart. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. A thousand thoughts ran through his head¡ªanger, frustration, sorrow¡ªbut mostly, he felt useless. He had magic, he had been given the chance to learn things beyond what he could have dreamed of back in the slums, yet none of that could save this boy¡¯s mother.

    Gideon¡¯s voice pulled him from his thoughts. ¡°Ronan,¡± he said gently, his tone unusually soft. ¡°We should go back now. There¡¯s nothing more we can do.¡±

    But Ronan shook his head, the stubbornness in him refusing to let go. ¡°No. I¡¯m not leaving. I¡ªI can¡¯t just walk away from this.¡± His voice was strained, a hint of desperation lacing his words.

    Gideon studied him for a long moment, then, after a sigh, he gave a slow nod. ¡°Alright. We¡¯ll take them both back to the mansion.¡±

    Ronan blinked, surprised. He hadn¡¯t expected that. He glanced at Gideon, feeling a rush of gratitude wash over him, though he didn¡¯t voice it. His throat was tight with too many emotions to speak, but the decision felt like a lifeline. At least he could do this¡ªoffer them some dignity, a small bit of comfort in the end.

    As the doctor administered the medication, Ronan knelt beside Suri, placing a hand on the boy¡¯s shoulder. "We¡¯ll take her to a better place. She deserves that."

    ***

    Back at the mansion, the room was eerily quiet. Ronan stood in the corner, his back pressed against the cold wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The scene before him felt too familiar, too close. He had been here before, hadn¡¯t he? Standing just like this, a silent observer to death¡¯s cruel hands. Back then, it was his mother lying in that bed, her frail body giving out as his sister wept, inconsolable, next to her.

    And now, it was Suri. A boy he had just met, but whose pain he understood so deeply it hurt.

    Suri sat beside his mother¡¯s bed, clutching her hand as though his grip alone could keep her tethered to life. His face was wet with tears, his small frame shaking with each sob. The room was heavy with the weight of inevitable loss, and Ronan could barely breathe through it.

    Suddenly, there was a small movement on the bed.

    Suri¡¯s mother stirred, her eyes fluttering open, and slowly¡ªimpossibly¡ªshe sat up. Her once pale face now carried a warmth, a glow of health that hadn¡¯t been there moments ago. Ronan blinked, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Suri gasped, his tears stopping as he looked up at her in disbelief, his mouth falling open.

    ¡°Mama?¡± Suri whispered, his voice trembling, filled with hope that had no place in a room like this.

    His mother smiled, her hand gently caressing his face. ¡°I¡¯m here, my love,¡± she whispered, her voice soft but clear. Suri let out a joyful cry, throwing his arms around her, holding her as though he would never let go again.

    Ronan¡¯s heart twisted painfully. The joy in Suri¡¯s eyes, the overwhelming relief in his voice¡ªit was all too much.

    But then their eyes met¡ªSuri¡¯s mother and Ronan¡¯s. And somehow, in that one glance, Ronan knew. He didn¡¯t need anyone to tell him. He could see it in her eyes. This wasn¡¯t a miracle of recovery; this was something else. It was the last bit of strength she had left, her final gift to her son. She had forced herself back, pushed through the pain and weakness, just to give Suri this one last moment. This one final embrace.

    And as she hugged Suri, her hands tenderly brushing through his hair, her eyes began to close again. Her body relaxed, the energy that had seemed so full of life moments before now slipping away like the last rays of sunlight at dusk.

    Suri, still holding onto her, didn¡¯t realize at first. He was smiling, his tears now of happiness, whispering to her about how he knew she¡¯d be okay, how everything was going to be fine now.

    But Ronan knew.

    Slowly, too slowly, Suri realized something was wrong. His mother¡¯s arms grew limp around him, her body slumping back into the bed. ¡°Mama?¡± Suri¡¯s voice cracked. ¡°Mama?¡±

    No answer.

    ¡°Mama!¡± he screamed, shaking her gently at first, then harder, as if he could shake her back to life.

    Ronan couldn¡¯t move. He could only watch as the same terrible scene played out again, just like it had all those years ago. The joy in Suri¡¯s face vanished, replaced with pure, raw anguish. His sobs, filled with a helplessness that echoed across the room, tore through the silence.

    She was gone.

 15. When a Hug Finds You All Of a Sudden

    Ronan stood in the corner of the room, his back against the cold wall, watching as Suri¡¯s small frame trembled with grief. The boy knelt beside his mother¡¯s still body, clutching her hand as if holding on would bring her back. His tears flowed freely, a heartbreaking sound that echoed in the quiet room.

    Ronan could only watch, his own memories creeping up, tightening around his chest. It felt too familiar, too raw. It was as if time had folded in on itself, and instead of Suri, he was looking at his own younger self¡ªwatching his mother fade away, helpless to stop it.

    His hands tightened into fists, the feeling of being frozen in place all too real. He had been there before, unable to move, to speak, as his sister had cried for their mother, hoping for something that would never come. Now, here was Suri, living through the same nightmare.

    Suri¡¯s sobs grew louder, the reality of the situation crashing down on him. He buried his face in his mother¡¯s side, his small body shaking uncontrollably. Ronan¡¯s heart clenched, but still, he didn¡¯t move. He wanted to do something, say something, but the words wouldn¡¯t come. It was like every part of him had locked up again, just as it had back then.

    Gideon, standing by the door, observed them for a moment longer before quietly suggesting, "Let¡¯s give him some space." His voice was gentle, as he motioned for the others to step outside. He placed a reassuring hand on Ronan¡¯s shoulder. When Ronan didn¡¯t budge, he didn¡¯t say anything and just turned and left the room.

    Ronan stayed where he was, his mind racing, heart heavy. The room was almost painfully quiet now, save for Suri¡¯s quiet sobs. After being exhausted from crying, he remained by his mother¡¯s bedside, his head resting on her still chest. It was as if he didn¡¯t have any shred of consciousness in his small frame.

    Ronan wanted to leave, to walk out and escape the suffocating grief that filled the room, but something kept him there. The haunting echo of his own past, the desperate need for someone to be there when he was in Suri¡¯s place, paralyzed him. He didn¡¯t know what to say, what to do. The helplessness in the air was suffocating, but he couldn¡¯t just leave Suri like that¡ªlike he had been left.

    Taking a deep breath, Ronan forced himself to move. He took a tentative step forward, his foot dragging against the floor, and then another, his anxiety clawing at him with every inch. His mind raced, scrambling for something¡ªanything¡ªto say. What do you even say to a kid who''s just lost everything?

    His throat felt tight as he awkwardly knelt down beside Suri, unsure of what to do next. He glanced around the room, feeling utterly lost. Finally, his hand found a glass of water on a nearby table. He offered it to the boy, his hands shaking slightly as he held it out.

    ¡°Here,¡± Ronan mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°You should¡­ drink something.¡±

    Suri didn¡¯t respond at first, his eyes still fixed on his mother. But after a moment, he slowly lifted his head, his tear-streaked face glancing at the glass before looking up at Ronan. He took it without a word, his fingers trembling as they wrapped around the cup.

    They sat there in silence for a while, the weight of grief filling every inch of the room. Ronan felt the familiar ache in his chest, the kind of pain that had no words. He remembered that crushing emptiness, the feeling of being abandoned by the world, and how much he had wished someone¡ªanyone¡ªhad been there to understand him and his sister.

    Yeah, at that time, he at least had his sister, but this boy had no one.

    Gathering every ounce of courage he had left, Ronan finally spoke, his voice so quiet it was almost a murmur. ¡°I know how much it hurts.¡±

    Suri¡¯s eyes flickered up to meet his, surprise flashing across his tear-filled gaze. He looked at him like he didn¡¯t believe him. Truth be told, if Ronan looked at himself now, even he wouldn¡¯t believe himself.

    Ronan hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest as he looked at Suri. He wasn¡¯t the type to talk about his past, not with anyone, but something in the boy¡¯s eyes, in the way he looked so lost, tugged at Ronan in a way he couldn¡¯t ignore. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, the words catching in his mouth before he forced them out.

    ¡°I... I was like you once,¡± Ronan said quietly, his voice almost too soft to hear. ¡°My mother... she got sick too. I couldn¡¯t save her. I couldn¡¯t do anything.¡± His eyes drifted to the floor, his hand clenched into a fist as he fought back the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. ¡°I didn¡¯t know what to do back then either. I was just... helpless.¡±

    The room seemed to grow even quieter, the weight of his words settling between them. Suri stared at him, wide-eyed, as if he couldn¡¯t believe that Ronan, this stranger who had stepped into his life so suddenly, could understand his pain. The disbelief in his eyes softened just a little, as if the shared pain between them created a fragile bridge.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Ronan didn¡¯t say anything more. He didn¡¯t know how to. Instead, he did something that surprised even him. He reached out and gently placed his hand on top of Suri¡¯s head, giving it a small, awkward pat. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was all he could offer.

    Suri sniffled, still clutching the water, his eyes following Ronan¡¯s every movement. Ronan stood up slowly, his hand slipping away from the boy¡¯s head. He wasn¡¯t good at this, at comforting people, but he hoped that somehow, in some small way, it had made a difference.

    Without another word, Ronan turned and walked out of the room, leaving Suri behind with his grief. As the door closed softly behind him, he leaned against the wall, his breath shaky.

    ***

    It had been two days since Suri¡¯s mother had passed. The memory of her cremation lingered heavily in Ronan¡¯s mind. He hadn¡¯t stepped in; he¡¯d stood on the sidelines, watching as Suri had broken down completely, his tears relentless. The boy had clung to his mother¡¯s memory like a lifeline, crying so hard that his small body had trembled with every sob. Gideon had been there, quiet, composed, helping in ways that didn¡¯t need words. And Ronan had watched him, wondering about the noble¡¯s motives. Was it all a ploy to win Ronan¡¯s trust? Or was this simply who Gideon was? Either way, it had worked. It had made Ronan reconsider the man in ways he wasn¡¯t ready to admit.

    Now, as he wandered through the garden, the stillness of the night made Ronan feel like walking on cotton. His mind was a strange, empty haze, filled with everything and nothing at once. The cool air touched his skin, but he didn¡¯t notice it much¡ªlost in thought, not quite sure where his mind was taking him.

    That¡¯s when he saw Suri.

    The boy was curled up in a corner of the garden, clutching his knees to his chest, his face buried in the fabric of his torn clothes. Ronan had passively tried to find him in the mansion after the cremation, but he had run off and he wasn¡¯t able to find him since then. The servants, he assumed, might¡¯ve seen him around, but he didn¡¯t ask anyone about his whereabouts. But he did ask if he was okay. He knew that sometimes, people just want to hide. Now, he was in front of him, his small frame trembled every so often, though he wasn¡¯t crying aloud anymore. Just... sitting there, a ball of grief and silence.

