《Forged by Falcrest》 Chapter 1 A frail-looking young boy with pale skin and dark circles under his eyes, sat on an old bench. If anyone had bothered to glance his way, they would have seen his golden eyes fixed on the academy gates ahead, his thumb idly twirling around the steaming cup in his hands. He raised it to his lips and took a sip. The taste was bitter, leaving a sharp tang in his throat, but the warmth was welcome. All around him, the world was blanketed in white, the winter snow had started falling the night before, covering the mountain in an unforgiving chill. The mountaintops were a cold, desolate place. Why anyone had chosen to build a village here, he would never understand. People bustled past, wrapped in thick woolly jackets. Barely anyone spared him a glance, and those that did snared before they carried on with their day. He looked down at his stained and tattered jacket and sighed. He finished his coffee. He hated it. It tasted like crap. But at two coppers, he wasn¡¯t about to waste it. ¡°Ah, that¡¯s rough,¡± he muttered to himself, crumpling the cup in his hands. He stood and aimed for the trash bin. The cup missed¡ªby a lot. Sighing, he shuffled over and placed it in properly. As he turned, a man walked past and shot him a scowl. Maybe he¡¯d seen him staring at the academy in envy, or maybe it was because someone like him didn¡¯t belong on this side of town. ¡°It¡¯s not because I smell, is it?¡± he muttered. Lifting his frail arm, he sniffed at his sleeve, then wrinkled his nose before quickly lowering it. ¡°Nope. Definitely not because of the smell.¡± With one last glance at the towering academy gates, he lingered, listening to faint bursts of laughter from within. Behind those walls, people were laughing, learning, living. He couldn¡¯t imagine what that felt like. What it would be like to become a legendary Blade. To be a warrior songs were sung about and to be the hero of the story parents told to their children late at night when the cold was biting more than usual and they couldn¡¯t sleep. He sighed again, deeper this time, then turned and began to walk away. The snow crunched under his feet, and the dim sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the streets. He was in the nicer part of the city. Large stone buildings loomed around him, their windows glowing with warm light and smoke curling up from the chimneys. Everything about this district seemed pristine, untouched by the struggles that plagued him. Snow began to fall, the flakes settling on his thin shoulders. He felt the dampness seep through his less-than-useful jacket, and he shivered. It was time for a new one. He knew exactly where to get it, too. With a five-finger discount, of course. But the thought of a new jacket didn¡¯t quiet his growling stomach, a reminder that he hadn¡¯t eaten since yesterday. With a sigh, he trudged on, leaving the bustling city center behind as he headed down the mountain. The lower he descended, the more the city changed. The houses became rugged, with crumbling walls and patchy roofs, and the streets grew quieter, littered with the debris and the stench smell of manure. Glancing down a dark alley, he spotted two figures talking in hushed tones. One passed a small package to the other, who gave a curt nod in return. ¡°Figures,¡± he muttered under his breath. One of the men turned toward him. He wore a long black coat, and a balaclava obscured the lower half of his face, but the scar slashing down through his eye was unmistakable. ¡°Beat it, mutt,¡± the man growled. He didn¡¯t need to be told twice. He picked up his pace, pulling his thin jacket tighter against the cold as the sun dipped behind the mountain and darkness fell. He lifted his hood over his head, its frayed edges barely offering any protection apart from obscuring his face and helping him slink deeper into the shadows. It didn¡¯t take much longer¡ªmaybe half an hour¡ªbefore the building came into view. It was run-down, its stones crumbling and missing in places, and the patched roof looked like it could collapse any day. Yet, despite its sorry state, smoke still rose steadily from the chimney. A smile tugged at his lips. Quickening his steps, he darted through the shadows, jumped the gate with practiced ease, and rushed to the door. Inside, the noise hit him like a wave. The place was alive with shouting and laughter as young kids played and chased each other through the cramped space. The head matriarch, a stout woman with graying hair, sat on a stained sofa, overseeing the chaos like a weary monarch. She spotted him instantly. ¡°Where have you been, Atlas!¡± she half-shouted, rising to her feet. ¡°How many times have I told you to be back before sundown?¡± Atlas put on his best smile, the one that made him look all wide-eyed and innocent, and he even had the audacity to lower his head like a scolded puppy. ¡°Sorry, Madam. I thought I¡¯d make it back with plenty of time, but I got caught up,¡± he said, voice dripping with regret. She folded her arms and gave him a long, pointed look. ¡°When will you stop calling me ¡®Madam¡¯ and start calling me Granny Lisa?¡± she grumbled, though there was a hint of amusement in her tone. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. ¡°And what exactly got you so ¡®caught up¡¯?¡± Atlas glanced up. Her sharp gray eyes were locked on him, piercing through his defenses like a blade. It almost sent a shiver down his spine. I was watching the academy and spent the money you gave me on a crap coffee while scouting out potential marks¡­ Yeah, right, I can¡¯t say that. He tried to look as apologetic as possible. It was a skill he¡¯d honed over the years, and he was getting pretty good at it. ¡°I got chased out of Uppertown,¡± he said, trying to sound dejected. ¡°Then I had to find my way back through the slums. I¡¯m sorry.¡± A shameless lie. Well, mostly. He did get chased out of Uppertown pretty often¡ªjust not this time. Granny Lisa¡¯s sharp eyes narrowed for a moment, studying him like she could see straight through the cracks in his story. Finally, she let out a huff and waved him off. ¡°Well, go on then. Get yourself some food. And for the hundredth time stop going to Uppertown. Those rich brats and their magic are no better than the rest of us.¡± Atlas let out an inward sigh of relief. He turned and walked through the open living room and into the kitchen. A small, triumphant smile crept onto his face. Maybe he was getting better at this after all. Unbeknownst to him, the old lady was still watching, a glint of knowing mischief in her eyes. The food was rubbish as always, but Atlas didn¡¯t blame Granny Lisa. He knew she did everything she could to keep the kids fed. Still, knowing that didn¡¯t make it any easier to choke down this slop. The soup looked like someone had chewed up the remains of a bird, added water, and spat it back into a bowl. Maybe he was exaggerating. Maybe he wasn¡¯t. Either way, it sucked. The dining room bustled with noise, mostly from the younger kids. Atlas realized, not for the first time, that he was the oldest one left here. Come the end of winter, he¡¯d be out on his own. The Amarah only funded orphans until they turned twelve, which, in Atlas¡¯s opinion, was complete bullshit. If the fourth Amarah wasn¡¯t the strongest blade in Falcrest, Atlas would have been a lot more upset. But as it was, all he could do was move on. Maybe someone would offer him an apprenticeship. Perhaps a cook. He picked at his bowl halfheartedly, the sounds of laughter and clinking dishes washing over him. Once, he¡¯d been like them¡ªcarefree, loud, happy. But everything changed when his childhood friend awakened his core and left for the academy. Ever since, he¡¯d found it harder to connect with anyone. He was too busy trying to grow up. ¡°Atlas!¡± Ren¡¯s excited voice cut through his thoughts. The younger boy rushed over, his short black hair gleaming in the firelight. Atlas sighed¡ªagain. I¡¯m way too young to be sighing this much. Before Ren could even open his mouth, Atlas cut him off. ¡°No, you¡¯re not coming.¡± Ren¡¯s mix-matched eyes widened, catching something in Atlas¡¯s tone. ¡°So you are going somewhere tonight!¡± Crap. ¡°I mean, no,¡± Atlas stammered, trying to backpedal. ¡°I¡¯m not doing anything tonight. It¡¯s too cold outside.¡± And it was¡ªthe snow was coming down heavy now, blanketing the city in white. But Ren¡¯s grin only widened, a gleam of triumph sparkling in his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m telling,¡± he teased, spinning on his heel and making a beeline for the front room. ¡°Wait, you little bastard!¡± Atlas hissed after him, keeping his voice low so Granny Lisa wouldn¡¯t hear. Ren stopped and turned back, a smug, shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Atlas¡¯s fist itched to wipe it off. ¡°So, when do we leave?¡± Ren asked, the words dripping with mockery. ¡°Midnight, obviously,¡± Atlas snapped before he could stop himself. Damn it all. Atlas was upstairs in the dorm. They didn¡¯t have individual rooms¡ªjust one wide-open space with cots scattered across the floor and narrow walkways weaving between them. Privacy was a luxury no one here could afford. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady, with the occasional fake snore slipping out. It was a trick he¡¯d picked up after that time he and Alex had tried to sneak out and got caught by Granny Lisa. If you breathed loud and snored just enough, she assumed you were asleep. It wasn¡¯t foolproof, but it worked most of the time. He inhaled deeply and let it out through his nose, forcing a low, convincing snore. Around him, the other boys lay fast asleep in their cots, peaceful and undisturbed. He hoped Ren was among them. The kid was smart and quiet on their late-night outings, which made him useful, but¡­ he was also quite annoying. Atlas cracked one eye open, scanning the room. The firelight cast a warm glow, making the shadows dance across the stone walls. Slowly, he pulled the blanket off and sat up. He was still fully dressed¡ªor as dressed as his tattered clothes allowed. When his bare feet touched the stone floor, he almost yelped as the cold shot up his spine. He grabbed his worn boots from under the cot and slipped them on. He moved carefully, stepping on the balls of his feet as he weaved through the maze of cots. When he reached the window, he slid the latch open, and the biting cold hit him like a slap to the face. Grimacing, he climbed out quickly, shutting the window behind him before the wind could wake anyone. The snow-covered roof greeted him with a few inches of fresh powder. As he turned to make his way to the hidden ladder on the roof, his foot slipped. The snow shifted beneath him, breaking away and sending him sliding uncontrollably. ¡°Shit!¡± he hissed under his breath, grabbing at the roof for support¡ªa mistake he immediately regretted. Snow was cold, painfully cold, and his fingers burned as he scrambled to find something solid. But it was no use. The roof¡¯s edge came faster than he could react, and before he knew it, he was falling. He held his breath, more concerned about staying silent than the landing itself. One, because getting caught would mean big trouble with Granny Lisa. And two, which he thought was far more important, because this was so incredibly embarrassing. The snow softened his landing, leaving him sprawled out in a heap of limbs and frost. He groaned quietly, brushing himself off. At least no one had seen him, and he wasn¡¯t hurt. If anything, this was just a shortcut. Or so he thought. When he looked up, Ren was standing there, that familiar shit-eating grin plastered across his face. The kid¡¯s shoulders shook as he covered his mouth with one hand and pointed with the other. Bugger that guy. ¡°Don¡¯t say a word,¡± Atlas whispered as he got to his feet, brushing snow off his jacket. Less than five minutes into this adventure, and he was already freezing and getting laughed at. Fantastic. Ren dropped his hand and drew an exaggerated cross over his heart, but the sparkle in his eyes betrayed him. ¡°So, where are we going?¡± Ren asked, his voice dripping with amusement. Atlas had just managed to shake the snow out of his jacket¡ªthough some had inconveniently found its way down his trousers. He shivered and tried to muster what little dignity he had left. ¡°We¡¯re going to Uppertown,¡± he said, trying to sound in control. ¡°I saw this nice little jacket. Looked like the perfect size.¡± Technically, he had seen the jacket. Of course, someone had been wearing it at the time. He¡¯d had to follow them a good while before figuring out where they probably lived. ¡°Sounds good,¡± Ren said, the smugness never leaving his tone. ¡°You spot anything for me?¡± Atlas reluctantly nodded. ¡°Yes¡ªwell, no. But I¡¯m sure there¡¯ll be something.¡± Without waiting for a response, he turned and pulled his hood over his head, the tattered fabric barely shielding him from the cold. Ren followed suit, falling into step behind him. Together, they slipped into the shadows, vanishing into the night. There adventures just beginning. Chapter 2 Chapter 2 ¡°Owww,¡± Ren muttered, rubbing his elbow as Atlas shoved him up the wall. ¡°Come on, give me a hand now,¡± Atlas said, reaching out an arm. Ren shot him a glare but grabbed his hand anyway. With a grunt, Atlas jumped, his feet scrabbling against the stone as Ren pulled with all his might. After a few seconds of effort, Atlas finally hauled himself onto the top of the wall. They stood together, catching their breath on the dividing line between Uppertown and Midtown. Atlas still didn¡¯t know why they called it Midtown. It wasn¡¯t nice enough to deserve the name¡ªit was the slums, plain and simple. He turned his gaze away from the eyesore below and looked up at Uppertown instead. That view was far more appealing. From this vantage point, he still had to crane his neck to take it all in. Like its name implied, Uppertown climbed higher up the mountain, its buildings spread further than he could see. Each building had the finest stone that, to Atlas seemed to glow in the moon light. The wind bit at his face, sharp and unforgiving. He tried to pull his hood tighter around him, but a ripping sound stopped him short. ¡°I really need that jacket,¡± he muttered under his breath. ¡°What was that?¡± Ren asked, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. Atlas glanced at him and couldn¡¯t help but grin despite himself. Ren¡¯s nose was running, and his cheeks were flushed red from the cold, but the kid still looked determined. Atlas shook his head. He still didn¡¯t understand why Ren always insisted on tagging along. ¡°Nothing,¡± Atlas said, waving him off. ¡°Let¡¯s keep moving. I need that jacket, and tonight¡¯s my only chance. After this, it¡¯s going to get too cold to even try.¡± Ren clapped his hands together, the sound echoing down the wall. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong about that.¡± ¡°Shhhh!¡± Atlas spun toward him, pressing a finger to his lips. ¡°Do you want the guards to hear us?¡± Ren froze, looking a little sheepish. ¡°Right. Sorry.¡± Atlas sighed and took the lead again, carefully making his way down the other side of the wall. The climb wasn¡¯t difficult¡ªit wasn¡¯t even that well-guarded. The gates between Uppertown and Midtown were open during the day for trade and movement, so the wall itself was more of a symbol than an actual defense. It was there to remind people where they belonged. The wall stood around ten meters high. Climbing it would have been nearly impossible if not for the small protrusions of stone here and there, just enough for their small frames to find footing. Atlas¡¯s boots hit the snowy ground with a soft crunch, quickly followed by Ren¡¯s. Firelight flickered along the wall, growing brighter as it moved closer. A deep voice called out, gruff and sharp, ¡°Is someone there?¡± Atlas and Ren exchanged a wide-eyed glance before bolting into the shadows. They barely reached the cover of an alley when a large figure rounded the corner. The man¡¯s silhouette was intimidating, with broad shoulders and a sword strapped to his side. In one hand, he held a burning torch, its glow casting eerie shadows across his scarred face as he scanned the area. His gaze landed on the footprints in the snow. He let out a long, deliberate sigh and muttered under his breath, ¡°Fucking kids.¡± Without another word, he turned and walked back the way he came, his heavy boots crunching with every step. Atlas let out a breath he hadn¡¯t realized he was holding, but Ren was still clutching his forearm like a lifeline. His grip was tighter than Atlas thought possible. ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± Atlas whispered. ¡°He¡¯s gone now.¡± ¡°That¡­ that¡­ that was a Nightblade,¡± Ren stammered, his voice barely audible. Atlas nodded slowly. He should have been scared, but instead, a strange excitement coursed through him. When the man had turned the corner, it was like a beast had opened its eyes and stared straight at them. The man¡¯s aura had been suffocating, overwhelming. But Atlas didn¡¯t feel fear. He felt awe. A grin spread across his face. He wanted that. He needed to be that. He had to be Ascendant at least, maybe even Transcendent. Atlas didn¡¯t know much about magic. He knew that awakening your mana core made you an Awakened, like his friend Alex. After that, there were Ascendants¡ªthe ones who made up most of the Blades. And beyond them were the Transcendents, the leaders. But what came with those titles? What made them so powerful? He had no idea. Sitting outside the academy gates all those times, he had made himself a promise: One day, I¡¯ll find out. I¡¯ll climb out of Midtown¡ªno matter what it takes. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°Hey, are you there?¡± Ren voice pulled him from his thoughts, followed by a sharp poke to his cheek. Atlas blinked, startled. ¡°What the hell was that for?¡± Ren grinned. ¡°You went pale. Thought you got so scared you passed out standing up.¡± Atlas raised an eyebrow, then slowly lifted the edge of his jacket, revealing fresh nail marks where Ren had been clutching his arm earlier. He stared pointedly at the marks, then back at Ren. Ren¡¯s grin faltered, but only slightly. ¡°Uh¡­ anyway,¡± he said quickly, changing the subject. ¡°Let¡¯s go. Let¡¯s get this done while it¡¯s stopped snowing.¡± Atlas rolled his eyes but couldn¡¯t help the faint smirk tugging at his lips. ¡°Yeah, yeah. Let¡¯s move.¡± Making their way through Uppertown was much easier than navigating Midtown. The streets were safer, cleaner, and though there were patrols, they weren¡¯t constant. Everyone knew the consequences of getting caught breaking the law in Uppertown. So why was Atlas about to do exactly that? Some would say it was because he was stupid. Others might chalk it up to him being young. He would say it was because he¡¯d been freezing his ass off for the past two winters. He slowed his approach, and Ren bumped into his back. ¡°Ah, what the hell?¡± Ren muttered, rubbing his nose. ¡°Shhh, this is it,¡± Atlas whispered, pointing at a large stone building ahead. It was at least twice the size of the orphanage. Which made this place massive. The orphanage managed fifty boys, but this place was immaculate, it could easy house double. The stones were pristine, and the roof looked as though it had never needed a single repair. No cracks, no crumbling, nothing out of place. Atlas felt a flicker of envy. These people had no idea how good they had it. If only they knew what it was like to live in Midtown. He shook the thought away. He had a job to do. Ren moved up beside him, watching the building with wide eyes. ¡°You can stay here if you want,¡± Atlas offered. ¡°I¡¯ll grab you something nice.¡± Ren shook his head vigorously. ¡°No way. I walked all this way, I¡¯m not stopping now.¡± Then, more quietly, he added, ¡°Besides, someone has to watch your back.¡± His voice was so soft that Atlas had to strain to catch it. When he did, it made him pause. His breath hitched for just a second. He wasn¡¯t used to people caring about him. Sure, Granny Lucy was always there, and he knew he owed her his life ten times over, but other people? That was rare. Atlas didn¡¯t know how to respond. So, he didn¡¯t. Instead, he pushed the moment aside. ¡°Let¡¯s go, then,¡± he said, his voice steady as he turned back toward the building. They rushed under the moonlight, sticking to the shadows as the snow began to fall again. Soon, they were standing beneath a wooden window. Atlas reached out to open it, but it wouldn¡¯t budge. Locked. He scanned the building, frustration bubbling, until he spotted a balcony above. The window there was slightly cracked open, a thin sliver of light visible from inside. On the floor of the balcony lay the stub of a cigarette, still faintly smoking. Atlas pointed to it, and Ren nodded in understanding. ¡°How are we doing this, boss?¡± Ren asked quietly. Atlas looked around some more, weighing his options. His eyes landed on a climbing rose bush winding up the side of the building. It was covered in thorns, but it was the only way up. He grimaced. ¡°I¡¯ll climb it. No point in both of us getting torn up. Just stay down here, keep watch, and make sure no guards come by. Call out if you see anything.¡± Ren hesitated, his brows furrowing, but eventually nodded. ¡°Okay, but be quick. It¡¯s starting to snow again.