In this world, magic wasn't just power—it was everything. And the path to magic started with the Orb Test, a rite of passage for anyone wanting to measure their magical potential.
The test was simple: place your hand on the orb and let it read your magic affinity and potential. The results ranged from 0 to numbers only whispered about in legend.
0–10: No magic potential.
11–50: Moderate magic, enough to learn simple spells.
51–100: Advanced magic, capable of wielding stronger spells.
101–150: Expert magic, for those who could master combat and utility spells alike.
151–200: Architect magic, where magic bent to the user's will to reshape the very world.
200+: Perseveration, the level where mortals ascended to legends—though few ever reached it before death claimed them.
Magic potential wasn't set in stone. It could grow through meditation, spell practice, and rare rituals. But there were shortcuts—dangerous ones like infusion, where raw magic was forced into the body, often leading to death. Few dared to try it.
Matthew wasn't afraid to take risks. He'd always known he'd need magic to avenge his father. But when he stood before the Orb Test, heart pounding with hope, everything shattered.
"What do you mean I can't learn magic!?"
The assistant flinched at Matthew's outburst. The numbers on the orb screen didn't lie: -50.
"I'm sorry, sir," the assistant said, their tone uneasy. "But the results are clear. You have no magical affinity whatsoever."
Matthew's hands clenched into fists. "That's impossible! This thing is broken!" He slammed a fist onto the table, his frustration boiling over.
"I assure you, the orb is functioning properly," the assistant said carefully. "You're… simply incompatible with magic."
The words hit Matthew like a hammer. Incapable? His chest tightened, and his vision blurred with rage. Without another word, he stormed out, his mind racing with anger and despair.
He refused to accept it. No magic? That couldn't be true. How could he avenge his father without it? How could he fight against those who took everything from him?
The days that followed were a blur of research. Matthew buried himself in his father's old books and scoured every resource he could find. But no matter how much he read, the answer was always the same: without magical potential, learning magic was impossible.
Desperation led him to Materia, an infamous online black market accessible only through magical computers. Powered by mysterious energy sources, these devices could connect to sites the rest of the world dared not touch. Materia was a hub for forbidden knowledge, illegal artifacts, and secrets that could destroy entire nations.
Matthew spent days digging through Materia's labyrinth of listings, his search growing darker with each click. He ignored the warnings, the red flags, the stories of people who disappeared after dabbling in Materia's offerings.
Finally, he found it.
A listing for a magical syringe, rumored to grant magic to the unworthy. The syringe worked by injecting a concoction of rare and dangerous ingredients directly into the bloodstream, awakening dormant magic—or killing the user outright.
The description warned of the risks, but Matthew didn't care. His only focus was on the list of ingredients, each one more elusive than the last. One, however, caught his eye: the Kismet Bone, a relic said to hold the essence of raw magic.
For the next month, Matthew devoted himself to finding the ingredients. He worked tirelessly, selling his father's old tools and pawning anything of value to fund his search. The world around him faded into the background. Nothing mattered except the syringe.
He finally managed to purchase the syringe itself—a sleek, silver device inscribed with glowing runes. Holding it in his hands, he felt a flicker of hope. But the real challenge was still ahead.
The Kismet Bone was nearly impossible to find. Legend had it that the bones came from creatures born at the dawn of magic itself, and the Xyuminus, an organization dedicated to suppressing dangerous magical knowledge, had destroyed nearly every one of them.
But Matthew wasn't deterred. He scoured Materia for leads, following whispers of hidden caches and forgotten relics. Every dead end only fueled his determination.
One night, as he stared at the glowing runes on the syringe, a question surfaced in his mind: Am I willing to die for this?
He pushed the thought away. He didn't care about the risks. His father's face, lifeless on the bed, haunted his every waking moment. The memory of the van and its symbol burned in his mind. He couldn't rest until he found them—until they paid for what they'd done.
"This is the only way," he muttered, clutching the syringe tightly.
Would he survive the path he'd chosen? Or would his desperation consume him?
Matthew didn't care. As long as he had the chance to fight, he'd take it.