    Ronan stopped in his tracks, watching him for a moment. He thought about leaving, letting Suri be, but something inside tugged at him. It was a feeling he didn¡¯t quite understand, and yet, it was all too familiar. He looked just like his sister.

    He hesitated but then, with a deep breath, he walked over to where Suri sat. He didn¡¯t say anything. Just... sat down beside him.

    Ronan glanced at Suri, unsure of what to say or even if he should say anything at all.

    The silence stretched between them, the cool night air wrapping around them both. Ronan kept his eyes on the ground, unsure of what to do, how to make things even slightly better for the boy beside him.

    It was Suri who spoke first, his voice barely a whisper. ¡°She... always liked flowers,¡± he said, his voice trembling. ¡°She used to take me to the fields and... we¡¯d pick some together.¡± His hands tightened around his knees. ¡°I tried to get her flowers yesterday, but... he shooed me away. And the bread was right in front of me.¡±

    Ronan listened, his heart heavy as the boy spoke. He didn¡¯t know what to say, so he just nodded, offering a quiet, ¡°I¡¯m sure she would have appreciated the bread.¡±

    Suri didn¡¯t seem to hear him at first, lost in his own memories. ¡°When I was little, she told me that lavender could make you feel safe. She always smelled like lavender.¡±

    Ronan glanced at him, his chest tightening at the boy¡¯s words. He nodded again, this time a little slower, his voice soft. ¡°Sounds like she loved you a lot.¡±

    Suri sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve, but he didn¡¯t cry. Instead, he seemed to draw some strength from the memories, his small body relaxing just a little. ¡°She did... She really did.¡± He paused, glancing at Ronan for the first time. ¡°Did your mom love you too?¡±

    Ronan stiffened, caught off guard by the question. He hadn¡¯t expected Suri to ask about him. For a long moment, he didn¡¯t answer, his mind racing. But finally, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, his voice barely a murmur. ¡°She did.¡±

    Suri, surprisingly, didn¡¯t press him. He just nodded, his small fingers tracing patterns on the ground. ¡°I wish I could see her again... just one more time.¡±

    Ronan didn¡¯t know how to respond to that, so he just sat there, letting Suri¡¯s words settle between them. After a long pause, Suri spoke again, his voice quieter this time. ¡°Why did you save me... back then? From those men?¡±

    Ronan hesitated, his hands tightening slightly in his lap. He didn¡¯t answer right away, the words sticking in his throat. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts, to figure out how much he was willing to say. ¡°I... I¡¯ve been where you were,¡± he finally said, his voice low. ¡°In a worse place, actually.¡±

    Suri looked up at him, his eyes wide with curiosity. ¡°Really?¡±

    Ronan nodded, his gaze distant. He didn¡¯t elaborate, but his mind drifted back to the past¡ªthe slums, his sister, the hopelessness. ¡°You remind me of someone,¡± he admitted quietly, his chest tightening. ¡°Someone I couldn¡¯t save.¡±

    For a moment, there was silence. Ronan wondered if he¡¯d said too much, if he should¡¯ve kept that part to himself. But then, out of nowhere, Suri leaned over and hugged him.

    Ronan stiffened, completely caught off guard. He didn¡¯t move, his arms awkwardly at his sides, unsure of what to do. Suri buried his face into Ronan¡¯s shoulder, his voice muffled as he spoke. ¡°My mom always said hugs make everything better.¡±

    Ronan didn¡¯t hug him back, still too shocked to react, but he didn¡¯t push him away either. He just sat there, letting Suri hold on, the boy¡¯s small arms wrapped around him like he was holding on to the last bit of warmth he had left.

 16. The Attendant

    The dining room was quiet, save for the occasional clink of silverware against the plates. A large roasted pheasant sat on the table¡¯s center platter, its skin glazed with a honey-citrus marinade that glistened under the light of the chandelier. Bowls of spiced rice, stewed mushrooms with cream, and roasted root vegetables accompanied the dish. At the far end of the table, a small basket of fresh bread rolls rested under a linen cloth, their tops dusted with flour.

    Ronan sliced a piece of pheasant from his plate, chewing in silence. His gaze wandered briefly to Gideon, who ate with the same grace he approached everything in life. There was no conversation¡ªjust the occasional crackle of the fire in the corner hearth and the muted shuffling of servants somewhere in the distance.

    The door creaked open, and Suri stepped in, balancing a tray with a finesse which made it seem like he would drop it right there. He was wearing a simple uniform, the sleeves slightly too long for his slender frame. His dark eyes gleamed with pride as he approached the table, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. On the tray sat a golden bowl filled with fragrant broth, garnished with herbs and slices of pale meat.

    ¡°Stew¡¯s ready, Master Gideon,¡± Suri said as he set the bowl gently in front of him. He turned to Ronan with a small nod before straightening up, his posture stiff but eager.

    ¡°Thank you, Suri,¡± Gideon said, his voice even but kind enough to make the boy¡¯s shoulders relax. Suri lingered for a moment, then gave a slight bow and left as quickly as he¡¯d come.

    Ronan¡¯s eyes followed Suri out the door, then flicked back to Gideon. ¡°You¡¯re giving him too much to do,¡± he said flatly, though there was no real bite in his tone.

    ¡°He needs something to focus on,¡± Gideon replied, not looking up. ¡°Purpose keeps people afloat. Even when they feel like they¡¯re drowning.¡±

    Ronan didn¡¯t answer, instead turning his attention back to the pheasant on his plate. He wasn¡¯t in the mood to push the conversation. Especially not a philosophical one.

    After a few moments, Gideon broke the silence again. ¡°How are your preparations coming along?¡±

    Ronan leaned back in his chair, setting his fork down with a faint clatter. ¡°Fine, I guess. We were done with all the important stuff about the university and the empire and Tobias has been drilling me on the etiquettes¡ªwhat to say, how to stand, where to bow. Apparently, knowing which fork to use is more important than anything else.¡± He let out a short laugh, sharp and bitter. ¡°Of course, none of it actually matters if you¡¯re at the wrong end of the system.¡±

    Gideon¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, but there was a subtle shift in his gaze, something thoughtful and almost... regretful. ¡°Things,¡± he said slowly, ¡°are not as immovable as they seem.¡±

    Ronan frowned. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±

    Gideon reached for his glass, swirling the amber liquid inside before taking a measured sip. ¡°Many people thrive on appearances. But a lot of times, the foundation beneath the exterior is fragile. There are cracks, whether people choose to see them or not.¡±

    Ronan tilted his head, his curiosity piqued despite himself. ¡°You talk like you¡¯re not a part of it.¡±

    ¡°I play my role,¡± Gideon said, his tone carrying just enough weight to make Ronan pause. ¡°But not all roles are permanent.¡±

    Ronan studied him for a moment, trying to decipher the meaning behind the words, but Gideon¡¯s face remained as inscrutable as ever. With a soft sigh, Ronan turned back to his plate, deciding not to press further.

    Honestly, he was getting a little tired of his complete, yet incomplete sentences.

    After a pause, Gideon spoke again, ¡°I have been thinking of sending Suri with you to the university as an attendant.¡±

    Ronan frowned, his grip tightening on his fork. ¡°Suri? As my attendant?¡± The words felt foreign in his mouth. He glanced up at Gideon, half-expecting him to smirk or say he was joking, but he was aware Gideon was not one of those guys.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Gideon said, his tone calm as ever. He took a sip from his glass, watching Ronan carefully. ¡°He¡¯s young, yes, but he¡¯s determined. And I think the two of you would be good for each other.¡±

    Ronan stabbed at a piece of pheasant, though he had no real appetite anymore. ¡°Suri doesn¡¯t belong in a place like that. He¡¯s... not used to it.¡± The last words came out quieter, as if he were talking about himself just as much as Suri.

    ¡°And you are?¡± Gideon¡¯s question was soft, but it cut through the air like a blade.

    Ronan¡¯s eyes flicked up to meet his, narrowing slightly. ¡°You know I¡¯m not,¡± he muttered. He shoved the pheasant around his plate, his tone growing defensive. ¡°But he¡¯s a baby. He¡¯s got no idea what it¡¯s going to be like. From what I know, there will be people who¡¯ll look down on him just for breathing. Hell, I don¡¯t even know what I¡¯m doing, and now you¡¯re saying I should drag him into it? A ten year old kid into this?¡±

    ¡°And yet, he¡¯s a kid who looks up to you,¡± Gideon said, his tone softening but his gaze sharp. ¡°Did you think no one noticed him following you around like a baby chick? He follows your lead, Ronan. If he sees you facing this, he¡¯ll rise to the occasion too.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s exactly why I¡¯m worried,¡± Ronan muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

    Because what if the Ronan Grey from the slums who¡¯s pretending to be Ronan Vandross from the nobles, messes up? And he knew he was going to mess up.

    Gideon¡¯s expression softened slightly, seemingly picking up on his thoughts. ¡°You¡¯re worried because you care. That¡¯s good. It¡¯s better than indifference.¡± He let the words settle for a moment before continuing. ¡°But protecting him doesn¡¯t mean keeping him in a cage. It means giving him the tools to stand on his own, even when it¡¯s difficult. I thought I had made that clear on our first meeting.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Ronan slumped back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. The knot in his stomach hadn¡¯t loosened, but Gideon¡¯s words had hit their mark.

    ¡°Tell you what,¡± he wiped his hands with the washcloth lying on the side and stood up, ¡°Why don¡¯t we let Suri decide for himself?¡±

    ***

    The heavy double doors of Gideon¡¯s office creaked open as Ronan stepped inside, trailing a few paces behind Suri. The room was as imposing as ever, with the faint scent of leather and ink. A crackling fire burned in the hearth, its soft light flickering against the high shelves lined with tomes Ronan had no doubt Gideon had read a million times.

    Suri stood rigid in front of Gideon¡¯s desk, his back straight but his hands trembling slightly at his sides. Ronan slouched near the doorway, arms crossed, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for a way to change the topic entirely.

    Gideon gestured for Suri to step closer, his expression unreadable. ¡°You¡¯ve done well since coming here,¡± he began, his voice measured and deliberate. ¡°Adapted quickly. Took on every task given to you with focus and dedication.¡±

    Suri blinked, his lips parting slightly in surprise, though he quickly recovered, nodding sharply. ¡°Thank you, Master Gideon.¡± His voice was steady, but the faint tremor in his hands betrayed his nerves.

