Chapter 1: Ink and Blood
The city of Velden was a wound stitched by golden carriages and mud-crusted boots.
Ken pulled his cloak tighter against the cold, his battered shoes slapping against wet cobblestone. Around him, the world danced in two colors: silver for the nobles, gray for everyone else.
And Ken? He was gray, through and through.Born with nothing. Promised even less.
He ducked into an alleyway, panting, heart hammering. His satchel was empty again — no food, no coins, just the stubborn weight of dreams that couldn't be eaten.
"Another day, another loss. Nice going, hero." he thought bitterly.
That's when he saw them.
Three boys, faces twisted with the glee of small tyrants, had cornered a kid no older than him. The kid's hands were bleeding. His eyes blazed, though, wild and unbroken.Riven.The troublemaker. The pickpocket. The guy who, rumor had it, once stole a guard captain's lunch right out of his hand.
Ken could've walked away. Should've.
Instead, he stepped forward.(He always did the stupid thing first.)
The bullies noticed him too late.One swing. Two.Ken fought like a starving dog: desperate, scrappy, fast.But desperation is a poor substitute for strength.
By the time the guards arrived, Ken was on the ground, coughing blood, his vision swimming.
"You're an idiot," Riven said, crouching beside him, laughing with something dangerously close to respect. "But... thanks."
Ken coughed and grinned through bloody teeth."Can I have my coin purse back now?"
Riven blinked. Then —"Nope. You snooze, you lose, pal."
Ken snorted weakly, and for the first time in months, the world didn't feel so heavy.
Later, after the healers patched him up (and after Riven convinced a girl named Elysia to sneak him some real healing magic, even though it was against Academy rules), Ken sat outside under the bruised-purple sky.
He stared at his hands. They shook — not from fear, but from something stranger.
Hope.
He had no family name.No title.No destiny written in the stars.
But something was starting.He could feel it, crawling under his skin like ink on a blank page.
A story was being written.And for once... it was his.
Far across the Academy courtyard, hidden in the gold-tinted towers, a boy named Elias Varrin watched him with cold, calculating eyes.
"Pathetic," Elias thought. "But... interesting."
The ink had barely touched the page.The first blood had barely spilled.
But already, the gears of fate were grinding.
And somewhere far beyond the stars, something ancient woke up — stretching in the void, smiling with teeth made of shadow.