¡± Atlas crept toward the base of the bush, crouching low as he moved. The vines snaked up the wall, covered in sharp thorns that glinted in the moonlight. He glanced at the open window again, then back at the bush, debating. Bugger it. In for a nickel, in for a dime. Shrugging off his tattered jacket, he braced himself as the cold air bit into his skin. To his surprise, it wasn¡¯t much worse without the jacket. Clearly, the thing hadn¡¯t been doing much good anyway. Wrapping the worn fabric around his hands, he grabbed hold of the vines and began to climb. The ascent wasn¡¯t as bad as he¡¯d expected. He earned a few scrapes on his legs and tore his already ragged pants, but his hands were spared by the makeshift padding. By the time he reached the balcony, though, his jacket was in worse shape than ever. Atlas sighed, tossed it back down to the ground, and gestured for Ren to grab it. He turned his attention to the slightly ajar window. Carefully, he pushed it open, wincing as the hinges let out a faint creak. He froze, holding his breath. Come on. Not even the hinges at the orphanage made noise. This place is supposed to be nicer! Minutes seemed to pass, though it was likely only seconds. When no further sounds came, he let out a slow, silent exhale and slipped through the window. The instant he closed it behind him, the warmth of the room enveloped him, chasing away the cold. For a moment, he stood there, letting himself take it in. The wooden floor gleamed in the light of a crackling fireplace, and a massive fur rug sprawled across the center of the room. At the heart of the space stood a polished wooden desk, its surface neat and orderly. Atlas took a cautious step forward, only to freeze as he heard the sound of water dripping onto the floorboards. Looking down, he cursed silently. His boots were soaked, and melting snow was pooling beneath them. Gritting his teeth, he quickly removed them, placing them near the window to dry. At least now he¡¯d make less noise. Barefoot and jacketless, Atlas took another step forward, his eyes scanning the room. It looked like a study, but the fine furniture and the warmth of the fire made it feel like another world compared to the orphanage. A pang of envy threatened to rise, but he shoved it aside. Focus. Get in, get the jacket, and get out. Steeling his nerves, he crept forward, determination burning in his chest. He was cold, tired, and shoeless, but he would make this work. He had to. Chapter 3 Atlas crept through the study, his socked feet barely making a sound on the polished wooden floor. The warmth of the room wrapped around him, almost enough to make him forget the cold outside. Almost. He glanced back at the window he¡¯d come through, reassuring himself it was still an escape route if things went south. Steeling his nerves, he moved to the door, easing it open. The hallway beyond was dimly lit, with small mana lights. He stepped out, keeping close to the wall as he listened for any signs of movement. The house was mostly silent, save for the faint crackle of fire burning in distant rooms. Atlas pressed on, his breath steady but shallow. Every creak of the floorboards beneath him felt like a thunderclap in the stillness. He passed a doorway to his right and peered in. A dining room, empty. He kept moving. The next door was slightly ajar, and light spilled out into the hallway. He hesitated for a moment, then pushed it open just enough to see inside. A boy, about his age, was lying on a large bed with thick blankets pulled up to his chest. He looked to be fast asleep. The room was everything Atlas had imagined a rich kid¡¯s life to be. The bed was massive, the kind you could roll over on ten times and still not fall off. A plush rug covered most of the floor, and shelves lined the walls, filled with books and trinkets. Atlas¡¯s eyes scanned the room, looking for his target. There, hanging on the back of a chair near a small desk with an opened book lying on top, was the jacket. And it was even nicer up close, it was a deep green with fur lining the collar and cuffs. It looked warm, too warm for someone who probably never had to feel the kind of cold Atlas did. He glanced back at the boy, who shifted slightly in his sleep but didn¡¯t wake. Atlas crept inside, moving as silently as possible. His fingers brushed the jacket, and he carefully lifted it off the chair. It was heavier than he expected. He looked at the boy once more. I need this more than you¡­ Sorry. But then his eyes landed on another jacket, draped over the corner of the bedframe. It didn¡¯t look as nice as the one he¡¯d already grabbed, but still leagues better than anything Ren had. He hesitated for only a moment before reaching for it. Ren deserved something decent, too. The jacket slipped off the frame with ease, but the moment Atlas grasped it, a faint dripping sound reached his ears. He froze, breath caught in his throat. His eyes darted to the bed, dread pooling in his stomach as he braced for the boy to wake and catch him in the act. But the boy remained still. The dripping persisted. Atlas hesitated before stepping around the bed, each movement slow and deliberate. Then he saw it. A pool of blood, dark and glistening at the foot of the bed. His fingers went numb. The jackets slipped from his grasp, forgotten. Swallowing hard, he reached out with trembling hands and flipped the boy onto his back. His heart plummeted. Stumbling backward, Atlas stared in horror. Bile rose in his throat, and he turned to the side, retching onto the floor. His hands shook as he wiped his mouth, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He snatched up the discarded jackets and ran. Stealth no longer mattered¡ªonly getting out. The only reason he still took the jackets was survival. He didn¡¯t want to end up like that boy. Atlas sprinted down the hallway, his back slick with sweat, goosebumps crawling over his skin. But he didn¡¯t stop. He cradled the jackets against his chest, his legs moving on instinct, his pulse pounding in his ears. He burst back into the room he¡¯d entered from, a sickening sense of being watched clawing at his spine. He had just turned toward the window when he froze. Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate. Growing louder down the hall. His stomach dropped. There wasn¡¯t enough time to climb out. Heart hammering, he darted to the side of the room, his eyes locking onto a tall wardrobe tucked into the corner. Without thinking, he slipped inside, pressing himself against the back panel. The space smelled of old polish and dust, the air thick with the scent of aging fabric. It was cramped, the jackets bunched awkwardly against his chest, but he didn¡¯t dare move. Outside, the footsteps slowed. The door to the study creaked open, and heavy boots thudded against the wooden floor. Through the narrow crack between the wardrobe doors, Atlas watched as a man strode into the room. He was tall and broad, his shoulders practically filling the space. Dark hair streaked with gray fell just above a neatly trimmed beard that framed a sharp, angular face. His expression was hard, tired, as if he hadn¡¯t slept in days. His coat was simple yet impeccably tailored, and as he moved, the air around him seemed to shift¡ªalmost imperceptibly, like a ripple in water. Atlas couldn¡¯t explain it, but he knew immediately, this man was Awakened. There was a weight to him, an invisible presence that pressed against Atlas¡¯s chest and made the space inside the wardrobe feel even smaller. The man walked straight to the desk and sank heavily into the chair, leaning back with a deep sigh. For a moment, he just stared at the firelight flickering across the walls. Then he opened a drawer, pulled out a bottle of something amber-colored, and took a long swig. Atlas felt paralysed, but his heart pounded painfully against his ribs. Fear was eating away at him. He knew that this man wasn¡¯t like anyone he¡¯d ever encountered before. The man set the bottle down on the desk with a dull thud and rubbed his temples. He looked¡­ distraught. Then the man¡¯s voice broke the silence, deep and steady but tinged with irritation. ¡°Come out now. Stop wasting my time.¡± Atlas¡¯s breath hitched. He knows I¡¯m here. His mind raced, panic gripping him. He could feel the jackets in his arms like they were made of lead, he should have stayed in Middtown. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. He was about to step out, to throw himself at the man¡¯s mercy, when a shadow shifted in the corner of the room. Atlas froze again, his eyes darting toward the movement. From the darkness stepped a woman, her figure sharp and deliberate, like the edge of a blade. She wore dark leather armor, reinforced with steel plating at the shoulders and forearms. A crimson scarf was wrapped loosely around her neck, the fabric catching the faint light from the fireplace. Her eyes, piercing and cold, locked onto the man at the desk with a calm intensity that made Atlas shiver. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight braid, and two short, curved daggers hung at her hips. Every movement she made was controlled, almost unnaturally so, like she was holding back some immense force. There was something dangerous about her, something far more terrifying than the man she¡¯d just approached. Atlas didn¡¯t know who she was, and he didn¡¯t want to. He looked at the daggers, and thoughts of the boys slit throat consumed his mind. Atlas covered his mouth, trying desperately to keep the bile down. The woman stepped closer, her movements fluid and predatory, like a cat toying with a trapped mouse. The man didn¡¯t stand, he stayed seated, his hands gripping the edge of the desk so tightly his knuckles turned white. She stopped just behind him, her leather boots making almost no sound against the wooden floor. Slowly, she reached out and ran a hand along his shoulder. The man visibly shuddered, his whole body stiffening as if her presence alone had drained the warmth from the room. ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Darion?¡± she purred, her voice smooth but laced with venom. ¡°You look like you¡¯ve seen a ghost.¡± He didn¡¯t reply at first. His head was bowed slightly. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, thick with desperation. ¡°Please. Leave my family out of this.¡± Her lips curled into a smile, a cruel, mocking thing that sent a chill down Atlas¡¯s spine. She tilted her head, circling the man slowly, her fingers trailing over the back of his chair like she was savoring the moment. ¡°Your family?¡± she said softly, amusement dripping from her tone. ¡°Oh, Darion. You should have thought about them before you decided to defy us.¡± Darion flinched but didn¡¯t lift his head. ¡°I didn¡¯t have a choice. You were asking for too much¡ªthose cores¡­ I couldn¡¯t¡ª¡± ¡°You couldn¡¯t?¡± she interrupted, her voice suddenly sharp. She stopped in front of him now, leaning down so her face was level with his. ¡°No, you wouldn¡¯t. And worse, you ran to that man.¡± Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of something cold and deadly crossing her expression. ¡°My boss doesn¡¯t like when people talk out of turn, Darion. You should¡¯ve listened.¡± Darion¡¯s body sagged slightly, his strength draining out of him. ¡°I¡¯ll do anything,¡± he said hoarsely, his voice breaking. ¡°Just¡­ just leave them alone. I won¡¯t fight. Just let my family go.¡± Her laughter cut through the room like a blade, light and cruel. ¡°Oh, Darion. They¡¯re already dead.¡± The words hit like a thunderclap. Darion went stock still, the air around him seeming to shift and pulse with an almost tangible energy. The faint shimmer that Atlas had noticed earlier now flared into something far more intense, the temperature in the room rising sharply. ¡°You¡¯re lying,¡± Darion whispered, his voice low and trembling. Her smirk widened, and she straightened, taking a slow step back. ¡°Am I? Check for yourself.¡± For a moment, the room was silent, the air charged with something raw and furious. Then, in an instant, Darion erupted. His hands slammed down onto the desk, and flames burst to life around them, licking hungrily at the polished wooden floor. The air seemed to come alive with heat and power, the firelight casting long, twisting shadows across the walls. ¡°You¡¯ll pay for this!¡± Darion roared, and with a violent motion, he threw his hands forward. A massive fireball surged across the room, its heat so intense that Atlas felt it even through the crack in the wardrobe door. Atlas pressed himself further into the back of the wardrobe, his breath shallow and rapid. His heart hammered in his chest, and for a moment, he wondered if they could hear it over the roaring flames. He had imagined power as something awe-inspiring, something amazing. But this? This wasn¡¯t what he¡¯d imagined at all. This was terrifying. The fireball tore across the room like a living beast, engulfing everything in its path. Atlas couldn¡¯t help the small yelp that escaped his throat as the wardrobe grew hotter, the flames licking just outside its doors. Through the crack, he saw the woman, standing motionless as the fire roared toward her. At the last possible second, she lifted one of her curved blades and swung it in a wide, fluid arc. The fire split apart, rushing to either side of her, the heat scorching the stone walls but leaving her untouched. Atlas gawked in disbelief. The air around her shimmered as water coiled down her arms, twisting unnaturally like snakes. The liquid solidified, taking on her form until another version of her stood at her side, armed and deadly, both blades gleaming in the firelight. ¡°You made a mistake,¡± the woman said, her voice calm but sharp as a dagger. Then she moved. Darion bellowed in rage, the flames around him intensifying, casting his silhouette into a monstrous, fiery form. He thrust his arms forward, and another blast of fire shot out, searing the air. Atlas could feel the heat even as he cowered inside the wardrobe, his sweat mixing with the blood on his scraped arms. The two women moved as one. The original darted to the side, her movements unnaturally fast, while the duplicate surged forward, meeting the fire head-on. The fire struck the water figure, and steam exploded in all directions, hissing and clouding the room. Atlas choked as the room filled with scalding mist. His lungs burned, and his vision blurred, but through the haze, he saw the original woman reappear behind Darion. Her blade flashed, aiming for his neck. Darion spun, his hand blazing as he formed a fiery shield just in time to block the strike. The clash of blade and flame sent sparks flying, igniting the desk and bookshelves. The study was becoming a warzone. I need to get out of here. The thought screamed through Atlas¡¯s mind, but his body wouldn¡¯t move. He was frozen, his back pressed against the wardrobe, his instincts at war with his will. Then he thought of Ren. Where was he? Was he still outside? Did he know what was happening? A deafening crash jolted Atlas back to reality. Darion had slammed his fist into the ground, and fiery cracks spiderwebbed across the floor. The flames erupted upward, devouring everything in their path. The ceiling groaned as beams began to fall, sending ash and embers scattering like falling stars. Atlas scrambled out of the wardrobe, coughing as smoke filled his lungs. He had to get out of here. The room was chaos¡ªflames were everywhere, parts of stone walls were torn through and crumbling, the air thick with ash, and the sounds of clashing steel and roaring fire drowning out his thoughts. He stumbled forward, his legs shaking beneath him. The woman spared him a glance and he swears he saw her smirk. She lunged forward, her and her water double were relentless, their movements precise and deadly. One blade struck high, the other low, forcing Darion back with every swing. He retaliated with blasts of fire and bursts of heat so intense they warped the very air, but the woman seemed untouchable. Every attack he launched was deflected or dodged, her duplicate taking the brunt of the hits as she circled him like a predator. Atlas ducked as a piece of the ceiling crashed down beside him, splintering into shards that nicked his arms and legs. He winced, the pain was sharp and immediate, his flesh began to burn but he pushed forward, crawling over debris and broken furniture. A sudden explosion shook the house, and Atlas was thrown off his feet, he flew through the air in a haze and landed hard onto the snowy ground outside. His head throbbed, and warm blood trickled down his temple. Through blurry eyes, he looked up and saw the woman standing over Darion, her blade raised high. Darion was on his knees, blood dripping from his mouth, the fire around him sputtering and dying. He at her, his face a mask of fury and defeat. The flames in his hands flickered one last time before extinguishing completely. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he looked at her in despair. Atlas tried to turned away as the blade came down. But he was too late, both the woman¡¯s blades angled down and stabbed into either side of his neck. Blood sprayed out as she removed the daggers. He dropped to the floor, a pool of crimson slowly surrounding him. The crash of the ceiling giving way roared through the house, and Atlas barely registered the burning wreckage around him as he crawled forward. His hands and knees scraped against jagged wood and hot embers, but he didn¡¯t care. ¡°Ren!¡± he shouted, his throat raw. He looked around frantically until he saw a small figure buried beneath debris near the far wall. Ren¡¯s jacket was torn and bloodied, his face pale and motionless. Atlas¡¯s breath hitched. ¡°No, no, no,¡± he muttered, dragging himself toward the boy. His arms trembled as he began pulling debris away, ignoring the blood dripping from his own hands and the searing pain in his ribs. ¡°Ren, come on,¡± Atlas whispered, his voice breaking. ¡°Wake up.¡± Smoke filled his lungs, the heat unbearable, but he didn¡¯t stop. He couldn¡¯t stop. Searing heat raced up his legs as he felt his foot be pinned to the ground. He turned around in shock, only to see a dagger sticking out of his leg and going into the floor. The woman was standing above him, she smiled, a smile most would think was pretty, but Atlas only saw it as the devil. ¡°Enjoy the show?¡± She . Chapter 4 Atlas¡¯s breath came in shallow gasps, his chest rising and falling as his eyes locked on the woman standing above him. Her curved dagger was still embedded in his leg, pinning him to the ground. Smoke swirled around her, framing her sharp silhouette like a specter of death. She tilted her head, a playful smirk curling her lips. ¡°You¡¯ve got some fight in you, don¡¯t you?¡± Her voice was smooth and teasing. ¡°Most would be begging by now.¡± Atlas clawed at the ground, trying to pull himself away, but the pain in his leg was searing. He bit back a scream, his fingers trembling as he braced himself to push. The dagger stayed firm, anchoring him in place. The woman knelt beside him, her crimson scarf catching the firelight as she leaned closer. She studied him like he was some rare specimen. ¡°Aren¡¯t you an interesting creature,¡± she murmured, reaching out to twirl a strand of his matted black hair between her fingers. ¡°I¡¯ve only heard stories of your kind before¡­¡± Her smirk deepened as she slid her hand through his hair, tilting his head just enough to reveal the slight point of his ears. Amusement flickered in her eyes. ¡°Aren¡¯t you a little cutie.¡± Atlas flinched, his teeth clenched against the pain and her words. He felt the heat of her presence, something intangible yet oppressive. It pressed down on him, suffocating, inescapable, as if the very air was charged with her power. The woman reached down and twisted the blade. White-hot agony ripped through Atlas¡¯s leg. He screamed, his body jerking involuntarily. ¡°There it is,¡± she mused, her tone pleased. ¡°Look at those canines.¡± Atlas pulled his head back, chest heaving. Despite the searing pain¡ªor maybe because of it¡ªhis mind drifted, latching onto something just beyond the moment. Her power. But it wasn¡¯t just her. There was something else. A faint thrum in the air, like a distant hum resonating through his body. He¡¯d felt it before, when the fire-wielding man had unleashed his flames. In the alley earlier, when the Nightblade¡¯s gaze had swept over him. It was raw power. A presence. A weight. Like standing too close to a raging storm. The woman tilted her head, her gaze sharpening. ¡°What¡¯s that look in your eyes?¡± she asked, almost mocking. ¡°You¡¯re not crying, so you must be thinking. What¡¯s on your mind, little mouse?¡± Atlas barely heard her. His focus had narrowed, locking onto that sensation. That faint pulse of energy wrapping around her like an unseen veil. He could almost see it now, rippling in the air, radiating from her hands, her blades, the ground where the fire had burned hottest. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to concentrate. The pain, the smoke in his lungs, the woman¡¯s taunting voice¡ªit all dulled as he reached for that feeling. It wasn¡¯t something he could touch. But it was there. And the more he focused, the clearer it became. ¡°Cute and quiet,¡± the woman leaned closer. Her breath was warm against his ear. ¡°But you¡¯re no fun if you don¡¯t scream.¡± She reached down and twisted the blade again. Atlas clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms and let out a scream. The thrum grew louder, resonating deep within him now. It wasn¡¯t just around her anymore. It was in the air, in the earth, in his very bones. Despite the pain, her taunts and the situation Atlas found himself in, he never felt more alive. Power was swirling around him in masses, like a winters storm with him in its centre. And then, all at once, it was inside him. A shockwave of warmth burst through his chest, spreading outward like fire in his veins. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he thought the smoke and pain had finally taken over. But this wasn¡¯t smoke. It was fire. Raging fire that seemed ancient and other worldly ignited from somewhere deep within him. The woman drew back, ripping the dagger out as she moved. Her amused expression shifting to something more cautious. ¡°Well, now,¡± she murmured, her eyes narrowing as she watched him. ¡°That¡¯s interesting.¡± Atlas gasped as the warmth condensed, tightening into a single point just below his ribs. His body trembled, not with fear or pain, but with energy¡ªraw, unfamiliar, and terrifying in its intensity. His hands gripped the snow cover floor, and with a burst of strength, he pushed himself upright. The pain flared, but it was distant now, drowned out by the roaring heat inside him. The woman stood, her head tilted as she observed him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. ¡°Well, well, little mouse, Looks like those teeth aren¡¯t just for show after all.¡± Atlas staggered to his feet, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts. His body felt¡­ different. Stronger. The pain in his leg still throbbed, but it no longer threatened to overwhelm him. Around him, the world was chaos. The manor behind them was a broken shell, its roof caved in and flames licking the night sky. Smoke billowed into the frigid air, mingling with the falling snow. Embers floated around them, glowing like fireflies against the darkness. The icy ground beneath Atlas¡¯s feet were slick with melted snow, ash and blood. His footing unsteady as he turned to face the woman. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. She stood a few paces away, framed by the blazing ruins like a demon stepping out of hell. Her crimson scarf fluttered in the cold wind, her dark armor glinting in the firelight. She held her curved blades loosely at her side, her predatory grin never wavering. ¡°Oh, this is delightful,¡± she said, her voice brimming with amusement. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect much from you, little mouse, but you¡¯re full of surprises. I wonder how long you¡¯ll last?¡± Atlas¡¯s chest heaved as he glanced toward the debris-strewn courtyard. He could see Ren still buried beneath a pile of shattered stone and wood. The boy hadn¡¯t moved. His heart twisted, panic threatening to overwhelm him. But there was no time to check. Not yet. The woman¡¯s presence pressed down on him, her power shimmering in the cold air. It mingled with the remnants of Darion¡¯s fire, an invisible weight that set every nerve in Atlas¡¯s body alight. But he didn¡¯t shrink back. He clenched his fists, the unfamiliar energy coursing through his veins. With a roar, he lunged at her. The frozen ground cracked beneath his feet as he charged, snow and ash spraying up around him. He swung his fist, clumsy, but fueled by desperation. The woman sidestepped effortlessly, her blade flashing out. A sharp sting cut across his arm, blood splattering onto the snow. He stumbled, nearly falling, but caught himself and swung again, aiming for her head. She ducked, laughing as his fist sailed over her. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re adorable,¡± she said, circling him like a cat playing with its prey. ¡°That strength is impressive, but you¡¯ve got no idea what to do with it.¡± Atlas gritted his teeth, refusing to let her words sink in. He charged again, this time leading with a kick. She blocked it with the flat of her blade, the impact ringing out in the cold air. Pain lanced up his leg as her weapon scraped against his shin, he tried to ignored it and swung again. This time, his fist grazed her shoulder, and she staggered back slightly. ¡°Not bad,¡± she said, rolling her shoulder as if shaking off the blow. ¡°You¡¯ve got some fight in you, I¡¯ll give you that.¡± But before Atlas could press the advantage, she moved. Her speed was blinding, her blade slicing across his ribs before he even saw her coming. He gasped as the pain flared, warm blood soaking through his shirt. He stumbled back, the cold wind biting at his wounds. He held his hand where he had been cut, blood was flowing through his fingers. ¡°You don¡¯t know when to quit, do you?¡± she said, her voice carrying over the roar of the flames. ¡°I like that.¡± The icy ground beneath them was slick with slush and blood. Atlas slipped as he tried to regain his footing, his socks skidding against the frost. Snowflakes swirled around him, melting instantly as they drifted too close to the heat of the burning manor. He fell to the floor, blood pooling beneath him from his wounds. Still, he didn¡¯t stop. He couldn¡¯t. His eyes burned from the smoke, his legs felt like lead, but he surged forward again, swinging wildly. The woman danced around him, her movements fluid and precise. Her blade found him again and again¡ªa cut across his shoulder, a slash to his thigh. Each wound sent fresh pain coursing through him, leaving streaks of crimson in the snow. Atlas stumbled, his vision blurring as the world spun around him. Blood dripped from his temple. The flames behind him cast shifting shadows that seemed to mock him, their flickering light making the woman appear even more menacing. ¡°Get up,¡± she said, her tone almost playful. ¡°Come on. Show me what else you¡¯ve got.