    Gideon leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze settling on the boy. ¡°I¡¯ve been considering who should accompany Ronan to the university. It¡¯s an important decision. An attendant isn¡¯t just a servant¡ªthey¡¯re a reflection of the person they serve.¡±

    The words hung in the air, heavy with expectation. Suri¡¯s breathing quickened, his hands gripping the fabric of his trousers as though anchoring himself. Ronan watched him from the corner of his eye, his jaw tightening.

    Gideon paused for a moment before continuing, his voice calm but firm. ¡°I¡¯ve decided it will be you, Suri.¡±

    Suri¡¯s eyes widened, his composure slipping for just a heartbeat. ¡°Me?¡± he breathed, the word almost inaudible.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Gideon¡¯s tone was absolute. ¡°It won¡¯t be easy. The university is a far cry from this estate¡ªor the slums where both of you came from. You¡¯ll face challenges, scrutiny, and no small amount of prejudice. But I believe you¡¯re ready for it.¡±

    Suri¡¯s lips twitched into the faintest smile, his dark eyes shining with barely contained excitement. He straightened his posture, his trembling hands curling into fists at his sides. ¡°I... I¡¯ll do it, Master Gideon. I¡¯ll do whatever it takes.¡±

    Gideon inclined his head slightly, his approval understated but clear. ¡°Good.¡±

    Ronan shifted against the wall, his frown deepening. ¡°Hold on a second.¡±

    Both Gideon and Suri turned to look at him, and Ronan pushed off the wall, his arms uncrossing as he walked toward them. His gaze settled on Suri, his tone quieter but no less firm. ¡°Are you sure about this? It¡¯s not just fetching tea and following orders, Suri. This isn¡¯t the estate. It¡¯s going to be rough out there.¡±

    Suri nodded eagerly, his smile widening. ¡°I know. And I¡¯m ready. I¡¯ll learn everything I need to, and I won¡¯t let you down.¡±

    Ronan sighed, running a hand through his hair. ¡°You say that now, but you don¡¯t know what you¡¯re walking into.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± Suri said, his voice gaining strength. ¡°I want to go with you. I... I want to prove I can do it.¡±

    Ronan stared at him for a long moment, searching for any sign of hesitation. There was none. The boy¡¯s excitement and determination practically radiated off him, and for the first time since the conversation began, Ronan felt the knot in his chest loosen slightly.

    He let out a slow breath, glancing at Gideon. ¡°If you¡¯re sure about this... and if he¡¯s really sure... fine. But don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn you.¡±

    Gideon¡¯s lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smile. ¡°Duly noted.¡±

    Suri grinned, practically bouncing on his heels. ¡°Thank you, Ronan! I promise, I won¡¯t let you down.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± Ronan muttered, waving him off. ¡°Just don¡¯t get in my way, alright?¡±

    ¡°Suri, you¡¯re dismissed,¡± Gideon said smoothly, interrupting before Suri could speak again. ¡°Go and pack up. Let Reginald know whatever you need for yourself. He will help you get ready for tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir!¡± Suri said, bowing quickly before turning and walking out of the room. He glanced over his shoulder at Ronan, his grin still lingering, before disappearing through the heavy doors.

    The moment the doors closed, Gideon gestured to the chair in front of his desk. ¡°Sit.¡±

    Ronan hesitated, glancing toward the door as if considering following Suri out. With a resigned sigh, he dropped into the chair, slouching slightly. ¡°What now?¡±

    Gideon didn¡¯t answer immediately. Instead, he opened a drawer and pulled out a small, ornately carved box. He set it down on the desk between them, his expression as impassive as ever. It was small, with geometric patterns etched into its surface. Ronan arched an eyebrow, his curiosity barely masked beneath a casual expression.

    ¡°Open it,¡± Gideon said, leaning back in his chair.

    Ronan hesitated for a moment before flipping open the lid. Inside, nestled on a bed of deep blue velvet, was a silver ring. The band was unassuming at first glance, but closer inspection revealed faint runes etched into its surface, glowing faintly with a soft, pale light. At its center, a small, glossy black stone was embedded, shimmering with a faint  iridescence.

    ¡°It¡¯s a vaultstone,¡± Gideon explained, his voice calm and measured. ¡°This one has a moderate capacity. Enough to store essentials and a few extras. I thought it might come in handy at the university.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s fingers hovered over the ring before he picked it up. The metal was cool against his skin, and the faint hum of magic within it sent a subtle shiver up his spine. He turned it over in his hands, studying the craftsmanship, though he made a point of keeping his expression neutral.

    ¡°A separate dimension for storage,¡± he said, slipping the ring onto his finger. It adjusted instantly, resizing to fit perfectly. He flexed his hand, feeling the faint pulse of energy from the vaultstone. ¡°Not bad.¡±

    ¡°Not bad?¡± Gideon¡¯s tone carried a hint of dry amusement. ¡°I see you¡¯re as hard to impress as ever.¡±

    Ronan shrugged, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward for the briefest moment. ¡°It¡¯s... practical. Thanks.¡±

    Gideon¡¯s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, but he didn¡¯t comment further. Instead, he shifted the conversation. ¡°When you arrive at the university, you¡¯ll meet many people. Some will want to befriend you, others will want to use you. Be careful who you trust.¡±

    Ronan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. ¡°I don¡¯t really need a lecture on trust. I can handle myself.¡±

    Gideon¡¯s gaze sharpened slightly, his voice taking on a sterner edge. ¡°Overconfidence has led many to ruin. You can¡¯t always take people at face value. Manipulation isn¡¯t always obvious.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s jaw tightened, but he met Gideon¡¯s gaze evenly. ¡°I¡¯m not overconfident. And I¡¯m not naive, either. I can tell a lot about people... sometimes even more than they realize.¡±

    Gideon tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. ¡°Is that so?¡±

    Ronan hesitated for a fraction of a second before speaking. ¡°Yeah. I can... feel things. Emotions. It¡¯s like a sense. I don¡¯t always understand it, but it¡¯s there. I know when someone¡¯s lying, or when they¡¯re angry, or... hiding something.¡±

    For the first time in the conversation, Gideon¡¯s calm demeanor cracked slightly. His eyes narrowed, and his posture straightened, the faintest flicker of surprise crossing his features.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Ronan cocked his head to one side, ¡°I mean, I even sense your emotions a lot of times. I felt them when you first met me too.¡±

 17. Being In The Freak Zone

    ¡°You felt my emotions?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I mean, when we first met, why do you think I went with you so easily?¡± Ronan shrugged, ¡°You were pretty convincing, but that alone wasn¡¯t enough for me to go with you. I could feel that your intentions were genuine. It kinda started when that magic awakening thingy happened.¡±

    Gideon¡¯s eyes widened.

    Ronan¡¯s brows furrowed, ¡°Why are you so surprised?¡±

    ¡°You could understand people''s emotions and you didn¡¯t think you should¡¯ve told me?¡±

    Ronan made a face, ¡°What¡¯s the big deal? Everyone knows I¡¯ve got magic. I just figured it was part of that, like... a side effect or something.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Thought it was normal for someone like me.¡±

    Gideon¡¯s calm demeanor cracked, his voice sharp as he turned toward Ronan. ¡°You didn¡¯t think this was important enough to mention? You¡¯ve been walking around, feeling people¡¯s emotions, and you didn¡¯t think I should know?¡±

    Ronan raised his hands defensively, taken aback by Gideon¡¯s sudden frustration. ¡°Alright, alright, I get it. I should¡¯ve told you. But like I said, I thought it was just a side effect of magic. Didn¡¯t know it was a big deal.¡±

    Gideon took a deep breath, trying to reign in his temper, but the tension still lingered in the air. His eyes flicked to one of the cupboards in the corner of the room. Without a word, he crossed the room, muttering to himself. ¡°I should have one of these...¡±

    Gideon opened the cupboard, searching through a few items until he found what he was looking for. It was a small, intricately carved wooden box, sealed with a simple latch. ¡°This,¡± he said, holding it out, ¡°is what we need right now.¡±

    Ronan thought he was done with surprises but apparently, there was more.

    Gideon flipped the latch and opened the box, revealing a rolled-up scroll inside. Attached to the scroll was a small, glowing crystal, faintly pulsing with light. ¡°This is an Insight Scroll,¡± Gideon explained. ¡°When you touch the crystal, it reveals detailed information about your anomaly, if you have any¡ªtheir names, and basic details. Each anomaly is different, unique to the person.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s an anomaly?¡±

    Gideon paused, looking at Ronan for a moment before giving a soft smile. ¡°Sorry for the outburst. Sometimes I forget you haven¡¯t been exposed to all this yet,¡± he said, his tone returned to his signature voice.

    Ronan looked at him and turned his lip. ¡°Yeah, sorry I didn¡¯t get a formal education while growing up in the slums,¡± he said dryly. ¡°Must¡¯ve slipped my mind.¡±

    Gideon didn¡¯t take the bait for an argument. Instead, he softened some more, shaking his head. ¡°You¡¯ve come a long way already, Ronan. You have nothing to apologize for.¡±

    Ronan shifted a bit, not quite sure how to respond to that. He wasn¡¯t actually apologizing.

    ¡°Anyway,¡± Gideon continued, ¡°anomalies are rare abilities, unique to each individual. They¡¯re something beyond regular magic, which sometimes awakens in very few people. They aren¡¯t something that can be taught or learned; they¡¯re part of you, and no two are ever the same. They can manifest in different ways¡ªsometimes they¡¯re subtle, sometimes they¡¯re powerful, but they¡¯re always... special.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s curiosity was a little piqued. He glanced at the glowing crystal attached to the scroll, the faint light pulsing like a heartbeat. He hesitated for a second before reaching out, his fingers brushing against the crystal.

    As soon as his skin made contact, there was a surge of light, like fireworks. The scroll inside the box began to glow, unraveling itself with a soft rustle. Letters, glowing in a shimmering light, formed across the parchment as the magic revealed its contents.

    Ronan stared at the names and information that appeared on the scroll:

    <hr>

    Anomaly 1: Insight Appraisal

    Tier: 0

    Ability: Grants the user the power to appraise detailed information about individuals¡ªbeyond surface-level knowledge, this anomaly allows them to sense hidden characteristics, intentions, strengths, and even vulnerabilities. It¡¯s a deeper understanding of people at their core.

    Anomaly 2: Spirit Link (Locked)

    Tier: 0

    Ability: Allows the user to connect with spirits. This anomaly provides the ability to communicate, bond, and potentially summon spirits to assist in situations. It¡¯s a rare and powerful connection to the ethereal plane.

    <hr>

    Ronan stared at the scroll, his brow furrowed in confusion. Insight Appraisal? Spirit Link? It didn¡¯t exactly match up with what he had been feeling¡ªsensing emotions seemed different from "appraising" or linking with spirits.

