Chapter 1: The Stigma of the Void
The Kingdom of Red Hat had not always been a place of legends and heroes; for most of its inhabitants, it was simply the land of the best wine in the world. Francis, a sixteen-year-old youth, walked through the vineyards of his mother, Elena, smelling the sweet aroma of ripe grapes and the earth, damp after the morning rain. However, while his friends practiced small magic tricks—sparks jumping from their fingers or breezes moving leaves at their whim—Francis only felt the weight of his own muscles. He was a "Void," a being born without a single gram of mana in his veins, an anomaly in a world where magic was everything.
That day was special. The morning sun bathed the capital in golden light as Francis prepared for the Spellbook Presentation Ceremony. In their home’s kitchen, his mother waited for him with a freshly baked grape tart.
"Tomorrow is the big day, Francis," Elena said, her smile hiding a hint of worry. "You turn sixteen. You will go to the academy to have your magic measured before King Valerius."
Francis nodded, though the knot in his stomach tightened.
"I know, Mother. Tomorrow I will show them who Francis is, with or without magic," he replied, trying to sound braver than he felt.
The following day, the capital was a hive of people. Carriages from all corners of the world arrived to see the new generation of mages. Francis felt small standing before the crystal spires of the castle. In line, Keelen, the mayor’s arrogant son, wasted no time in making him the target of his mockery.
"Look who’s here, the 'grape boy.' What do you plan to do, Francis? Hit the crystal ball with a bunch of grapes?" Keelen laughed, and his group of friends joined in. Keelen was a prodigy, destined to master fire by his lineage's inheritance.
When it was Keelen’s turn, the crystal glowed with a searing red intensity, earning applause from King Valerius. But when Francis stepped forward, silence fell over the room. Francis placed his hand on the cold sphere. There were no lights. There were no sparks. Instead, the crystal began to crack. Under the purely physical pressure of his trained hand, the sphere shattered into a thousand pieces.
"What is this?" King Valerius asked, rising from his throne. "What kind of dark magic do you possess?"
"It is not magic, Your Majesty," Francis replied, his voice trembling but firm. "It is just my strength. I... I have no magic."
The laughter of Keelen and the other students echoed in the great hall like whip cracks. Francis, humiliated and with his heart burning with shame, fled the capital toward his only refuge: the orchard of ancient oaks. There, he vented his fury against an oak tree harder than stone, striking it until his knuckles bled. He did not know that, in the darkness of the mountains, the awakening of an ancient evil was watching him.
