The Silent Arcanist – Chapter One: Birth in the Mist

  > “When you die carrying all the secrets of Earth, and awaken in a world that worships mystery... the first thing you do is remain silent.”

  — Leon Vark

  ---

  The mist filled the sky—not like clouds, but like a living being. It breathed, expanded, and slipped through alleyways the way sin slithered into men’s hearts.

  When Leon Vark opened his eyes, there was no light. Only cold, the dull rhythm of a distant tide, and the scent of rotting wood.

  He was lying on the floor of a decrepit shack. His hands were caked in mud, his chest heaving as if every breath required death’s permission.

  > “This... isn’t death.”

  His mind activated instantly. As a general of Earth, he had brushed against death thousands of times on the battlefield.

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  This was different.

  This body was lean, its skin soft, its heartbeat thudding with the vigor of youth.

  Then came the voice... not a memory of his own, but something older. Alien. Whispering from within.

  > “You have been reborn, stranger. In this body, in this land... where magic is language, sin is currency, and ambition is the greatest sin of all.”

  He tried to rise. Pain struck him like a dagger, but pain was an old companion.

  He stood, looked at his right hand...

  There was a strange mark on his wrist. Circles, arrows, and intersecting crescents—ritual-like etchings.

  A starting mark. The beginning of a Spark Initiate.

  His eyes lit up with awareness.

  > “So, this world follows a ritualistic system. Magical inscriptions carved into the body, evolving with control over nature’s laws.”

  He paused.

  > “Good.”

  “Scalable. Stealable. Analyzable.”

  He raised his head. The door hung ajar. Beyond it, he heard voices... a market? A rite? It didn’t matter.

  He stepped outside.

  The mist wasn’t natural. It watched. In Mistborne, mist was no weather—it was a living entity that cloaked the city, heard whispers, and punished those who dared raise their voice.

  Here, all spoke in hushed tones.

  He wandered a while. Found a broken mirror tucked in the corner of an alley.

  He looked.

  A fifteen-year-old boy stared back—silver eyes, unkempt black hair, an old scar on the neck. Weak body, but flexible.

  > “Acceptable. This body can be trained.”

  ...

  But deep inside, it wasn’t just observation.

  There was a silent dialogue between the general he once was and the world he now faced:

  > “Magic… here, power lies not in bullets but in incantations.”

  “But do incantations win wars? No.”

  “The mind is the only weapon undefeated since the dawn of time.”

  ---

  Scene End:

  As he neared the city’s center, he saw a notice posted on the stone wall:

  > “The Graymist Academy seeks Initiates for the Entry Trial.”

  “Those accepted will enter the Path of the First Inscription. The rest... will feed the mist.”

  Leon read it. He didn’t smile. He didn’t hesitate.

  > “A test?”

  “If this world examines its people to grant them power… then I will rewrite the exam.”