¡± Atlas planted his hands on the icy ground, his fingers scraping against frozen debris. The cold bit into his skin, numbing the pain in his limbs, but he forced himself upright once more. His breaths came in ragged gasps, the taste of blood thick on his tongue. He didn¡¯t know how he was still able to stand. There was no white in the snow anymore. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. ¡°I¡¯m not done yet,¡± he growled. The woman¡¯s grin widened as she tilted her head, watching him with amusement. ¡°You¡¯re the most fun I¡¯ve had in years,¡± she said, her voice soft and almost affectionate. She tapped her chin before nodding, ¡°I should savor this.¡± Atlas could feel his strength fading, but something deeper burned inside him. He wasn¡¯t going to stop¡ªnot now, not while Ren lay in the rubble. The woman raised her blade again, her eyes gleaming with excitement, as Atlas stumbled forward once more, more dead than alive, his fists clenched and his resolve was burning brighter than ever, if this was his last moments then so be it. Atlas lunged forward again, his body aching with every step. He swung his fist, his movements wild and desperate, but she danced out of reach effortlessly. Her blade flicked toward him, grazing his arm in a deliberate, shallow cut. The sting was sharp, and warmth trickled down his sleeve, but he barely registered it. The woman¡¯s grin widened, her eyes glinting with amusement. ¡°Still standing? Impressive, but stubbornness can only take you so far.¡± She moved like the wind, her blade a blur as she delivered another strike¡ªlight, almost teasing, yet precise. She nicked his cheek. Atlas stumbled back, slipping on the icy ground, but he caught himself before he fell. He knew if he hit the ground again he wouldn¡¯t be getting back up. ¡°You¡¯re fun,¡± she said, circling him. ¡°Most would¡¯ve given up by now. But you just keep getting back up.¡± She tilted her head, her expression shifting to something almost thoughtful. ¡°Do you even know why? What are you fighting for?¡± Atlas didn¡¯t answer. He couldn¡¯t. His breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, the air freezing in his lungs. His legs felt like they could give out at any moment, but he stayed on his feet. His gaze flicked toward the debris-strewn courtyard, where Ren was still buried somewhere. That was his reason. That was why he couldn¡¯t stop. The woman followed his gaze, her grin sharpening. ¡°Ah, I see. It¡¯s for someone else. How boring.¡± She stepped closer, her presence overwhelming. ¡°But tell me, little mouse, what happens when you fail? What happens when they fall because you weren¡¯t enough?¡± Atlas clenched his fists, the unfamiliar energy in his core flaring briefly before fading. He felt its warmth, but it wasn¡¯t enough to drive back the cold fear spreading through him. Still, he grabbed a burning splinter of timber and he forced himself forward,. She sidestepped with ease, her blade glancing off his shoulder in a quick, controlled strike. ¡°Pathetic,¡± she said, but her tone was light, teasing. ¡°If only I could keep you alive, just so I can see how long it takes for your spirit to break.¡± Atlas swayed, the world tilting around him as exhaustion threatened to take over. The cold seemed to seep into his very being. His vision darkened and he finally fell to his knees, dropping the burning timber. The woman stepped closer, her blade gleaming in the firelight. ¡°Unfortunately it¡¯s time to end this,¡± she said, raising her weapons. Atlas braced himself, He knew he couldn¡¯t block her, couldn¡¯t dodge, but he wasn¡¯t going to cower. If this was the end, he¡¯d face. But just as she began to move, she froze. Her head snapped up, her sharp eyes narrowing as she stared into the distance. The air seemed to shift, a subtle ripple that Atlas could feel even through the haze of his exhaustion. Her grin faded, replaced by a look of irritation. ¡°No,¡± she muttered, stepping back. ¡°Not here. Not now.¡± Her gaze flicked back to Atlas, and for a moment, she seemed almost¡­ happy. ¡°You¡¯re lucky, little mouse,¡± she said, her voice tinged with annoyance. ¡°I¡¯ll be seeing you later. Do keep impressing me.¡± Then, just as suddenly as she¡¯d appeared, she vanished. The space where she¡¯d stood shimmered faintly, and she was gone, leaving only the faint echo of her presence in the cold night air. The world spun. He struggled to keep his eyes open, his thoughts drifting to Ren. He had to get to him. He had to make sure he was okay. A faint sound reached his ears¡ªa measured, deliberate footstep crunching through the snow. Atlas turned his head, his gaze locking onto a shadowy figure approaching through the smoke and firelight. The Nightblade. The man¡¯s dark coat billowed slightly in the cold wind, his face obscured by shadows. He moved with the precision of someone who had nothing to fear, his aura humming faintly in the frozen air. Atlas tried to move, to speak, but his body refused to obey. The last thing he saw before the darkness overtook him was the Nightblade¡¯s gaze, unyielding and cold. Then everything faded. Chapter 5 Atlas¡¯s eyes cracked open, and he immediately regretted it. The dim torchlight that flickered against the damp stone walls stabbed at his throbbing head. He groaned, his breath visible in the frigid air as his chest rose and fell in shallow gasps. Every inch of his body ached, a deep, bone-deep ache that made him question how he was even alive. Alive. The thought sent a jolt through him. He blinked hard, trying to focus, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The last thing he remembered was the fight, the flames, the blade, the cold bite of the woman¡¯s dagger pinning him to the ground. He¡¯d thought for sure that he was done for, that he wouldn¡¯t wake up again. But here he was. His arms were chained, the iron cuffs digging into his wrists as he shifted slightly. A clinking noise followed the movement, the chains taut as they anchored him to the wall behind him. His legs were similarly bound, and the rough stone floor beneath him sapped what little warmth his body had left. He looked down at himself, his breaths hitching as he took in the state he was in. His clothes were gone, replaced by thin, trousers. His torso was bare, revealing a patchwork of bandages wrapped tightly around his ribs and arms, completely covering his upper body. Blood had soaked through many of them, the rusty red stains standing out against the pale linen. He shifted again and winced as a sharp pain shot through his side. The bandages felt too tight, like they were the only thing holding his body together. He shouldn¡¯t have been able to move. He shouldn¡¯t even be alive. He¡¯d lost so much blood during the fight. He remembered collapsing, the world spinning, his strength fading. His wounds had been deep, the thought of the snow covered in his blood sent a shiver down his spine. Atlas touched his ribs gingerly, half-expecting the pain to split him in two. It hurt, but not as much as it should have. His fingers brushed his chest, stopping just below his ribs. That spot. The place where he¡¯d felt the warmth, the energy, his mana. Mana. The realization hit him like a bucket of icy water. He¡¯d awakened his mana core in that fight, hadn¡¯t he? He could remember it vividly, the surge of energy, the power that had ignited in him, driving him to stand when he should¡¯ve fallen. And now? Nothing. The warmth was gone, replaced by an emptiness so profound it felt like a part of him had been ripped away. His chest tightened at the thought, panic creeping in. He raised his hands more and felt the cold chill that was a collar around his neck. ¡°Ren,¡± he rasped, his voice raw and barely above a whisper. He tried again, louder this time, though it hurt to speak. ¡°Ren! Where is he?¡± Only silence answered him. His breath clouded in front of him as he looked around, desperate for any sign of where he was, or who had brought him here. He could see through the bars of his cell into the sprawling maze of Midtown below. The familiar sight did little to comfort him. Midtown was a place of suffering, but this¡ªthis was worse. ¡°Is anyone there?¡± he shouted again, his voice cracking. He tugged against his chains, ignoring the way they bit into his wrists. The metal clinked loudly, the sound echoing down the stone corridor. ¡°Hey, shut it, kid,¡± a gruff voice snapped from somewhere nearby. Atlas turned his head, squinting through the dim light. Across the hall, in another cell, a man sat slumped against the wall. He looked older, with a rough, weathered face and a long scar running from his cheek to his jaw. His eyes glinted in the faint light, sharp and impatient. ¡°Stop making noise,¡± the man hissed. ¡°You¡¯ll bring the guards down here, and trust me, you don¡¯t want that.¡± Atlas¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°I need to know where he is. The boy I was with, do you know anything?¡± The man let out a humorless laugh. ¡°What makes you think I know anything? I¡¯ve been stuck in this shit hole longer than you. Just keep quiet.¡± Atlas swallowed the anger rising in his chest, his hands balling into fists. He wanted to yell, to demand answers, but he was exhausted. He slumped back against the wall, the cold stone pressing into his bandaged back with a sharp sting. For the next few hours or maybe days, Atlas couldn¡¯t tell, he did little but sit there, staring out at the flickering torches in the distance or the faint glimmers of life in Midtown below. Food came occasionally, shoved through the slot at the base of his cell door by a faceless guard. It was little more than a bowl of watery gruel, tasteless and cold, but he forced himself to eat. He tried questioning the guards once, but the sharp slap across his face silenced him quickly. His cheek still stung from it. He spent most of his time trying to feel for his mana core. It gave him something to focus on, something to cling to in the stillness of his cell. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how deeply he concentrated, he felt nothing. Just an empty void where that warmth should have been. He didn¡¯t know how much time had passed. But his wounds, while still sore, had begun to ache less. That was at least something. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the sound of heavy boots echoed down the corridor. Atlas tensed, his chains rattling faintly as he straightened. There was something different this time. A man stepped into view, his silhouette tall and lean. He couldn¡¯t have been older than twenty-five, his sharp features illuminated by the faint torchlight. His dark coat hung loosely around him, the edges swaying slightly with each measured step. The man stopped in front of Atlas¡¯s cell. He didn¡¯t speak at first, just stood there, watching him with an unreadable expression. Then, without a word, he unlocked the cell door and stepped inside. Atlas flinched as the man grabbed the chains binding his wrists. With a sharp tug, he yanked Atlas to his feet. Pain flared in his leg, and he staggered, barely managing to keep his balance. The man didn¡¯t care. He turned, dragging Atlas toward the hallway. ¡°Where are you taking me?¡± Atlas demanded. The man didn¡¯t answer, didn¡¯t even glance back. Atlas looked back at the prisoner across the hall, but the man only shook his head slightly, his expression grim. Atlas was led into a room unlike anything he had ever seen before. The walls were a stark, clinical white, smooth and seamless, unlike the rough stone or timber he was used to in Midtown. Something strange lined the walls, a texture he couldn¡¯t place, almost like polished glass. It reflected the faint light in a way that made the room feel cold and unnatural, amplifying the eerie silence that seemed to press down on him. The man dragging him forward didn¡¯t spare him a glance. Atlas limped behind him, the pain in his leg flaring with every step. His ribs throbbed with each breath, and the burn of reopened cuts sent jolts of pain through his nerves. It was a miracle he was even able to move, though every movement came with a price. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. At the center of the room was a table and a single chair. The man didn¡¯t hesitate. With a firm shove, he forced Atlas into the chair. Atlas let out a grunt of pain as his sore body hit the cold surface. Before he could adjust, the man secured his arms and legs with strange leather bindings that buckled tightly, leaving him no room to move. The warmth of the room, however, was unexpected. For a brief moment, it was almost welcome after the biting cold of the cell. Still, Atlas tried to speak. ¡°Hey.. What¡ªwhat is this? Where am I?¡± The man didn¡¯t respond. He turned on his heel and left without a word, his boots clicking softly against the floor. The door slid shut behind him, leaving Atlas alone in the stark silence. Atlas twisted in the chair, testing the restraints. They didn¡¯t budge. He craned his neck to take in the room. There was nothing¡ªno decorations, no furniture apart from the table and chair. Just endless white. ¡°Great,¡± he muttered under his breath, wincing as his ribs protested even that small motion. ¡°This is just perfect.¡± He leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling, trying to focus on something other than the dull ache spreading through his body. His mind kept wandering to Ren. Was he okay? Was he even alive? The silence was unbearable. He tugged again at the leather bindings, frustration bubbling to the surface. ¡°Hey!¡± he shouted, his voice echoing off the white walls. ¡°I know someone¡¯s out there! What do you want from me?¡± No response. Pricks, I bet someone¡¯s watching. Atlas slumped back into the chair, letting out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. The image of the woman with the daggers flashed through his mind for the millionth time, he watched as she slid her daggers through his stomach. His eyes snapped open, pushing away the memory¡¯s that had been haunting him. The door opened. Atlas¡¯s head snapped up. A woman walked in, her features sharp and devoid of any emotion. Her posture was stiff and movements precise. She wore a simple gray uniform that matched the starkness of the room, and her eyes were cold and calculating as they locked onto him. She didn¡¯t hesitate. She crossed the room with purpose and sat across from him, her back straight, her hands folded neatly on the table. ¡°Name,¡± she said, her voice flat and emotionless. Atlas hesitated, his mouth suddenly dry. ¡°Atlas,¡± he croaked. ¡°Full name.¡± ¡°Atlas¡­ just Atlas.¡± Her eyes narrowed slightly, though her face remained impassive. ¡°Why were you at the manor?¡± ¡°I¡ª¡± Atlas faltered. Something about her presence made him want to answer, to spill everything. He fought the urge, clenching his fists against the bindings. ¡°Answer the question,¡± she said, her tone unchanging. ¡°Why were you there?¡± Atlas licked his lips, his heart pounding. ¡°I was¡­ stealing. I needed a jacket.¡± Her gaze didn¡¯t waver. ¡°And the attack? Who were you with?¡± Atlas shook his head, wincing as the motion pulled at a sore muscle in his neck. ¡°No one. I wasn¡¯t part of the attack. I don¡¯t even know what that was about. I was just¡ª¡± He stopped, his voice cracking. ¡°I was just trying to get out of the cold.¡± Her eyes bore into him, unblinking. ¡°How did you survive?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Atlas admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°I don¡¯t know how I¡¯m still alive.¡± Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, searching for something he couldn¡¯t name. Finally, she stood, her movements just as precise as before. ¡°You¡¯re an anomaly,¡± she said, more to herself than to him. Her voice was calm, detached, as though she were commenting on the weather. ¡°An Awakened like you shouldn¡¯t have survived when a Transcendent died. It doesn¡¯t make sense.¡± Atlas opened his mouth to respond, but she didn¡¯t give him the chance. She turned and walked out of the room, leaving him alone once again. Atlas slumped in the chair, his head falling forward. The silence returned, heavier than before. His thoughts spiraled, questions piling on top of each other with no answers in sight. *** Haley left the white room, the door sealed behind her. The sterile quiet of the hallway was a stark contrast to the chaotic thoughts swirling in her mind. The boy¡¯s words replayed in her head, every one of them ringing with the truth, her bloodline ability made sure of that. And yet, the situation didn¡¯t sit right with her. She walked briskly, her boots clicking against the polished floor, until she reached a nondescript door. Inside, the atmosphere was tense. Three men waited in the room, their postures ranging from relaxed to rigid. At the head of the table sat Lukas, their elder and leader, his sharp eyes focused on a sheet of parchment in his hands. Despite his calm demeanor, she had seen what he could do. Transcendent¡¯s were scary. Derek, who had dragged the boy into the interrogation room, leaned casually against the wall, his arms crossed. He was smirking, clearly anticipating her report. Darcy, her other teammate sat stiffly at the table, his weathered face etched with suspicion. Haley closed the door behind her and took her place near Lukas. Darcy was the first to speak. ¡°Well?¡± he asked, his voice rough and impatient. ¡°Did the brat lie?¡± Haley shook her head. ¡°No,¡± she said simply. ¡°He told the truth.¡± Derek let out a low whistle, pushing off the wall. ¡°A coincidence, then? Two street rats, both Awakening their cores during a Transcendent¡¯s death? Seems a bit too convenient to me.¡± His smirk widened, but his eyes were sharp, calculating. ¡°Bet he¡¯s hiding something.¡± Haley glanced at him, her expression unreadable. ¡°He¡¯s not hiding anything,¡± she replied. ¡°My bloodline would¡¯ve caught it if he was.¡± Derek shrugged, unbothered by her certainty. ¡°Maybe. Or maybe he¡¯s just good at playing dumb.¡± ¡°Enough.¡± Lukas¡¯s voice was calm but commanding, silencing the room instantly. He looked up from the parchment, and settled on Haley. ¡°What¡¯s your take?¡± Haley hesitated for a moment, gathering her thoughts. ¡°He doesn¡¯t know anything about the attack,¡± she said finally. ¡°He claims he was there to steal a jacket. That¡¯s it. But¡­¡± She frowned slightly. ¡°If that¡¯s true, then why didn¡¯t he mention the body? The dead son was in the room he broke into. He should have seen it.¡± Darcy leaned forward, his brow furrowed. ¡°You think he¡¯s suppressing something?¡± ¡°It¡¯s possible,¡± Haley admitted. ¡°Or there¡¯s more to this than we realize.¡± Lukas nodded slowly, his fingers tapping lightly against the table. ¡°What about his injuries?¡± ¡°They don¡¯t make sense,¡± Darcy interjected before Haley could respond. ¡°The kid should be dead. Even with our ward healers working on him, he shouldn¡¯t have recovered this fast.¡± Haley inclined her head. ¡°Darcy¡¯s right. If it¡¯s not his mana keeping him alive, then it could be a bloodline we don¡¯t recognize.¡± ¡°Bloodlines don¡¯t just appear out of nowhere,¡± Darcy muttered, his skepticism clear. Derek let out a chuckle, leaning back against the wall. ¡°Easy enough to figure out,¡± he said, his grin taking on a predatory edge. ¡°Let me in there, Elder. I¡¯ll get him to spill everything.¡± Haley¡¯s jaw tightened, but she kept her voice even. ¡°That¡¯s not necessary,¡± she said firmly. ¡°He¡¯s not hiding anything. Torturing him won¡¯t change that.¡± Derek rolled his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re too soft, Haley. Sometimes a little pain is all it takes to get to the truth.¡± ¡°Enough,¡± Lukas said again, his voice cutting through the rising tension. He raised his papers and shook them. ¡°His records are¡­ interesting,¡± he said. ¡°No family. No last name. He appeared in Midtown shortly after the War of Blades. Aged six, with no memories.¡± The room fell into silence as the implications of his words sank in. Darcy was the first to break it. ¡°Kids don¡¯t just appear like that,¡± he said, his tone heavy with suspicion. ¡°And for him to survive those injuries¡­ even the Transcendent didn¡¯t make it.¡± ¡°That¡¯s why we need answers, but it¡¯s also not uncommon. We all know how many orphans there were after the war. The only interesting thing is he doesn¡¯t seem to be from the lands of draegar.¡± Lukas said, his tone calm but firm. He looked back at Haley. ¡°Do you believe he knows more than he¡¯s letting on?¡± Haley hesitated, then shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯s lying, Elder,¡± she said carefully. ¡°But I also don¡¯t think we¡¯ve asked the right questions yet.¡± Lukas nodded. ¡°Then ask them.¡± Darcy crossed his arms, his frown deepening. ¡°And the other boy? What¡¯s the plan for him?¡± A flicker of something cold passed through Lukas¡¯s eyes. He leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. ¡°The other boy¡­¡± he said slowly, ¡°requires more¡­ delicate handling. We¡¯ll tread carefully with him. He may just change the world as we know it.¡± Haley raised an eyebrow at his tone but said nothing. She knew better than to question Lukas¡¯s judgment. Derek let out a low chuckle. ¡°How interesting.¡± Haley ignored him, her mind already returning to the white room and the boy sitting alone inside it. There was something about him, something she couldn¡¯t quite put her finger on. Coincidence or not he had survived and she needed to find out why. Chapter 6 Atlas had been in the white room for hours, maybe longer. Time felt meaningless in a place like this. The walls were too pristine, too smooth, and they reflected the light in a way that made his eyes ache if he stared too long. He had tried everything to distract himself. Counting the cracks in the ceiling. There were none, so that game ended rather quickly. Tapping his fingers against the chair. The restraints dug into his wrists, stopping him quickly. There was nothing. And to make it worse his nose itched. It wasn¡¯t just a mild itch either, it was the kind of itch that burrowed into his thoughts and refused to leave. He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore it, but the sensation only grew worse. Finally, he leaned forward, pressing his face against the edge of the table to try and rub the itch away. It didn¡¯t work, but at least it gave him something to focus on. With nothing else to do, his mind wandered back to the fight. He didn¡¯t want to think about it, but the memories crept in anyway. The flames, the shouting, the blood¡­ It was the first time he had seen someone killed, and the image haunted him, maybe it wouldn¡¯t be so bad if it wasn¡¯t so gruesome. But instead he had seen a man get nearly decapitated. It was sickening even thinking about it. Midtown wasn¡¯t exactly kind, he had seen stabbings before. But this had been different. The raw brutality of it, the finality of death, it was something he hadn¡¯t been prepared for. And he didn¡¯t think he ever would be. The metal device around his neck only added to his frustration. He couldn¡¯t see it, but he could feel its weight, cold and unyielding against his skin. Every time he shifted, it pressed into the tender spots on his neck, irritating him further. He longed for the warmth he had felt in the fight, that surge of energy, that brief connection to something greater than himself. It had been his mana, he was sure of it. For the first time in his life, he had touched it, felt it. And then, just as quickly, it had been ripped away. The emptiness it left behind was almost unbearable. It didn¡¯t take much longer for the door to open, pulling him from his thoughts. He straightened in his seat, lifting his head off the desk. His eyes narrowing as the woman from before stepped inside. Her calm, measured demeanor hadn¡¯t changed. She walked to the table with the same deliberate grace, her sharp eyes locking onto him as she sat down across from him. