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Adrian lived in what people in the town called an orphanage.
But in truth, it wasn't one.
It was just a group of children—homeless, parentless, starving—living together, sharing what little they had and trying to survive day by day. There were no caretakers, no adults, no guidance. Just fear and hunger.
In this world, if you weren't an arcanist, you practically didn't have human rights.
You were livestock—property.
Those born without talent, without mana, were destined to live at the bottom, serving those above them until the day they died.
Adrian knew this from a very young age.
He wasn't born in that town. He and his mother had come there after an exhausting journey as slaves. They were part of a caravan owned by a noble who traded people like cattle.
His mother was gentle and beautiful even as a slave, her spirit unbroken despite years of humiliation and exhaustion. She often told him stories of freedom—of cities where people could live without chains. Of lands where the skies were clear and the wind was kind.
But those were just dreams.
Reality was crueler.
One night, their caravan was attacked by a corrupted creature. The guards—arcanists assigned to protect the slaves—were the first to fall.
Chaos erupted. The air burned, and the ground trembled. People screamed as the corrupted creature tore through the convoy. The slaves tried to run, but most didn't make it far.
Adrian remembered the smell of blood and the sound of his mother's scream.
When the sun rose, the caravan was nothing but a field of corpses.
His mother was among the few who still breathed, but she was in terrible condition. Her body was covered in wounds, her breathing shallow and weak.
Adrian himself had only minor injuries—scratches, bruises, nothing life-threatening.
He didn't abandon her. He couldn't.
He spent hours trying to stabilize her condition. He used torn fabric as bandages, fetched what little water he could find, and stayed by her side through the night.
When morning came, he tied pieces of rope and cloth together to make something resembling a sling. Then, with trembling arms, he hoisted his mother onto his back.
She was heavy. His body screamed in pain with every step. But he kept walking.
He didn't know where he was going—he just walked. Searching for a town, a village, a camp, even a cave. Anything that could serve as shelter.
The days that followed blurred together.
He was hungry. His lips were dry. His body was covered in cuts and dirt.
At night, when the cold wind bit into his bones, he pressed closer to his mother, afraid she would stop breathing if he let go.
But he could feel her warmth fading.
And then, dark thoughts began to creep in.
Should I leave her?
The thought came uninvited, soft at first.
Yes, I should abandon her…
He tried to suppress it, but it returned. Stronger.
It would be a shame if both of us died. At least I should survive… at least I should carry on our bloodline…
Each time those words appeared in his mind, guilt followed like a shadow.
He hated himself for thinking that way, but he couldn't stop it. His body was nearing its limit, and his mind was breaking. Self-preservation—something buried deep in every living being—was beginning to take over.
By the fifth day, his vision blurred. His legs trembled with every step.
He wasn't sure if his mother was still alive.
But then, he saw something.
At first, he thought it was a hallucination. A figure in the distance—walking calmly through the plains, the faint glow of mana surrounding him.
An arcanist.
Adrian's heart pounded. Hope and fear clashed inside him.
He called out, his voice hoarse and weak. "Sir! Help! Please help!"
The figure turned slightly.
The arcanist was a tall man dressed in travel gear, his robe faintly tattered. His face was cold and distant. His eyes met Adrian's for only a moment.
Adrian thought he saw pity there—but it disappeared just as quickly.
The man looked away. He turned, clearly intending to leave.
Adrian froze. His throat tightened. His hands shook.
"No… please…" he whispered.
When the man took another step away, something inside Adrian broke.
His body moved on its own.
He stumbled forward, dragging his mother's limp body behind him. When he finally reached the arcanist, he collapsed at his feet, his small hands clutching the man's legs.
"Please save my mother…" he begged, his voice cracking as tears streamed down his face. "You can leave me here, I don't care, but please—help her. She's dying. Please… I'm begging you, even if it's just to stop the bleeding…"
He couldn't stop talking. The words tumbled out uncontrollably.
"Please… please, sir… she doesn't have long, if you—if you could just…"
His voice trailed off as the arcanist looked down at him.
There was no emotion in the man's eyes.
Adrian's grip tightened around his legs, tears and snot mixing on his face as he continued to beg.
"Please save her… she's all I have… I—"
The words were cut short.
A heavy boot struck his stomach.
The kick landed with a dull thud, and all the air left Adrian's lungs. His small body flew back and hit the ground hard.
For a moment, the world spun.
His vision blurred. He couldn't breathe. The pain in his chest was sharp and suffocating.
Through his hazy sight, he saw the arcanist glance at him one last time.
Adrian's trembling hand reached out weakly. His fingers brushed against the dirt.
"Mama…" he whispered.
The sound of rain began to fall, drop by drop, as the boy lay beside his unconscious mother—his tears mixing with the mud.
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