Plania, the land of the damned, a colossal prison surrounded by the ocean with not much contact with the continents.
Every season here is cruel, but two of them are merciless. Summer heat is infernal, without the blessing of aura it chars the skin effortlessly.
Winter's cold is inhuman, like the touch of death, biting through flesh to freeze bones in minutes, seconds for those sentenced to capital punishment.
Snow blankets Laminar's streets. This is where the condemned rot, and the aura-less, like Raphael who got the capital punishment, are the bottom of the barrel, cast here to fade away.
Raphael walks the snowy, windy streets, his tattered but resilient brown coat trembling against his shivering gaunt frame, his black pants made of wool and creaking boots are all he owns. His stomach growls, a cruel reminder — it's been two days since his last meal, a stale loaf stolen from a reeking dumpster behind a café. His mutilated aura channels throbbed. An invisible scar from a crime he didn't commit.
In front of him two women and a man walk together, they're laughing, "In this hell hole? How can they be laughing, How — ...oh that's right, not everyone has their life as fuc**d up as mine, my sentence is for eternity, but they will be free as long as they survive here"
"I'm delusional, I'm at the bottom, my life is over, how could all of this have happened, I'm innocent, I'm INNOCENT, I... it's over..."
Raphael falls to the snowy ground, his thoughts drifting to the trial that destroyed his life.
On the seventh of July, the day his sentence was given, Raphael's trial in Eternidade's merciless court sealed his fate. His mother's words—"Liar, cursed be the day you were born"—cut deeper than any blade, his sweet and kind mother was no more. His father and siblings glared with anger, disgust, and disappointment, their muffled words drowned by his fading hope. While collapsed on the snow, his mutilated aura channels throb, that day's betrayal fuels his despairing whisper: "I'm innocent..."
His thoughts, heavy as the snow burying him, turn to a single word, "Money." Money to silence his hunger, to escape the cold that makes his bones ache, and maybe just maybe to buy a fleeting chance at freedom from Plania. Unfortunately in Plania, money is a luxury for those without the blessing of aura.
Mustering his strength, Raphael hauls himself up, his creaking boots dragging through Laminar's snowy streets.
At the corner of a market, the scent of fresh bread and grilled meat taunts him. His eyes lock on a stall with 7 people on it where a small burned loaf lies forgotten on a board. In his pocket, he clutches a rusty ten copper plan coin, scavenged from the trash days ago.
"Ten copper plan won't buy a decent loaf, but that one... maybe," he thinks, hesitating.
He steps forward feeling the warmth as he gets closer to the stall, but a voice cuts through.
"Get outta here, low life" The vendor, a burly man in his forties, spits on the ground covered in snow, his contempt evident on his face. "No aura, no bread, do you think I can't see the mark on your neck. Go dig in the trash!"
Raphael swallows his anger, the coin digging into his palm. "Low life, real original." He backs away, shoulders tense, unfortunately for him his anger makes him instinctively try to draw his aura which does not come out, instead a sharp pain akin to stabbing all over his body takes over from his mutilated channels making him stumble, while gritting his teeth he braces himself against an icy wall, his breathing erratic. "Not again," he says through gritting teeth, bracing himself for the seizure awaiting him...
Plania's streets seem to be mocking him.
"Ahah hey Joryn, did you do anything to him?" A man in his thirties asks the owner of the stall while seeing Raphael seizure.
"Me? Against that low life? Nah, he's having a seizure, probably tried to gather his aura, I heard that's what happens to his kind. The runt got mad and couldn't control himself" says the burly man with disdain.
"Serves him right, to get that mark he's no better than a devil" says a middle aged woman with disgust.
While they discuss, time does not stop, two minutes go by and Raphael's seizure seems to have only gotten stronger, attracting the attention of people nearby.
"Hey Leonor, take him out of here, this is not an attraction for people to come and not buy, he's starting to piss me off" says the burly man.
"Right away" Leonor answers with no hesitation while getting closer to Raphael.
"Let's get you out of here" She says as she activates her aura to shield herself from the cold and picks him up from the ground.
Leonor drags Raphael through the snow-dusted street, her aura flaring just enough to keep the cold at bay. The heat from her aura melts the snowflakes before they touch her, leaving a trail of smoke behind with each step she takes.
Raphael's body trembles, the seizure gripping him like a vice, his mutilated aura channels screaming with every pulse. His vision a blur, but he still catches glimpses of Leonor.
Leonor, a redhead woman with a slender and athletic physique, probably in her early twenties , throws him towards an alley. Her stare is firm and cruel, her red eyes scan him intently. "Try to control it, enough time has passed," she mutters, her voice low while looking at his eyes before staring into his neck.
