Morning cracked through the narrow window like a fragile promise. The first rays of sun filtered in weakly, caught in the swirling dust motes that hung in the stale air of Qin Shui's small room. The city of Lumeria roused outside, alive and indifferent—the distant clatter of machinery mixing with the faint hum of floating vehicles and the chatter of merchants opening their stalls.
Qin Shui sat up on his mattress, muscles stiff, mind still tangled in the echoes of the orb's whispers. His fingers absently traced the worn fabric of his clothes—threadbare, patched, and far from the sleek uniforms or glowing attire worn by most children in the bustling city.
He glanced at the small pouch hidden beneath his pillow, where the orb rested—now dim and dormant but unmistakably alive to him.
"No one knew," he thought bitterly. "Not a soul. It's mine alone."
His mother's voice called again from the other room, sharp but laced with exhaustion.
"Qin Shui! Breakfast is scarce, eat fast! Don't be late for work!"
The boy stood, stretching slowly as the dull ache in his limbs reminded him of yesterday's labor. His life was a far cry from the wonders threading through Lumeria's spires and floating gardens. Here, in the forgotten district, the streets were cramped and grime-streaked; the only magic was the desperate will to survive.
At the factory gates, the crowd pushed and pressed—a river of worn faces and tired bodies. The place buzzed with the ceaseless churn of machinery and the occasional sparks of crooked energy coils. Qin Shui's job was to assemble delicate components—tiny parts that could one day power a magical device or interface chip.
He moved through the motions, mind half-lost in the fragments of the orb's cryptic message. Power comes with sacrifice… knowledge first.
As he worked, a small flicker of heat bloomed in his palm. His heart leapt, but the moment passed. No one noticed the passing spark except Qin Shui.
It's starting.
But others paid a cost for their own powers.
Across the factory floor, sleek figures in luminous robes manipulated streams of magic with practiced ease. They glanced at Qin Shui with thinly veiled disdain, whispers rippling like poison.
"You'll never go beyond this," someone muttered.
The words stung, but Qin Shui quieted the bite with a steady breath.
I don't belong here. Not yet.
That night, as the city pulsed with neon and arcane colors, Qin Shui crept back to the ruins. The orb's glow had faded to nearly nothing, but when he touched it, a faint vibration stirred.
This time, the glyphs appeared again—dancing symbols that seemed to move with a secret rhythm. He focused, trying to memorize the shapes, feeling the strange language tease the corners of his mind.
Suddenly, a shard of light punched through the darkness—a flash brighter than the orb itself.
The voice returned, softer this time, like a breath in his chest.
"The path begins with balance. Magic and flesh, mind and machine. One without the other is incomplete."
Qin Shui staggered back, heart pounding. The words were a puzzle, a riddle wrapped in shadow.
But he knew one thing:
The world he thought he understood was only a surface.
And beneath it, something vast, terrible, and beautiful waited.
For power, for truth, for the life stolen from him—Qin Shui would walk the path no one dared.