On a moonless night, the small village was swallowed by oppressive darkness. Not even the stars dared pierce the black veil above. The only light came from the dim torches some villagers had mounted by their doors, their weak flames casting jittery shadows that danced eerily across the dirt paths like restless ghosts.This was a godforsaken place—forgotten by the king, abandoned by law, and avoided even by rumor. It was a dumping ground for the unwanted, home to the lowest rungs of society: criminals, outcasts, and those whose sins had blackened their names beyond redemption.The village's days were brief and gray, and its nights were long, cold, and choked with a dread that never quite went away.Long ago, the lord of the land had abandoned it. No taxes were collected, no soldiers dispatched. The villagers had long since stopped praying for protection.In the absence of rules, anarchy took roots, and the place became a sanctuary for fugitives and aging bandits. Some chose to retire h

Early morning. That hazy hour when most people began their routines—boiling stale water, sweeping dirt floors, lighting weak fires for their only meal of the day.Then came the scream.Loud. Panicked. Full of terror.It cut through the quiet like a rusty blade. But no one flinched. Not anymore.Years ago, the villagers had been startled by it. Some thought someone was being murdered. Others thought it was a beast attack. Now, it was just part of the morning. At first it was annoying. Later, it became a running joke. These days, it was simply background noise.The source? Stanley.Every single morning, for the last ten years, Stanley woke up screaming. Not a cry or a groan—a full, blood-curdling scream, as if he were watching death itself drag him out of bed.The villagers had given him a nickname: The Fat Rooster. Because, like clockwork, his scream echoed through the cracked stone and moldy thatch of the village as the sun rose, replacing the rooster that never existed in the village

Walking back through the cracked and dust-choked paths of the village, the boy kept his guard up. Every footstep was measured, every glance calculated. In this place, one careless moment could cost him a tooth—or a life.He has to keep his guard up too, every corner is a spot where someone can attack him, for whatever reasons.He knew some of the villagers hated him, not because of anything he’d done, but simply because he was tied to Stanley. Hurting him was the closest they could get to hurting the “Fat Rooster” without consequences.Ironically, despite the daily abuse, Stanley and Wayla were the only reasons he hadn’t already been sold into slavery… or worse, harvested for parts by rogue to sell to mad scientist with a taste for rare components.That gave him some kind of fake freedom to go around anywhere, like going to the woods without being ambushed, or doing odd jobs and not getting his earned coins stolen.From the odd jobs he’d done for passing merchants, he’d picked up more

After a few moments, he managed to calm himself. In a whisper so soft it was almost inaudible, he murmured, "Ethan… is that my name?" A faint smile tugged at his lips. "So, I do have a name after all."The simple realization warmed something deep inside him—a feeling he had never felt before. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to hope. Maybe he wasn't just some leech or parasite. Maybe somewhere out there, he had a real family, a home, a future not shaped by the filth and cruelty of this so-called Village Of The Tarnished.From that moment on, he made a decision. He would no longer be nameless. Ethan. That would be his name. It might have come from a dream, or perhaps it was just his imagination—but it was enough. A name was identity. A name was power. A name meant he mattered.With that name came a spark of determination.He would escape this village.It wouldn't be easy. He might fail again like before. But he

Ethan paused, gathering his thoughts. He bent down and picked up a twig, then crouched to draw a large circle in the dirt, followed by a smaller one inside it.“You said you want to take control of this village,” he began, tapping the smaller circle with the twig. “Your biggest obstacle is a man named Diggen. I’m sure you’ve heard of him—but what you might not know is that he used to be an aura user. A veteran. I don’t know what that means but he let the nobles destroy his core to save his life. Came here with a dozen men to disappear. Thanks to his battlefield experience, he took control of this place easily.”The gang leader narrowed his eyes. Ethan continued, “What keeps other bandits from messing with him is the connection to the commander of the nearest city. That’s why no one's ever raided this dump.”A flicker of concern passed over the leader’s face. “You sure about that, kid?”Ethan nodded. “It’s an open secret. I’ve heard merchants talk about it with Stanley. One of them sai