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Atlas shifted uncomfortably, the restraints around his wrists pulling taut as he adjusted his position. Her gaze was unsettling, as if she could see right through him. ¡°Start from the beginning,¡± she said. ¡°Tell me everything. Don¡¯t leave anything out.¡± Atlas blinked, caught off guard. ¡°What?¡± ¡°From the beginning,¡± she repeated. ¡°Every detail. Why you were there. What you saw. What happened.¡± He hesitated, his throat suddenly dry. ¡°I already told you I don¡¯t know anything about the attack.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not asking about the attack,¡± she said, her voice calm but firm. ¡°I¡¯m asking about you. Start from the beginning.¡± Atlas leaned back in his chair as much as the restraints allowed, letting out a frustrated breath. ¡°The beginning? You mean, like, Midtown? Why do you care about that?¡± She didn¡¯t respond, her expression unreadable as she waited. The silence pressed down on him. Finally, he relented. ¡°Fine,¡± he muttered. ¡°You want the whole story? Here it is. Not like I have anything to hide anyway.¡± He began to speak. He told her about Midtown, about sneaking out with Ren that night. He described the wall, the climb, and the freezing air that bit at their skin. He told her about breaking into the manor, about the jacket he had been so desperate to steal. And then, hesitantly, he recounted the fight. He tried to keep his voice steady, but the memories made it hard. The fire, the blood, the way the man¡¯s body had crumpled¡­. He could still feel the heat of the flames, the sting of his wounds where the woman¡¯s blade had entered, the cold weight of the dagger pinning him to the ground while she laughed at him. Through it all, the woman didn¡¯t say a word. She didn¡¯t react, didn¡¯t flinch, didn¡¯t even blink. She just watched him, her piercing eyes fixed on him like he was a puzzle she was trying to solve. When he finally finished he noticed at some point tears had started flowing down his cheeks. The silence in the room felt deafening. Atlas slumped back in his chair, exhausted from recounting the ordeal. He stared at her, waiting for some kind of response, but her expression remained unchanged. After a long moment, she stood. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said simply. And with that, she turned and walked out, leaving Atlas alone in the white room once again. He let out a shaky breath, his head falling forward. ¡°Could¡¯ve just asked that the first time,¡± he muttered to himself. ¡°Would¡¯ve saved us both some time.¡± Atlas didn¡¯t have to wait much longer. The door opened once again, honestly he was getting sick of it, a man stepped inside. He was older than the others, probably in his forties, with sharp features that seemed chiseled from stone. His skin was weathered, but his movements were precise, deliberate. His dark hair, streaked with gray, was combed back neatly, and his eyes¡ªpiercing and cold¡ªseemed to see straight through Atlas. The man wore a black coat that reached his knees, its high collar brushing the bottom of his jaw. The edges of the coat swayed slightly with each step, the faint clink of metal emanating from beneath it. His boots echoed against the pristine floor, their polished surface reflecting the cold, sterile light of the room. He approached Atlas without a word. Reaching down, he unfastened the restraints with practiced ease, the leather bindings loosening their grip on Atlas¡¯s arms and legs. Blood rushed back into his wrists, sending a sharp, prickling sensation through his hands. He flexed his fingers, wincing slightly. Then the man unclipped the collar. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The moment it was removed, Atlas¡¯s world shifted. It was like stepping from shadow into sunlight, like he¡¯d been seeing in dull greys and now, suddenly, everything was in color. ¡°Don¡¯t try anything,¡± the man said. Atlas didn¡¯t need the warning. He could feel the man¡¯s power radiating off him¡ªlike heat from a forge. But it wasn¡¯t just strength. It was control. Precision. There was something about him, something in the way he carried himself. It reminded Atlas of the Nightblade he¡¯d seen at the wall. That same quiet, unshakable presence. It pressed down on him like an invisible weight, settling in his chest, making it hard to breathe. The man straightened and gestured toward the door. ¡°Come with me.¡± Atlas hesitated, his mind racing. He was sick of this. Sick of the questions, the waiting, the constant feeling of being watched. Whatever this was, it was bigger than him, way bigger. He didn¡¯t know what he¡¯d gotten himself into, but he wanted out. The man¡¯s hand rose again, this time more insistent. The air seemed to shift, a subtle ripple of pressure brushing against Atlas¡¯s skin. It wasn¡¯t a direct threat, but it was enough to make him understand. He didn¡¯t have a choice. With a sigh, Atlas pushed himself off the chair, his legs shaky from sitting for so long. He followed the man out of the room. The walls outside were just as pristine¡ªsmooth, seamless white that stretched endlessly in both directions. The light was cold and artificial, casting no shadows. The whole place felt sterile, almost unnervingly so. Atlas glanced around as they walked, his mind trying to piece together the purpose of this place. He had never seen anything like it. Midtown¡¯s stone and timber were a far cry from this futuristic, alien architecture. Everything here was too clean, too perfect. It didn¡¯t belong in the same world he came from. ¡°Hmmm,¡± he muttered under his breath. ¡°I guess it does make it more nerve racking.¡± The man didn¡¯t respond, didn¡¯t even look back. He walked with purpose, his footsteps steady and unhurried. Atlas followed, the tension in his chest growing with every step. He had no idea where they were going, but something told him he wasn¡¯t going to like it. *** Atlas had been wrong¡ªplain and simple, dead wrong. He loved where this man had taken him. The building was a far cry from the sterile white of the interrogation rooms. Lined with dark wood and sturdy stone, it felt familiar, comforting even. Atlas let out a breath he hadn¡¯t realized he¡¯d been holding. For the first time in days, he felt like he wasn¡¯t in some strange nightmare. Inside, the place was bustling with activity. Men and women in robes hurried down the hallways, carrying trays of supplies or guiding patients on stretchers. The faint scent of herbs and antiseptics hung in the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation and the occasional barked order. Atlas realized they were in a hospital. Relief washed over him, bringing a small, involuntary smile to his lips. Finally, maybe someone would take care of the pain gnawing at his ribs and the burns still stinging his skin. He couldn¡¯t remember the last time he wasn¡¯t hurting. The thought of relief, even temporary, was enough to lift his spirits. The man leading him glanced back and caught the smile. A knowing look crossed his face. ¡°Yeah, you got pretty messed up, kid,¡± Atlas gave a slight nod. They rounded a corner and stopped at a desk where a woman was seated. She looked busy, her hands darting between stacks of papers and files, but she glanced up as they approached. ¡°I need this boy healed,¡± The woman barely looked up at Atlas before reaching for a small sheet of paper. ¡°Just fill this form out for me, will you?¡± she said, sliding the paper and a pen across the desk. Atlas blinked at the paper, then at the pen, and then back at the woman. A sinking feeling settled in his chest. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, not meeting her eyes. ¡°Uh¡­ I don¡¯t know how to do that,¡± he admitted. The woman froze, her eyes wide with what Atlas could only assume was horror. She looked at him like he¡¯d just stomped on her cat and then kicked it down a flight of stairs. ¡°Oh, bloody hell, boy,¡± the man grumbled, stepping forward to snatch the paper and pen. He scrawled something across the form with quick, sharp strokes before slamming it back onto the desk. ¡°Just send a healer and get this done. We have things to do.¡± The woman nodded mutely, grabbing the paper and scurrying off like she couldn¡¯t get away fast enough. Atlas watched her go, then turned back to the man, who was now glaring at him. The man crossed his arms, his sharp eyes fixed on Atlas. ¡°Unbelievable,¡± he muttered under his breath, shaking his head in apparent disbelief. Atlas shrugged, unbothered by the reaction. ¡°What? How is that my fault?¡± he said, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Where I grew up, there wasn¡¯t exactly a queue of teachers lining up to help.¡± The man¡¯s scowl deepened, but he didn¡¯t say anything. Atlas guessed he was trying to think of a retort, but honestly, there wasn¡¯t much he could say. Midtown wasn¡¯t the kind of place where kids got to learn things like writing, well there were schools but they cost money. Something Atlas or the orphanage didn¡¯t have. The only education Atlas had ever received was from himself, and Granny Lucy occasionally but she had her hands full just keeping everyone alive. Besides, he figured, what did it matter now? He was here, wasn¡¯t he? He¡¯d gotten by just fine without knowing how to fill out some stupid form. The man let out a sharp sigh, dragging a hand down his face. ¡°Let¡¯s just get this over with,¡± he muttered. ¡°We don¡¯t have all day.¡± Atlas smirked slightly, letting his gaze wander around the bustling hospital. Whatever was about to happen, he figured it couldn¡¯t be worse than the interrogation rooms. *** They were waiting in a small cubicle. The man stood beside the door, his arms crossed and his boot tapping impatiently against the floor. Atlas shifted uncomfortably in the chair, glancing around the cramped space, his fingers fidgeting with the edges of his trousers. He couldn¡¯t take the silence anymore. ¡°So¡­ what¡¯s your name, anyway?¡± he asked, tilting his head up at the man. The man looked down at him, his dark eyes sharp and assessing. ¡°I¡¯m Reaver Lukas,¡± he said curtly, his tone making it clear he wasn¡¯t interested in a conversation. But Atlas wasn¡¯t one to back down from a little coldness. If anything, it made him more determined. Talking was something he was good at, he could do it for the both of them. ¡°So, what¡¯s going on?¡± Atlas pressed, his voice light despite the tension in the room. ¡°Am I free to go after this?¡± Lukas shook his head, a look of mild irritation crossing his face. ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous, boy.¡± Atlas frowned. ¡°What do you mean? Why not?¡± The man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was dealing with an irritating child. ¡°Are you dense? No Awakened can just roam around freely. It¡¯s not how things work. I¡¯ll be taking you to the academy.¡± Atlas froze at the words, his heart skipping a beat. ¡°The academy?¡± he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. That¡­ that was everything he had ever dreamed of. He had spent countless nights staring at its gates from the shadows of Midtown, imagining what it would be like to walk through them, to learn, to grow. The thought alone plastered a wide, uncontrollable smile on his face. Finally. Finally, he could have the chance to prove himself, to be something more than just a street rat. The idea sent a thrill of excitement coursing through him, so much so that he almost forgot where he was. Despite all the times he told himself it didn¡¯t matter, that reading and writing weren¡¯t important, that he didn¡¯t need those things, he knew deep down he was lying. He wanted it. He¡¯d dreamed of it for years, even tried teaching himself with scraps of discarded books, but it was no use. It was too hard on his own. And now¡­ now he had the chance. He was still lost in thought, his mind filled with visions of what the academy might be like, when the door creaked open. A man stepped inside, wearing the long robes of a healer. His presence immediately filled the room with a sense of calm, and his warm smile made the tense atmosphere feel just a little less suffocating. ¡°Hello,¡± the healer said, ¡°I understand you¡¯re in need of some assistance.¡± His gaze shifted briefly to Lukas, giving him a respectful nod. Lukas grunted in acknowledgment but said nothing. Atlas straightened in his chair, trying to look composed. ¡°Yes,¡± he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. ¡°That would be¡­ ideal.¡± The healer chuckled lightly at his choice of words, ¡°Let¡¯s see what we¡¯re working with, shall we?¡± Chapter 7 The healer made his way toward Atlas, his hands moving with a calm confidence as he reached for the edge of the bandages wrapped tightly around him. Atlas, however, wasn¡¯t about to let him work in silence. ¡°At least tell me your name first,¡± he muttered, raising an eyebrow. The healer froze, his eyes widening comically as he blinked down at Atlas. Sucker Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Lucas¡¯s lips twitching, a ghost of a smile creeping across his otherwise stoic face. But when Atlas turned to look, his expression hardened again and he shaked his head in disappointment. The healer recovered quickly, giving a small, sheepish chuckle. ¡°My apologies, young man. My name is Curate Ambro,¡± he said in a polite tone as he resumed unwrapping the bandages. He paused just long enough to flash a gentle smile. ¡°It¡¯s okay to continue now?¡± Atlas tilted his head, letting the moment drag out just a little longer before nodding. ¡°Good to meet you, Curate. My name¡¯s Atlas.¡± Ambro let out a soft laugh at that, shaking his head. ¡°Oh, I know who you are, Atlas. And for the record, Curate¡¯s not my name, it¡¯s my title.¡± Atlas frowned, ¡°Title? What do you mean by that?¡± Ambro paused, looking up briefly. ¡°I¡¯m a Lightblade,¡± he explained. ¡°Curate is my rank. It¡¯s my position within the order.¡± Atlas¡¯s eyebrows lifted slightly, though he kept his expression neutral. He knew about the Lightblades and Nightblades, everyone did, but the ranks? That was new to him. He thought about pressing further, but before he could ask another question, Ambro moved to the last few layers of bandages. ¡°Now, hold still,¡± Ambro said, ¡°We¡¯ll talk more after I¡¯ve seen the full extent of¡ª¡± The words died in his throat as he pulled away the final layer of fabric. Ambro froze, his hands hovering over Atlas¡¯s exposed skin, his expression twisting into something caught between shock and anger. He stared at the wounds crisscrossing Atlas¡¯s torso¡ªdeep, jagged gashes, poorly stitched together with uneven threads. Burns that had barely begun to heal marked his sides, and fresh cuts were inflamed and raw. ¡°This¡­¡± Ambro muttered, his voice low and tense. ¡°This is¡­¡± His head snapped toward Lucas, his gentle demeanor vanishing in an instant. His voice rose, sharp and demanding. ¡°What is this? How in the gods¡¯ names did you let him walk in here like this?¡± Lucas frowned, stepping forward to get a closer look. His jaw tightened as his gaze swept over Atlas¡¯s injuries. Even he seemed caught off guard by the extent of the damage. ¡°I hadn¡¯t seen them uncovered,¡± Lucas admitted, his voice carrying a rare note of hesitation. ¡°I had my Aspirant fix him up, it¡¯s clear the boy didn¡¯t do a good enough job.¡± He met Atlas¡¯s gaze, ¡°For that I¡¯m sorry.¡± Ambro¡¯s anger didn¡¯t waver. He gestured at the makeshift stitches holding Atlas¡¯s wounds together. ¡°Fixed? You call this fixed? This is a disaster!¡± Atlas shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny, his ribs protesting the movement. ¡°Hey, I¡¯m right here,¡± he said, trying to inject some levity into the situation. ¡°And for the record, I¡¯m not dead, so whoever did it couldn¡¯t have been that bad.¡± Ambro¡¯s eyes snapped back to him, his anger softening slightly but his concern still evident. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be alive, Atlas,¡± he said firmly. ¡°These wounds¡­ The fact that you¡¯re even sitting here¡­¡± He trailed off, shaking his head as if the words wouldn¡¯t come. Lucas crossed his arms, his sharp gaze flicking between Ambro and Atlas. ¡°We¡¯ll fix him up now,¡± he said, his tone brooking no argument. ¡°Just do what needs to be done, Curate.¡± Ambro hesitated for a moment before nodding, though his frustration lingered. ¡°Fine,¡± he said, his voice tight. ¡°But this will take more than simple healing. These wounds are layered with mana trauma. It¡¯s no wonder he¡¯s in this state.¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Atlas blinked, his confusion growing. ¡°Mana trauma? What does that mean?¡± Ambro didn¡¯t answer right away. Instead, he began to move with renewed urgency, gathering supplies from a nearby tray as he muttered under his breath. Ambro moved back over to Atlas, setting a syringe on the table before pulling out a vial filled with a clear liquid. He carefully filled the syringe, tapping it lightly to ensure there were no air bubbles. ¡°This is just going to take the edge off the pain while I heal you, understand?¡± he said. Atlas nodded absentmindedly, his focus shifting to the exposed wounds crisscrossing his torso. The sight hit him like a punch to the gut. When the bandages were still in place, it was easier to ignore, easier to pretend it wasn¡¯t as bad as it felt. Sure, the pain had been unbearable, keeping him awake for endless nights, but this, seeing the extent of the damage, was something else entirely. His eyes went wide, his mouth dry as his mind raced. That bitch cut me to ribbons. He didn¡¯t even notice the needle piercing the vein on his wrist until the sharp sting brought him back to the moment. The effect was immediate. A wave of bliss washed over him, dulling the pain to nothingness. For the first time in days, maybe longer, his body felt¡­ good. No, better than good. He felt amazing. His mind swam in a foggy euphoria, the world around him losing its sharp edges. A lazy grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he exhaled deeply, sinking into the sensation. Ambro gestured to him. ¡°Lay down.¡± Atlas nodded eagerly, still riding the high. His thoughts floated. My core awakened. I¡¯m going to the academy. Everything is perfect. This is the best I¡¯ve ever felt. He stretched out on the table as instructed, his gaze flitting up to the ceiling. When Ambro leaned over him, the healer¡¯s voice was low, almost reverent as he murmured, ¡°Healing Art¡ªGreater Release.¡± A soft, golden glow enveloped Ambro¡¯s hands, illuminating the dim space with a faint, soothing light. He placed his glowing hands on Atlas¡¯s chest, and warmth immediately spread through Atlas¡¯s body like sunlight chasing away a cold morning. The combination of the warmth and the drugs made Atlas feel like he was on cloud nine. His head lolled slightly to the side as a goofy grin spread across his face. ¡°This is amazing,¡± he muttered, his voice slightly slurred. He thought the words stayed in his head, but Lucas¡¯s smirk told him otherwise. ¡°How are you doing that?¡± Atlas asked, his curiosity cutting through the haze of euphoria. Ambro¡¯s response was quick and curt. ¡°Be quiet.¡± But it was hard to stay quiet. The feeling was unlike anything Atlas had ever experienced. He watched in awe as the gashes on his body slowly began to knit themselves together under the healer¡¯s glowing hands. It was magic, seeing it work up close was something else entirely. He didn¡¯t even notice the strain it put on Ambro until the glow began to dim. The healer pulled his hands away, his face pale and his breathing labored. Beads of sweat clung to his brow, and his shoulders slumped. The euphoria began to fade as quickly as it had come. Atlas¡¯s body came back into sharp focus, and with it, the dull throb of lingering pain. He winced, a low hiss escaping through his teeth. He hadn¡¯t realized how much he had relied on the drugs masking the pain. Ambro straightened slowly, still catching his breath. ¡°I¡¯ve closed the wounds and removed the infections,¡± he said, his voice steady but noticeably weaker. ¡°But I can¡¯t do anything about the lingering pain. Your body still needs time to heal properly. If you push yourself, you¡¯ll risk reopening the wounds.¡± Atlas nodded, his grin fading as the reality of his condition set back in. The brief moment of relief had been glorious, but it hadn¡¯t lasted nearly long enough. ¡°Thanks,¡± he muttered, his voice low. Lucas glanced at the healer. ¡°Can you spare the boy some clothes?¡± he asked. Ambro paused, his eyes drifting over Atlas, who was sitting awkwardly on the edge of the examination table. With the bandages removed, he had nothing but a pair of tattered pants to his name. His ribs were faintly visible through his pale skin and he would be lying if he said he hadn¡¯t been freezing. Ambro sighed, shaking his head. ¡°Of course. Give me a moment. We should have something that fits.¡± Atlas watched as the healer left the room, a flicker of hope sparking in his chest. For the first time in a while, he might have proper clothes, something not stitched together by granny Lucy¡¯s desperation and worn beyond recognition. He shifted uncomfortably, trying not to let the cold metal table bite too much into his skin while he waited. It wasn¡¯t long before Ambro returned, carrying a neatly folded bundle of clothes. ¡°Here,¡± he said, setting them down beside Atlas. ¡°I believe these should fit well enough.¡± Atlas grabbed the bundle, his fingers brushing over the fabric. The material was soft but sturdy, a far cry from the scratchy, worn things he¡¯d been used to. The jacket on top, in particular, caught his attention. It was dark brown, thick, and looked like it could actually keep him warm¡ªpractical, but nice enough that it wouldn¡¯t look out of place in Uppertown. For a brief moment, his mood soured. This jacket was just as nice as the one he had risked his life to steal. The thought made him scowl internally. The entire mess that had led to his current situation could have been avoided if someone had just handed him something like this from the start. Lucas raised an eyebrow at the expression on Atlas¡¯s face. ¡°Problem?¡± he asked. Atlas quickly shook his head and forced a half-smile. ¡°No. Just¡­ thinking.¡± He started to put on the clothes, sliding into the shirt first. It was a perfect fit, and the jacket was the cherry on top. ¡°Thank you,¡± Atlas said, glancing at Ambro. The healer waved him off with a tired but genuine smile. ¡°Take care of yourself, boy,¡± Ambro said. ¡°And try not to end up in another mess like this.¡± Lucas, who had been leaning against the wall, pushed himself off with a nod toward the door. ¡°Come on. Time to move.¡± Atlas hesitated for just a second, looking back at Ambro. There was something about the healer¡¯s exhausted but kind expression that struck him. He gave him a quick nod of gratitude before following Lucas out. The jacket felt heavy on his shoulders, but not in a bad way. It was warm, comforting, a reminder that maybe things were finally turning around. As they stepped into the cold air outside, Atlas pulled the collar up, shielding his neck from the wind. For the first time in a long while, he didn¡¯t feel like the cold owned him. It was a small victory, but one that made him smirk quietly to himself as he followed Lucas. Chapter 8 They were walking up the snow-covered cobblestone road, the sound of their boots crunching against the icy surface the only noise between them. The cold wind bit at Atlas¡¯s cheeks, but the growing weight in his chest was worse. As great as it was to have been healed, to have unlocked his core, he couldn¡¯t shake the guilt that twisted his stomach. Ren¡¯s face flashed in his mind¡ªpale, still, lifeless. He hadn¡¯t seen or heard anything about him since the attack, and the silence was becoming unbearable. He glanced at the stoic figure walking ahead of him. Lucas hadn¡¯t said much since they¡¯d left, but Atlas couldn¡¯t hold it in anymore. The question burned on his tongue, demanding an answer. ¡°What happened when I was found?