    He glanced over at Gideon, expecting the noble to have some sort of explanation, but to his surprise, Gideon¡¯s face was frozen in shock. His usual composed demeanor was gone.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Ronan asked, breaking the silence. Gideon didn¡¯t respond immediately. Instead, he slowly lowered himself into a nearby chair, his eyes still fixed on the scroll, his expression completely speechless.

    Ronan frowned, repeating himself with more urgency. ¡°Gideon? What¡¯s the big deal?¡±

    Gideon blinked, snapping out of his daze. He looked at Ronan, his voice quiet but filled with awe. ¡°Do you have any idea how rare what you have is?¡±

    Ronan shrugged, still not understanding. ¡°I dunno. Should I? It¡¯s just¡­ magic, right?¡±

    Gideon shook his head, running a hand through his hair as if trying to gather his thoughts. After a moment, he leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath. ¡°Tobias didn¡¯t give you the numbers, did he?¡±

    ¡°He might¡¯ve,¡± Ronan replied, vaguely recalling a conversation. ¡°But I don¡¯t really remember.¡±

    Gideon leaned forward, his expression serious. ¡°One in five thousand people awaken to magic. That''s already rare. But anomalies¡­ anomalies are one in fifty thousand. They¡¯re abilities far beyond normal magic.¡±

    Ronan blinked, the numbers starting to sink in, but Gideon wasn¡¯t finished.

    ¡°But two anomalies?¡± Gideon let out a breath, shaking his head. ¡°I¡¯ve heard of maybe one case like that in the entire empire. It¡¯s practically unheard of.¡±

    Ronan stared at him, not sure how to react. The weight of the information wasn¡¯t sinking in properly, like it was too big to fit into his mind all at once. ¡°So¡­ I¡¯m like¡­ some kind of freak?¡±

    Gideon¡¯s face shifted, concern clouding his eyes as he leaned forward, gripping the armrests of the chair tightly. There was a hint of something that Ronan hadn¡¯t seen before¡ªfear. He hadn¡¯t expected that.

    ¡°You¡¯re not a freak,¡± Gideon said, his voice low and intense. ¡°But you have to understand¡ªthis makes you more than rare. This makes you dangerous. And it also makes you a target.¡±

    Ronan shifted uncomfortably, the weight of Gideon¡¯s words pressing down on him. ¡°A target? For who?¡±

    Gideon stood abruptly, his face stern now, crossing the room with purpose. ¡°For anyone who wants to exploit that power.¡± His tone was sharp, and his eyes locked onto Ronan¡¯s. ¡°You cannot tell anyone about this. Do you understand me?¡± He stepped toward the scroll, which was still glowing faintly on the table. Without waiting for a response, Gideon reached down, tore the parchment in half, and then threw the pieces into the nearby fireplace.

    Ronan watched as the flames devoured the scroll, the magic fizzling out with a soft hiss. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to¡ª¡±

    ¡°I did.¡± Gideon¡¯s voice was firm, almost too forceful. ¡°No one can know. Not a soul.¡±

    The silence between them stretched, the crackling of the fire filling the room. Gideon¡¯s usual calm and measured demeanor was gone, replaced by a sharp edge of concern. Ronan had never seen him like this before, and it made his stomach twist.

    What had he gotten himself into?

    After a moment, Gideon softened just a bit, though his eyes still held that intensity. ¡°Tomorrow, you start at the university. That means we won¡¯t have time to dig into your anomalies now. You¡¯re going to have to learn more about it yourself if you want to, quietly, and we¡¯ll look into it more when you come home for the holidays. Especially that locked one¡­ I have never heard about something like being locked.¡±

    He wanted to pretend he didn¡¯t know anything about that spirit thing being locked, but he was pretty sure he had an inkling of what it meant.

    Ronan nodded, feeling overwhelmed. ¡°Alright,¡± he said quietly.

    Gideon sighed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. ¡°Try to keep your head low. Although I have a feeling you¡¯re already going to stand out enough at Lumenbourg. Don¡¯t give them any more reason to notice you.¡±

    Ronan rolled his eyes. "But blending in is totally my strong suit. Nothing says ¡®don¡¯t notice me¡¯ like a kid from the slums with magic and who knows what else.¡±

    Gideon¡¯s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. ¡°Just... go rest. You have a big day ahead tomorrow.¡±

    ***

    Ronan sat in the carriage, staring out of the window but not really seeing anything. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, nerves tightening in his chest as they neared the university. Beside him, Gideon sat calmly, as though this was any other day, offering last-minute advice that Ronan barely registered.

    ¡°Remember, keep your head down, and don¡¯t draw unnecessary attention. You¡¯ll have plenty of time to explore everything quietly,¡± Gideon said, his tone even.

    Ronan snorted, his nerves slipping through in the form of sarcasm. ¡°Yeah, sure. Blend right in. No one will even notice me with this,¡± he tugged at the glimmering edge of his coat, ¡°subtle outfit.¡±

    Gideon chuckled softly, shaking his head. ¡°You¡¯ll be fine, Ronan. Just take it one step at a time.¡±

    Meanwhile, across from them, Suri was practically bouncing on his seat, wide-eyed as he peered out the window, unable to contain his excitement. His nose was almost pressed against the glass, marveling at everything that passed by.

    As the carriage rolled to a stop at the gates of Lumenbourg University, the air grew more serious. Two guards approached, their eyes scanning the occupants of the carriage with measured professionalism. ¡°Identity check,¡± one of them said, his voice clipped.

    Gideon handed over their identification, and the guard examined it for a moment before nodding. ¡°Welcome to Lumenbourg.¡±

    Gideon turned to Ronan, offering him a reassuring smile. ¡°This is where I leave you.¡±

    Ronan stood there awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. He wasn¡¯t great with goodbyes. Suri, meanwhile, had hopped out of the carriage, a small bag slung over his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.

    ¡°Right,¡± Ronan muttered, shifting awkwardly. ¡°Thanks¡­ for everything.¡±

    Gideon clapped a hand on his shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ll do great. Remember what we talked about.¡±

    Ronan nodded, though he wasn¡¯t sure he¡¯d remember anything coherent once he walked through those gates. As the carriage pulled away, he stood there, feeling the weight of the moment.

    He looked down at his clothes, the deep blue and gold threads woven with gemstones that shimmered in the sunlight. It felt so surreal, like someone else was wearing these clothes¡ªsomeone who wasn¡¯t the same boy who, only a month ago, barely had enough to cover himself.

    And then, his eyes lifted to the large building in front of him, its grandeur pulling him in. He was mesmerized, unable to take his eyes off of it. This was it.

    Lumenbourg University.

 18. The Grandeur Of It All

    As Ronan and Suri stepped through the gates, they were greeted by a sight that seemed almost otherworldly. The university wasn¡¯t just a cluster of buildings¡ªit was a sprawling realm of its own, stretching as far as the eye could see. Towering structures made of dark and light stone and shimmering glass rose into the sky, their surfaces catching the sunlight and casting a warm glow that contrasted with their otherwise imposing forms.

    Some buildings looked as if they had been carved from a single massive stone, their surface adorned with intricate carvings of mythical creatures and symbols that pulsed faintly with a mystical glow.

    What is up with these creatures everywhere he sees? And where the hell are these creatures anyway? He didn¡¯t see a single one yet.

    Other structures defied conventional architecture, with walls and towers twisting and spiraling in ways that seemed impossible, suspended in place as though gravity was merely a suggestion. Spires topped with crystal spheres gleamed in the sunlight, their colors shifting as clouds passed by.

    The glass used in the buildings wasn¡¯t ordinary either. In some places, it was clear as water, allowing glimpses into halls filled with bustling students and professors. In others, the glass shimmered with iridescent colors that shifted and changed, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that played across the ground in a dazzling display. The metal framed windows glowed with a faint blue light, looking to be charged with electricity.

    Bridges made of white stone arched over clear canals that wound between the buildings, the water rippling. Garden pathways lined with fruits and flowers led to courtyards where fountains sprayed water through the different artistic statues in the center.

    At the heart of it all, the largest building towered above the rest, its stone exterior lined with silver and gold. The building was beauty in itself, and Ronan, who had lived in the slums and who had been exposed to so much in the span of a few days, hadn¡¯t seen something so beautiful in his whole seventeen years of pitiful life. Right at the entrance, an archway of marble held a large emblem engraved with what he assumed was the university¡¯s crest¡ªa phoenix entwined with a dragon.

    Ronan was speechless. He glanced over at Suri, who was equally entranced, his eyes wide with awe. For a moment, neither of them moved. This wasn¡¯t just a university; it looked something like a world crafted from dreams and magic, beyond anything he could have ever imagined. Honestly, Ronan couldn¡¯t gather the energy to take even a single step forward.

    Ronan¡¯s eyes scanned the students clustered all around the university campus. The amount of personalities, clothes, and accents¡ªhe didn¡¯t think he could count it. Some students huddled in tight groups, their whispers alive with excitement. Others walked alone, eyes cool and calculating as they sized up the crowd. A girl with elegant robes strode past, her head high, barely glancing at anyone around her. Nearby, a boy in simple clothes looked nervous, clutching his books tightly to his chest. And then there were the loud ones, with a crew of what he assumed were lackeys, or whatever. Cloaks embroidered with gold threads, rings with glimmering stones, and amulets that caught the light adorned many of them.

    He almost laughed out loud at the sight. All that wealth and they¡¯re here to learn magic? Was it for a fancy light show? For a second, he had thought about striking up a conversation with someone, maybe even trying to blend in. But just as he had taken that step, he caught the kind of conversations he wasn¡¯t sure he wanted to be part of.

    ¡°My father says I¡¯ll inherit the family¡¯s phoenix relic when I graduate. A lineage of over seven generations, can you believe it?¡±

    A girl with a jeweled necklace laughed. ¡°Well, my family¡¯s Grimoire of Aurelia has been passed down for centuries. Only those with real magic can unlock it.¡±

    ¡°Your tutor¡¯s name was Alistair Vale?¡± another group¡¯s voice came from the other side. ¡°He¡¯s one of the empire¡¯s finest. Mine was under Lord Erith. Tough, but worth it.¡±

    A boy in elaborate robes smirked. ¡°Try learning under a High Sorcerer. My family doesn¡¯t settle for anything less.¡±

    He noticed a group right in front of him discussing some kind of freshman ball, with one girl laughing as she told how her sister was crowned newcomer of the year last year.

    He clenched his jaw, reminding himself how different he was from these people.

    Turning away, he let his gaze drift back toward the campus beyond. But conversations were everywhere around him.

    A group of students walked by him, engrossed in conversation. ¡°Can you believe the Shattered Maze is real?¡± one of them asked, wide-eyed.

