Brad!

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long, orange shadows across the orphanage courtyard.

Aiska sat on a wooden bench, his eyes—as usual—drifting toward the distant gate where the Karans had passed earlier.

“Hey, Window Boy!”

A shadow fell over him.

Aiska didn't even have to look up to know who it was.

Brad.

He was twelve, just like Aiska, and stood at the exact same height of 140 cm.

But where Aiska was thin and wiry, Brad was built like a brick.

He had buzzed brown hair and a permanent smirk that made his face look older—and meaner—than it actually was.

“Still staring at the road?” Brad sneered, his two friends flanking him.

“You spend so much time looking through that glass, I’m surprised your face hasn't turned into a window yet.”

“Leave me alone, Brad,” Aiska said quietly.

“Or what?”

Brad stepped closer, poking Aiska’s chest hard.

“You think just because you watch them, you’re one of them? You’re an orphan, Aiska. You’re a nobody. You’ll never touch a sword, let alone a dungeon.”

Aiska’s fist clenched.

He felt a strange heat rising in his chest—a spark that had been flickering since he saw Rellin Fosk earlier that day.

“The Karans don’t just kill monsters,” Aiska said, his voice dropping to a low, vibrating tone that made Brad’s friends blink.

“They carry the weight of the sun on their shoulders so the rest of us don't have to live in the dark. I can feel it. The mana... the call of the dungeons. It’s not just a job, Brad. It’s a destiny. And I can feel my heart beating in time with it.”

For a second, the courtyard went silent.

There was a raw intensity in Aiska’s eyes that actually made Brad take a half-step back.

It was the kind of look a predator gives a scavenger.

Then, Brad burst out laughing.

“Destiny? Mana?” Brad roared, clutching his stomach.

“You’re delusional! You and a Karan? No way! You’re just a skinny kid who can’t even finish his chores!”

THWACK!

Aiska didn't think.

He just swung.

His small fist connected squarely with Brad’s jaw.

Brad stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock.

He touched his face, feeling the sting.

The silence returned, but this time, it was heavy with danger.

“You... you actually hit me?”

Brad’s face turned bright red.

“Get him!”

The fight was short and brutal.

Aiska was fast, but there were three of them.

Brad tackled Aiska into the dirt, raining down punches.

Aiska fought back like a wild animal, scratching and kicking, but a heavy blow to his nose sent stars dancing across his vision.

Warm blood began to leak down his lip, staining his shirt.

“Keep dreaming, Window Boy!” Brad yelled, raising his fist for another hit.

“STOP IT!”

The voice cut through the air like a whip.

The other boys immediately panicked.

“It’s Sivra! Run!”

They grabbed Brad’s arms, trying to pull him away, but Brad was blinded by rage.

He managed to land one last kick to Aiska’s ribs before his friends finally dragged him toward the back of the building.

Sivra Olem came sprinting across the yard, her blonde hair flying behind her.

She knelt beside Aiska, her golden eyes wide with worry.

“Aiska! Look at me!”

She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it to his bloody nose.

“What were you thinking? I told you to stay away from Brad and his group!”

“I’m fine,” Aiska wheezed, trying to sit up.

“You’re not fine! You’re covered in dirt and blood!”

Sivra sighed, her anger softening into pity.

“Stop talking to those boys, Aiska. They’ll only break you. You need to accept where you are.”

Aiska pulled her hand away, his eyes burning with a fire that startled her.

“No,” he said, his voice cracking but firm.

“I won’t just stay silent. I’ll make them believe. I’ll make everyone believe. I’m not just going to be a Karan, Sivra. I’m going to be a Primarch. The strongest one this world has ever seen.”

Sivra stared at him.

She wanted to tell him it was impossible.

She wanted to tell him that only the high-born or the lucky ones ever reached that height.

But the look in his eyes...

it was the same look she saw in Rellin’s eyes when he faced a dungeon.

The Orphanage Dormitory

Sivra carried Aiska to his small, creaky bed.

She cleaned his wounds in silence, tucked the thin blanket around his shoulders, and blew out the candle on his bedside table.

“Sleep, Aiska,” she whispered.

“Dreams don’t hurt as much when you’re asleep.”

She walked out of the room and closed the door softly.

Standing in the dark corridor, she leaned her head against the wood.

Her mind drifted back to the rider on the white horse—Rellin Fosk.

He’s just a boy, she thought, but he has the soul of a warrior. It’s dangerous. If he tries to awaken his mana without help, it could kill him.

She looked toward the window, where the moon was rising.

Maybe... maybe I should tell Rellin about him tomorrow. If anyone can see the spark in this boy, it’s him.

Inside the room, Aiska’s hand remained clenched in a fist, even in his sleep.

(Chapter 2 End )

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