Chapter 1: Capture
The cell was dirty—not enough to die from sickness, but enough to survive.
That was the first thing he noticed.
Not wet. Not clean. Not warm.
The walls were made of stone, stained from what look like blood. Thin metallic veins ran through them, faintly flickering whenever he shifted his weight.
Not reacting to him, but to something inside else.
The pulse was unstable.
Like a heart that was barely beating.
A nervous-looking man sat on the other side of the bars, a dull orb floating above a metal stand.
It wasn’t glowing properly.
The light inside it stuttered in uneven pulses, like it couldn’t decide what it was seeing.
“…scan is complete,” the technician muttered.
Another voice answered from behind him. Rough. Impatient.
“What’s his affinity?”
A pause.
Then the orb flared—sharp, red-tinted light—before collapsing back into a weak flicker.
The technician frowned.
“It’s returning fire signatures.”
That made the second voice go still.
“Explain your hesitation.”
The man leaned closer, as if the orb might correct itself under scrutiny.
“Minimal. Extremely weak. Class I at best.”
A short silence.
Then the scratching of a pen.
A low sigh followed.
“You’re telling me he’s a commoner?”
“Yes, Master. This batch arrived yesterday.”
“Any training?”
“No. Picked up from road bandits. They claimed he was from a talented batch.”
It was an obvious lie. With supplies running thin, no one bothered to question it.
The orb flickered again—more violently this time—before settling into dull instability.
The technician swallowed.
“Master… these readings are inconsistent. If word spreads—”
“Quiet.”
The word cut clean.
“I know the risk. The nobles are paying enough to ignore it.”
The technician nodded quickly, adjusting the orb with unsteady hands.
“Understood. Low talent. I’ll have him processed immediately.”
Sweat slid down his temple.
“Hurry,” the Master snapped. “They’re already asking for the next batch. Leave the orb. Someone else can finish.”
Footsteps echoed away, hurried and uneven.
From deeper in the prison, faint sobbing followed.
Others.
The boy shifted slightly against the wall.
The chains around his wrists weren’t heavy.
They didn’t need to be.
They weren’t meant to stop strength.
They were meant to stop certainty.
A small sound escaped him before he could stop it.
Not loud.
Just enough.
His father’s back as he was taken for war.
His mother’s hands, cold but steady, pushing him toward the priests.
The soldiers—kind voices, careful lies.
You’ll be safe.
The boy lowered his gaze.
The stone beneath him was cold, but not natural. It didn’t feel like something built to hold people.
It felt like something built to hold mistakes.
And somewhere deep in that silence—where no one was measuring—
he exhaled.
Nothing happened.
No miracle.
No rescue.
Just breath.
But the orb flickered again.
Once.
Twice.
For a brief moment, something else tried to surface—
not just red.
Not just fire.
Then it dimmed.
And no one noticed.
The door opened without warning.
“Move.”
Hands seized him before he could react. The chains around his wrists were removed, only to be replaced by a firmer grip as he was dragged forward.The corridor beyond stretched longer than he expected, filled with noise—metal clashing, voices overlapping, footsteps that never seemed to stop.
He wasn’t alone.
They were everywhere.
Children. Teenagers. Some older.
All moving in the same direction.
They were brought into a larger chamber.
Cleaner than the cells, but not by much. Just enough to show that this place had purpose.
Twelve of them stood there already.
Kids. Teens.
Some he recognized.
Some he didn’t.
The moment the door shut behind him, the tension broke.
“Please… I didn’t do anything—”
“I’ll work, I swear—just don’t hurt me!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
Voices overlapped, desperate and uneven. One girl near the front dropped to her knees, shaking as she tried to grab a guard’s sleeve.
“Please… I can cook, I can clean, anything—just don’t—”
The guard shoved her back without even looking.
“Quiet.”
The word didn’t need to be loud.
It cut through everything.
Silence followed.
Not because they calmed down.
Because they understood.
The boy stood still.
Listening.
Watching.
Trying to make sense of something that refused to make sense.
Then he saw them.
Faces from before.
A girl from the outer farms.
A boy who used to run messages between villages.
And—
The blacksmith’s son.
Standing straighter than the others, even now. His hands were rough, his posture steady. There was still dirt beneath his nails, like he hadn’t been given time to become anything else.
For a moment, their eyes met.
No words passed between them.
Just the small hint of fear in his eye.
He was the older of the two, they’ve spoken once or twice.
Now it was just dull silence.
The doors opened again.
A man entered.
Clean robes. Measured steps. The kind of presence that didn’t need to announce itself.
“These are the confirmed talents?”