    Another student scoffed, his cloak flowing dramatically behind him. ¡°Of course, it¡¯s real! My father¡¯s been through it. Said you can actually hear it whispering to you as you walk.¡±

    Ronan listened, half-intrigued and half-amused at this point. He imagined some of these students had never so much as dirtied their boots. And here they were, talking about dangerous artifacts and grimoires like trophies in a collection.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    Ronan tried to take in everything, but his heart was yelling at him to run. This wasn¡¯t a place someone like him should be at.

    Suri suddenly pulled at his hand. He looked at him and then at where his sight was. Shrugging because he didn¡¯t know what he was actually seeing, he let Suri pull him toward a large, open field where a group of students was already playing some kind of weird game. The field itself was a mirror, an actual mirror. What were the rules to this game? Some were skating on the mirror, and some were flying in the air.

    Ronan¡¯s attention turned to the ball¡ªat first, it was blazing with fire, leaving a trail of flickering embers each time it was tossed from one player to the next. Just as he thought he was getting a tiny hang of the rules, the ball changed, its surface swirling with an intense spiral of wind, blurring as it spun faster in mid-air. A player on the far end lunged, catching it with ease, and the ball shifted again, this time condensing into a heavy, dense clump of rock. The player stumbled slightly under its sudden weight, and a ripple of laughter and cheers broke out from the sidelines.

    Ronan couldn¡¯t help but stare. The game was unlike anything he¡¯d ever seen¡ªnot just a sport but it looked like a show of controlled chaos, where magic itself seemed to be the game¡¯s most unpredictable player. Despite its playful nature, there was a fierceness to the players¡¯ movements, a razor-sharp focus as they passed the randomly transforming ball back and forth, trying to adapt to its unpredictable changes.

    Beside him, a few students were engrossed in the action, whispering eagerly to one another.

    ¡°Did you see that? Full wind to earth transfer! Not a lot can control the element shift, so it¡¯s all about reflexes,¡± one girl said, her voice filled with awe.

    Her friend nodded. ¡°It¡¯s called Aether Surge for a reason. They say only the best can react fast enough to every element change. My brother told me the ball can even turn into lightning during the upper-level games.¡±

    A boy next to them grinned, nudging his friend. ¡°Imagine controlling a lightning ball mid-air¡ªone wrong move, and you¡¯re out cold.¡±

    Ronan took a step closer, entranced by the energy of the game and the intensity in the players'' eyes as they dashed across the mirrored field. It was nothing like the life he¡¯d known, and something about the magical sport felt almost surreal.

    He could see why the students around him seemed so invested.

    As the afternoon wore on, they kept wandering around, outside the buildings, mostly in the gardens. Suddenly, a clear voice echoed across the campus, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.

    "All freshman students, please gather at the front gate of Arcadia Hall for the entrance ceremony. Repeat, all freshman students to Arcadia Hall."

    Ronan blinked, trying to locate the source of the voice, but it was as if the words had been spoken directly into his mind. He felt a prickle of nervousness, realizing he had no idea where Arcadia Hall was. His eyes swept across the campus, trying to see if any signs pointed to it, but he came up empty.

    ¡°Uh¡­ Arcadia Hall?¡± he muttered to himself, his gaze bouncing from one impressive building to the next, all of them equally towering and imposing.

    Suri tugged at his sleeve, catching his attention. ¡°Maybe¡­ maybe we could follow them?¡± he suggested, nodding toward a group of students moving purposefully toward one of the larger stone buildings across the lawn.

    Ronan¡¯s initial reaction was to brush it off, unwilling to just trail after a bunch of strangers. But seeing as he didn¡¯t have much of a choice and Suri did have a point, he gave a reluctant nod and sighed. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s go,¡± he said, his voice low.

    The two of them joined, hopefully, the stream of first-year students making their way across the campus. Suri, still looking at everyone with googly eyes, clutched his bag tighter, glancing up at Ronan with something close to excitement.

    Ronan couldn¡¯t share the enthusiasm, though. As they approached a relatively large building, he saw Arcadia Hall written in large gothic letters. He felt a strange mix of anticipation and dread pooling in his stomach. This was it.

    He kept saying this was it, but he didn¡¯t have any idea what it was. The gates loomed ahead, and the chatter of other students around him felt like static, buzzing louder as they neared.

    The line of students snaked around the hall entrance, each one waiting to register their name before stepping into the imposing Arcadia Hall. Ronan and Suri joined the line, their gazes drifting over the bustling crowd and the grand hall doors that loomed ahead, decorated with intricate carvings and gleaming with some kind of translucent sheen.

    When it was finally Ronan¡¯s turn, he stepped up to the registrar¡¯s desk, the official glancing up at him with a practiced, polite smile.

    ¡°Name?¡±

    ¡°Ronan,¡± he said, his voice steady.

    The registrar looked at him from over his glasses, ¡°Your FULL name?¡±

    Ronan tried to keep a neutral face, but failed, ¡°Ronan G. Vandross.¡±

    That caught his attention real quick. He took off his glasses and did a blatant double take. Ronan took a deep breath and let him look.

    The registrar did not say anything else and after a moment, jotted down his name, then looked over to Suri, eyeing him with a detached curiosity. ¡°And your name?¡± she asked.

    Before Ronan could respond, Suri shook his head, speaking up. ¡°I¡¯m just his attendant,¡± he said with a faint, polite smile.

    The registrar put his pen down and gestured towards a garden beside the hall, ¡°All attendants must wait over there.¡±

    Ronan frowned, the rigid formality of it all grating on him. "That¡¯s ridiculous. He¡¯s here with me, so why can¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°Ronan,¡± Suri cut in gently, placing a reassuring hand on his sleeve. ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡± He gave a slight, encouraging smile, as if this was all completely normal. ¡°I¡¯ll wait for you here after the ceremony, alright? And... good luck.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s irritation softened at Suri¡¯s expression, a mix of confidence and hope, and he felt a pang of guilt for wanting to argue. But Suri just gave him a small nod, stepping aside as Ronan moved forward toward the main hall.

    He turned back once, catching Suri¡¯s eye as he took his place among the students. Suri waved, his hand lifting in a quick, cheerful gesture, and despite himself, Ronan managed a nod, feeling a little lighter as he walked into the massive hall.

 19. Convergence

    Ronan followed the escort through the towering corridors of Arcadia Hall, his footsteps echoing against the polished marble floors. He tried to keep his composure, but everything about the place screamed grandeur. Massive columns lined the hallway, each one etched with intricate carvings depicting various magical feats¡ªdragons soaring above stormy seas, sorcerers weaving fire through the sky, and armies frozen mid-battle under enchanted snow. It was like stepping into the heart of a legend.

    As they approached what he assumed was the auditorium, the double doors swung open effortlessly, revealing a chamber so vast that it seemed impossible to contain. The ceiling arched high above, like the belly of some ancient, slumbering beast. It was painted with a swirling depiction of the night sky, stars twinkling faintly as if plucked from a starry night. Chandeliers, each one an elaborate cluster of enchanted crystals, floated above the crowd, casting a soft, ethereal glow over everything below. How were those chandeliers floating in the air?

    Rows of tiered seats curved around the hall, but Ronan¡¯s attention was immediately drawn to the podium at the front. Elevated on a massive dais, it stood like the center of the universe. Seven towering figures stood there, draped in flowing robes of deep blues, purples, and silvers. They didn¡¯t move, each one radiating a different kind of power¡ªsome regal, others menacing, but all unquestionably formidable.

    The first figure catching his eye, cloaked in dark velvet with golden embroidery, was tall and thin, almost unnaturally so. His skin was pale, almost translucent, with sharp cheekbones that made his face look as though it had been carved from marble. His hair was jet black, slicked back perfectly, and framed his narrow face. His eyes were a sharp, intense blue¡ªfocused, calculating, yet with a glint that hinted at understanding, a touch of warmth that softened their edge. The staff in his hand¡ªtopped with a coiled serpent¡ªwas as intricately designed as his robes, the gold thread gleaming in the ambient light of the hall. He was impossibly still, standing like a statue, his gaze sweeping over the crowd with an unsettling calm.

    Next to him stood a woman with silver hair flowing down her back, wearing robes that seemed to shimmer like moonlight. Her face was sharp, angular, and her eyes glittered with an intensity that made Ronan feel like she could see right through him. He made a mental note to avoid her at all costs.

    Beside her was someone in armor¡ªactual armor¡ªgleaming gold and silver plates that looked more ceremonial than functional. The man¡¯s helmet was under his arm, revealing a sharp jawline and steely eyes that glared at everything in the room as if daring someone to step out of line. Ronan couldn''t help but smirk. Well, at least we know where the department of overcompensation is.

    Beyond him stood more figures, each as striking and intimidating as the last, but Ronan could barely keep track of all the details. Each one felt like they belonged to a different legend, a different era, yet here they were, all gathered on one stage. The hall buzzed with anticipation, the crowd murmuring among themselves as they waited for something¡ªthough Ronan had no idea what.

    And there he was, a small figure amidst all this grandeur, trying to figure out if he belonged here at all.

    As Ronan looked around the auditorium again, he couldn¡¯t help but notice the students already seated, arranged neatly around the podium in seven distinct sections. Each section seemed to glow faintly with a different color¡ªred, blue, green, yellow, black, white, and brown. The lights shimmered subtly, adding to the amazing-ness of the room, but Ronan didn¡¯t have time to dwell on it as his attention was pulled back to the figures standing at the front.

    The hall grew silent as the first person on the podium who had caught his attention stepped forward. His robes moved with an almost unnatural grace. His pale hands rested on the ornate staff topped with a coiled serpent, and his blue eyes scanned the crowd with an unsettling calm.

    "Welcome," his voice resonated through the hall, neither too loud nor too soft, but somehow carrying an authority that demanded attention. "I am Chancellor Aelric Starfall, and it is my honor to welcome you all to the Lumenbourg University of Mystical, Combat and General Studies. This institution has stood for centuries, a beacon of knowledge, strength, and mastery. Here, we do not merely teach magic, combat, or commerce. We forge the future."

    He paused, allowing his words to sink in before continuing. "Lumenbourg University is more than a place of learning. It is a place where your identities will be reshaped, where your past¡ªno matter how noble or humble¡ªwill no longer define you. Your journey begins here, where knowledge and power intertwine."

    Ronan watched, trying not to listen to every single word, trying not to make sense of it all. The Chancellor¡¯s gaze swept over the crowd before landing on the newly admitted students.

    "Today," Aelric continued, "you will be sorted into your guilds, the seven pillars of Lumenbourg University. These guilds will become your identity, your family, and your future. These guilds are the start of your new future."