Raphael grits his teeth, the pain in his channels like shards of glass grinding inside him. "I'm... trying" he rasped, teeth gritted against gritted teeth. The seizure began to calm, leaving him weak, his limbs heavy as lead. Leonor props him against a crumbling brick wall in the alley, the cold seeping through his tattered coat.
"Stay put," she says, brushing snow off her leather gloves. Her aura flickers, a faint red glow that vibrates with controlled dexterity. "You're lucky there were too many people watching you or you would no longer be alive."
Raphael's chest heaves as he catches his breath. "Lucky," he spits, the word dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, I'm swimming... in luck, so lucky that perhaps you're here to help me, is that right?"
Leonor raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Keep that attitude, and you'll be dead before spring. You're not the only broken one here, but you're the only one dumb enough to act the way you did."
He glares at her, the copper coin still clenched in his fist. "Didn't mean to. It just... happend."
She snorts, crouching to meet his gaze. "Sure, it just happened... Look, you want advice? Stop dreaming about what you lost. Focus on surviving today because tomorrow's a luxury your kind don't have."
Raphael's jaw tightens. Her words sting, but they're not wrong. For someone like him, survival in Plania is a daily gamble, and he's running out of chips. His eyes drift to the street beyond the alley, where the guards' voices still echo, boasting about their life outside this prison.
Leonor stands, brushing her hands together. "I've got better things to do than babysit you. Don't make me drag you again." She turns to leave, her boots crunching in the snow but she stops in her tracks, looking at Raphael her eyes sharper than ever.
"Before I go answer me this, the mark on your neck typical of your type, what did you do to get it?" Her tone of voice sharp and threatening.
"Tsch not what you're thinking of... nor anything at all to be honest" he says between a self deprecating smile and an angry one.
"Nor anything? If it was true you wouldn't have that mark, you should just say it or are you afraid of what will happen if you tell the truth" she says the anger in her voice more evident.
"So... fucki**... Tired"
"What did you just say?"
"I said tired, fucki** tired, I am tired, tired of everything and most than all of people like you who only believe what they want to hear" Raphael spits those words, anger and bitterness can be felt but different from his words his face shows no emotions.
"So… are you saying the seers read you wrong? And second I already told you that your attitude will get you killed. You should just come out and tell the truth, If I wanted to I could have killed you long ago and you wouldn't be able to do anything but I'm being good enough to give you the benefit of the doubt"
"Your attitude sure changed, kill me and what? Add more years to your sentence?" Raphael says with a smirk.
"Maybe I have my ways." She says with a smirk that does not quite reach the eyes.
"I already told you, I was wrongfully convicted, if you don't believe me then leave me alone" Raphael says tired.
"For a moment I thought about leaving you alone, it's a shame, really," Leonor replies, her eyes sharp.
"Ah ah... Liar, It wouldn't matter what I said, I can see it in your eyes, you want to hurt me in the worst possible ways, I can understand why you hate people with this mark, but im not like the..."
Before Raphael could move to try and defend himself a burst of red aura flared, propelling Lenore forward. Her foot slammed into Raphael's stomach, the force stealing his breath as he flew back, crashing against the alley wall with a sickening bone jarring crunch.
Pain exploded through his chest, his vision blurring as blood trickled from his lips. The cold snow caught him as he crumpled, its cold embrace slowly swallowing his senses.
"Bleurgh" coughing up blood he shot a last look at her, his eyes glowing its true colors, before succumbing to the pain. A single tear traced his cheek, freezing before it could fall.
"Your eyes... forget it, it really was a lie, I was going to kill you either way but... if you survive so be it" She shrugs and walks off, her red aura shielding her from the snow falling as she disappears into the crowd.
The alley fell silent, save for the howling wind and Raphael's ragged breaths. Snow dusted his tattered coat, seeping into his wounds, numbing the pain in exchange of freezing his body. His body trembled, too weak to rise, as the cold tightened its grip on his bones. Darkness crept at the edges of his vision, threatening to claim him.
Crunch. Crunch.
Soft footsteps broke the silence, deliberate and unhurried, cutting through the wind's wail. A figure appeared from the storm, cloaked in a black robe that completely obscured its silhouette. A silver bracelet embroidered in green and red gleamed faintly at their wrist—A memento of a forgotten land. A translucent veil of blue aura shimmered around the figure, flawless and serene, deflecting the winter's bite with effortless grace.
