It Was With You...
Aqualis City, Northern Area
In a half-collapsed hut, a little boy gazed at a scene before him with eyes full of fear and helplessness. His dark, brownish eyes, short black hair, and pale skin gave him a fragile appearance. He was noticeably skinny for his age.
Virelith watched silently as his parents argued once again. He was only about five years old. This was a familiar scene—nearly every day, he witnessed his parents fighting.
The Next Morning:
He wore a simple grey shirt and worn-out trousers. Taking a half-dried bun wrapped in a rough jute cloth—his breakfast, handed to him by his mother—he prepared to leave.
"I'm going, Mom," Virelith said, then ran out of the broken hut. After running for a few minutes, he arrived at a temple.
The temple's walls were ancient, their once-white color faded into a dull grey. In the backyard, a saint was speaking to several children around Virelith's age. The saint looked quite old, with a long, greyish beard and a bald head. Despite his age, his posture remained upright like a young man's, though he held a wooden staff in his hands, giving the illusion that he needed it to support his back.
He was known as the White-Bearded Saint, the head of the ancient, white-stoned temple.
This world was filled with divine and demonic power, collectively known as magic. It was categorized into two types: divine magic and dark magic.
Most children from the slums, born into poverty, couldn't afford to attend a magic academy or learn under a master. Out of kindness, the saint taught basic magic to the children each day.
Virelith, however, was never interested in magic. All he longed for was a peaceful life—free from misery. But he understood that if he became a mage, he could lead a stable, ordinary life.
"Today, I shall teach you a magic spell," the saint announced. The children became visibly excited; it was their first time witnessing a real spell.
The saint continued, "To cast magic, you must possess a magic core within you. Every magical being in this world has their own core. Without one, you cannot perform magic."
At this revelation, the spark in the children's eyes dimmed. This world was home to many races—humans were just one of them. Moreover, the human race was divided further into bloodlines. According to legend, when the Dragon God created the world, he bestowed his bloodline upon every living creature, granting them the ability to use magic. Anyone who inherited this bloodline could develop a magic core. The purer the bloodline, the greater the magical potential.
But, of course, everyone knew—how could slum-dwellers possibly possess such a bloodline?
The saint smiled gently. "Let me examine whether any of you possess the talent to form a magic core."
He grasped the wrist of the child in front of him, closed his eyes with a focused expression, then opened them after ten seconds.
"FAIL. You do not have the talent to become a mage."
He continued down the line.
"FAIL."
"FAIL."
"FAIL."
Eventually, he reached a small girl. Her hair was naturally white but now matted with dirt, appearing almost ash-grey. Her grey eyes mirrored those of Virelith.
The saint opened his eyes in surprise.
"You… you already possess a magic core. Although it is extremely weak—barely at the first layer—it is indeed a genuine magic core. Good child, go sit over there," he said, pointing toward the marble floor of the temple.
He continued testing the remaining children.
"FAIL."
"FAIL."
"Hmm?... This child is unusual."
He studied the boy before him—Virelith.
"You… you have some strange energy within you. It is not mana… nor is it dark mana. FAIL."
Only the white-haired girl had passed the qualification. The saint, out of pity, offered encouraging words to the rest.
"Do not be disheartened, my children. Even without talent for magic, you may become swordsmen. A fortunate few might even rise to become knights."
But the words felt hollow. What chance did a peasant with a sword have against a mage?
Virelith returned home, disheartened. He lay down on an old mattress and closed his eyes.
But something felt... off.
He opened his eyes—and found that he was no longer in his room.
To be continued...
- The Phoenix