Kaelen’s life had been a series of disappointments, one crushing blow after another. From the moment he opened his eyes in a world where magic determined everything, he had been cursed with insignificance.He was born into a poor, powerless family in the slums of Altheria, a city ruled by those blessed with magical talent. Every child in the city learned magic from the moment they could speak, but Kaelen… he couldn’t. His spells fizzled, his incantations failed, and every attempt left him humiliated. Even the city beggars mocked him.He remembered the day he tried to cast his first fireball. The entire square had gathered. The wind carried the scent of roasted bread and warm tea from the market stalls, and he had wanted, desperately, to impress the children and adults alike. He closed his eyes, focused every ounce of willpower… and all that came out was a tiny spark that sputtered, fizzled, and died midair.The laughter had been merciless. “Pathetic,” one child snickered. “Why even bo

The gates of Altheria loomed like the jaws of a great stone beast. To the wealthy, they were a grand welcome; to Kaelen, they had always been a reminder of what he was allowed to see but never possess. As he stepped through the threshold, the familiar smells of the city hit him: expensive jasmine perfume from the upper districts clashing with the scent of roasted meat, horse dung, and the damp rot of the slums. Usually, these smells made his stomach churn with envy. Today, they felt like the smell of a battlefield. “Step lively, mortal! You’re walking like a man who has a choice. Remember: your current Agility is ‘Stumbling Toddler.’ If we don’t optimize your gait, we’re wasting potential energy!” Kaelen ignored the System’s chirping, though he could feel the faint, blue glow of the Ledger pulsing in the corner of his eye. He kept his head down, his wet hair matted with river silt, playing the part of the broken boy perfectly. He had to. Every step toward his mother's shack was a

The Industrial District of Altheria did not sleep; it merely wheezed. As Kaelen approached, the sky turned from the deep indigo of night to a bruised, sickly orange, lit from below by the eternal fires of the mana-furnaces. Great iron chimneys pierced the fog like the jagged teeth of a titan, belching soot that tasted of sulfur and spent magic. “Warning!” the System chimed, its blue light flickering rapidly. “Atmospheric despair levels are exceeding safe operating parameters for normal humans. Good thing you’re currently a walking trauma-sponge! We’re picking up massive interference from the factory floor. It’s like a buffet that never ends.” Kaelen didn't respond. He adjusted his hood, feeling the weight of the iron rod he’d taken from Jax tucked into his belt. Every step toward the Iron-Lung Factory made the [Pseudo-Mana Veins] along his spine hum with a predatory hunger. To anyone else, the factory was a death sentence. To Kaelen, it was a gold mine. The factory was a fortress

The entrance to the Old Ruins was not a door, but a wound. Beneath the foundations of the modern city lay the rotted corpse of the old world. Kaelen stood at the edge of a jagged fissure in the sewer walls, where the brickwork gave way to ancient, cyclopean stone. The air that rose from the depths tasted of ozone and decomposed dreams, but Kaelen didn’t flinch. In the back of his mind, a translucent timer pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. [Time remaining until Vitality Draught expiration: 58 Hours, 12 Minutes.] The amber glow he had seen in his mother’s veins earlier that morning was already fading in his memory. He had exactly two days and change to find a way into the Academy, or the rattling in her chest would return. He couldn't afford a single wasted step. “Welcome to the basement of history!” the System chirped. “The Old Academy didn't just 'fall.' It imploded during a mana-conduit overload. Thousands of students were vaporized, leaving behind a localized rift. It’s a hi

The rain in the Upper District didn't feel like the muddy downpour of the slums; it felt like a judgment. Kaelen stood before the North Barracks of the Academy, the massive obsidian walls rising into the storm like the teeth of a sleeping god. In his peripheral vision, the timer was bleeding red. [Time remaining: 4 Hours, 12 Minutes.] “If we don’t clear this trial and get the ‘Entry Bonus’ points within the next four hours,” the System whispered, “the 800 DP stabilizer in your mother’s blood will dissolve. The relapse will be... aggressive. Statistically, her lungs will collapse in six minutes once the rattle starts.” Kaelen tightened his grip on the [Tome of the Forbidden Origin]. “Then we don’t fail.” Following Valen’s forced confession, Kaelen found the drainage grate behind the barracks. He pressed the third stone from the bottom. The iron bars, thick as a man’s leg and glowing with anti-thief runes, let out a low hum and slid upward. [Academy Secret Used: Path of the Scaven