The figure knelt beside Raphael, their face hidden within the robe's depths. A low murmur escaped their lips, words in a tongue Raphael didn't recognize, sharp yet soothing. Their hand touched his forehead, and a spark of green aura flared, followed by a pulse of white light that enveloped him. Warmth flooded his body, dulling the ache in his chest and steadying his faltering heartbeat. His mutilated aura channels throbbed faintly, until it completely stopped.
The figure's gaze, hidden yet piercing, lingered on Raphael, heavy with unspoken judgment. Their voice cut through the storm. "Poor child, your suffering weighs on me. In this cruel world, trust only yourself. Others may offer aid or betrayal, comfort or a blade in the dark—you cannot know their hearts. Stay vigilant, unwavering. Your will is your truth; let no one sway it. Your pain, despair, and fears are yours alone to carry. If Raphael Verdblood is to rise again, carve your own path. Walk it boldly, without hesitation. That is the way of ascension."
Raphael's eyes fluttered open, his breath catching as the warmth lingered in his veins. Fear, intrigue, and a flicker of gratitude churned within him, battling the exhaustion that weighed down his limbs. He propped himself against the icy alley wall, his gaze fixed on the shrouded figure. His voice, hoarse and trembling, broke the silence. "I... I don't know who you are nor how you know my name, but from the bottom of my heart, thank you for saving me." He swallowed, his hand instinctively brushing the mark on his neck, the brand of his lost aura. "Your words—I hear them, but... I can't manipulate aura anymore. It's gone. I'm chained by the brand of treason..."
The robed figure tilted their head, the movement slight but deliberate. "You've fallen so deep in the hole that you still cannot feel it? To see a Verdblood reduced to such a state, how the times have changed. Focus inside you."
Raphael's breath hitched, the stranger's words stirring something deep within him—anger, perhaps, or the remains of hope he thought he'd buried long ago. He wanted to argue, to spit back that Plania offered no paths for the aura-less, only death or degradation. But a strange sensation flickered within him, unfamiliar yet undeniable. His aura channels, silent and scarred for the last six months, hummed faintly, like a dormant ember coaxed to life. His eyes widened, heart pounding as he clutched his chest. The pain was gone—not dulled, but gone. The green spark from the figure's touch had done more than heal his wounds; it had mended what was broken.
"You..." Raphael rasped, his voice trembling with disbelief. "You fixed it. My channels—I can feel them again." He flexed his fingers, expecting the familiar stab of agony, but instead, a faint warmth pulsed beneath his skin, weak as a newborn flame. His aura was at its barest essence—zero, a blank slate—but it was there, ready to be cultivated. Fear and exhilaration battled within him, tempered by the distrust Plania had carved into his soul. "Why? Why help me? How do you know my name, do I know you? Is that your aura skill? And your rank? I haven't heard of anyone with healing capable of curing destroyed aura channels"
The figure's gaze lingered, unseen but heavy, studying his appearance. "A spark needs kindling to burn, the rest are unimportant questions" the robed figure murmured, their voice carrying a weight of old resolve. "What you do from now on is yours to decide. But beware— this world devours the weak, trust is a blade that cuts both ways." Their black robe swayed as the wind surged, the gold and silver bracelet at their wrist glinting too brightly obfuscating Raphael's vision. "I have lingered too long. The eyes of this prison are many."
"Wait" Raphael says, while watching blue aura surrounding the figure.
With a final glance, they turned, their blue aura flaring briefly before fading into the snow's veil. The crunch of their footsteps dissolved into the storm, leaving no trace of their passage.
Raphael sat alone in the alley, the cold seeping back into his bones, but the faint hum in his channels anchored him to the moment. His hand tightened around the rusty ten-copper coin in his pocket, its edges biting into his palm. The figure's words echoed—forge your own path. He was no longer aura-less, no longer incapable of changing his fate. Yet Plania's cruelty hadn't changed. The mark on his neck still branded him as an heinous criminal, and a baby aura offered no shield against hunger or scorn.
His gaze drifted to the poster across the street, its smeared ink mocking him— almost: Aura-less need not apply. The rumor he'd overheard months ago resurfaced, sharper now—five gold coins to heal aura channels. A cruel jest, he'd thought, for who could amass such wealth in this prison? Yet the stranger's aura had already done the impossible, and for no pay. Five million coppers were a fortune, enough money to try a chance at escaping. Now, he could train his aura, grow stronger... survival wasn't just a dream but his first step.
Raphael forced himself to his feet, legs unsteady but filed with new strength. The alley reeked of rot and damp stone, but the market's distant clamor—vendors hawking, guards laughing—called him back to the world of the living. He wiped the dried blood from his lips, remembering Leonor's words. "Survive today," he muttered, his words now laced with resolve. "Tomorrow's a start."