¡± His voice broke the stillness, ¡°Was there another boy there?¡± Lucas paused mid-step, just briefly, before continuing his steady pace. ¡°Besides you,¡± he said, his tone even and measured, ¡°there was one other survivor. But he¡¯s in critical condition.¡± The words hit Atlas like a punch to the gut. He didn¡¯t know whether to sigh in relief or collapse where he stood. A weight lifted, knowing Ren was alive, but it was quickly replaced by a suffocating sense of failure. I was supposed to protect him. His thoughts spiraled. The image of Ren lying there, unmoving and surrounded by chaos, replayed in his mind. At the time, he had thought the worst, had feared the boy was already gone. ¡°I have to see him now!¡± Atlas demanded, his voice louder, more desperate. ¡°I need to make sure he¡¯s okay.¡± Lucas didn¡¯t stop walking, didn¡¯t even turn his head. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s not possible.¡± The finality in Lucas¡¯s tone left no room for argument, but Atlas¡¯s fists clenched at his sides, frustration bubbling under his skin. The cold air felt heavier now, biting deeper as his thoughts churned. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to take a breath, but the guilt stayed. ¡°Why can¡¯t I see him? He needs me there,¡± Atlas said, his voice rising with frustration. Lucas snorted, ¡°He doesn¡¯t need you, and he will be fine. His matters are of no concern to you. You need to focus on entering the academy. The new year has just started, so you¡¯re lucky they¡¯ll even squeeze you in.¡± Atlas¡¯s excitement about the academy, something he had dreamed of for years, felt muted, buried under the weight of worry for Ren. Lucas must have sensed his mood. ¡°He will meet you in the academy next year.¡± Atlas froze mid-step, his mind racing as he tried to process the words. He quickly jogged to catch up to Lucas. ¡°What do you mean? Meet me next year? How?¡± Lucas let out a small sigh, as though the answer was obvious. ¡°The boy awakened his core as well,¡± he said simply. ¡°But he¡¯s in no condition to start this year.¡± The tension in Atlas¡¯s chest eased, his breath coming out in a long exhale. Not only had Ren survived, but he had awakened his core too. Relief flooded through him, warming him against the cold. A small smile crept onto his face. For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to feel hopeful. They had both made it out of that hell, and while it wasn¡¯t perfect, it was better than he could have dared to imagine. The academy gates that Atlas had stared at throughout his childhood loomed before him. They were massive, constructed from a dark metal that gleamed in the dim sunlight, standing as a formidable barrier to the world within. The intricate design of the gates allowed no clear view of what lay beyond, blocking his attempts to catch a glimpse of the training grounds he had imagined so vividly. But that didn¡¯t stop his mind from racing. He had spent countless nights dreaming of this moment, filling the unknown with stories and fantasies. He could almost hear Granny Lucy¡¯s voice again, telling the younger boys her bedtime tales. Tales of great heroes who rose from nothing, wielding all four elements in harmony to defend the kingdom and protect the weak. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Those stories had lit a fire inside him. From the first time he heard them, he had never looked back. His one goal, his only dream, was to become a Blade. To be one of those heroes. And now, he stood at the threshold of that dream. He wouldn¡¯t back down. Not now. Not ever. As they approached the gates, Atlas¡¯s steps quickened. His breath hung in the air as he took in every detail, from the imposing metalwork to the faint hum of activity beyond. He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn¡¯t notice when Lucas stopped to speak with the guard stationed by the entrance. The man was enormous, towering over both of them. His broad shoulders seemed capable of bearing the weight of the entire gate, and the massive axe strapped to his back only added to his intimidating presence. His sharp eyes flicked toward Atlas, then back to Lucas as they exchanged a few low words. Whatever he said, the guard responded with a short nod before turning to Atlas. His gaze lingered for a moment, assessing, before he stepped aside and unlocked the gate. The heavy doors groaned as they swung open, revealing the path ahead. This was it. The moment Atlas had waited for all his life. The barrier between his dreams and reality had finally opened. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest as he stepped forward. He was about to step into the world he had only ever imagined. A world of heroes, of Blades, of opportunity. *** Atlas walked through the open gates, Lucas still leading him. As he passed the threshold, he let out a breath he hadn¡¯t realized he was holding. His eyes swept over the cobbled path ahead, framed on either side by rolling, snow-covered fields. The jagged lines of the mountains in the distance seemed to cut into the pale sky, their peaks dusted white. ¡°Let¡¯s keep moving,¡± Lucas said, his voice as steady as ever. Atlas nodded, quickening his pace to match the man¡¯s long strides. The cold air nipped at his cheeks, but he barely felt it. His attention was locked ahead, on the towering building in front of them. He¡¯d seen it many times from behind the gates, but never like this. Never this close. The front doors loomed larger with every step they took. His heart began to pound in his chest, quick and loud, his lingering injuries forgotten in the rush of excitement. They climbed the stone steps, each step echoing faintly in the stillness. Atlas barely registered the weight of his boots on the stone as Lucas reached out and pushed open the massive wooden doors. The cold vanished the moment they stepped inside, replaced by a comforting warmth that seemed to wrap around him and the heavy doors swung shut behind them with a dull thud. Atlas lowered his jacket hood, shaking off the light snow that clung to it, and gave his jacket a quick dusting. The warmth of the room was a stark contrast to the chill outside, and for a moment, he simply enjoyed it. His eyes moved to a large wooden desk in the center of the room. Behind it sat a middle-aged woman, hunched over and scribbling furiously on a stack of papers. She seemed utterly engrossed in her work, her pen moving with quick, precise strokes. Atlas followed Lucas across the polished stone floor. The man¡¯s imposing figure made it easy for Atlas to slip into his shadow unnoticed. When they reached the desk, the woman still hadn¡¯t looked up, her focus completely on the important task of signing papers. Lucas tapped his knuckles lightly on the desk and cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the room like a bell. The woman jumped slightly, her pen scratching an unintended mark across the paper. She looked up, startled, her wide eyes flicking between them. ¡°Oh my gosh, where did you two come from?¡± she exclaimed, her voice flustered. ¡°Sorry if I kept you waiting. I didn¡¯t hear anyone come in.¡± Atlas couldn¡¯t help but smile at her frantic energy. She looked as though she¡¯d been completely absorbed in her task, and the sudden interruption had thrown her off balance. ¡°It¡¯s no problem, miss,¡± Lucas said, ¡°I¡¯m here to enroll the boy.¡± The woman¡¯s gaze shifted to Atlas, taking him in for a brief moment before she nodded and began rifling through the stack of papers in front of her. ¡°Ah, yes. Here it is,¡± she said, pulling out a sheet and scanning it quickly. ¡°Atlas,¡± she read aloud, her voice steady now. ¡°Aged eleven, of foreign descent, likely Feynir. Raised in Midtown.¡± She looked up from the paper, her sharp eyes meeting his. ¡°Is that correct?¡± Atlas straightened slightly under her scrutiny, nodding. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡± She nodded in response. ¡°Okay, I see we still need to test your affinities. That¡¯s no problem. Let¡¯s get you set up first, and I¡¯ll organize the testing room. Follow me if you will.¡± She stood up, smoothing the creases in her robes before gesturing for them to follow. Before Atlas could take a step, Lucas cleared his throat, his deep voice cutting through the moment. ¡°Sorry, miss, but this is where I¡¯ll part ways. My mission was just to get the boy to the academy.¡± ¡°Of course. Thank you for your time, Reaver,¡± she replied, giving him a polite nod. Lucas turned his attention to Atlas, his sharp gaze making the boy straighten instinctively. ¡°Make sure you behave,¡± he said, his tone firm but not unkind. ¡°After the investigation, I¡¯ve decided to clear your name. You won¡¯t like it if I come to regret that decision.¡± For a brief moment, Atlas could almost feel the power radiating off the man, like the quiet tension of a snow leopard ready to strike. He swallowed hard and nodded weakly. ¡°Yes¡­ Sir.¡± ¡°And don¡¯t call me Sir,¡± Lucas corrected, his tone softening ever so slightly. ¡°I¡¯m Reaver Lucas. But you will learn all about formality¡¯s soon enough anyway.¡± ¡°Yes Reaver Lucas.¡± Lucas nodded in approval. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll see you around, kid,¡± he said, turning to leave without waiting for a reply. Atlas watched him for a moment, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the right words. Finally, he called out, ¡°Thanks¡­ Thanks for everything.¡± Lucas didn¡¯t turn around, but Atlas caught the faintest nod as the man disappeared down the hall. ¡°Well then,¡± the woman said, snapping Atlas out of his thoughts. ¡°Let¡¯s carry on, shall we?¡± Chapter 9 Atlas walked through the wide corridors, his boots tapping softly against the stone floor as the woman led him along. They passed rooms every now and then, and Atlas couldn¡¯t help but peek inside whenever a door was slightly ajar. One room caught his attention, a large space filled with rows of seats. Students sat quietly, their eyes fixed on someone standing at the front, speaking with confidence. He lingered for a moment, wishing he could stay and watch, but the woman¡¯s brisk pace didn¡¯t allow for it. ¡°Excuse me,¡± Atlas spoke up, his voice hesitant as he quickened his steps to catch up to her. The woman turned her head slightly, her expression calm but focused. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Would I be able to send something to the orphanage? Just to let them know I¡¯m okay?¡± he asked, his voice quieter than he intended. She continued walking, her tone casual as she replied, ¡°Of course. That¡¯s already been taken care of. You don¡¯t need to worry about anything.¡± Atlas felt a wave of relief wash over him, ¡°Thank you,¡± he murmured, his steps feeling a little lighter as they continued down the hall. Eventually, the corridor opened up, and the cold hit him again as they stepped outside. Atlas pulled his hood up, shielding himself from the fresh snowflakes that drifted lazily from the sky. The area before him was expansive, with little stone huts scattered across the open field. Narrow pathways wove between them, and the soft glow of lanterns hanging near some of the doorways gave the place a cozy, almost magical feel. ¡°This is the living compound,¡± the woman explained, gesturing to the huts. ¡°Everyone has their own accommodation. Because you¡¯ve come in late, unfortunately, you don¡¯t get to pick yours.¡± Atlas didn¡¯t respond right away. He was too busy looking around, his wide eyes taking in the sight. The idea of having his own space was something he had never even considered. As they walked along the pathway, Atlas found himself staring in awe at the little huts. Smoke rose from some of the chimneys, and he could see faint light spilling from behind curtains in the windows. The snow crunched softly underfoot as they made their way toward the edge of the field. Finally, the woman stopped in front of a small hut at the very edge of the compound. There were only a few others nearby, the rest of the area open and quiet. Atlas tilted his head, surprised. ¡°This is yours,¡± she said simply, handing him a key and stepping aside to let him take it in. He stared at the modest structure, its stone walls sturdy and its wooden door slightly worn. He couldn¡¯t understand why this hut was still available. Being on the edge of the compound, with fewer neighbors, seemed like it would¡¯ve been one of the first spots taken. But he wasn¡¯t about to complain. The lady¡¯s voice broke the quiet. ¡°I¡¯d say I¡¯ll give you some time to unpack your things and settle in, but it¡¯s obvious you have nothing. So instead, feel free to have a look around. I¡¯ll prepare everything for your testing and send someone to fetch you this evening.¡± Atlas nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. ¡°Thank you.¡± She smiled and then turned, she walked back down the path, leaving Atlas alone with his new home. He stood there for a moment, staring at the hut. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was his. Taking a deep breath, he reached out and pushed the wooden door open. The inside was modest, just as he expected. A small cot sat against one wall, with a desk and chair positioned on the opposite side. At the foot of the bed was a chest, its surface worn smooth from use. In the corner of the room, a tiny fireplace was set into the wall, its stonework simple but sturdy. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. The air inside was cold. He rubbed his hands together, blowing into them as his eyes scanned the space. Atlas wandered over to the chest first, flipping it open with a creak. It was empty. Next, he pulled open the desk drawers, but they were just as bare. He glanced at the cot¡ªno blankets, just the bare mattress. ¡°Well, this is cozy,¡± he muttered, his breath visible in the icy air. He moved to the fireplace, crouching in front of it and running a hand along the cold stone. It was clean, unused. No point sitting here freezing, Straightening up and brushing his hands off. If he was going to make this place livable, step one was getting some heat. And for that, he¡¯d need wood. He glanced around one last time, as if expecting something to magically appear, but the hut remained as empty as when he¡¯d walked in. ¡°Right,¡± he muttered to himself. ¡°Wood.¡± Atlas grabbed the door handle, pulling it open and stepping back out into the cold. The snow was still falling, though lighter now, and the soft glow of the afternoon sun made the world seem almost peaceful. The thought crossed his mind to sit and wait, to take it easy until someone came to fetch him. But he knew himself too well. Sitting idle would only make him restless. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he wandered back toward the pathways connecting the huts. A few other students were out and about, some talking in small groups while others hurried toward the main building. No one paid him much attention. He pulled his hood tighter, his breath puffing out in little clouds as he glanced around. There had to be some kind of storage for firewood¡ªor at least a place he could scavenge some. ¡°Guess I¡¯ll find out,¡± he muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets and setting off down the path. *** Atlas wandered around for what felt like half an hour before he started getting bored. Everything was new to him, sure, but identical huts and empty pathways got old fast. In the distance, he noticed a small group, a girl and two boys, chatting among themselves. Deciding he had nothing better to do, he headed toward them. ¡°Hello,¡± he called out. They didn¡¯t seem to notice, so he tried again, louder this time. ¡°Hello¡­¡± One of the boys turned, irritation written all over his face. ¡°What?¡± he snapped. ¡°Can¡¯t you see we¡¯re talking?¡± Atlas blinked at the hostility. ¡°Uh, yeah, sorry about that¡­ Anyway, do you know where I can get some firewood around here?¡± The boy looked at him like he¡¯d just asked the dumbest question in the world. Atlas resisted the urge to glare back. What the hells his problem. It was the girl who spoke up instead. She had long blonde hair tied back loosely and a small, delicate nose. Her voice was soft and sweet. ¡°Are you new here?¡± Atlas paused, caught off guard. He realized this was probably the first time he¡¯d spoken to a girl his age, Midtown¡¯s orphanage hadn¡¯t exactly been co-ed. He snapped out of it a moment too late, a bit flustered. ¡°Uh, yeah. Just got here today.¡± ¡°Good for you,¡± the rude boy cut in again. ¡°Now piss off.¡± The second boy sighed, his tone more exasperated than anything. He was shorter than the first, with dark brown hair and eyes that seemed a little kinder. ¡°Drop it, Aaron. He¡¯s obviously lost, stop being a dick.¡± Aaron rolled his eyes. ¡°Whatever.¡± Atlas cleared his throat, trying to regain some ground. ¡°Anyway¡­ about that firewood?¡± The second boy gave him a small nod. ¡°It¡¯s back toward the main building. All the supplies are kept there. You won¡¯t miss it.¡± ¡°Oh. Thanks,¡± Atlas replied. ¡°No problem,¡± the boy said, extending a hand. ¡°I¡¯m Seth. That¡¯s Rea,¡± he nodded toward the girl, ¡°and that guy is Aaron.¡± Atlas shook his hand. ¡°Atlas.¡± Aaron let out a snort, whether it was at being called out or at Atlas¡¯s name, he couldn¡¯t tell. Rea, on the other hand, smiled warmly. ¡°Actaully¡­ We¡¯re heading that way,¡± Seth offered. ¡°You can tag along, and I¡¯ll show you where to go if you like.¡± Atlas hesitated briefly, then nodded. ¡°If it¡¯s not too much trouble, thanks.¡± *** The walk back to his hut took longer than he had hoped. By the time Atlas said goodbye to the group and began his trek with an armful of firewood and a fire starter, he was already feeling the strain. After taking a few wrong turns he finally reached his hut. As he stood outside, the realization hit him. Now he understood why this spot had been one of the least desirable. The isolated location, combined with the long and winding walk, made it a pain to get to. By the time he pushed the door open, he was sweating, his arms shaking from carrying the wood. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. Ignoring his exhaustion for the moment, Atlas focused on getting the fire started. Once the flames crackled to life, spreading much-needed warmth through the small room, he collapsed onto the cot. His body still ached from everything he had been through, and the day¡¯s efforts hadn¡¯t helped. He lay there for what felt like an hour, staring at the wooden ceiling as the heat from the fire slowly thawed his bones. A knock at the door broke his quiet. Atlas groaned as he sat up, his muscles protesting the movement. He shuffled over and opened the door to find Aaron standing there, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Atlas was too surprised to speak. Aaron didn¡¯t waste time. ¡°I¡¯m here to take you to your testing. Let¡¯s go.¡± Atlas blinked but nodded, stepping out into the cold once more. Chapter 10 Aaron led Atlas through the rows of huts, his pace brisk and his face set in a permanent scowl. The two walked in silence, though Aaron occasionally threw Atlas a glance, his expression making it clear he wasn¡¯t thrilled about the task. Atlas didn¡¯t bother trying to make conversation. The boy¡¯s attitude reminded him of the people in Uppertown who used to shoo him away when he lingered too long in their streets. He was used to it. Instead, he focused on the path ahead, the light snowfall dampening the sound of their steps. When they arrived back at the main building Aaron pushed open the heavy doors without a word and motioned for Atlas to follow. Atlas let his hood fall back as he took in the familiar sight of the front desk and the middle-aged woman seated behind it. The woman looked up as they approached, her pen pausing mid-scribble. ¡°Ah, there you are,¡± she said with a smile. ¡°Thank you, Aaron. That will be all.¡± Aaron gave a curt nod, muttering something under his breath as he turned to leave. Atlas watched him go, relieved to be free of the boy¡¯s sour company. The woman stood and gestured for Atlas to follow her. ¡°Come along. It¡¯s time to get your affinities tested.¡± Atlas hesitated for a moment before falling into step behind her. As they walked through the building, he couldn¡¯t help but ask, ¡°What exactly is this test? What do I need to do?¡± The woman glanced back at him, her expression calm. ¡°The test is simple. You¡¯ll step into the array, and it will measure your connection to the elements. You don¡¯t need to do anything but stand still and let the array work.¡± Her words did little to ease the knot tightening in his stomach. ¡°What if my affinities are¡­ weak?¡± he asked quietly. She chuckled softly, turning her attention forward again. ¡°Even with average affinities, everyone has the potential to grow. That¡¯s why you¡¯re here¡ªto learn, to train, to unlock your full capabilities. The strength of your affinities is just a starting point, not a limit.¡± Atlas nodded slowly, her words offering some comfort. Still, deep down, he couldn¡¯t help but hope for something more than average. He wanted to be strong, to prove he belonged here. The air grew cooler as they descended a set of stone stairs. The sound of their footsteps echoed faintly, the dimly lit corridor stretching on ahead of them. Atlas noticed the faint hum in the air, like a distant vibration that seemed to grow stronger with every step. They finally stopped in front of a heavy door, its surface engraved with intricate runes that pulsed faintly with light. The woman placed her hand on the door, the runes glowing brighter at her touch before it swung open with a low creak. ¡°This is the testing chamber,¡± she said, stepping aside to let him enter. Atlas took a hesitant step forward, his eyes widening as he took in the room. It was massive, the walls lined with glowing symbols that seemed to pulse in time with the energy in the air. The ceiling disappeared into shadow, and at the center of the room was a large array carved into the stone floor. The lines of the array were intricate, weaving together in a pattern that seemed both deliberate and chaotic. The woman gestured toward the array. ¡°Step into the circle, and the array will activate. It will reveal your affinities.¡± Atlas stared at the glowing lines on the floor, his nerves threatening to get the better of him. ¡°What happens if I don¡¯t have strong affinities?¡± he asked, his voice quieter now. The woman gave him a reassuring smile. ¡°Don¡¯t overthink it. Everyone has their own strengths, and this is just the first step. Relax and let the array do its work.¡± He nodded, taking a deep breath to steady himself. With cautious steps, he approached the circle, the hum of energy growing louder as he got closer. The moment he stepped into the center, the runes flared brighter, their light casting shadows across the room. Atlas stood still, his hands at his sides as he waited. The air around him felt alive, charged with energy that seemed to buzz against his skin. He wasn¡¯t sure what to expect, but the anticipation was almost unbearable. Then, with a soft hum, the array came to life. Four pillars of light shot up around the circle, each one representing an element. The first was red, the flames twisting and crackling as they reached upward. The second was blue, water swirling and rippling in a mesmerizing dance. The third was green, vibrant and pulsing with the energy of life itself. And the fourth was transparent, barely visible but unmistakable in the way it stirred the air, sending a soft breeze that brushed against his face. Atlas turned slowly, taking in the sight of the pillars. Each one was different, unique, and their presence filled the room with a sense of power. The hum of the array vibrated through his chest. ¡°This is incredible,¡± he muttered under his breath, his eyes darting between the glowing columns. He could feel their energy, not as something pulling at him, but as a quiet presence that surrounded him completely. The woman¡¯s voice broke through his thoughts. ¡°Relax, Atlas. Don¡¯t fight it. Just let the array do its work.