Rain fell in soft sheets, soaking the muddy alleyways of Aetherhold. A rotting city pressed between mountains and clouds, where nobles lived high in gold-lined towers while the poor fought rats for food below.
Kael didn't even fight anymore.
His ribs showed through his skin, and his clothes were more thread than fabric. He sat curled beneath a half-broken archway, one boot missing, the other tied together with twine. His hands were blistered from labor he was too weak to finish, his stomach hollow with days of hunger.
A broken broom rested beside him. His last job had been at the Church of Light—sweeping its steps. A single silver coin a week. They had thrown him out yesterday, claiming he was "too slow."
Now he had nothing.
No family. No home. No magic. No strength.
Not even a name worth remembering. Kael, the orphans used to chant, the useless one!
He drew his knees closer, shivering. The rain was getting colder, like the city wanted to freeze him out of existence. He wondered if dying hurt. Maybe it was like sleep—slow and quiet.
But the world wasn't done mocking him yet.
Footsteps echoed in the alley.
Three figures stepped into the light of the flickering streetlamp: boys, not much older than him. Ragged, dirty, eyes sunken from hunger—like wolves forced to eat their own kind.
Kael recognized them. Orphans too. But mean ones.
"Look what we've got here," the tallest one said, cracking his knuckles. "The rat still breathes."
Kael didn't move. He didn't have the energy to run.
"Maybe he's hiding food," another sneered, kicking Kael in the ribs.
Kael gasped but said nothing. He had no food.
They kicked again. Laughed. Took the broken broom and beat it across his shoulders. When he collapsed, they spat on him and walked off, bored.
He lay there, broken. Alone. Forgotten.
The rain washed the blood from his face.
Then—
A whisper.
Not from the boys. Not from the wind.
Something… deeper. Colder. Older.
It echoed inside his skull like a bell.
> "Do you wish to live?"
Kael's eyes fluttered open.
"Who's there…?"
No answer.
Just a heartbeat.
> "Do you wish for power?"
His breath caught. The rain had stopped. The air felt thick, like he was underwater.
A mark burned on his chest—hot, searing, like fire made of words. He screamed. His back arched. Light burst from his body—pure white and blinding—and then…
Darkness.
---
He awoke in a field of stars.
No earth. No sky. Just space, stretching forever in all directions. A void filled with swirling lights and distant echoes.
Before him stood a figure—neither man nor woman. A shape of shadow and brilliance. Eyes like dying stars. Cloaked in silence.
"Kael," it said, voice like thunder and whispers.
"You were nothing," it continued, stepping forward. "But I have chosen you."
"Why?" Kael croaked.
"You were discarded. Powerless. Voiceless. But not broken. Not truly. The gods do not see you. But I do."
The figure raised a hand. A black sigil formed in the air—glowing with symbols Kael couldn't understand.
"I offer you a fragment of divinity," the voice said. "Take it, and ascend."
Kael hesitated.
"Why me?"
"Because you were the lowest of the low. And only one who has touched nothingness can wield everything."
The sigil floated toward him. His skin itched. His mind screamed. Every part of him said no—this was madness.
But another part whispered…
You've already lost everything.
Kael reached out.
His hand touched the sigil.
And the world exploded.
---
Pain. Then power.
His body convulsed. His veins glowed white-hot. Bones snapped and reformed. Muscles tore and rebuilt. His mind stretched into places he couldn't name—he felt stars dying, galaxies screaming, time itself breathing.
His soul wasn't human anymore.
He fell—
And landed.
Back in the alley. The rain had stopped. The clouds were gone. Morning light peeked through broken buildings.
Kael sat up slowly.
He wasn't cold.
He wasn't weak.
He wasn't hungry.
His body… was whole.
He stood. Taller than before. Stronger. He could feel it—power humming beneath his skin. Magic. Raw and limitless. He waved a hand and the broken broom floated, reconstructed itself midair, and then burst into golden flame.
He gasped.
What am I now…?
But there wasn't time to wonder.
A scream echoed down the street.
Kael turned.
A young girl—barely ten—ran from a merchant's stall, chased by a large man with a whip.
"Thief!" the man shouted. "Stop her!"
Kael's hands moved without thinking.
The whip froze in midair.
Then unraveled into strands of dust.
The man screamed and stumbled back.
Kael walked forward, eyes glowing faintly.
"Leave her," he said.
The man fell to his knees. "W-what are you…?"
Kael didn't answer.
The girl stared up at him, wide-eyed. "Thank you…"
He gave a small nod.
But behind him—
A sound.
A voice.
> "So… the gods missed one."
Kael spun around.
A man stood at the edge of the alley. Cloaked in black. Eyes like coals. Skin tattooed with divine runes.
"I felt it," the man whispered. "The divine spark. It awakened in you."
Kael stepped back. "Who are you?"
The man smiled. "A Collector. And you, my boy, are not supposed to exist."
Before Kael could speak—
The Collector raised a hand.
The buildings shook.
The sky cracked.
And a spear of light shot down toward Kael's chest.
---
[TO BE CONTINUED]