The kick of an arcanist was not something a normal human could endure.
Even though the man had clearly held back, to a frail mortal child like Adrian, it was devastating.
He felt his ribs tremble under the force. The air was driven out of his lungs before he could even cry out. His small body was flung several meters back, crashing into the rocky wall of the cave they were in.
A sharp pain exploded across his stomach. He gasped, a hoarse, broken sound escaping his lips as he fell to the ground.
The world spun. His vision was a blur of gray and brown. His head throbbed violently as the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He coughed, spitting crimson onto the dirt floor.
His breathing was ragged. Each inhale felt like a blade scraping his throat.
He wanted to sleep.
He wanted food.
He wanted water.
But these weren't wants anymore. These were needs—desperate, primal needs. His body screamed for them, but the pain was too much. Every small movement sent sharp jolts through his stomach.
His consciousness flickered. Darkness crept at the edge of his vision, beckoning him to let go.
But he didn't.
He couldn't.
Not when his mother still lay behind him, unmoving.
Summoning what little strength he had left, Adrian pressed his trembling hands against the cold ground and began to crawl. His nails dug into the dirt. Each movement left behind a streak of blood, sweat, and saliva.
He dragged himself toward the arcanist. Inch by inch.
The man was already turning away, his long coat swaying gently. He seemed ready to leave.
Adrian's body refused to stop. His will alone carried him forward.
When he finally reached the arcanist's boots, he couldn't lift his head. His forehead pressed against the ground as his small frame shook with sobs.
"P… please," he whispered weakly, his voice trembling. "H… help my mother… I'll do anything you want… just help her… please…" The words were broken and barely audible.
The arcanist's shadow loomed over him. For a long moment, there was silence—only the faint sound of Adrian's labored breathing.
Then the man turned.
He crouched down and grabbed Adrian by the hair, lifting him effortlessly. The sudden motion forced another cry from Adrian as his legs dangled helplessly.
The arcanist looked at him closely. His eyes were sharp, emotionless, but there was a faint glint of interest there.
"Anything, you say?" the man repeated slowly, his tone calm, almost indifferent.
Adrian's eyes were wide and glassy, but he managed to nod.
"Yes… anything…" The arcanist's lips curved faintly—not quite a smile, not quite mockery.
"Well then," he said quietly, "I suppose I can make use of you." Before Adrian could respond, a sharp pain struck the back of his neck. His body went limp, and the world faded to black.
--- When Adrian opened his eyes again, the first thing he noticed was the smell.
It wasn't blood or smoke or decay—it was bread. Warm, soft bread.
He blinked several times before his vision cleared. He was lying on a wooden bed in a small, poorly lit room. The walls were cracked, the air slightly damp, but compared to what he had seen before, it was heaven.
He sat up slowly. His body ached, but his stomach was wrapped in clean bandages.
Through the open door, he could hear the faint chatter of children. Laughter. Footsteps.
An orphanage.
And then he remembered everything—the cave, the arcanist, his mother.
His heart pounded as he stumbled out of bed. He ignored the pain in his body as he rushed outside.
The sight that greeted him froze him in place.
There, sitting by the window, was his mother.
Her wounds were gone. Her skin was pale but whole. Her breathing was steady.
But her eyes… Her eyes were empty.
She stared out at nothing, her lips slightly parted, her hands motionless on her lap. There was no recognition in her gaze. No warmth. No life.
"Mama…" Adrian whispered.
She didn't respond.
He moved closer and gently shook her shoulder. Still nothing. She didn't even blink.
Tears welled up in his eyes. He didn't understand what was happening. His mother was alive, but something in her was missing—something important.
The arcanist's voice echoed behind him.
you can see, I kept my word. She's alive." Adrian turned. The man stood by the doorway, his expression unreadable.
"She won't die. She'll be fed, kept warm, and cared for. But her mind… well, it seems her soul couldn't handle the strain." Adrian's lips trembled. "What did you do to her…?" "I healed her," the arcanist replied simply. "But life always demands a price." He walked forward, stopping just a few feet away. His tone was casual, almost gentle.
"In exchange, you'll be of use to me. I have work—experiments, research—that requires a certain… compatibility. And you, boy, might just be the right fit." Adrian didn't understand what that meant. But he didn't argue.
If it meant his mother would live, he would do anything.
He nodded. "I'll do it." "Good." From that day forward, Adrian's life changed.
He stayed at the orphanage the arcanist managed—a place where abandoned children were gathered and raised under the guise of charity. In truth, it was a place for experimentation.
Adrian never knew the details of what the man was doing. He only knew that he was often called to strange rooms filled with odd instruments, glowing crystals, and runes carved into the walls.
Sometimes it hurt. Sometimes it didn't.
But he endured.
Years passed this way.
He grew older. The pain became routine. The experiments became part of life.
He learned to suppress his fear, to swallow his anger.
His mother remained the same—alive but unresponsive. Adrian visited her every day, speaking to her even though she never replied.
For a while, life was… bearable. Not good, not bad. Just bearable.
But as the saying goes—nothing lasts forever.
And one day, disaster struck.