A guard nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
Another man followed, holding a scroll.
“Assignments are prepared.”
The first man gave a slight nod.
“Begin.”
They weren’t called by name.
They were pointed at.
“You. Step forward.”
A boy stumbled out of line.
“Experiment.”
“No—wait, I didn’t—please—”
Two guards grabbed him before he could finish. He struggled, panic breaking through his voice.
“I’ll do anything, please—just don’t—!”
He was dragged away.
No one followed.
Just a small comment “Maybe, you should’ve at least been born better.”
“You.”
A girl.
“Pet.”
She froze.
Then shook her head violently.
“No, no, please—please don’t—”
Her voice broke as she was slapped to silence her.
The others watched.
No one moved.
“You.”
Another.
“Transport.”
Gone.
The line shrank.
Quickly. Efficiently.
Then—
“You.”
The blacksmith’s son stepped forward.
No hesitation.
The man studying him tilted his head slightly.
“Earth affinity confirmed?”
“Yes, sir.”
Something shifted in the man’s expression.
Interest, Greed.
“Good. Send him for training.”
The words landed differently.
Not relief.
Not safety.
But not the same as the others either.
The boy didn’t smile.
Didn’t speak.
But his shoulders tightened, like he understood what that meant better than anyone else.
He was taken down a different path, he trembled in fear.
Grabbed by guards he was sent off.
The boy watched him go.
And for the first time, something twisted in his chest.
Whispering to himself, “God Honos have mercy on me...“.
Then the man’s gaze fell on him.
And stopped.
“Wait.”
The guard holding him froze.
The man stepped closer.
“…this one.”
A pause.
“Clean him.”
The guard hesitated.
“Sir?”
“Baron requisition. Presentable. Quickly. I will not be delayed.”
The word Baron settled heavily in the room.
“Send him for conditioning.”
The boy didn’t understand.
But the way the others looked at him—
That was enough.
He was pulled from the line.
Not roughly.
Just… differently.
Behind him, the selections continued.
Faster now.
More detached.
The doors opened again.
Another group was brought in.
One of them stumbled as he entered.
Smaller.
Weaker.
Late.
The guard frowned.
“Why is he here?”
A second guard stammered quickly.
“A mix-up, sir. Added last minute.”
The man’s expression darkened.
“…we’re wasting time on this?”
The boy was shoved forward anyway.
Barely able to stand.
“Check him.”
A technician stepped forward, irritated.
A faint glow flickered around the boy for a moment.
Then nothing.
Silence.
“…no mana.”
The words came flat, angry.
Final.
The technician clicked his tongue.
“You brought in a talent-less child?”
No one answered.
“Dispose of him properly.”
The boy started crying.
Loud.
Broken.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—I’ll work, I can still work—please—”
No one listened.
A guard stepped forward.
Cold air spread.
Thin. Sharp.
A splatter of liquid was heard.
It was quick.
Too quick to understand.
The boy’s voice cut off.
His body went still.
Then fell.
No one moved.
“Remove it.”
The body was dragged away.
“And you, how dare you waste time!“.
As the guard stood their shaking in fear, the technician yelled “Get out of here! I’ll report you to the Master for this insolence!“.
As the guard scurried out.
The room felt colder after that.
The boy in another large room.
A guard brought a box in-front of him.
A black collar came out, inscribed in words he didn’t recognize.
As the guard brought the collar up he spoke, “Don’t struggle.”
No explanation.
No delay.
When it was placed around his neck, it was cold.
He flinched.
Just slightly.
It tightened.
Perfectly.
Measured.
A pressure settled into him.
Not pain.
Something deeper.
Something felt lost in him.
“Do not resist.”
The voice came from behind him.
“It will only tighten.”
He didn’t test it.
As the collar squeezed itself around him, runic language glowed slightly.
“Perfect, at least these tools don’t disappoint.” The technician from before appeared behind him.
The doors ahead opened.
Light poured in.
Too bright.
Too clean.
As all the guards fell to their knees and the technician bowed.
The one called the “Master” walked up.
“Have you found one for the Baron? We’re running out of time.”
As the technician bowed nervously he said, “Yes, Master. A suitable candidate. With training, he will be ready.”
As the Master looked over giving a spine chilling smile, “Perfect. Prepare him quickly. I will inform the Baron myself.”
As the guards grabbed the boy, he didn’t struggle, he never spoke a word.
Because there was nothing left to say.
Behind him—
the rest were sorted.
Assets.
Toys.
Disposables.
And for the first time—
he understood.
Surviving wasn’t the end.
It was the beginning of something worse.
