The city awoke before the sun, with the cathedral bells marking the first hours of the day, the mist still embracing the mostly empty streets and the sky brightening to welcome a new dawn.
This was the hour when most began to leave their homes—merchants starting to open their shops, adventurers waiting for the daylight to begin their journeys, guards changing shifts, whether to patrol, stand at the city gates, or man the walls.
Everything followed its usual routine… Everything, except him.
He was sitting on the edge of a dry fountain, his elbows resting on his bony knees. His dark, long, unkempt hair almost completely covered his face. It wasn't an aesthetic choice; he had simply stopped caring about how he looked. Or maybe he did care, but it was easier to hide.
He was seventeen years old.
In the kingdom, that age already defined a person.
At fifteen, everyone awakened an ability. It was an unwritten law as natural as rain or winter. It didn't matter if you were the son of a noble or a baker—something inside you activated, an invisible mark of destiny.
Children awaited that day the way others awaited their birthdays. Families celebrated, and some cried with pride.
He remembered his own. He had waited until dawn, sitting in the same posture he was in now, feeling each heartbeat as if it were the announcement of something grand. He had waited for what would happen, what he would obtain, what he would feel upon gaining an ability and what he could achieve with it. He waited but… Nothing happened.
"Maybe it's just delayed," they told him.
He waited seconds.
Minutes.
Hours.
And then days passed.
Nothing ever came.
People found out. Word of mouth spread, and quickly the entire city knew of his unique case. The only person who had failed to awaken any ability at all—not even a useless one.
He received a great deal of attention during that time. Many mages had come to examine his case, powerful individuals who rarely left their towers came to see him, and they all reached a single conclusion.
That he was possibly cursed, that some god or something had cursed him so that he would never awaken an ability and live without any opportunity.
That led to their disinterest, and they left.
The word began to follow him through the streets like a whisper that never fell silent.
"Empty."
"Defective."
"Cursed."
"The one abandoned by the gods."
There were no physical blows; they weren't necessary. The critical stares, the disdain, the pity, the pride dissected him without touching him.
They judged him without listening to him.
They condemned him for something he did not do and over which he had no power.
He rose from the fountain when the sun fully emerged. With only a small bag of hard bread and a half-empty canteen, he looked toward the northern wall, toward the forest specifically.
The Forest of Aavel stretched beyond the fields like a dark stain that no one could erase. The stories said that demonic beasts there were as common as salt in the sea, a place that adventurers ignored as if it did not exist—not because it was something they could handle at their leisure and whim at any moment.
But because of the undeniable danger within the forest. Once inside, it was impossible to leave unscathed. Many who tried did not even come out alive, and those who did left the life of adventurers behind to live something more ordinary, traumatized beyond measure, never again having the courage to explore other places.
There were also those who emerged with treasures in their hands—an egg of a rare beast, blessed weapons, powerful techniques.
All of them paid a price for their treasures, and the number of people who came out alive and rewarded for their effort and sacrifice could be counted on one hand.
For someone who had nothing… the risk was beginning to look like an opportunity. Only in risk and danger can you strengthen yourself to a demonic level. That was what the mages who trained in towers or fought other mages said, what knights and adventurers who risked their lives daily claimed. For someone like him, without power, without food, without anyone, the only opportunity to survive in a world where the powerful devoured the weak was to risk the only thing that belonged to him. His life.
"If I stay," he murmured. "I rot."
He said goodbye to no one.
Because no one was waiting for him.
....
The path toward the forest was long and silent. As he moved away from the city, the sound of daily life became a distant memory. The air changed—more humid and cold.
When he crossed the line of trees, he felt something strange.
As if he were entering a place that breathed. The trunks were thick, twisted, with roots protruding like fingers trying to grasp something beneath the earth. The light barely pierced the canopy of dark leaves. The ground was covered in thick moss and dead leaves that muffled his steps.
He swallowed.
He could still turn back.
He was still in time.
But then he remembered the baker's face refusing him work without even looking at him, the judging stares of everyone as if they had a right over him. The feeling of being at the mercy of others, when those mages had come and examined his body, extracting his blood, injecting magic into him like he was a test subject.
The sensation of being the only mistake in a world that functioned perfectly.
He moved forward.
The forest was disturbingly silent. There was no birdsong. No insects.
Only his breathing.
And then...
A crack.
He froze.
The sound was slow, heavy, as if something large had placed its weight upon a thick branch. It wasn't the wind.
He felt cold sweat run down his back.
He barely turned his head.
Two eyes watched him from the gloom.
They were not normal animal eyes. They were too fixed. Too aware.
The creature emerged.
It was larger than a wolf, but its form was… wrong. Its front legs were disproportionate, with long, curved claws. The skin, where there was no fur, seemed hardened, like bark. And its snout opened to reveal irregular teeth, as if they had grown without order.
His heart exploded in his chest.
He had no weapon.
He had no ability.
He had nothing.
The beast took a step forward.
He stepped back.
Then he ran.
The forest stopped being scenery and became an obstacle. Branches struck his face. Roots tried to make him stumble. His lungs burned almost immediately; his body had never been strong.
Behind him, the footsteps were constant. Heavy. Patient.
It was not hunting him on impulse.
It was pursuing him with certainty.
—No…! —he gasped.
He tripped, fell to his knees, his palm scraping against a hidden stone. The pain was sharp, but the fear was greater. He rose without looking back.
The feeling of oppression returned, like that time before, but this time there was a sensation—too familiar with it. That feeling that embraced his whole being when he tried to sleep. That abyss and emptiness that wanted to drag him but never did, as if it were playing with him each time.
He did not want to feel it.
But there it was again. This time it felt as if it truly would take him.
'I don't want to die like this.' he told himself, his thoughts racing, his body forcing itself beyond anything it had ever endured in his life, every part burning, his mind blurring from the effort, the lack of oxygen, his lungs striking his ribs, his heart pumping so fast it could explode. And even so.
He ran more.
The forest suddenly opened, as if it had been cut by an invisible hand.
A clearing.
And in the center, a lake.
The water was completely black. It did not reflect the sky. It did not reflect the trees. It was like looking into a liquid void.
He stopped abruptly at the shore.
Behind him, the beast emerged from the forest.
This time it did roar.
The sound pierced his chest.
He looked at the lake.
He looked at the creature.
He did not know how to swim well.
He did not know if that lake had a bottom.
He did not know anything.
But he did know what would happen if he stayed.
He closed his eyes.
He jumped.
….
The cold struck him like a hammer.
The water was denser than normal, as if it had weight of its own. He tried to move his arms, but every movement felt slowed. He was sinking.
He opened his eyes underwater.
Darkness.
He could not see the surface.
He could not see the bottom.
His chest burned.
He tried to swim upward, but his limbs were weak, clumsy. The air was running out.
And then, in that absolute silence, he stopped struggling.
His body relaxed.
The desperation became something calmer.
'Maybe… it's fine.' he thought, he would not struggle anymore, he was tired. Whatever was searching for him, he would accept it, no more running. This sensation clung to him more than any person had ever given him anything. And now he would simply accept it.
Ghhgs
His bitter laugh drowned, and his body descended deeper into the water.
'If there is another life…' The last thread of air escaped his lips. 'I would never again allow anyone to judge me, to have any right over me, and even less that someone would prevent me from anything, or even touch me.'
…
Then.
Something responded.
It was not a voice.
It was not a sound.
It was a sensation.
A faint warmth at the center of his chest. First tiny. Then growing.
His body began to emit a soft light.
Silver.
And a screen appeared before him, the same silver light and text upon it.
[********** Has Blessed You].