    Ronan¡¯s heart pounded in his chest as the Chancellor continued.

    "Each guild represents the core values that make this university what it is. They are distinct, powerful, and united in their purpose to foster greatness."

    The Chancellor gestured toward the students already seated, divided into seven distinct sections, each glowing faintly with their respective colors.

    ¡°The Starforge Guild,¡± he began, ¡°represents craftsmanship, creativity, and ingenuity. Those placed here are known for their hands-on approach, always finding innovative solutions. Their color is a unique shade of Ancient Bronze.¡±

    ¡°Next is the Silver Shield Guild,¡± he continued, ¡°where leadership, strategy, and governance are the guiding principles. Those in this guild are often called upon to lead, not only through strength but through diplomacy. Their color, Frost Silver, reflects their unyielding resolve.¡±

    He pointed to another section. ¡°The Crimson Blade Guild stands for martial skill, courage, and resilience. This guild values honor above all else, with members known for their bravery. They are marked by the color Blood Ruby.¡±

    ¡°The Lunar Bloom Guild focuses on harmony, healing, and balance. Those in this guild possess a deep connection to others and the world around them. Their color is Forest Emerald, symbolizing growth and peace.¡±

    ¡°Then we have the Golden Quill Guild,¡± Starfall announced, ¡°which champions knowledge, ambition, and intellectual growth. Members of the Golden Quill are known for their thirst for knowledge and prosperity. They bear the color Sunlit Gold.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s eyes darted to the blue section as the Chancellor introduced the next guild. ¡°The Stellar Warden Guild is driven by exploration, protection, and discovery. Those in this guild have a deep curiosity, tempered by caution and a sense of responsibility. They carry the color Ocean Sapphire.¡±

    Finally, Chancellor Starfall''s gaze shifted to the section shrouded in black. ¡°And lastly, the Eclipse Veil Guild. Members of this guild are known for their cunning, attentive, and pragmatic nature. They are observers and manipulators, working in the shadows to achieve their goals. They wear the color Midnight Onyx.¡±

    The Chancellor paused again, his piercing gaze sweeping across the hall, lingering on the faces of the newly admitted students. His voice softened, but somehow grew even more powerful, as though he was speaking directly to each individual in the hall.

    "Many of you may believe you already know who you are," he said, his tone both gentle and commanding. "You carry with you the weight of your past, the expectations of your families, the identities you¡¯ve held your entire life. You may think you are defined by these things¡ªyour lineage, your upbringing, your talents." He let the silence linger for a moment, letting his words sink in.

    "But let me tell you this¡ªhere, in these halls, you will discover that you are so much more. You may believe you are strong, or clever, or destined for greatness¡ªbut perhaps you are not those things just yet. Perhaps you are something entirely different. And that is the beauty of this place. Lumenbourg University will challenge everything you think you know about yourself."

    His eyes glimmered, and a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "You might find that your greatest strength lies in a weakness you never acknowledged. Or perhaps, that the path you thought was yours was never meant to be. You will be tested, time and time again, and in the end, you will not simply discover who you are¡ªyou will decide it."

    Ronan felt something stir¡ªnothing overwhelming, just a quiet shift. Those words were a bit abstract, but they tugged at a part of him he usually tried to keep locked in the depth of his conscious. It wasn¡¯t just about being sorted into a guild, though he wasn¡¯t sure yet what else it might be. Maybe he''d let it play out and see where it led.

    "But," Chancellor Starfall continued, his voice once again steady, "do not fear what you do not yet know. Embrace it."This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    With that, the Chancellor lifted his staff, the room falling into a hush as the floor shifted beneath them. A low hum reverberated through the hall, and Ronan watched in astonishment as something immense rose from beneath the floor. His breath caught, eyes widening as he took in the sight of the large, gleaming object now towering above the stage. The surface reflected the light in such an unnatural way, that it left Ronan completely stupefied, unable to grasp what he was seeing.

    It was unlike anything he had ever imagined.

    Towering and vast, it gleamed under the soft lights of the hall, its surface smooth and flawless, yet somehow alive with a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer. The frame surrounding it was dark and twisted, as though forged from some ancient metal imbued with magic. It seemed to pulse with energy, delicate runes etched into the metal faintly glowing.

    But it wasn''t just one mirror.

    As Ronan¡¯s eyes wandered, he noticed that around the hall, at the front of each of the seven guild seating sections, smaller mirrors had risen. They mirrored the grand one on the podium in design¡ªdark, twisted frames with softly glowing runes¡ªbut each was smaller, tailored to face their respective guild¡¯s section. Each of the smaller mirrors seemed to reflect the same ethereal glow, almost as if they were extensions of the massive one in the center.

    Chancellor Starfall stepped forward again, gesturing toward the towering mirror behind him.

    ¡°This,¡± he said, his voice echoing through the silent hall, ¡°is the Celestial Mirror. It is not a single mirror, but a combination of eight¡ªthis grand mirror before you, and the seven that stand before each of the guilds.¡±

    He let his words hang in the air for a moment, his eyes moving over the students, some staring in awe at the mirrors.

    ¡°The Celestial Mirror is as old as the university,¡± Starfall continued, ¡°and its magic is tied to the very essence of this place. When you step before it, it will first show you your reflection, as if you were gazing into any ordinary mirror. But make no mistake, there is nothing ordinary about this. After a varied amount of time¡ªunique to each of you¡ªthe mirror will shift. What begins as your reflection will transform, and in its place, you will see stars, galaxies, and beyond. That is when you will pass through.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s heart raced. Pass through a mirror? It seemed absurd, but the gravity in Starfall¡¯s voice left no room for doubt. And didn¡¯t he pass through that dimensional gate a month ago?

    ¡°You will step into this mirror,¡± the Chancellor continued, his eyes steady, ¡°and emerge from one of the seven smaller mirrors, placed in front of the guilds. The mirror will choose your path, your guild, and from that moment on, that will be your guild.¡±

    Ronan¡¯s emotions churned wildly inside him. He felt a strange mix of excitement and anticipation bubbling up, the kind that made his heart race and made him work extra hard not to be excited about it. He tried to think of the sense of frustration he felt, like he was being dragged into something far bigger than himself, with no say in the matter.

    He was weirded out by everything¡ªthe glowing mirrors, the powerful figures standing on the podium, and the way the entire hall seemed to buzz with energy. It felt like some overhyped ceremony, a show that expected him to be in awe. Although he had to admit that part of him was intrigued, even fascinated by what the Chancellor described.

    After finishing his speech, Chancellor Starfall turned to the right, motioning to one of the figures standing beside the podium.

    ¡°And now, Professor Selene Ardenal will take over the proceedings,¡± he announced. He straightened his posture, his gaze sharpening as he caught sight of the figure stepping forward. His nod was brief but deliberate, a small acknowledgment he probably offered rarely. The usual edge in his voice softened, and though he held his stance firm, there was a fraction of a pause before he spoke, as though he was choosing his words with particular care.

    Professor Selene Ardenal moved with a composed grace, her dark green robes flowing like a calm stream. She was very short, her posture straight and commanding without being overly imposing. Her sharp, angular features gave her an air of precision, with high cheekbones and piercing dark eyes that seemed to take in every detail of the room in an instant. Her hair was long and red, tied loosely behind her, revealing a face that was both stern and focused, the kind that suggested she tolerated no nonsense.

    Her presence, though less grand than the Chancellor''s, carried an unmistakable weight of authority and intellect. The students straightened unconsciously, sensing that she was not one to be trifled with.

    "Welcome, freshman students," she said, her voice cutting through the quiet. "You will now proceed to the Celestial Mirror for sorting. Line up beside the mirror in an orderly fashion."

    With a sweeping motion of her hand, she gestured toward the grand mirror at the center of the podium. The new students hesitated, then began to form a line, the air thick with tension and anticipation.

    The first student, a tall boy with a nervous expression, stepped forward. He stood before the mirror, his reflection staring back at him for what felt like an eternity. His eyes darted over his own image, beads of sweat forming on his brow. Just as his breath hitched, the mirror shimmered. Slowly, his reflection dissolved into a dazzling display of stars, galaxies, and distant lights. The transformation was slow, almost deliberate, like the mirror was deciding his fate with care. The boy hesitated, his heart pounding audibly in his chest. Then, with a deep breath, he stepped forward, vanishing into the stars.

    The hall held its collective breath until, moments later, the boy emerged from one of the smaller mirrors¡ªthe one glowing Frost Silver. A faint cheer rose from the section of students seated in the Silver Shield Guild, their approval evident as he made his way toward them, his steps steadier than before.

    Another student followed, a girl with determined eyes. She stood tall before the mirror, her reflection locked in an unwavering stare. For her, the mirror wasted no time. In a blink, her reflection shattered into a cosmic dance of stars, as if the universe had been waiting for her. Without hesitation, she stepped through the swirling galaxies. Moments later, she appeared from the Blood Ruby mirror, greeted by quiet nods of approval from the Crimson Blade Guild.

    The next student, a shorter, stocky boy, seemed to stand in front of the mirror longer than the others. His reflection stared back for what felt like an age, his nerves growing more palpable with each passing second. Just when the whispers in the hall grew louder, as if questioning why the mirror hadn¡¯t yet transformed, it finally shifted. But unlike the others, the transformation was gradual, slow, almost hesitant, before the stars finally formed and pulled him in. He stumbled slightly as he emerged from the Forest Emerald mirror, the Lunar Bloom Guild giving him gentle smiles as he made his way to his seat.

    The process continued, each student stepping forward, their guild revealed through the mirror¡¯s sorting.

    And then it was Ronan¡¯s turn.

    As he stepped forward, a ripple of whispers surged through the crowd, hushed murmurs and curious glances following his every movement. He could feel their eyes on him¡ªstudents from every guild, watching, waiting. Some whispered in excitement, others in amusement, and a few in something darker, like skepticism or judgment. The soft murmurs swirled around him, adding to the tension already knotted in his chest.

    ¡°Who is he?¡± one voice hissed nearby.

    ¡°He looks nervous,¡± another whispered, barely audible.

    Ronan clenched his fists as he moved closer to the grand mirror, trying to block out the noise, but the atmosphere felt charged.

    His heart pounded in his chest as he took a deep breath, stepping toward the grand mirror. Every footstep felt heavy. The crowd behind him seemed to fade away, leaving only the shimmering surface of the Celestial Mirror before him. It stood impossibly tall, reflecting his own hesitant face back at him, every detail of his expression laid bare.

    Ronan swallowed hard, trying to steady himself, but his mind buzzed with uncertainty. He had seen other students go through this process¡ªsome emerging from the mirror with confidence, others with visible relief¡ªbut nothing could have prepared him for standing here himself. The reflection in the mirror stared back at him, his eyes wide, his messy hair slightly out of place.

