The Gods died.Their temples crumbled.Their idols shattered.Their names lost the power they once held.

  Three thousand years had passed since the Fourth Prime Evil shattered the Pantheon of the Five Ascendants.

  Vaelrún had once been blessed with divine protection. Now it was soaked in blood, shadow, and silence.

  Magic still thrived—radiant, unpredictable, and potent—but without divine guidance, it had grown wild and fragmented. Monsters roamed the countryside. Cults operated openly under the noses of corrupted officials. The skies seemed forever dimmed, as if the heavens themselves refused to look upon the world.

  Yet people clung to fragments of power. Some whispered to minor spirits beneath rivers or behind stones. Others brokered pacts with angels, demons, or nameless things that defied logic. And many more turned to adventure—questing through ruins in search of strength.

  All these paths shared one goal: Aspect Stones—fragments of soul, memory, and concept. They resonated with their wielders, empowering them through the soul system.A baker might gain the Aspect of Dough Kneading. A warrior, the Aspect of the Boar.

  But the rare stones—Rare, Epic, Legendary—were dangerous, unstable, and desperately coveted. Wars were fought over them. Children were sold for a glimpse of one. And in some places, they still are.

  On the southern edge of the province of Andrel, where roads crumbled into dust and weeds crept between cobblestones, lay a town called Hollowrest—named, perhaps, for the graveyard it resembled.

  There, in the soot-blackened throat of a shattered chimney above a half-burned bakery, a boy clawed his way upward through ash and silence.

  His name was Shay Delmore.

  The chimney scraped his shoulders, brick rough against skin. His ribs were streaked with soot. Every inhale drew gray dust into his lungs. Shay wheezed, breath raspy—but still he climbed.

  His fingers—raw and calloused—hooked into a gap between loose stones and pulled.

  Pop.A stone gave way, revealing a small dusty compartment. Inside: a leather sack.

  Jackpot.

  Ding! – Skill: Scavenging has increased by one level!Scavenging (Common): Level 15 → Level 16You feel more attuned to forgotten places. Detection range for valuable hidden items increased.

  Grinning, Shay snatched the pouch and opened it. Two Olgar gold coins glinted inside, along with a spattering of silver and a half-rotted loaf of bread—its crust stiff as wood, mold clustering at the edges.

  He exhaled slowly.That was it. His prize for the morning.

  With a practiced twist, Shay dropped down the chimney into the alley below. His feet landed silently on cobblestone—he’d trained himself to move like a shadow.

  You had to, in the scavenging business.Competition was fierce, and the moment anyone saw you score, you became a target.

  Slinking back toward the main street, Shay inwardly celebrated. Hollowrest’s ruins were notorious for hidden valuables.

  Years ago, calamity struck, leaving most of the city in rubble. Only within the last two hundred years had people begun returning. While parts had been rebuilt, vast swaths of ruin remained untouched—perfect hunting grounds for the poor and desperate.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Normally, Shay stayed away from them. They were dangerous. But today, his scavenging skill had tugged him toward the ruins—and it had paid off.

  Two gold coins. Enough to feed a family of four for three months.

  He took a bite of the bread, ignoring the spores, and started the ten-minute walk to Hollowrest’s bustling Main Street.

  As he neared the edge, his eyes snagged on a familiar storefront: Wands and Wonders.

  The premier adventuring shop for mages and wizards. Wondrous treasures gleamed from every shelf.

  Shay stopped. Stared.

  He didn’t want to be a scavenger forever.

  He wanted to be a mage. He didn’t care what kind—he just wanted magic.

  His gaze lingered on a jewel-encrusted wand hovering in the display window.

  Someday, he’d be an explorer. A ruin-diver. Rich with artifacts and spells no one had ever seen.

  “Oi! Rat! What are you doing here?”

  The voice snapped him out of the dream.

  Shay turned, scowling.

  Thorne. The butcher’s boy. A thug with fists for brains.

  “I told you—next time I saw your red mana low-life around here, I’d break a bone,” Thorne hissed, stepping forward.

  Shay shrugged, smirking. “Must’ve been another kid.”

  Apparently, that was enough. Thorne lunged.

  Shay twisted—sharp and fast—dodging him clean. He darted into an alley and sprinted.

  Red mana.

  The lowest. Flawed. Corrupted. Impure.

  Red-mana children weren’t expected to survive the Awakening. Most died of mana rejection—burned from within. Even those who lived were scorned.

  Mana purity was everything. The higher your purity, the rarer your Aspect. The stronger your skills. The longer you lived.

  Red was the lowest, followed by orange, yellow, green, blue, violet—and white, the peak.

  Thorne, like most in Hollowrest, had orange mana. Enough to unlock a basic Aspect.

  Then there were the rare ones—green or yellow—destined to lead.

  Shay? He barely registered.

  Red-mana kids who refused the ceremony? They were hunted. Cast out.Didn’t matter if you were scared. Didn’t matter if you had no one.

  If you hadn’t Awakened by thirteen, you were exiled. Or worse.

  In Hollowrest, Shay was already dead.He just hadn’t stopped breathing yet.

  He slipped through the slums, feet whispering over muddy stones. Smoke thickened the air. Laundry lines sagged overhead. Barefoot kids shouted through the alleys.

  He passed a shuttered apothecary where an old man murmured to a flickering hearth spirit, barely candle-sized. Beneath him, a glowing sigil was etched into black wood.

  Shay didn’t stare.

  Rule One: Never stare at spirits. Even the little ones. They might stare back.

  “Delmore!”

  A blur shot around the corner. A girl, older than him, braid whipping behind her, longbow slung across her back.

  “Back already?” she panted. “You were supposed to wait for me.”

  Shay flashed a lopsided grin. “Thorne saw me on Main Street.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Next time you see that bastard, hit him instead of running.”

  Shay chuckled. “Bet you’ll never guess what I found.” He held out the satchel.

  Grinning, she snatched it and peeked inside.

  Kara Delmore. His sister. Ranger. Level 15. Orange mana—warm, strong, resilient.

  She was the reason Shay hadn’t been beaten to death or sold to some warlock.

  “Damn,” Kara whistled. “Two gold coins? That’s loaded.”

  She eyed the bread, broke it in half, and handed him the bigger piece.

  “Thanks,” he muttered, chewing.

  She tousled his hair. “Tomorrow’s the ceremony,” she said. “You nervous?”

  He hesitated.

  The Awakening Ceremony came once a year. At twelve, every child gathered at the Church of Light.

  There, their mana would be awakened. Their soul system interface unlocked.

  Most discovered their first Aspect that day—a defining moment.

  For Shay, it might be his last.

  “A little,” he said quietly.

  They paused as town guards marched past—spears gleaming, armor bright. The sigil of Avalon, God of Protection, shimmered on their cloaks.

  The god was long dead. But his symbol lived on—etched in ritual and rust.

  “You don’t have to go,” Kara whispered. “I know a guy. He can get you out—take you to a small town.”

  Shay shook his head. “Reds don’t escape. We’re hunted. Even towns won’t shelter us.”

  “I know,” she said softly. “I just wanted you to have the option.”

  He glanced at her. Felt guilt twist in his gut.

  “Maybe I’ll get lucky,” he said, forcing a smile.

  She returned it—barely. Then her gaze drifted to the mountains.

  Strange lights danced like falling stars.

  “I’ve never seen lights like that,” she murmured. “Maybe it’s a sign.”

  “A sign of what?”

  “That you’ll make it through tomorrow.”

  They stood in silence, side by side, watching the sky.

  Then Kara grabbed his arm. “Come on,” she said. “Moldy bread doesn’t count as dinner.”