¡± He nodded again, his hands unclenching as he let out a slow breath. Fire danced toward him, flickering and crackling as it moved with purpose. Atlas instinctively tensed, his heart racing as the flames closed in. He thought they were going to burn him, that he was about to be engulfed in pain, but the moment the fire touched his skin, a wave of warmth spread through him instead. It wasn¡¯t hot or scorching like he expected. It was soothing, like stepping into the sun on a cold day. He could feel it running through his body, coursing through his veins and filling every corner of him. The sensation was strange but not unpleasant. But then it started to build. The warmth grew stronger, more intense, pressing against his senses like a wave ready to crash. He clenched his fists, his breath hitching as the feeling climbed higher and higher, until it felt like it was about to overwhelm him. Just as panic began to creep in, the pressure disappeared. The flames vanished, leaving only the faintest trace of heat in their wake, as though they had never been there at all. Atlas barely had time to catch his breath before the next element moved toward him. Water flowed forward, a glistening column of liquid that twisted and surged as though it had a mind of its own. It swirled around him before plunging into his body like the fire had. The sensation was different this time¡ªcool and refreshing, like diving into a clear stream. It washed over him, cleansing and invigorating. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. But just like before, the feeling began to build. The soothing coolness turned into a torrent, rushing through him with an intensity that left him gasping. It was as though he were standing beneath a waterfall, the sheer force pressing down on him, relentless and unyielding. He thought he might drown in it. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the water receded. The pressure lifted, leaving him standing there, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady his breathing. Earth was next. The green pillar pulsed, the ground beneath his feet trembling as its energy surged toward him. This time, the sensation was grounding, solid and firm. It rooted him to the spot, steadying him even as it entered his body. He felt connected, as though he could feel the weight of the mountains and the strength of the earth itself. But the pressure returned, stronger than before. It felt like he was being crushed, like the weight of the world was bearing down on him. His legs trembled, his knees threatening to buckle under the strain. And then it was gone. The weight lifted, leaving him standing tall once more. Finally, the transparent pillar stirred. It was almost invisible, just a shimmer in the air, but Atlas could feel it. A soft breeze brushed against his face before rushing toward him. Unlike the other elements, this one didn¡¯t make him tense or recoil. Instead, he felt¡­ calm. When the air touched him, it wasn¡¯t invasive like the others. It wrapped around him gently, like an embrace, and for a moment, Atlas could swear it was welcoming him. A smile tugged at his lips unbidden as the breeze wove through him, filling his lungs and lifting his chest. The lightness of it was exhilarating, like standing on the edge of a cliff and feeling the wind carry you, just for a second. There was no panic, no fear, only the sensation of weightlessness, of freedom. The air seemed to hum around him, brushing against his skin and whispering secrets he couldn¡¯t quite hear. But then, like the others, the intensity began to rise. The gentle breeze grew stronger, swirling within him like a gale. It rushed through his veins, filling every inch of him with its boundless energy. Atlas didn¡¯t feel crushed or overwhelmed, though¡ªhe felt alive. It was as if the storm was lifting him, pulling him higher and higher until he thought he might fly. Just when it felt like the wind might carry him away, the storm calmed. The energy settled, leaving a lingering sense of lightness in its wake. Atlas exhaled, his breath steady as the faint shimmer of the transparent pillar returned to its place. Each element had touched him, tested him, and left its mark. But something about the air felt different. He couldn¡¯t quite place it, but it stayed with him, even as the chamber grew quiet again. As the glow of the array began to dim, the room fell silent. The gentle hum of energy faded into nothingness, leaving Atlas standing in the circle, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. The experience still lingered in his body¡ªthe warmth of the fire, the rush of water, the weight of the earth, and, most of all, the freedom of the wind. The lady stepped forward, her heels clicking softly against the stone floor as she approached a small device near the edge of the array. She glanced down at the sheet of paper it was producing, her brows knitting together slightly as she read the results. Atlas watched her, his curiosity rising along with his nerves. Her slight gasp made his heart skip a beat. ¡°Well,¡± she began, looking up at him with an expression that was equal parts surprise and approval. ¡°It seems your results are quite interesting.¡± Atlas tilted his head. ¡°Interesting how?¡± he asked, his voice laced with both excitement and apprehension. She adjusted her grip on the paper and cleared her throat. ¡°Your wind affinity is 85,¡± she said, her tone carrying a note of astonishment. ¡°That¡¯s exceptionally high.¡± Atlas blinked, He didn¡¯t know much about affinities yet, but the way she said it made him feel like it was something to be proud of. A small, tentative smile tugged at his lips. ¡°And the others?¡± he asked, trying to keep his tone casual even as his heart raced. She glanced back at the sheet. ¡°Your fire affinity is 60. That¡¯s around the average and shows potential,¡± she continued. ¡°Earth is at 42, and water is 30¡ªboth below average and will be hard to learn.¡± Atlas nodded slowly, processing the information. The numbers swirled in his mind, but it was the wind affinity that stood out. 85. That had to mean something. Right? ¡°So¡­ that¡¯s good?¡± he asked hesitantly, unsure if he was supposed to feel accomplished or disappointed. The lady smiled warmly. ¡°It¡¯s very good,¡± she reassured him. ¡°Your wind affinity is quite rare at that level. Most people only ever reach the mid-60s or 70s in their strongest element. You¡¯ve been blessed with a strong connection to wind.¡± Atlas felt a surge of pride, but it was tempered by a strange mix of relief and determination. He wasn¡¯t sure what he¡¯d expected, but hearing his results made everything feel real. He wasn¡¯t just some kid from Midtown anymore. He was here. He had potential. ¡°And the others?¡± he asked again, his voice quieter this time. ¡°Are they¡­ bad?¡± She shook her head. ¡°Not at all. Your fire affinity is good enough to learn spells. Most Blades have one strong affinity and a few weaker ones. Your results follow the same pattern, which will allow you to fit in quite well.¡± Her words eased the last bit of tension in his chest. Atlas nodded, his smile growing a little wider. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said earnestly. The lady folded the paper neatly and tucked it into a small folder. ¡°You¡¯ll receive a copy of your results, and your instructors will use them to guide your training. For now, just focus on getting comfortable here. You¡¯ll have plenty of time to explore your potential.¡± Atlas nodded again, his mind racing with thoughts of what lay ahead. He could already feel the weight of the training, the challenges, and the expectations pressing down on him. But for the first time in a long while, it wasn¡¯t overwhelming. It was exciting. ¡°Shall we?¡± the lady said, motioning toward the door. Atlas took one last glance at the array, the faint traces of light still etched into the stone. Then he stepped forward, following her out of the room. The woman handed Atlas a small bundle of items before he left. ¡°Here,¡± she said, her tone gentle. ¡°You¡¯ll need these. Blankets, clothing for the school year, and a few essentials to get you started.¡± She paused, looking him over with a kind but firm gaze. ¡°Someone will come by in the morning to guide you to your first class. Be ready.¡± Atlas nodded, clutching the bundle tightly. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, his voice sincere. She gave him a small smile and a nod before gesturing toward the door. ¡°You¡¯re dismissed. Rest well.¡± Atlas turned and made his way back through the now-familiar halls, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The warmth of the blankets in his arms and the weight of the clothes felt oddly comforting. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt prepared, not just for the night ahead, but for the challenges to come. By the time he reached his cabin, the sky had deepened into twilight, the stars just beginning to peek through the darkening clouds. The snow had stopped, leaving the pathways covered in a soft, undisturbed layer of white. Atlas pushed open the door, and the warmth of the fire greeted him like an old friend. Stepping inside, he carefully shut the door behind him, cutting off the cold entirely. He moved to the cot, placing the bundle of gear on the mattress before sitting down. The fire crackled softly in the corner, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. He unfolded the blankets, spreading them over the cot with deliberate care. They were thick and warm, far better than anything he¡¯d had back in Midtown. The clothes were simple but sturdy¡ªa few pairs of trousers, shirts, and a thicker jacket that would serve him well in the harsh mountain cold. Atlas sat back on the cot, letting out a long breath as he looked around the small space. The chest at the foot of the bed, now filled with his belongings, seemed almost surreal. The fire¡¯s glow made the room feel cozy, and for the first time since arriving, he felt a true sense of ease. He leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows, and let his gaze wander. His mind drifted to Midtown¡ªthe cold, the hunger, the uncertainty that had been his constant companions. He thought of Granny Lucy¡¯s stories, of sitting on the hard orphanage floor, dreaming of a life beyond those streets. And now, here he was, in a place he had only ever imagined. The cot creaked slightly as he lay back fully, staring up at the wooden ceiling. A smile tugged at his lips, small but genuine. He had clothes, a warm fire, and a roof over his head. He had awakened his core. Tomorrow, he¡¯d begin his journey as a Blade. For so long, survival had been his only goal. Now, he had something more¡ªa future. The struggles of Midtown weren¡¯t gone, but they felt lighter now, like distant memories rather than chains holding him back. Atlas closed his eyes, the warmth of the fire and the softness of the blankets pulling him into a deep, restful sleep. For the first time in years, he felt truly content. Chapter 11 Atlas woke to the soft sound of knocking on the door. Groggy, he burrowed deeper under the thick blankets, savoring the warmth. This was the first proper sleep he¡¯d had since the incident, and he wasn¡¯t ready to give it up. But the knocking didn¡¯t stop. Whoever was outside clearly wasn¡¯t going away. With a groan, Atlas swung his legs over the edge of the bed and shuffled toward the door, one heavy step at a time. He pulled it open, blinking against the early morning light. Standing there was the blonde-haired woman from the previous day. He squinted, trying to recall her name, but it escaped him. Her expression was calm, though there was a faint tinge of red on her cheeks. Atlas frowned and glanced past her. The sun was barely cresting over the mountains, its golden light just beginning to stretch across the snow-covered fields. It¡¯s way too early for this. When he turned back to her, he noticed her gaze wasn¡¯t quite meeting his. Her eyes flitted down briefly, then back up to his face. That¡¯s when he realized, she was blushing. Confused, he followed her line of sight and looked down at himself. His stomach dropped. He was shirtless, his chest bare and his dark hair falling messily over his eyes. The only thing he had on was his pair of trousers and bandages covering his old wounds. His face heated instantly, and he quickly slammed the door shut, leaning his forehead against it. Man, I¡¯m stupid, He thought, running a hand through his hair in embarrassment. ¡°Give me a minute!¡± he called out, his voice a little higher than usual. From the other side of the door, he heard her quiet response. ¡°Oh¡­ okay.¡± Atlas sighed and turned to his small chest. He threw it open and grabbed the academy uniform the office lady had given him the previous day. He pulled it out hurriedly, shaking off the folds as he tried to calm his racing heart. Atlas opened the door once more, now properly dressed. The uniform fit snugly, made of dark, sturdy fabric with a tailored jacket that bore the academy¡¯s crest of two mountains stitched in silver on the chest. A crisp white shirt peeked out from beneath, paired with black trousers and polished boots. It was simple but elegant, easily the best clothing he had ever worn. ¡°Sorry about that,¡± he muttered, ruffling his hair awkwardly. ¡°I¡¯m not much of a morning person.¡± She smiled, seeming much more at ease now. ¡°It¡¯s fine. Anyway, I¡¯m here to show you around for your first day and help get you settled in. The new year started just last week, so you¡¯ll miss the basic introduction, but we haven¡¯t had our first proper classes yet.¡± Her voice was soft, melodic, but Atlas barely registered her words. He was too busy staring. Something about the way her blonde hair framed her face, or how her smile lit up her features, made it hard to focus. He mentally kicked himself. ¡°Uh, right,¡± he said, quickly glancing away. ¡°Lead the way.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry too much,¡± the girl said as they walked down the housing paths leading back toward the towering main facility. ¡°The year only started. All the other first years, including me, have just been settling in.¡± That eased Atlas¡¯s nerves slightly. He wasn¡¯t usually one to get nervous, but this was different. This was something he had dreamed about for as long as he could remember. ¡°Really? What¡¯s it been like so far?¡± he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. ¡°It¡¯s intense,¡± she replied with a sigh. ¡°We¡¯re forced to train constantly, even if we don¡¯t want to become Nightblades. Apparently, everyone still needs to learn the basics of combat. Even though classes haven¡¯t started, they still make everyone run the circuit.¡± To Atlas, that sounded incredible. Even though the fight that brought him here still haunted him, there was a part of him that couldn¡¯t deny how drawn he was to the idea of strength, of power. She must have noticed something in his expression, because she smirked. ¡°Ah, you¡¯re one of those.¡± Atlas frowned, her words catching him off guard. ¡°¡®One of those?¡¯¡± he repeated, scoffing slightly. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± ¡°You know,¡± she said, her smirk widening. ¡°A boy from a lower family with big dreams of rising to the top.¡± She wasn¡¯t wrong, though she had no idea how close she¡¯d hit the mark. Minus the ¡°family¡± part, of course. Having her peg him so accurately left him uneasy. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! ¡°Maybe,¡± he admitted, raising an eyebrow. ¡°But so what? What¡¯s wrong with wanting freedom and power?¡± Her expression softened, and her gaze drifted to his neck. ¡°What happened there?¡± she asked, pointing to just below his jawline. Atlas raised his hand instinctively, running his fingers over the rough skin of his neck. The texture was dry, almost leathery, and a faint twinge of pain shot through him when he pressed too hard. He let his hand drop, brushing off the discomfort. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he said flatly. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen it yet. Probably a burn mark. Why?¡± ¡°I see,¡± she murmured, her tone quieter now. ¡°Sorry to pry.¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± he said, waving it off. ¡°And for the record, there¡¯s nothing wrong with wanting freedom and power.¡± She smiled at that, a soft, knowing smile. ¡°No, there isn¡¯t,¡± she agreed. The two fell into a comfortable silence as they continued walking, the sound of their steps echoing lightly off the stone pathways. Soon, they entered the academy¡¯s large corridors, their footsteps muffled by the sheer size of the place. ¡°Where are we going?¡± Atlas asked after a while. The blonde girl stopped, glancing back at him. ¡°Sorry, I should have told you the plan,¡± she said. ¡°At first light, everyone meets for breakfast. After that we normally are have to train but today instead we will be going to our first class.¡± Atlas felt his stomach twist at the mention of food. ¡°Is it free?¡± he blurted out before he could stop himself. She frowned, looking confused. ¡°Is what free?¡± ¡°The food,¡± he clarified, his voice quieter this time. Her expression shifted to one of shock. ¡°Of course it¡¯s free!¡± she said, almost offended at the question. Atlas couldn¡¯t help the grin that spread across his face. This might be better than he¡¯d ever imagined. *** The room was massive, far bigger than any Atlas had ever stood in. Towering stone walls stretched on either side, rising high up to the ceiling. He looked around for a few seconds, taking it all in, before the blonde girl spoke up. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get some food and then find the others.¡± Atlas nodded and followed her forward. They joined the line, and the girl handed him a tray. All around the hall, kids were laughing, shouting, and talking loudly over their meals. The noise was almost overwhelming, but it reminded him of the orphanage back in Midtown. Except this place was brighter, louder, and filled with an energy he wasn¡¯t used to. Soon, they had their trays full of porridge, and Atlas followed the girl as she wove her way through the crowded tables. He spotted a few familiar faces and immediately recognized them¡ªit was the two boys he¡¯d met yesterday. ¡°Atlas! Nice of you to join us,¡± Seth greeted with a bright smile as they approached. Beside him was Aaron, who glanced up, his gaze shifting between Atlas and the blonde girl. His scowl deepened. ¡®Oh great,¡¯ Atlas thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Honestly, what the hell is his problem? ¡°Morning,¡± Atlas said, keeping his tone neutral. Aaron¡¯s eyes flicked toward the girl. ¡°Why are you with him, Rea?¡± That¡¯s right¡­ Rea is her name. Thanks for reminding me, buddy. Rea didn¡¯t seem bothered by Aaron¡¯s sharp tone. She casually dropped her tray onto the table, the sound drawing attention, before sitting down. She gestured for Atlas to do the same. ¡°It¡¯s got nothing to do with you,¡± she said firmly, ¡°but if you must know, Atlas and I will be spending a lot of time together.¡± She didn¡¯t elaborate further, but her words hit their mark. Aaron¡¯s fists clenched, and his face turned a noticeable shade of red. Atlas wasn¡¯t used to girls and hadn¡¯t really spoken to any his age before. But he wasn¡¯t stupid either¡ªgrowing up on the streets didn¡¯t leave room for stupidity. He quickly noticed how Rea¡¯s comment affected Aaron. What have you done, woman? Aaron¡¯s hands were balled into fists, and his stare was sharp enough to cut through steel. Meanwhile, Rea looked smug, clearly enjoying herself. Before things could spiral out of control, Atlas decided to intervene. Thinking quickly, he said, ¡°She¡¯s showing me around. That¡¯s all.¡± Aaron scoffed, clearly unimpressed. ¡°I didn¡¯t ask you, mutt-blood.¡± What the hell is he talking about? The tension inside him began to build. He was getting fed up with this boy¡¯s attitude. Normally, he tried to avoid conflict, but something about Aaron¡¯s tone made it hard to keep his temper in check. ¡°Okay, what¡¯s your problem?¡± Atlas said, his voice sharper than he intended. ¡°Your stupid face hasn¡¯t stopped glaring at me since you saw me. Do we know each other?¡± Aaron stood abruptly, the screech of his chair scraping against the stone floor drawing attention. His imposing posture loomed over the table, casting a shadow over Atlas. ¡°Don¡¯t talk to me like that,¡± Aaron snarled. ¡°You and your kind aren¡¯t welcome here. Piss off before I make you.¡± ¡®My kind?¡¯ Atlas thought, his annoyance flaring into anger. So he¡¯s just another scummy Uppertown boy who looks down on everyone. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with my kind, you ugly fuck?¡± Atlas shot back, his voice laced with venom. He could feel his core beginning to hum with power. His body grew warm as his mana responded to the anger boiling inside him. Aaron¡¯s scowl deepened, his tone dripping with disdain as he sneered, ¡°mutt-blood scum.¡± With that, he grabbed his tray and hurled it at Atlas. The action caught Atlas off guard. He raised his arms to block the tray from hitting his face, but the porridge splattered everywhere, soaking into his new uniform and dripping onto the floor. He heard Rea shout for Aaron to stop, but her voice was drowned out by the blood pounding in his ears. His anger reached a tipping point. ¡°You piece of shit,¡± Atlas growled, lunging across the table before he could stop himself. The students around them scrambled back, gasps and shouts echoing through the hall. The noise quickly turned into a chant: ¡°Fight! Fight! Fight!¡± Atlas crashed into Aaron, sending both of them tumbling to the floor. He landed on top, his mana flaring instinctively as he drew strength from his core. His first punch connected with Aaron¡¯s jaw, the impact sending a jolt up his arm. Aaron didn¡¯t crumble like Atlas had hoped. Instead, he gritted his teeth and retaliated with surprising force, shoving Atlas off him and rolling to his feet. Atlas stumbled backward, caught off guard by the boy¡¯s strength. The chanting crowd only grew louder, their voices fueling the chaotic energy of the room. Atlas wiped a streak of porridge off his face, his chest heaving as his anger burned brighter. His core hummed like a drumbeat in his veins, urging him forward. Aaron smirked, his confidence unshaken. ¡°You¡¯re gonna regret that,¡± Atlas clenched his fists, his muscles tense and ready. ¡°Bring it,¡± he muttered under his breath, his voice low enough that only Aaron could hear. Chapter 12 Aaron lunged first, his fist swinging toward Atlas¡¯s face. Atlas ducked just in time, the blow whistling past his ear. His core flared as he countered, driving his shoulder into Aaron¡¯s chest and forcing the boy back a step. The crowd roared louder, their cheers and jeers fueling the chaos. Aaron recovered quickly, throwing a jab that clipped Atlas¡¯s chin, causing pain to shoot through his jaw, but it only spurred him on. He grabbed the front of Aaron¡¯s uniform and yanked him forward, aiming a punch at his stomach. Aaron grunted as the blow connected, but he retaliated with a swift knee to Atlas¡¯s side. Atlas staggered, his ribs screaming in protest, but he refused to back down. He threw a wild punch, catching Aaron across the cheek, but it lacked power. Aaron snarled, grabbing Atlas by the collar and shoving him back into the table. Plates and trays clattered to the ground, spilling food everywhere. Before Atlas could stand back up, the crowd went quiet. ¡°Enough!¡± A booming voice cut through the chaos like a blade. Both boys froze as a towering figure entered the fray, their presence instantly silencing the crowd. The man¡ªa teacher by the look of his uniform¡ªgrabbed them both by the scruffs of their collars, lifting them slightly off the ground like they weighed nothing. Atlas¡¯s breath came in short bursts, his heart pounding in his chest. Aaron¡¯s glare didn¡¯t waver, but the fear flickering in his eyes betrayed him. The man¡¯s voice was low and dangerous. ¡°You want to fight? You do it in training, not my dining hall.