Harrison Ricodons Wells, or H.R. as he would later be known, stood at the edge of the cliff overlooking a sprawling, dense jungle. His dark figure was tall and imposing, casting a shadow against the dim twilight. Yet, to those who knew him, he was nothing more than a whisper of failure. The man who bore the weight of ridicule and scorn from his earliest years.
At just fifteen years old, Harrison had stood before the magical strength beacon, trembling with anticipation. The stone tower, ancient and glowing with golden runes, was the ultimate arbiter of a person's potential. Legends spoke of how the strongest knights, mages, and rulers once stood where he now did, their spirits alight with hope and destiny.
But not him.
When Harrison pressed his palm against the cold surface, the runes flickered faintly before dying out entirely. A murmur swept through the crowd. A quiet, cruel laugh escaped from a noble child's lips.
"E-rank? He's even weaker than the apprentices," someone jeered.
The beacon, known for its precision, delivered a verdict that day which would haunt Harrison's soul: the weakest ranking possible. No strength, no promise, no worth.
He didn't cry as they laughed, but something inside him shattered. From that day forward, Harrison poured himself into endless training. Sleepless nights, battered fists, and bruised ribs became his reality. He would become stronger, he told himself, stronger than anyone could imagine. Yet, year after year, no matter how hard he tried, his body refused to change.
By the time he was twenty-six, he had retreated to the unforgiving jungle outside the city's borders, far away from the sneers of society. This jungle was no place for the weak; it was a territory where even the lowest ranked creatures could overpower him. Yet he trained here, hoping the wilderness would yield some thing anything that the gods had denied him in his youth.
But even here, he wasn't safe from humiliation.
"You? Training here?!" A sharp, mocking voice broke the stillness of the jungle one afternoon.
Harrison turned to see the prince of the realm, a young man who radiated effortless power. Clad in golden armor that seemed to glow in the sunlight, the prince stood amidst the mangled corpses of monsters he had felled with ease.
"This is a place for warriors," the prince sneered, his blade dripping with ichor. "Not for someone who couldn't even move the beacon's magic needle."
Harrison said nothing, his gaze fixed on the dirt beneath his boots.
The prince laughed cruelly, tossing his flawless hair over his shoulder. "You'll die out here, you know. No one will remember you." With that, he walked away, his triumphant aura dimming the exceptionally light of the jungle. Harrison clenched his fists as the prince's figure disappeared into the distance. Despite everything, he refused to give up. Deep within, he still believed in the possibility of a miracle gift from the heavens that would one day make up for his years of suffering.
The days passed in solitude until, on a fateful morning, the sun burned crimson against the horizon, bathing the jungle in an eerie, otherworldly glow. It was then that Harrison saw her: a girl in a tattered red cloak. Her fiery hair cascaded down her shoulders, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and defiance.
"Who are you?" Harrison's voice was rough, weary.
She didn't answer at once. Instead, she clutched her hands together as if summoning the courage to speak.
"I'm... no one. Just someone left behind."
Her words struck a chord within him, and for the first time in years, he felt a flicker of something besides self-loathing: curiosity, perhaps even purpose.