Five thousand year later -
The land of Lumeris had changed in ways even time itself could barely measure.
Five thousand years had passed since the last great war, and from the ashes of kingdoms long forgotten, a new empire had risen.
Its skies glowed with sun, spilling golden light across sprawling castles of black stone and crystal towers that pierced the heavens.
Beneath them, villages thrived, their cobbled streets alive with the chatter of merchants, priests, and soldiers sworn to eternal loyalty.
But in the distance, beyond the laughter of the markets, narrow alleys twisted into shadows.
And there—where peace ended and silence ruled—cruelty thrived.
"You rubbish slave!" a harsh voice echoed, followed by the sting of a slap across my cheek.
"You can't even handle a small task. I told you to stay silent!"
The whip lashed against my back, tearing through my thin shirt.
My knees buckled, and I bit down on a cry.
"S-sorry, master," I begged, trembling. "I won't do it again. Please… forgive me."
"Forgive you?" His laughter was like broken glass.
Another strike fell. "You piece of filth—you're not even worth forgiveness."
"I will do anything, master! Please, forgive me this time…"
At last, he stopped. His cruel eyes glinted as he leaned closer.
"Fine. Then stand up and collect everything. And remember—don't talk to anyone again.
If you do, I'll make you forget how to talk at all."
"Yes, master…" I whispered, clutching my arms, my body burning with pain as I gathered the scattered goods.
This is me… I thought bitterly. I don't even have a name. I don't have a memory of anyone who ever cared for me. When I first became aware of myself at the age of seven, the only truth I was told was this: I was born a slave of their family.
Maybe I lost hope of freedom long ago. But it reignited the day I learned about the magic stones—stones that every child receives at the age of twelve, stones said to grant the power of magic.
I couldn't use magic like the other children. But maybe, once I received my stone, I would change.
That was the only reason I endured all this torture—to hold onto the fragile hope that someday, my suffering would end.
"Hey, you slowpoke!" my master's voice snapped me back to reality.
"Faster! Or you won't get food today!"
"Yes, master."
I loaded everything and climbed quietly into the carriage.
Hours later, we arrived at the house. For him, it was a home. For me, it was a prison I longed to escape.
"Slave!" he barked again. "Unload the food!"
"Yes, master…"
The winter cold bit into my skin as I carried crate after crate. My breath trembled in the frozen air, my hands stiff and raw.
All I wanted was a little warmth.
When I finally stepped inside, I stretched my hands toward the firewood—only to be shoved aside.
"Move, dumb slave!" A boy, about my age but round-faced and well-fed, glared at me. His clothes were thick and fine. "You almost blocked all the warm air. Know your place."
"Sorry, master," I whispered, lowering my head. "My hands went numb from the cold, so I only wanted to warm myself a little…"
"Huh? That's your excuse? Pathetic." He spat to the side.
"Yes, master," I said quietly, wrapping my arms around myself to keep from shivering.
Just then, a woman approached, her face painted with heavy makeup even in the late night.
She glared at me with open disgust and shoved a plate into my hands.
"Here. This is your food for today."
The plate was icy cold. Just scraps left from the morning—stale, frozen, unwanted.
I didn't want to eat it. But if I refused, I'd have no strength for tomorrow. So I forced myself to chew, each bite numbing my tongue like ice.
If only I knew magic, I thought. I could warm this food, maybe even make my own fire.
But all I could do was sit in the corner, gnawing at frozen scraps, watching them at their grand table. They ate steaming dishes, laughing as though joy was their birthright.
Even at night, I was no better off. I didn't have a proper bed, only a blanket full of holes that barely kept me alive in the cold.
That was my daily life—pain, hunger, and humiliation.
Still, I endured. I survived.
And I clung to a single hope:
That one day, I would receive my stone.
And when that day came, maybe… just maybe… my life would change.
"Please, God… give me a stone like the Ignis Core[1], one that grants the power of fire.
How wonderful it would be to summon flames of my own.
I would breathe fire not to harm, but to chase away this cold that eats me alive.
And then Stuart, my little master of the same age, would beg me to share a spark with him. Please, God, bless me with something—something extraordinary—that can help me escape this hell."....
To be Continued.....
[1] a stone out of 10 different which may grant it user. power connected to fire which can be represented in different way but main features is fire based