¡± He let them go with a shove, both boys stumbling but managing to stay on their feet. ¡°Clean this mess up,¡± he ordered. ¡°And report to your instructor after breakfast. I¡¯ll make sure they know exactly what happened here.¡± The crowd dispersed quickly, the excitement replaced with murmurs and whispers. Atlas wiped his bleeding lip with the back of his hand, his anger simmering but no longer boiling over. Aaron shot him one last glare before turning away, muttering under his breath. Rea appeared by Atlas¡¯s side, her expression a mix of concern and exasperation. ¡°That was¡­ something,¡± she said, crossing her arms. ¡°You couldn¡¯t have just ignored him?¡± Atlas let out a frustrated sigh, grabbing a rag from a nearby table and crouching to clean up the spilled food. She rolled her eyes but didn¡¯t press further. Instead, she grabbed a tray and helped him clean, the awkward silence between them only broken by the occasional glance from passing students. Atlas threw the rag onto the now-clean table with a frustrated sigh, glaring at the mess that had been his breakfast. He turned to Rea, his chest still heaving from the fight. ¡°What the hell was that?¡± Rea blinked at him, confused. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°You know exactly what I mean,¡± he snapped, his voice low to avoid drawing more attention. ¡°You provoked him. You knew how he¡¯d react, and you dragged me into it.¡± She crossed her arms, her smug expression from earlier replaced with something more subdued. ¡°He was being a jerk. He deserved it.¡± Atlas clenched his fists, feeling his core hum faintly with residual mana. He forced himself to take a deep breath before continuing. ¡°Maybe he did. But I didn¡¯t need to be part of that. I¡¯ve been here for less than a day, and now I¡¯m already on someone¡¯s radar because you decided to make a point.¡± Rea opened her mouth to respond but stopped herself. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she looked away, her cheeks flushing faintly. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to get you in trouble,¡± she mumbled. ¡°Yeah, well, you did.¡± Atlas straightened, brushing crumbs from his new uniform. She flinched at his words, and for a moment, Atlas thought he saw genuine regret flash across her face. She nodded stiffly, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°Sorry.¡± The awkward silence between them lingered as they finished cleaning up. Seth and Aaron had already left, though Atlas caught a few lingering glances from other students who were clearly enjoying the aftermath of the drama. Once the dining hall was back in order, Rea led him down the corridors toward their first class. The towering stone walls loomed around them, the noise from earlier replaced with a heavy, uncomfortable quiet. Atlas kept his distance, his arms crossed as he followed her. She stopped outside a large wooden door, hesitating before pushing it open. ¡°This is our first class,¡± she said, her voice devoid of the enthusiasm it had carried earlier. ¡°Introduction to Combat Theory.¡± Atlas stepped inside, immediately noticing the rows of desks. Students were already seated, their chatter filling the room as they waited for the instructor. The space was larger than he¡¯d expected, with high ceilings and rune-covered walls that pulsed faintly, giving a warmth to the room. Rea glanced at him, her expression cautious. ¡°You should probably sit in the back for now. Less chance of¡­ distractions.¡± He nodded curtly, walking past her without a word and taking a seat near the back corner. He dropped into the chair, leaning back as he observed the room. The students varied in age, some younger than him, others clearly older and more experienced. The air buzzed with anticipation as they waited for the lesson to begin. Rea hesitated by the door for a moment before finally taking a seat near the middle of the room. She didn¡¯t look back at him. Atlas let out a slow breath, the events of the morning still weighing on him. He¡¯d dreamed of this moment for so long¡ªhis first class, his first steps toward becoming a Blade¡ªbut the excitement felt muted now, overshadowed by frustration and regret. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, centering himself. This was what he¡¯d worked for, what he¡¯d dreamed of. No petty squabble was going to ruin it. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. The door at the front of the room creaked open, and the hum of voices instantly quieted. A figure stepped inside, their presence commanding immediate attention. Atlas straightened in his seat, his eyes locking onto the instructor as they strode toward the front of the room. Atlas couldn¡¯t help but sit up straighter, his eyes fixed on the figure now standing at the front of the room. The man looked to be in his late thirties, though his sharp, weathered features hinted at a life far more experienced than his age might suggest. His dark hair was cut short, and his eyes seemed to take in everything at once. His posture was rigid, and the scar that ran from his left cheekbone to the corner of his jaw only added to the intimidating aura he carried. His uniform was simple yet tidy, the dark fabric was tailored to fit him perfectly, with subtle embroidery along the cuffs and collar that marked him as an instructor. Atlas noticed how the man¡¯s eyes scanned the room, not just glancing at the students but truly looking at them, like he was evaluating each one individually. When his gaze briefly flicked over Atlas, it felt like the air shifted¡ªa faint hum of mana brushed against his skin, like the instructor was measuring him in some way. There was no need for him to raise his voice. When he spoke, his tone was calm, almost quiet, but it carried a weight that made every word sink in. ¡°My name is Instructor Torrin Emberforge,¡± he began, ¡°You may call me Instructor Emberforge. Nothing else. By now most of you have had a week to get settled into your cabins and acquaint yourselves with the academy. Now it¡¯s time to begin your first lesson.¡± Atlas couldn¡¯t help but swallow as Instructor Emberforge¡¯s gaze swept over the room again. There was a sharpness in his expression, like a blade honed to perfection. This was a man who didn¡¯t tolerate nonsense, and from the way the other students sat up straight and kept their mouths shut, it was clear they knew it too. He stepped forward, his boots barely making a sound against the wooden platform. ¡°Let me make one thing clear,¡± he continued, his voice cutting through the silence. ¡°This is not a place for complacency. You are here to learn, to train, and to grow. If you are not prepared to give everything you have, you are wasting your time¡ªand mine.¡± Atlas found himself nodding along, his earlier frustrations momentarily forgotten. There was something about the man¡¯s presence, the way he carried himself, that commanded respect. Torrin Emberforge wasn¡¯t just an instructor¡ªhe was a warrior, someone who had lived the life they were all aspiring to. For a brief moment, Atlas wondered just how strong the man¡¯s core must be, how many battles he had fought and won. His gaze landed on Atlas again, lingering just a second longer this time. ¡°Welcome to Combat Theory,¡± Torrin said, his tone final. ¡°Let¡¯s see if any of you are worth the effort.¡± Atlas¡¯s chest tightened slightly, but he felt a flicker of determination spark in his core. Whatever this man expected of them, he was ready to prove himself. The room was completely silent as Instructor Emberforge surveyed the rows of students before him. Thirty first-years sat at attention, their eyes glued to the man who had commanded their focus the moment he entered the room. Atlas sat in the back row, hands folded on the desk in front of him, his gaze fixed on the instructor. Instructor Emberforge paced slowly at the front of the room, ¡°You¡¯ve all taken your first steps,¡± he began, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of authority. ¡°Your cores have awakened, and now you¡¯re here, thinking that means something. It doesn¡¯t.¡± A few murmurs rippled through the room, but he raised a hand, silencing them immediately. ¡°Let me explain. A mana core is nothing more than potential. What matters is what you do with it¡ªhow you refine it, how you grow it. And to grow it, you need to understand it.¡± He turned to the chalkboard behind him, picking up a piece of chalk and writing out the stages of core progression in neat, bold letters: ? Awakened ? Ascendant ? Transcendent ? Exalted ? Paragon ? Sovereign ¡°These are the six stages of core development,¡± He explained, tapping the board with the chalk. ¡°Every one of you is at the first stage¡ªAwakened. This is where your journey begins. Your cores are fragile, unrefined. At this stage, your mana reserves are limited, and your control is laughable.¡± A boy sitting near the front raised his hand. Instructor Emberforge nodded toward him. ¡°Speak.¡± ¡°What happens when we get to the next stage?¡± the boy asked, his voice eager. Torrin smirked faintly, though it didn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°If you reach the next stage,¡± he corrected, ¡°you will become an Ascendant. At that point, your mana reserves will expand, your control will improve, and your affinity with the elements will deepen. Ascendants can wield more complex techniques and sustain their mana for longer periods.¡± He let the words sink in before continuing. ¡°But let me make this clear. Reaching Ascendant is not guaranteed. For every hundred people who awaken their cores, only twenty make it to Ascendant. Fewer still progress beyond that.¡± The air in the room grew heavy as the weight of his words settled over the students. He tapped the board again. ¡°Above Ascendant is Transcendent. This is where your core begins to affect the world around you. Transcendents can bend mana with such precision that they blur the line between reality and magic. But the gap between Ascendant and Transcendent is vast. Many never make it.¡± Another hand shot up, this time from a girl sitting near the back. Instructor Emberforge nodded. ¡°Question?¡± ¡°What about the higher stages?¡± she asked hesitantly. ¡°Exalted, Paragon, and Sovereign?¡± Torrin¡¯s expression darkened slightly, his gaze sweeping over the class. ¡°The Exalted stage is where you develop your Trait¡ªa manifestation of your soul¡¯s essence. It is rare, even among the most dedicated. Paragons are legends, wielding power that shapes kingdoms, no one really knows the power they hold. As for Sovereigns¡­¡± He paused, his tone growing colder. ¡°They are myths. No one alive has seen a Sovereign, and no one in this room ever will. All we know is that once upon a time there was records of a higher power, some nations call them gods and worship them, but the belief on which our empire was founded, is that those are just records of people who have reached the height of power.¡± The class fell silent again, a few students shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Atlas remained still, absorbing every word. The instructor turned back to the board, erasing the stages and writing two new words: ? Nightblade ? Lightblade ¡°These are the two primary paths available to you,¡± Instructor Emberforge said, turning to face the class again. ¡°Nightblades and Lightblades. Both serve the empire, but their roles are vastly different.¡± He pointed to the first word. ¡°Nightblades are warriors. They are the sword and shield of our empire, trained in combat and battlefield tactics. Their focus is on physical prowess and direct engagement. If you aim to be a Nightblade, prepare to endure grueling physical training and countless battles.¡± He shifted his focus to the second word. ¡°Lightblades, on the other hand, are the empires support. They are healers, strategists, and everyday workers. Their training emphasizes mana control and understanding the subtleties of battle. Lightblades are the reason Nightblades survive.¡± A hand went up from a boy sitting near Atlas. Instructor Emberforge acknowledged him with a nod. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Can we choose which one we want to be?¡± the boy asked. The Instructors smirk returned. ¡°You don¡¯t choose,¡± he said simply. ¡°Your affinities and strengths will dictate your path. Someone with high physical ability and a talent for combat will naturally lean toward being a Nightblade. Someone with strong mana control and supportive talents will find their place as a Lightblade. The academy will assess you, guide you, and push you toward the role where you will be most effective.¡± Atlas glanced around the room, noticing a mix of reactions. Some students looked eager, others uncertain. He kept his face neutral, his mind racing as he processed everything. He didn¡¯t care which path he ended up on. All he knew was that he would give everything he had. Instructor Emberforge¡¯s voice broke through his thoughts. ¡°Understand this. Both roles are crucial. A empire without Lightblades will crumble from within. A empire without Nightblades will fall to its enemies. You are not here to compete with each other. You are here to become the best version of yourselves¡ªfor the sake of our empire.¡± He paused, letting his words sink in before folding his arms across his chest. ¡°This year, I will be your primary instructor. You will train under me, learn from me, and, if necessary, be broken by me. I do not tolerate laziness or excuses. If you think you can coast through this, leave now.¡± No one moved. The room was deathly silent. Instructor Emberforge¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly, as if daring someone to speak. ¡°Good. Now let¡¯s begin.¡± Chapter 13 The class wrapped up as the bell rang, signaling the start of lunchtime. Students gathered their things, chattering among themselves as they filed out of the room. Atlas stayed in his seat, unsure if he should leave until Instructor Emberforge¡¯s voice cut through the noise. ¡°Atlas, stay behind,¡± Atlas nodded, watching the other students file out. Once the last of them left and the heavy door clicked shut, instructor Emberforge leaned against his desk, crossing his arms as his sharp gaze locked onto Atlas. ¡°You¡¯ve had quite the morning,¡± he began, ¡°First day here, and you¡¯re already causing problems.¡± Atlas stiffened, guilt prickling at his chest. ¡°He started it,¡± he muttered, though he knew it wasn¡¯t much of an excuse. Instructor Emberforge raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. ¡°Maybe he did. But you threw punches, too. That makes you just as responsible.¡± Atlas looked down at the desk, his fists clenching. He didn¡¯t have a defense for that. ¡°I¡¯m not here to punish you, Atlas. I kept you back because there are things you need to understand. Things that might help you keep out of trouble.¡± Atlas looked up, confused. ¡°What do you mean?¡± Instructor Emberforge studied him for a moment before asking bluntly, ¡°Do you know where you¡¯re from?¡± The question caught Atlas off guard. ¡°What? I¡­ I grew up in Midtown. At the orphanage.¡± ¡°And before that?¡± He pressed, his eyes narrowing. ¡°Do you remember anything before the orphanage?¡± Atlas shook his head slowly. ¡°No. Not really. It¡¯s all¡­ blank.¡± Instructor Emberforge nodded, as though he¡¯d expected that answer. ¡°There are no records of you being sent to the orphanage,¡± he said. ¡°No papers, no family name. Nothing.¡± Atlas frowned, unease creeping into his chest. ¡°What are you saying?¡± He straightened slightly, his gaze steady. ¡°I¡¯m saying that people here assume you¡¯re Feynir.¡± Atlas blinked confused. ¡°Feynir? So what? There are plenty of races scattered around Falcrest. What¡¯s wrong with being Feynir?¡± Atlas questioned, his voice rising unintentionally. ¡°That¡¯s true,¡± Instructor Emberforge explained. ¡°Unfortunately the Fey, who were supposed to be neutral during the blade wars, decided to join forces with the Ramelions . So when Draegar finally concurred Ramelia, the fey were judged as enemy¡¯s. People like Aaron will see your long ears, sharp teeth and pale skin¡ªtraits common to Feynir¡ªand make assumptions. To them, up until very recently you were the enemy.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve never even been to Ramelia,¡± Atlas said, his voice quiet. ¡°That doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Instructor Emberforge said bluntly. ¡°People will judge you for what they think you are, not what you know yourself to be.¡± Atlas clenched his fists, frustration and confusion boiling inside him. ¡°So what am I supposed to do? Just let them treat me like dirt because of something I can¡¯t even remember?¡± ¡°No,¡± he said sharply, his voice firm. ¡°You grow stronger. You prove yourself. You show them that you¡¯re more than whatever assumptions they¡¯ve made, because at the end of the day, strength is the only thing that matters. With strength no one will question you.¡± Atlas swallowed hard, the knot in his chest tightening. He wanted to argue, to push back against the unfairness of it all, but deep down, he knew Instructor Emberforge was right. ¡°And there¡¯s something else you need to understand,¡± he added, his tone shifting slightly. ¡°When a core is newly awakened, it¡¯s normal to feel heightened emotions. Your body is still adapting to the flow of mana, and that can make you more prone to anger, frustration, or even fear.¡± Atlas tilted his head, frowning. ¡°You mean I¡¯ll keep losing my temper?¡± ¡°Only if you let it, Your core is like a flame right now¡ªsmall, flickering, and easily affected by outside forces. It¡¯s your job to steady it, to integrate it into yourself fully. Until you do, you¡¯ll be more reactive. You need to recognize that and overcome it.¡± Atlas let the words sink in, his frustration fading slightly as understanding began to take its place. ¡°So¡­ it¡¯s not just me?¡± ¡°No, It¡¯s all of you. Every first-year here has to deal with the same thing. The difference is in how you handle it. Let it control you, and you¡¯ll fail. Control it, and you¡¯ll grow. Think of it as your first task for developing your core and progressing your cultivation.¡± Atlas nodded slowly, realising what Instructor Emberforge said is true. He could feel the way his core had hummed with energy during the fight, feeding off his anger. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. Instructor Emberforge stepped away from the desk, his posture straightening. ¡°One more thing. If there¡¯s another fight outside of sparring, there will be consequences.¡± Atlas frowned. ¡°What kind of consequences? Would I get kicked out?¡± The older man chuckled, though there was no humor in the sound. ¡°No one gets kicked out of the academy, Atlas. If you have a core, you¡¯re valuable to the Empire. You¡¯ll stay here, and you¡¯ll learn. But if you keep causing problems, there are¡­ other ways to deal with it.¡± Atlas¡¯s stomach tightened. ¡°Like what?¡± Instructor Emberforge¡¯s gaze darkened, his voice dropping slightly. ¡°Let¡¯s just say there¡¯s only one way to get kicked out of the academy and it¡¯s not by getting expelled.¡± If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. The implication was clear, and it sent a shiver down Atlas¡¯s spine. He nodded quickly, his determination solidifying. ¡°I understand.¡± ¡°Good.¡± His tone softened slightly. ¡°Now go. Get some lunch and clear your head.¡± Atlas stood, his legs feeling slightly shaky beneath him. As he made his way to the door, Instructor Emberforge called after him one last time. ¡°Remember, Atlas. Strength isn¡¯t just about power, it¡¯s about control. Don¡¯t forget that.¡± Atlas nodded without turning back, the words echoing in his mind as he stepped into the hallway. *** Atlas made his way back to the dining hall, the scent of food filling the air as soon as he stepped inside. His stomach growled in response, a sharp reminder of how little he¡¯d eaten that morning. He grabbed a tray, filled it with whatever was left from the day¡¯s options, and scanned the room. Most of the tables were already full, students packed together, chatting loudly over their meals. He didn¡¯t bother trying to find a spot among them. Instead, he chose a table near the far wall, away from the chaos. It was empty, quiet, exactly what he needed. Sitting down, he began to eat, letting the warm food ease some of the tension that had built up since the morning. His thoughts wandered back to the lesson. They¡¯d learned a lot, more than he¡¯d expected for a first class. The stages of core development, the responsibilities of Nightblades and Lightblades, what the rest of the year would look like¡ªit was overwhelming, but also exhilarating. This was what he¡¯d dreamed of, wasn¡¯t it? A chance to prove himself, to be more than just another forgotten kid from Midtown. But the reality of it all was starting to sink in, and with it, a knot of nervous anticipation twisted in his stomach. He glanced around the hall, noticing the way some of the other students were looking at him. Their stares weren¡¯t overt, but they lingered long enough to be noticeable. Atlas couldn¡¯t tell if it was because of the fight earlier or something else entirely, but he did his best to ignore it. At least Aaron and his crew were nowhere in sight. That, at least, was a small victory. As he finished his meal, he spotted a familiar figure weaving through the tables toward him. Rea. She looked hesitant, her usual confidence tempered by something quieter. Atlas tensed, unsure if he was ready to deal with her yet. She stopped beside his table, her hands clasped in front of her. ¡°Hey,¡± she said, her tone softer than usual. ¡°I figured I¡¯d find you here.¡± Atlas didn¡¯t respond right away, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her. ¡°What do you want?¡± Rea shifted uncomfortably, her gaze darting to the side before returning to him. ¡°We¡¯ve got combat training for the rest of the day,¡± she said. ¡°I thought I¡¯d take you to the yard.¡± Atlas leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. ¡°Why?¡± She blinked, caught off guard by the question. ¡°What do you mean, why? You¡¯re new. You don¡¯t know where it is and I was told to show you around today.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure I could find it,¡± he replied flatly. Rea sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. ¡°Look, I get that you¡¯re mad at me. I messed up this morning, okay? But I¡¯m trying to help you now. Can you let me do that?¡± Atlas stared at her for a moment longer before finally standing up. He didn¡¯t say anything, just grabbed his tray and made his way to the return station. When he came back, Rea was still standing there, waiting. ¡°Fine,¡± he said, his tone neutral. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± She nodded, and together they left the dining hall. The walk to the training yard was quiet, the awkwardness between them lingering like a shadow. Rea glanced at him a few times, as if wanting to say something, but she kept her thoughts to herself. When they finally stepped outside, the crisp air hit Atlas¡¯s face, and he took a deep breath. Ahead, the training yard stretched out before them, a wide space filled with students already hard at work. The clang of wooden weapons and the shouts of instructors echoed through the air, blending into a chaotic symphony of activity. Rea stopped at the edge of the yard, turning to face him. ¡°This is it,¡± she said simply. ¡°Your first day of combat training. Good luck.