    He stood there, staring at his own reflection, waiting for the transformation he had witnessed with the others. But nothing happened. Seconds ticked by, stretching into what felt like minutes. The mirror remained still, showing him only his own face, his eyes locked in a tense, uneasy gaze with his reflection. His breathing grew shallow as the weight of the silence around him pressed down, filling the room with an air of restless anticipation.

    The whispers started again, louder this time, rippling through the hall. Ronan could feel the eyes of every student, every professor, on him, their curiosity sharpening as the mirror continued to delay. His palms grew clammy, his fists clenched at his sides. He willed the mirror to change, to show him something¡ªanything¡ªbut still, it held his reflection, as though testing his resolve.

    Ronan shifted uncomfortably, swallowing hard, his heart thudding in his chest as the seconds dragged on painfully. He felt exposed, laid bare in front of the entire room. Was this normal? Had something gone wrong? Doubts surged through his mind, frustration building as the wait stretched longer than anyone else''s.

    Just as he began to question whether the mirror would ever shift, a faint ripple distorted the surface. Barely perceptible at first, it quickly grew, spreading outward like ripples in a pond. Ronan held his breath as the mirror finally began to change. His reflection blurred, dissolving into a slow swirl of stars. But even the transformation took longer than it had for the others, as if the mirror itself was hesitant, reluctant to reveal the stars.

    The swirling galaxies emerged gradually, their light dim at first, growing brighter with painstaking slowness. The stars shifted in complex patterns, more intricate and layered than any Ronan had seen before, as if the universe was unfolding itself in front of him, piece by piece. The longer he stared, the more the stars seemed to stretch into infinity, their lights flickering with unknown meaning. It felt as though time itself had slowed to a crawl.

    Ronan¡¯s breath caught in his throat. The mirror, now alive with distant galaxies, felt overwhelming, as though it was pulling him into something far deeper than he was prepared for. His body felt tense, frozen, but finally, he forced himself to move.

    Without thinking, Ronan reached out. His hand met the cool surface of the mirror, and for a brief second, there was resistance. But then the stars seemed to swallow his hand, the surface giving way as though it were made of liquid. He gasped, his mind reeling from the sensation, but he didn¡¯t pull back. Instead, he stepped forward, fully committing to the unknown.

    The world around him dissolved into light. For a fleeting moment, he felt weightless, suspended in the midst of the stars. Time itself seemed to stretch and bend, moments elongating, yet passing in the blink of an eye. He couldn¡¯t tell where he was, whether he was still in the hall or somewhere else entirely. All he knew was the rush of energy flowing through him, the stars swirling in every direction.

    And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

    Ronan blinked as he emerged, the sensation of solid ground under his feet anchoring him back to reality. His surroundings had shifted¡ªhe was no longer in front of the grand mirror. Instead, he stood before one of the smaller mirrors, bathed in a deep, shadowy glow.

 20. Eclipse Veil

    The hall, once alive with murmurs and anticipation, now sat in reverent silence as Chancellor Aelric Starfall stepped forward once more. His gaze swept across the sea of newly sorted students, his blue eyes holding their attention effortlessly.

    ¡°You have taken your first step into this institution,¡± he said, his voice calm yet commanding. ¡°What lies ahead for you is everything else, which you will figure out with time. Remember, the guilds you now belong to are not merely houses¡ªthey are legacies. Respect them, grow within them, and honor their names.¡± He took a deep breath and continued, ¡°Now, the new students will be helped by the respective guild guides to your dormitories, where you will be given further instructions.  That is all. You are dismissed.¡±

    Without further ceremony, he turned and descended from the dais, his robes flowing behind him. A ripple of motion followed as professors and older students began organizing the exit.

    ¡°Move in an orderly fashion,¡± instructed a stern-looking faculty member standing near the main doors. ¡°No pushing. Follow the paths assigned to your guild.¡±

    Ronan let out a quiet breath he hadn¡¯t realized he¡¯d been holding. The scenes of the ceremony still lingered, but after all that, he couldn¡¯t muster the energy to join in the anticipation buzzing through the crowd. Slowly, the students began to file out, murmuring to one another in hushed tones.

    He followed the flow of the crowd, his eyes darting around as they spilled out into the cool evening air. The massive doors of Arcadia Hall stood open behind him, and the golden hues of sunset bathed the campus in a soft, enchanting light.

    Ronan¡¯s attention, however, was elsewhere. He scanned the dispersing groups of students, his heart beating faster than it should. Where is Suri? His thoughts raced. Just as a flicker of worry began to form, he caught sight of the familiar figure in the distance.

    There he was¡ªjumping up and down, waving both arms frantically above his head like he was trying to signal a passing airship.

    ¡°Ronan!¡± Suri¡¯s voice rang out, cutting through the chatter of the dispersing crowd. ¡°Over here!¡±

    Ronan couldn¡¯t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips. Suri¡¯s enthusiasm was like a beacon, impossible to ignore. Pushing through the crowd, Ronan made his way over, a reluctant sense of relief settling in as he approached the little guy.

    ¡°Ronan! Over here! Over here!¡± Suri¡¯s voice rang out above the hum of students dispersing, his enthusiasm drawing amused glances from a few passing by.

    Ronan made his way toward the boy, who looked like he might burst if Ronan didn¡¯t hurry. As soon as he got close enough, Suri bounced on his toes, his wide eyes full of anticipation.

    ¡°What happened? What did they do there? What¡¯s your guild? Did they make you do something scary? Were there monsters?¡± The questions spilled out in rapid succession, his voice high-pitched with excitement.

    Ronan raised a hand to calm him. ¡°One question at a time,¡± he said, though his words lacked any real sharpness. He couldn¡¯t be annoyed with the boy, not when he was so genuine.

    ¡°But you¡¯ve been gone forever!¡± Suri exclaimed, tugging at Ronan¡¯s sleeve. ¡°I¡¯ve been waiting and waiting, and you didn¡¯t even tell me what they were gonna do yet. You have to tell me everything!¡±

    Ronan sighed. He knew Suri well enough to realize the boy wouldn¡¯t stop until he got answers. ¡°Fine,¡± he said, crouching slightly so they were on the same eye level. ¡°I got into the Eclipse Veil Guild.¡±

    Suri¡¯s eyes widened, his mouth falling open in a dramatic ¡®O.¡¯ ¡°Whoa! That sounds so cool! Is that the one with the shadowy name? Oh, oh, do they teach you how to turn invisible? Or sneak around like a spy?¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± Ronan said with a faint smirk. ¡°I don¡¯t know yet. They didn¡¯t exactly give me a handbook yet.¡±

    Suri tilted his head, his face scrunching in thought. ¡°But the name¡¯s super famous! Everyone says the Eclipse Veil people are really clever and sneaky. I bet you¡¯re gonna be the best one!¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Ronan said dryly. ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡±

    ¡°But how did they know? Did you have to, like, fight someone? Or take a test?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Ronan replied, straightening up again. ¡°It was a mirror. You stand in front of it, and it shows you¡­ things. Then it sorts you.¡±

    ¡°A mirror?¡± Suri¡¯s nose wrinkled in confusion. ¡°That¡¯s it? Just a mirror? That¡¯s kinda boring.¡±

    Ronan huffed a quiet laugh. ¡°It wasn¡¯t boring when it took forever for mine to work. Everyone else got sorted in seconds. I was starting to think the thing was broken.¡±

    ¡°Maybe it was trying to figure out how cool you are,¡± Suri said earnestly. ¡°Like, too cool to decide!¡±

    ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s go with that,¡± Ronan muttered, shaking his head.

    The amount of adoration Suri is collecting about him is not good for his heart.

    Before Suri could pepper him with more questions, a magical announcement echoed across the campus. The amplified voice was calm yet firm, carrying over the murmurs of the dispersing crowd.

    ¡°New students of the Starforge Guild, please proceed to the Arcanum Workshop, located to the east of the Arcadia hall. Starforge guides will meet you at the entrance.¡±

    Both Ronan and Suri glanced around as students began splitting off toward their respective destinations, some calling out to each other while others hurried along in small groups. The announcements continued, each guild being called in turn.

    ¡°New students of the Silver Shield Guild, please gather at the Chancellor¡¯s Pavilion for orientation. Guides in Frost Silver robes will escort you there.¡±

    Suri looked up at Ronan, his eyes bright with curiosity. ¡°Where do we go? Do they tell you?¡±

    ¡°Just wait,¡± Ronan replied, his eyes scanning the crowd.

    The voice called out again. ¡°New students of the Crimson Blade Guild, proceed to the Crimson Forge Arena. Guides will meet you at the courtyard in red robes.¡±

    Ronan shifted his weight, feeling Suri tug at his sleeve. How the hell was he supposed to know all these places?

    Finally, the voice rang out for them.

    ¡°New students of the Eclipse Veil Guild, report to the Shadowsworn Wing, located at the western edge of campus. Guides will meet you at the lantern-marked path.¡±

    He looked around to find a lantern marked path in his vicinity, but was unsuccessful. That was when he saw another new student who he had noticed being sorted into the same guild as him, walking towards a darker area. Following his line of sight, he saw the lanterns.

    Good.

    Ronan grabbed Suri¡¯s hand. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    Suri grinned. ¡°I wanna see it! Is it gonna be all shadowy and cool? Do you think they have secret doors?¡±

    ¡°I guess we¡¯ll find out,¡± Ronan said, letting the boy pull him along.

    As they approached the starting point of their path, two figures in deep Midnight Onyx robes stood waiting under the faint glow of the lanterns. Both had their hoods up, their faces partially obscured by shadow, adding to their mysterious aura.

    ¡°New students of the Eclipse Veil Guild?¡± one of them asked, their voice calm and smooth.

    Ronan nodded. ¡°That¡¯s us.¡±

    ¡°Follow closely in line,¡± the guide said, gesturing down the path. ¡°The Shadowsworn Wing is ahead.¡±

    As they walked, the crowd thinned, the path leading them toward darker, quieter grounds. Lanterns flickered softly, casting uneven light across the cobblestones, and the air grew cooler under the canopy of trees. The occasional sound of rustling leaves or distant footsteps echoed faintly, adding to the eerie atmosphere.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    There were almost fifty students walking behind him. He was sure the number of fresher students sorted into Eclipse Veil was thrice the amount, but he wasn¡¯t sure where the rest of those students were.

    ¡°This place feels¡­ spooky,¡± Suri said in a whisper, his earlier excitement dimming slightly as the shadows grew deeper.

    ¡°Fitting,¡± Ronan replied, though his own voice was low.

