Chapter 2
Baran's hands were soaked in blood.
But they didn't tremble.
He just kept walking.
Guards were shouting—some trying to flee, others waiting for orders.
But Baran was no longer a boy who followed commands.
He was a catastrophe walking through flame.
He couldn't control his power.
But he didn't want to.
Rage was his compass.
He began attacking the guards.
The moment one of them drew a sword, the heat around Baran exploded.
His mana's fire warped the air, cracked the ground.
The flames didn't dance — they devoured.
Down to the bone.
As the guards collapsed in screaming agony, Baran walked on.
Expressionless.
As if he wasn't even aware of what he had done.
He walked toward the gate.
With every step, the doors opened on their own.
Metal bent in his heat, hinges creaked, chains melted.
The moon...
It had turned a deep crimson,
As if even the sky approved of his fury.
Ash drifted through the air, blurring the scene,
Turning Baran into a living shadow.
People fell to their knees —
Slaves, guards, the helpless...
All begged for mercy.
But Baran didn't hear.
He didn't care.
And then… he killed.
One by one.
Quietly.
The kneeling, the running, the pleading…
He spared none.
Because Baran was no longer a child.
He had become the embodiment of pain, fury, and vengeance.
As he walked through the fire, only one truth burned in his mind:
> "This world gave me chains…
I will give them ashes."
(There is a brutal divide between those with mana and those without. A single mage is worth a hundred soldiers. Everyone Baran killed… were just ordinary people.)
Baran's steps dragged.
His body could barely carry him.
The mana once blazing inside him… had flickered out.
Each step was a scream.
He had escaped Kanağan Pit,
But the chains still clung to his soul.
His muscles shook, his wounds burned,
And the scorched mark on his shoulder stung with every breath.
He moved like a ghost, drifting away from the rotting slave camp near Samerra's borders.
On his last step, he fell to his knees.
Then—darkness consumed him.
---
Nightmares...
The moment Baran closed his eyes, his mind was dragged back to old wounds.
At first… joy.
His mother's voice.
A day laughing with his father.
The wind's whistle, the scent of childhood.
Then… it all drowned in fire.
The ruins of a home.
Walls collapsed, the ground ablaze.
Baran squinted and saw his father.
That tall, powerful frame.
But no longer standing strong—
Swords pierced his body, deep gashes marked his back.
Still… he died standing.
Baran couldn't breathe.
His eyes burned.
Then the nightmare twisted again.
His mother.
A rope. A lifeless body dangling like a puppet.
Assassins laughing in silence.
One face stood out, even in the dark.
Baran tried to scream.
No sound came out.
And then… his father's voice.
> "Run, son… Baran… Run!"
Baran's small legs carried him through flames and rubble.
He cried.
Without end.
He couldn't save them.
He ran alone into the darkness,
A frightened child, broken beyond repair.
---
Suddenly, his eyes snapped open.
Cold water was being poured over him.
A hand pressed against his forehead.
Shadows loomed above him.
> "Wake up. If you're alive, say something,"
said an unfamiliar voice.
Baran gasped.
His lungs burned, but he was alive.
As he blinked, the first thing he saw was the tip of a spear.
The second — armor.
Not polished.
Worn from battle.
Cracked, but standing firm.
Samer soldiers.
Powerful mana users — Baran knew this well.
With the tiny scrap of mana left in him, he decided not to resist.
The burns on his arm caught their attention.
His left arm still glowed faintly, the skin blistered and raw.
The marks weren't ordinary.
They bore mana's trace.
The Samers had circled around him.
One of them had sweat beading on his brow.
Another watched Baran silently, never blinking.
> "What's your name, boy?"
"Where did you come from?"
Baran cleared his throat.
Didn't hide the cracks in his voice.
He had to look weak, fragile, innocent.
> "I… I'm a slave," he said.
"I was in Kanağan Pit. There was a fire. Someone came...
He called himself Azrael."
The Samers raised their eyebrows.
Azrael.
> "He did all this?"
"Yes… He rained fire on everyone.
The guards, the slaves… he burned them all."
Baran lowered his eyes.
He spoke lies as if they were truths.
He painted his own brutality as someone else's doing.
He showed them his arm.
> "He attacked me too.
Burned me… as I ran."
One of the Samers knelt, inspecting the burn.
Deep. Uneven.
But clearly magical.
And the boy… was calm. Too calm.
> "Can you feel the mana in it?" someone asked.
Baran shook his head.
> "I feel nothing. My arm…
It's cold. Or maybe it's stone.
Maybe both."
The Samers exchanged looks.
They whispered among themselves.
> "What if he's really the one?"
"A child without mana endurance wouldn't survive a burn like that."
"What if… he is Azrael?"
But Baran… played the part perfectly.
He was tired, weak… convincing.
One of the Samers finally nodded.
> "Take him to Samerra.
Let someone proper examine him.
Maybe he knows more about this Azrael."
And so… Baran walked under the shadow of his own myth.
Carrying a lie like a crown.
---
When Baran finally entered the great gates of Samerra,
he stepped into another world.
This wasn't Lumeran.
Nor was it the formal heart of Ompliyamus.
Samerra was a border city — where rules were flexible, lives moved fast, and borders blurred.
Around him, people from every walk of life moved together:
Armored mercenaries, cloaked mages, barefoot urchins, and strange creatures.
Samerra was a trade inferno on the edge of war.
Its narrow streets echoed with the clatter of business.
Swords, daggers, magic dust, talismans —
Every corner offered something to survive with.
Baran narrowed his eyes.
Amid the chaos, he stood out with his silence.
But his mind… was sharp as a blade.
Soon, the Samer soldiers brought him to their headquarters.
Thick stone walls, disciplined footsteps, training grounds echoing,
And the smell of hot steel.
And there he stood.
Commander Virion.
Tall. Proud.
Silver-trimmed armor on his shoulders.
His face carved with age and strength.
A white mustache like a sculpture.
And eyes — sharp enough to pierce into Baran's soul.
Virion stepped toward him in silence.
Studied him head to toe.
Felt the mana around him.
Small. Weak. But wrapped in a strange vibration.
Dark.
> "Name?" he asked firmly.
Baran lowered his head.
As always — cautious.
> "Baran…"
The commander said nothing for a moment.
Then turned away.
> "Bring a healer."
One of the Samers left the room immediately.
> "This boy…
is not ordinary," Virion said.
"But what he is… will take time to understand."