¡± Atlas nodded, his eyes fixed on the scene before him. The training yard was massive, far larger than Atlas had imagined. It stretched out like an open field, enclosed by tall stone walls that separated it from the rest of the academy grounds. The ground itself was a mixture of packed dirt and stone, worn smooth in some places from years of use. Scattered throughout the yard were various sections, each clearly designated for different forms of training. To the left, a series of wooden dummies stood in neat rows, their surfaces marred with scars. Beyond that, there were sparring rings outlined with white chalk, where pairs of students were already locked in mock combat. Their wooden weapons clashed loudly, their instructors barking corrections from the sidelines. To the right, a long obstacle course stretched the length of the yard. Ropes hung from wooden beams, walls to climb loomed ahead, and a series of hurdles and trenches promised to test endurance and agility. A few older students were running the course, their movements fluid and practiced as they navigated each challenge. In the center of the yard stood a raised platform, a large, circular arena made of smooth stone. It was clearly the focal point of the space, with students and instructors alike occasionally gathering around it. Atlas guessed it was reserved for duels or demonstrations. Weapons racks lined the walls, filled with an array of practice tools¡ªwooden swords, spears, axes, and even some blunted metal weapons for more advanced trainees. Beside them were barrels of padded armor for sparring. Everything was neatly organized, a stark contrast to the chaos of the students moving about. Atlas stood at the edge of the yard and for a moment, his nerves threatened to get the better of him, but he quickly pushed them aside. This was what he had come here for. This was his chance to prove himself. Atlas walked across the training yard toward the rest of his class, who were gathered in a loose group near one of the sparring rings. Instructor Emberforge stood at the front, arms crossed and his sharp gaze sweeping over the students as they murmured among themselves. When Atlas joined the group, the chatter quieted almost immediately. Instructor Emberforge¡¯s presence had that effect. The man radiated authority, and no one wanted to be the one to test his patience. ¡°Listen up,¡± he barked, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. ¡°This is your first day of proper combat training in my class, and let me make one thing clear: none of you are blades yet. Before anyone so much as picks up a weapon, you will build the foundation you need to wield it.¡± Atlas felt a mix of relief and dread. He wasn¡¯t in a rush to spar after the mess earlier, but the thought of what ¡°building the foundation¡± entailed made his muscles tense. Instructor Emberforge began pacing in front of them, his sharp eyes locking onto each student in turn. ¡°You¡¯ve awakened your cores, but that doesn¡¯t mean your bodies are ready for what¡¯s to come. A weak body cannot support a strong core. Combat is as much about endurance and discipline as it is about power.¡± He stopped and turned to face the class fully, his expression stern. ¡°Today, we focus on fitness. Strength. Stamina. Balance. Until you can prove your body is capable of handling the strain, there will be no weapons, no sparring. Do not complain. Do not make excuses. This is your first test.¡± A few students exchanged nervous glances, but no one dared speak. Atlas noticed Rea shifting uncomfortably beside him, her lips pressed into a thin line. ¡°And at the end of the day,¡± he continued, his tone dropping slightly but losing none of its weight, ¡°I will fight each of you. Individually.¡± The murmurs began immediately, a ripple of unease spreading through the group. Atlas¡¯s stomach twisted at the thought. Fighting the instructor? After hours of training? It sounded impossible. He raised a hand, silencing the noise. ¡°This is not a sparring match. It is not about winning. I need to see what each of you is capable of, where your strengths and weaknesses lie. Consider it your introduction to the real world. And don¡¯t expect me to go easy on you.¡± Atlas clenched his fists, feeling a faint hum from his core. He could already feel the weight of instructor Emberforge¡¯s words pressing down on him. This was going to be brutal. ¡°Now,¡± he snapped, ¡°line up by the obstacle course. Let¡¯s see if you can even make it through the basics without collapsing.¡± The group moved quickly, no one daring to lag behind. Atlas found himself at the back, his nerves still buzzing as he followed the others. Instructor Emberforge¡¯s voice cut through the tension one last time as they reached the course. ¡°Remember, you¡¯re here to learn, to grow stronger. By the end of today, I¡¯ll know exactly what each of you is worth. Don¡¯t disappoint me.¡± Atlas took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the obstacle course ahead. This was the start of everything. The moment we would look back on for the rest of his life and know. This is where it all begun. Chapter 14 The line of students stretched down the yard as they waited for their turn on the obstacle course. Instructor Emberforge¡¯s sharp gaze swept over them, arms crossed as he stood near the start. "One at a time," he barked. "No cutting corners. If I see anyone slacking, you''ll run the course twice." Atlas stood near the back of the line, watching intently as the first few students began. He had to admit, if it wasn¡¯t for his lingering injuries he would have loved to do this course. After all, his years in Midtown had honed his agility. Dodging through tight alleys, leaping over crates, and sprinting from angry shopkeepers or guards had given him quick feet and good reflexes. But as the students ahead of him tackled the course, his confidence wavered. The first obstacle was a wall¡ªa sheer wooden structure about eight feet high. The first student, a tall, broad-shouldered boy, scaled it effortlessly, pulling himself over in one smooth motion. Atlas noted how the boy''s arms bulged with muscle as he dropped down the other side without breaking stride. A few others followed, some taking more time to hoist themselves up but managing it nonetheless. Next was a stretch of hurdles¡ªwooden bars set at uneven intervals. The students darted through them, some weaving gracefully while others stumbled and fumbled. A girl with short black hair and a focused expression breezed through, her movements light and deliberate, like she''d done this a hundred times before. Then came the rope climb. Thick ropes hung from tall wooden beams, requiring the students to use their arms and legs to hoist themselves to the top before ringing a small bell and sliding back down. This was where the divide became glaringly apparent. Some students scaled the ropes with relative ease. Others, like a wiry boy who barely managed to ring the bell, clearly struggled. Finally, there was the trench crawl¡ªa muddy pit with wooden beams set low overhead, forcing the students to crawl on their hands and knees to avoid hitting their heads. Seth, who had rushed through the first obstacles got bogged down here, his limbs tangling in the muck as the more experienced students yelled encouragement or mockery. Atlas watched it all carefully, his heart beginning to sink. Maybe he wasn''t as prepared as he thought. Running away in Midtown wasn''t the same as this. He didn''t have the strength to climb walls or the endurance to sprint through long courses. And seeing the others, how polished, how strong some of them were, it brought a bitter pang of envy. He buried it quickly. "Work hard," he muttered under his breath, his hands curling into fists. "You''ll catch up." Finally, his turn came. Instructor Emberforge¡¯s voice broke his thoughts. "I¡¯ve seen your medical reports from the healers, Atlas. Just show me what you''ve got. Don¡¯t injure yourself any further." Atlas stepped up to the line, shaking out his hands and taking a deep breath. He couldn''t afford to second-guess himself now. The whistle blew, and he sprinted toward the wall. His feet hit the ground hard as he leapt up, grabbing the top of the wooden structure. His fingers burned as he pulled himself up, legs scrabbling against the smooth surface. It wasn''t graceful, nothing like the first boy who''d scaled it with ease, but he managed to haul himself over, landing on the other side with a grunt. His legs wobbled slightly from the effort, but he pushed forward. Next were the hurdles. He approached them at a steady pace, trying to mimic the movements he''d seen from the black-haired girl earlier. His first few steps were smooth, his body weaving between the bars, but he misjudged the fourth hurdle, clipping it with his ankle. He stumbled but quickly got back up, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to focus. By the time he cleared the last hurdle, his breathing was heavier than he''d expected. Then came the ropes. Atlas froze for a fraction of a second, staring up at the bell at the top. The rope looked much taller now that he was standing in front of it. He grabbed it with both hands, the rough fibers biting into his palms as he started to climb. His arms trembled after just a few pulls, and he was forced to use his legs to brace himself. The rope swayed slightly under his weight, and his progress was slow. "Come on, Atlas!" Instructor Emberforge¡¯s voice cut through the air. He gritted his teeth, his muscles screaming as he reached the top and slapped the bell. The sharp ding felt like a small victory, but the slide back down left his hands raw and he could feel his old wounds flaring up. The final stretch was the trench crawl. By now, his body was aching, and his breaths came in ragged bursts. The mud was cold and clung to his skin as he dropped to his hands and knees. He pushed forward, his shoulders brushing against the wooden beams above. It was slow, grueling work, the mud sucking at his limbs with every movement. Halfway through, his knee caught on a jagged rock, and he winced, biting back a curse. He forced himself to keep moving, his heart pounding as the end of the trench came into view. With one final push, he pulled himself out, his entire body covered in muck. Panting, Atlas straightened, wiping the mud from his face as he jogged toward the finish line. The other students watched silently, their expressions a mix of amusement and indifference. He could feel their stares, their unspoken judgments, but he kept his head high. When he crossed the finish line, he bent over, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. He wasn''t the fastest. He wasn''t the strongest. But he''d finished. That was enough for now. Instructor Emberforge approached, his face unreadable as he looked Atlas up and down. "Not bad. But you''ve got a long way to go." Atlas nodded, his chest still heaving. "Yes, sir," he managed to say. As he stepped aside to join the other students, he caught Seth''s eye. The boy gave him a small, encouraging nod. Atlas returned it, feeling a flicker of relief. Not everyone was against him. But as he glanced at the others, the wary looks and quiet whispers, all he could do was shake his head and carry on. The last of the students finally stumbled across the finish line, their faces red and covered in sweat and grime. Among them was Rea. Her usually confident posture was gone, replaced by a sagging exhaustion that seemed to weigh down her every step. Her tanned skin was streaked with mud, and her hair clung to her face in wet strands. She looked pale, like she might collapse at any moment. Atlas couldn''t help the small flicker of satisfaction that passed through him as he watched her struggle. Serves her right, After everything she''d done that morning, watching her suffer just a little felt like justice. Even as the thought crossed his mind, a small voice in the back of his head tried to reason with him. He knew it wasn''t entirely her fault. Sure, she hadn''t helped the situation with Aaron, but the boy had a problem with him from the very first moment they''d locked eyes. Aaron didn''t need much of an excuse to hate him. Atlas''s eyes shifted toward Aaron, who was standing with the rest of the group, barely winded and still managing to look composed despite the mud caked on his uniform. The boy''s chest puffed out slightly, his expression smug as his gaze flicked to Atlas. There was something in Aaron''s eyes, a look that seemed to say, I''m better than you, and I know it. Atlas clenched his fists, heat rising in his chest. He wasn''t the type to back down from a fight, but now wasn''t the time. He forced himself to look away, focusing instead on Torren, who was stepping forward and gesturing for the class to gather around. The students shuffled closer, their movements slow and heavy. They were all coated in mud, their uniforms soaked with sweat, their breathing ragged. Some were leaning on their knees for support, others standing with their arms crossed, trying to mask their exhaustion. Atlas joined the group, his legs aching and his chest still heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Instructor Emberforge smiled and Atlas all of a sudden had a bad feeling Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. "That was just the warm-up," he announced, his voice cutting through the group like a blade. Atlas paled, much like the rest of the class. "You think you''re done because you made it through one course?" He continued, "This is nothing. Out there, when you''re on the battlefield, there are no breaks. No one''s going to stop and give you a pat on the back because you climbed a rope or ran through some mud. You will keep going until your body gives out, and then you''ll keep going some more. That''s how you survive." Atlas felt a shiver run down his spine, this was going to be hell. "Line up," he barked, "You''re running laps. Ten to start." A collective groan rose from the group, but no one dared voice their complaints. They lined up at the edge of the yard, their bodies stiff and sluggish as they prepared to run. Atlas found himself near the middle, glancing down at the mud caked on his arms and legs. It was already uncomfortable, sticking to his skin in all the wrong places. The whistle blew, and they started. The first few laps weren''t so bad. Atlas kept a steady pace, his legs moving automatically as he focused on the rhythm of his breathing. But as the laps wore on, the discomfort grew. The mud chafed against his skin, his muscles screamed in protest, and his lungs burned with every breath. Ahead of him, the stronger students¡ªthose who had clearly been trained from a young age¡ªpulled further ahead, their movements efficient and practiced. Aaron was among them, his stride long and powerful as he glanced back occasionally, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He''s mocking me, Atlas thought bitterly, his frustration mounting. But he didn''t let it distract him. Beside him, a few of the less athletic students began to falter, their steps slowing as they struggled to keep up. Rea was among them, her face pale and her breaths coming in short, ragged bursts. For a moment, Atlas felt another flicker of satisfaction, but it was quickly replaced by something else¡ªpity, maybe, or guilt. He shook it off and kept running. By the seventh lap, Atlas''s entire body felt like it was on fire. Every step was a struggle, every breath a battle. His mind screamed at him to stop, to drop to the ground and let his body rest, but he didn''t. He couldn''t. Instead, he forced himself to focus on something else. He remembered the night Ren was taken, the helplessness he''d felt as he watched his only friend get hurt. He remembered the overwhelming sense of failure, of knowing that he hadn''t been strong enough to protect him. Never again, His legs burned, his chest ached, and his vision blurred slightly from the sweat dripping into his eyes, but he kept going. Each step was a reminder of why he was here, of what he had to prove. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Instructor Emberforge blew the whistle again, signaling the end of the laps. Atlas stumbled to a stop, his legs trembling beneath him as he bent over, hands on his knees. His breath came in heavy gasps, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse. "Not bad," he said, his voice carrying a hint of approval as he addressed the group. "Some of you managed to survive. Others¡­" He let the sentence hang, his gaze lingering on the students who had fallen behind. Atlas glanced around, noticing how many of his classmates were slumped on the ground, too exhausted to stand. Even Rea had dropped to her knees, her face buried in her hands as she tried to catch her breath. "Take five minutes to recover," he ordered. "Then we move on." Atlas straightened slowly, his muscles screaming in protest. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, glancing down at his mud-covered arms. He felt like he''d been through hell. Instructor Emberforge had everyone line up once more. The students stood in silence, their bodies covered in mud and their breathing uneven. Despite their exhaustion, no one dared complain under instructor Emberforge¡¯s sharp gaze. "Listen up," he said, his voice slicing through the air. "One by one, you''ll step forward and spar with me. This is not about winning¡ªit''s about finding your limits, testing your instincts, and seeing how much training you''ve had. Don''t hold back, and don''t waste my time." The students exchanged uneasy glances. Most of them still looked drained from the earlier exercises, their faces pale and covered in sweat. Torren scanned the line, his eyes narrowing as they settled on the first student. "Marcus Eldarion," he barked, pointing at the tall boy who had flown through the obstacle course earlier with an almost effortless grace. Marcus straightened, stepping forward with a calm confidence that betrayed his noble upbringing. His dark hair was neatly combed despite the mud clinging to the rest of him, and he moved with the air of someone who had been preparing for this moment his entire life. He entered the sparring ring and took a textbook stance, his movements sharp and precise. Instructor Emberforge stepped forward to meet him, his stance relaxed but purposeful. "Whenever you''re ready," he said, motioning for Marcus to begin. Marcus didn''t hesitate. He launched forward with a series of clean strikes, his technique clearly refined by years of training. But Instructor Emberforge didn''t counter immediately. Instead, he blocked and dodged with ease, letting Marcus press the attack while studying his movements. "Good form," he remarked, stepping back to avoid a strike. "But predictable. You''ve been taught to fight by the book. That''s not going to work here." Marcus frowned but adjusted his approach, trying to incorporate feints into his attacks. Instructor Emberforge dragged the match out, testing the boy''s endurance and forcing him to adapt. When Marcus finally began to slow, his punches losing their sharpness, he moved in. In one swift motion, he caught Marcus''s arm, twisted him off balance, and swept his legs out from under him. Marcus hit the ground with a grunt, his face flushed from effort and embarrassment. Instructor Emberforge offered him a hand, pulling him to his feet. "You''ve got potential," he said, "But you''re too reliant on what you''ve been taught. Learn to think for yourself." Marcus nodded tightly, his confidence clearly shaken as he returned to the line. Instructor Emberforge¡¯s sharp gaze swept over the students again before settling on another figure. "Livia Ironhart." The brunette haired girl stepped forward, her solid frame radiating strength. Livia was built like a brawler, her shoulders broad and her posture sturdy. She had been one of the few who powered through the obstacle course with brute force. When the match began, Livia charged at Instructor Emberforge with raw aggression, her strikes powerful but unrefined. He met her strength head-on, blocking her blows with minimal effort. "Strong," he said as he parried a particularly heavy punch. "But you''re wasting energy. Every strike should serve a purpose." Livia growled in frustration, throwing a wild kick that he easily dodged. He didn''t counter immediately, instead circling her and forcing her to keep attacking. The match stretched on as Livia''s stamina began to wane, her strikes becoming slower and less precise. Finally, he ended the match with a swift takedown, pinning Livia''s arm behind her back. She gritted her teeth but didn''t cry out, her pride refusing to let her show weakness. "Not bad," he said as he released her. "You''ve got strength, but you need control. Work on your precision." Livia nodded silently, her jaw tight as she returned to the line. The next student he called was Seth Valen. Atlas immediately recognized the boy with dark brown hair and an easygoing smile, the one who had encouraged him during breakfast. Seth entered the ring with a relaxed confidence, his stance loose but balanced. Instructor Emberforge raised an eyebrow. "You look comfortable. Let''s see if you''ve got the skills to back it up." Seth grinned, his tone light. "I''ll try not to disappoint, Sir." The match began, and Seth moved with surprising agility. His strikes were quick and well-aimed, and he had a knack for dodging counters with just enough room to spare. "Not bad," instructor Emberforge said as he deflected a punch. "You''re quick on your feet. But you''re holding back. Don''t be afraid to commit." Seth nodded, his expression growing more serious as he pressed the attack. Again Instructor Emberforge allowed the match to stretch on, testing Seth''s endurance and forcing him to push past his limits. When the boy finally began to tire, he ended the fight with a quick sweep that sent Seth sprawling. "You''ve got potential," he said, helping Seth to his feet. "But you need to trust yourself more. Hesitation will get you killed." Seth flashed a lopsided grin as he returned to the line, clearly exhausted but not discouraged. The matches continued, each one revealing the students'' strengths and weaknesses. Instructor Emberforge¡¯s approach changed with each opponent, pushing them just far enough to expose their flaws. Atlas watched closely, his nerves growing with each passing fight. When he finally called his name, "Atlas" his stomach twisted, but he stepped forward anyway. As he entered the ring, he noticed the way the other students'' eyes followed him. His golden eyes made him stand out in the group, a stark contrast to the darker features of most of the students. He tried to ignore the stares, focusing instead on his Instructor, who was watching him intently. "Come," he said, "Show me why the Feynir were so feared." Atlas nodded, taking a deep breath as he dropped into a stance that felt natural to him, low and balanced, his hands raised defensively. The fight began, and Atlas moved first, launching a quick jab. Instructor Emberforge dodged easily, his movements almost lazy. Atlas pressed forward, throwing a combination of punches and kicks, but each one was deflected or avoided with minimal effort. "Good instincts," he said as he parried another strike. "But you''re rushing. Slow down and think." Atlas adjusted his approach, trying to anticipate his movements. He managed to land a glancing blow on the instructor''s shoulder, a small victory that filled him with a fleeting sense of pride. But instructor Emberforge quickly regained control, testing Atlas with feints and counters that forced him to adapt on the fly. The match dragged on longer than Atlas expected. Instructor Emberforge didn''t end it quickly, instead pushing Atlas to his limits. By the time the instructor finally swept his legs out from under him, Atlas was panting heavily, his body trembling from exertion. "Not bad," Instructor Emberforge said, offering a hand to pull him up. "You''ve got potential, but you''re raw, it¡¯s obvious you¡¯ve had no training. We¡¯ll work on your foundation, and you''ll go far." Atlas nodded, his chest tightening with a mix of frustration and determination. As he returned to the line, he could feel the weight of the other students'' stares. He ignored them, his mind focused on one thought. I''ll get stronger. I have to. Instructor Emberforge¡¯s voice called out the next name, and the matches continued. Atlas watched, his body sore and his old wounds slightly aching but his resolve unshaken.