    The guide turned slightly, their hood still concealing most of their face. ¡°You¡¯ll find the Shadowsworn Wing¡­ different. But fitting for what it represents, yes. Keep close, and don¡¯t stray.¡±

    Suri¡¯s grip on Ronan¡¯s sleeve tightened, though he didn¡¯t say anything. Ronan glanced down at him, offering a faint smirk. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Suri. I don¡¯t think the shadows bite.¡±

    The boy gave him a tentative roll of his eyes. Up ahead, the outline of a structure slowly came into view, its silhouette stark against the faint glow of the moonlight.

    It was an extremely large mansion, painted in different shades of grey, white and most prominently back. He would like to say that it had a gothic feel to it based on its structure, but the architecture was too modern and glossy to be gothic. It looked more like a strange amalgamation of grim street art.

    The building''s walls gleamed faintly under the light of the setting sun. Towering spires reached toward the darkening sky, their sharp tips casting long, jagged shadows across the grounds.

    The surroundings complemented the mansion¡¯s ominous beauty. The path leading up to the entrance was lined with tall, dark trees, their twisted branches interlocking to form a canopy that seemed to absorb the last light of the day. Lanterns with flickering violet flames hung at even intervals, casting an eerie glow on the cobblestone walkway. To the sides of the mansion, lush, shadowed gardens sprawled out, filled with dark-leafed plants and pale, ghostly flowers that seemed to pulse faintly with magic. The air carried a cool stillness, broken only by the faint sound of running water from within the mansion.

    As they approached, the massive double doors swung open without a sound, welcoming them in. Ronan and Suri exchanged a glance before stepping inside, their footsteps echoing on the golden floor.

    The interior of the building was no less grand. They entered into an enormous hall that seemed almost impossibly vast, its design both intimidating and mesmerizing. Dark, glossy furniture lined the edges of the space, each piece polished to perfection and adorned with intricate carvings. Chandeliers hung high above, their designs resembling webs of black crystal, each adorned with glowing orbs of violet light that cast long, shifting shadows across the room.

    The floor was unlike anything Ronan had seen before¡ªa golden surface so highly polished that it reflected everything above it like a mirror. It made the hall feel even larger, the reflections adding an almost disorienting depth to the space. Guards dressed in sleek, dark armor stood at attention near the walls, their expressions hidden beneath helmets adorned with faintly glowing symbols.

    At the center of the hall stood a grand fountain, the focal point of the room. A statue of a black-robed figure rose from its base, its arms extended outward with hands cupped to form a bowl. Black water flowed from the figure¡¯s hands in a mesmerizing cascade, pooling into a shallow basin below. The water shimmered faintly, as though it contained some otherworldly essence, and the sound of its flow filled the otherwise quiet hall.

    Right beside the fountain, was a majestic throne-like chair. The chair¡¯s design was regal but far from traditional. Its dark, glossy frame was carved with jagged patterns that seemed to writhe and shift in the light, and its backrest reached high above the seated figure, resembling a spire.

    The individual seated on the throne was shrouded in a black robe that seemed to merge with the shadows around them. Their posture was relaxed but commanding, their presence exuding an air of authority. On one hand, they held a unique staff that immediately drew Ronan¡¯s attention.

    The staff looked to be forged from an obsidian-like material that gleamed faintly with dark light. Its surface was adorned with intricate runes that pulsed with faint, rhythmic glows, as though the staff itself were alive. At the top, the staff split into three jagged prongs, each tipped with a fragment of what looked like pure black crystal. Between the prongs, a swirling orb of purple energy floated, constantly shifting and rippling as if it held the essence of darkness itself.

    The robed figure sat in silence, their face obscured by the shadow of their hood, but there was no mistaking the weight of their gaze as it swept over the new arrivals.

    Ronan waited for him to speak up, but the figure stayed quiet. No one spoke. Suri pulled at his sleeve, but he ignored it. When he heard shuffling of steps, he looked at his back and saw more students entering the mansion. He estimated there to be more than a hundred fresher students standing beside him.

    That¡¯s when the robed individual stood up.

    His movements were fluid and confident, commanding immediate attention from the hundred or so students gathered in the grand hall. As he rose to his full height, he reached up and pulled back the hood, revealing a face that caught nearly everyone off guard.

    Contrary to the somber atmosphere of the mansion, the man standing before them was strikingly handsome, with sharp yet youthful features. His hair was buzzed short along the edges, the top left slightly longer and styled casually, giving him a roguish charm. A long translucent crystal hung as an earring from his ear, and a warm, almost mischievous smile played on his lips, and his eyes sparkled with humor rather than intimidation.

    ¡°Well, this is a sight!¡± he exclaimed, his voice carrying a cheerful lilt that immediately dispelled some of the tension in the room. ¡°Welcome, everyone, to the Eclipse Veil Guild! I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve all heard the rumors¡ªthat we¡¯re shadowy, secretive, and maybe just a little bit scary.¡± He paused dramatically, then leaned forward, winking. ¡°And you know what? Some of it¡¯s true. But not today! Today¡¯s all about you.¡±

    Ronan blinked, momentarily taken aback by the stark contrast between the guild¡¯s vibe and its leader. Suri tugged at his sleeve again, whispering, ¡°He doesn¡¯t look scary at all! He looks fun!¡±

    The man continued, spreading his arms wide, his staff gleaming faintly in the golden light of the hall. ¡°Let me properly introduce myself. I am Calen Veylian, your Guild Leader, professor of many of the subjects you will learn in your classes, and the youngest Guild Leader in the history of Lumenbourg University¡ªthank you very much.¡± He gave an exaggerated bow, prompting a few chuckles from the crowd. ¡°I¡¯m also a proud graduate of Eclipse Veil, of course. Born and raised right here in Soleas, though I spent a few years exploring the southern part of Ravencia¡ªhighly recommend it, by the way. Great food, good people, terrible weather.¡±

    His grin widened as he launched into a rapid-fire string of facts about himself. ¡°Let¡¯s see¡­ I like card games, love Aether Surge, hate mornings, and have an unhealthy love of honeycakes. Oh! And this¡ª¡± he held up his staff dramatically, the purple energy swirling in response¡ª¡°is called Umbra¡¯s Fang. Yes, it¡¯s powerful. No, you can¡¯t touch it.¡±

    The students exchanged glances, unsure whether to laugh or remain serious. Just as Calen was about to dive into another tangent, a sharp cough echoed from one of the corners of the hall. Calen straightened instantly, glancing sheepishly at the source of the interruption. ¡°Right, right. Focus.¡±

    He clapped his hands, the sound echoing through the hall. ¡°Okay, back to business. Eclipse Veil. We¡¯re not just shadows and whispers, though we are very good at those. This guild values strategy, adaptability, and, most importantly, loyalty. We are the planners, the observers, the ones who think three steps ahead while others are still figuring out their first move.¡±

    Calen gestured toward the black-robed statue in the fountain, though his explanation veered elsewhere. ¡°While this statue adds a nice dramatic touch,¡± he said with a grin, ¡°it¡¯s not our guild¡¯s actual symbol.¡±

    He raised his free hand, a faint glow emanating from his fingers. Shadows seemed to coil and gather above his palm, twisting and writhing until they formed a distinct shape. The gathered students gasped softly as the figure of a creature emerged¡ªa sleek, shadowy form that seemed almost alive.

    ¡°This,¡± Calen said, his voice low and resonant, ¡°is the Umbraven.¡±

    The magical projection hovered above his hand, a striking creature with fur so dark it seemed to absorb the light around it. Its glinting onyx eyes shimmered like black diamonds, piercing and intelligent, as though it could see into the very depths of their souls. Its body was lean and powerful, with muscles that rippled beneath the shadowy fur, and its paws moved soundlessly as it prowled in the air, leaving faint trails of darkness behind it.

    The creature¡¯s head turned, its luminous eyes seeming to fix on each student in turn. Even though it was a projection, its presence exuded an aura of mystery and quiet power. Suri tugged at Ronan¡¯s sleeve, whispering, ¡°It¡¯s so cool¡­ and kinda creepy.¡±

    Calen let the projection linger a moment longer, allowing everyone to take it in. ¡°The Umbraven represents everything Eclipse Veil stands for,¡± he said, his tone serious but not without warmth. ¡°Stealth, cunning, and the ability to influence outcomes without ever being seen. It¡¯s the embodiment of our guild¡¯s purpose¡ªoperating in the shadows to shape the future.¡±

    The shadowy creature dissolved back into his hand with a flourish, fading into nothingness. Calen lowered his arm and smiled again, breaking the moment of intensity. ¡°The Umbraven doesn¡¯t hunt with brute strength or loud displays. It watches. It waits. And when the time is right, it moves with precision and purpose. That¡¯s what we teach here¡ªnot just to act, but to act right.¡±

    His tone shifted slightly, becoming more serious but no less engaging. ¡°This guild has a long and proud history. We¡¯ve trained some of the empire¡¯s most brilliant tacticians, diplomats, and strategists. And while the rest of the university may see us as ¡®the quiet ones,¡¯ we are far from passive. We are the balance between light and dark, working where others cannot, doing what others won¡¯t.¡±

    He let that sink in before flashing another grin. ¡°But enough with the heavy stuff! Let¡¯s talk rules. There aren¡¯t many, but they¡¯re important. First: loyalty to the guild and your peers is non-negotiable. Betrayal is not tolerated, period. Second: discretion is key. What happens in Eclipse Veil stays in Eclipse Veil. And third¡­¡± He paused for dramatic effect. ¡°Have fun. We may be a guild of shadows, but that doesn¡¯t mean we can¡¯t enjoy ourselves.¡±

    The students murmured among themselves, a mix of intrigue and amusement in the air.

    ¡°Now,¡± Calen said, pointing toward a large desk off to the side, where several neatly dressed attendants stood waiting. ¡°Everyone, head over there to pick up your orientation pamphlets and the key to your rooms. Nobles¡ªyes, I¡¯m looking at you,¡± he added with a playful smirk, ¡°you¡¯ll need to register your attendants. There¡¯s a spare room for them in your quarters, so make sure they¡¯re taken care of.¡±

    Suri perked up at that, looking up at Ronan with wide eyes. ¡°I get my own room? Really?¡±

    ¡°Looks like it,¡± Ronan murmured, half-listening as Calen clapped his hands again.

    ¡°Once you¡¯ve got your keys, feel free to settle in or explore. We¡¯ve got plenty of secret doors and hidden passageways for the curious among you.¡± His grin turned mischievous. ¡°Oh, and one last thing¡ªif you think you¡¯ve already figured us out, think again. The shadows always have another trick up their sleeve.¡±

    With that, Calen gave a theatrical bow and stepped back toward the fountain, leaving the students buzzing with excitement and questions.