As the guards brought the boy away, the Master turned to the technician.
“Gerald, make sure that boy learns quickly. I cannot tolerate failure—not before the plan is complete.”
Gerald swallowed, bowing immediately.
“Understood, Master. I will have him trained thoroughly. How much time will I be given?”
“You have one month.”
The Master’s tone didn’t change.
“I will handle the smaller issues. Now be quick. I chose you because your predecessor was slow. Do not disappoint me.”
Sweat formed at Gerald’s brow.
“Of course, Master. This task will be completed swiftly.”
He bowed deeper, then turned and left at once.
Behind him, the Master exhaled slowly.
“Soon…”
A faint pause followed.
“Soon the nobility will no longer feel so far out of reach.”
He turned slightly, gaze drifting toward the distant estate plans.
“For now… the Baron will suffice.”
In a different place.
Clean. Controlled. Quiet.
The boy stood in a room that felt unreal compared to what came before it.
A noble training chamber.
No chains.
No blood-stained stone.
Just polished wood, reinforced walls, and a desk placed precisely in the center.
This was his first real stop in a week. Ever since he was taken, they had been moving him—no rest, no explanation.
Only direction.
He remembered his father’s words.
“Orin… when things get tough, don’t expect the world to cherish you. Don’t expect a chance, or pity, or fairness.”
The voice echoed in his mind.
“You make it happen. Force it, if you must. Even if it breaks what stands in your way. Find the small chance others ignore.”
Orin stood still.
Letting the silence settle.
Letting it become familiar.
He had no choice but to move with the flow now.
The door opened.
A guard stepped in.
“Five minutes. If you are not ready, you will be punished.”
No emotion.
No explanation.
Just procedure.
The door shut again.
On the desk in front of him—
a single scroll.
No books. No instructor.
Just paper.
And instructions.
He stepped closer.
Unrolled it.
SPARK MANIFESTATION — BASIC FIRE CORE CONTROL
Step 1: Focus intent.Step 2: Force ignition through mana flow.Step 3: Maintain output until stable.Step 4: Repeat until instinctive.
That was it.
No explanation of failure.
No mention of safety.
No teaching of structure.
Only instruction.
Only expectation.
Orin stared at it for a long moment.
Then slowly understood.
This wasn’t training.
It was survival through repetition.
If he failed, it wasn’t corrected.
It was discarded.
He folded the scroll back with careful hands, his eyes lingering on it for a moment longer than necessary.
Then he adjusted his clothes—small, precise movements, as if testing whether he still had control over anything that belonged to him.
When he was done, he stepped forward.
The door opened.
The guard was already there.
Orin met his gaze.
“I’m ready.”
A pause.
The guard looked him over once, impassive.
Then turned.
“Follow.”
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AUTHORS NOTE:
A break down of all ranks/classes:
Class I – Weak
50% of global population
Basic mana sensitivity, low stabilityPrimarily used for household magicCombat magic is unreliable
Frequent failure, backlash, or no activation
Uses Minor Combat Magic, Highest recorded: Grade 3 Magus (Adept)Not suitable for sustained combat roles
Class II – Low
30% of global population
Stable enough for practical magic use, Common among adventurers and guards, Can use combat magic with moderate reliability. Limited output and growth ceiling, Highest recorded: Grade 4 Magus
Class III – Advanced
15% of global population
Backbone of military magical forces. Strong control and structured casting. Many reach, Rank 4 Magus, some reach, Rank 5 (High Magus)Officers and mid-command roles originate here. Can inscribe up to 3 elemental affinities (This is up to potential, most will only be at 2)
Class IV – Elite
5% of global population
High-output, high-control casters. Reliable advanced combat magic users. Often elite soldiers, knights, and royalty. Frequently reach upper Magus tiers consistently
Class V – Exceptional
1% of global population
Extremely rare high-performance mages, Superior mana efficiency and spell shaping. Can maintain output under extreme stress. Often national assets or war-level contributors. Naturally approach peak Magus ranks
Class VI – Apex
0.01% of global population
Extremely rare, world-shaping individuals. Effortless mana control at instinct level. Can reach or surpass highest Magus tiers, Capable of inscribing up to 5 elements. Most are hidden, controlled, or politically secured. Confirmed public individuals: extremely few (dozens at most)
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Mage Ranks:
Rank 1: Initiate
Rank 2: Apprentice
Rank 3: Adept
Rank 4: Magus
Rank 5: High Magus
Rank 6: Grand Magus
Rank 7: Arch Magus
Rank 8: Sage
Rank 9: Ascendant
Rank 10: Transcendent
