After explaining this world, let me talk about myself.
My name is Rain—just Rain. I chose that name myself. People assume I picked it because it sounds gentle or poetic. They're wrong.
I chose the name Rain because I hate the rain.
Most of the time, rain is a weak, miserable drizzle that soaks you slowly, quietly, without strength or purpose. It falls like it doesn't even know what it wants to be.
It reminds me of myself.
But someone once told me that sometimes—rarely—the rain becomes something else.
A storm.
A raging, roaring fury that drowns mountains, carves rivers, and breaks the world open with thunder. Something unstoppable. Something alive.
That's the kind of Rain I want to be.
Not the weak drizzle everyone expects—
but the storm no one sees coming.
I don't have a last name because I don't know who my biological parents are. When I opened my eyes in this world, I was lying in a wooden crib inside a cramped orphanage, wrapped in cheap blankets that smelled faintly of herbs and crap.
The orphanage sits deep in the slums. Nobody there is anybody. We lived in filth while nobles and the King of Ignis enjoyed luxury.
That was my beginning—no memories, no past, no "before." I've lived there ever since.
This year, I turned fourteen. That's the age kids in Okrith start taking their core training seriously. Many prodigies already exist. People say kids my age should show signs of their energy alignment by now.
But I've never felt anything.
No Mana.
No sense of Evocation.
No divine Whisper.
And Aura—the hardest, wildest energy—is far beyond me.
As I said, I live in the Kingdom of Ignis, a smaller kingdom within Okrith. People exaggerate the chaos here. Yes, there are fights and duels, but it's not the endless battlefield outsiders imagine. It's loud, rough, and dangerous—but survivable.
And honestly? The chaos was almost comforting.
Because in a place where everyone fights for power or pride, nobody looks at the nameless orphan hiding in the corner.
No one notices the Rain.
And maybe that's why I'm still alive.