Chapter 1: The Boy Without Blessing
The day the fifteen-year-olds converged on the grand town hall for their Grimoire collection, Kai did not attend.
The day the children were baptized by the saints on their day of christening… Kai wasn't there.
In fact, he didn't even know where "there" was supposed to be. He had no mother to whisper the date in his ear, no hazy early memories of her hands, no proof that anyone had ever looked at him with anything warmer than pity or disgust. Love? Warmth? A smile meant just for him? Those were fairy tales for other people.
So he walked the streets—a boy of unknown origin, untouched by the blessings of the Holy Ones, unbound by obligation, purpose, or home. A street urchin in every wretched sense of the word.
"Fire Mage, give it up!!"
The chant drifted from the hall, muffled by stone and celebration. Kai sat a few meters away on the cold cobblestones, scratching at the relentless itch on his left foot. His stomach growled louder than the distant cheers, a hollow drumbeat that had been building for two days. Hunger clawed at his insides like something alive.
He needed food. Now.
He rose on shaky legs and shuffled onward, eyes scanning gutters and alley mouths for scraps—anything. Around the corner, a pack of feral dogs tore into a discarded beaver leg, snarling and ripping. Kai's mouth flooded with saliva. For a heartbeat he envied them. Dogs ate. Dogs survived. Dogs weren't invisible.
He knew better than to approach. They'd make a meal of him next.
He staggered forward, breath ragged, vision blurring at the edges. The world tilted. He wished—silently, fiercely—that something, anything, would collide with him and end it. The wind whipped at his torn shirt, tugging at his matted brown hair.
"Wind Mage!"
The last cheer from the hall echoed in his ears as the cold hit—not the familiar bite of evening chill, but something heavier. Deeper. A blizzard wind that didn't come from the sky but from inside him, threatening to tear him apart.
Reality smeared. The desolate road dissolved into crimson nothingness. Through the haze, he glimpsed swirling shadows that weren't shadows—voids that drank light, shapes that twisted just beyond sight. His body felt weightless, then impossibly heavy. The toil of starvation and endless nothing finally won.
He surrendered. And passed out.
***
"A boy without a holy blessing… how deliciously interesting."
The voice was coarse, like gravel grinding underfoot, yet layered with a thousand whispers that overlapped in his skull—some pleading, some laughing, some screaming.
Kai's eyes snapped open.
He floated in crimson nothingness—an endless expanse without up or down, horizon or stars. The air tasted of rust and forgotten graves.
A looming shadow coalesced before him, vast enough to swallow cities. He wanted to speak, to demand answers, but terror choked the words.
Then She appeared.
Not the shadow. Something else.
A face emerged from the crimson—beautiful in the way a storm is beautiful before it destroys. Snow-white hair cascaded like spilled moonlight, pointed ears sharp as blades. Her smile was the first real one Kai had ever received, soft and knowing, and for a heartbeat something warm flickered in his chest.
"Who… are you?" he managed.
Her smile widened, and in that instant he glimpsed it—a flicker between benevolence and something ancient, ravenous, obscene.
"Why, little one," She purred, voice now a symphony of silk and breaking bones, "I am your soul."
"My soul?" Kai echoed, confusion warring with the growing dread. "How—"
She giggled, a sound like glass shattering underwater, and somersaulted backward through the void. Her form shrank fluidly, tumbling with impossible grace until she hovered at his height—still taller, still radiant, but close enough for him to see the void reflected in her pupils: endless, hungry, pulling.
"Whoa…"
"How did you do that?" he breathed.
"Have you ever heard of the forbidden art?" she asked, ignoring him. Her tone shifted—serious now, smile gone. The warmth vanished like smoke.
"No," Kai whispered.
The smile returned. But this one was different. Wrong. Evil. It stretched too wide, teeth too sharp, eyes promising oblivion wrapped in velvet.
"Well, buckle up, kid," she jested, executing another graceful flip. When she landed, her form had changed—still her silhouette, but coated in writhing shadow, tendrils of darkness leaking from her skin like ink in water. She dissolved into the crimson haze, only to rematerialize gigantic once more, one clawed hand resting thoughtfully on her chin.
"Long ago," she began, "there were many ways to wield power. Grimoires? They were the lowest rung—trash, crutches for the weak who feared their own souls. The highest path was the Soul Art. Direct communion. No intermediaries. No chains."
"Soul Art?" Kai muttered.
She heard. Her smile flashed again.
"Yes. Not everyone could touch it. You had to be chosen."
"By who?"
"By the Primordial Forces, of course." She drifted behind him in a trail of heavy, suffocating wind. Kai spun to follow, heart pounding. He wished she'd stop moving.
"What are the Primordial Forces?"
"That," she said softly, "is for you to discover."
"Finish the story. Please."
"When you've leveled up enough… I will."
"And what are you again?"
"Your soul," she repeated, almost tenderly. "Or what's left of it after the Abyss claims its due."
She cupped his small form in her enormous palms. A sensation like drowning in oil flooded him—cold, yet burning, eroding. Shadows seeped into his skin, whispering promises of power and annihilation. Visions flickered: cities unraveling into nothingness, souls unraveling into threads, his own body decaying while still alive, screaming.
"Welcome to the life of heresy, Kai."
And when he woke, he would be different.
The relic—now fused to his chest like a black, pulsing scar—throbbed once.
Something inside him stirred.
Hungry.