"Please, live," a voice whispered, faint as the wind, trembling with desperation.Rifi felt the crushing weight of the body pressing against him, its lifeless face just inches from his own. Blood soaked through his tunic, thick and warm, seeping into his skin like a grim reminder of what had been lost. The metallic tang filled his nostrils, and the whisper came again—soft, fragile, desperate—threading through the din of rushing wind and distant screams.The weight shifted. Hands, shadowy and disembodied, dragged the lifeless figure away, leaving his chest cold and his breath shallow. He strained to reach out, to call after it, but his voice faltered. The world around him blurred into mist. The face, its once-bright eyes now dimmed forever, disappeared into the shadows, but the whisper lingered, etched into his mind.Pain flared in his chest, sharp and unrelenting. His lungs refused to fill, his body locked in a futile struggle. Darkness encroached, pulling him under.When Rifi woke, it was sudden and violent, like surfacing from deep water. His body trembled, sweat soaking his skin and his breaths coming fast and shallow. His hand shot to his chest, gripping at the jagged scar that ran from his shoulder to his abdomen. The skin was cool to the touch, but the dream's pain lingered, as real and visceral as if it had just happened."Please, live."The words echoed, refusing to fade. He whispered them to himself, but the sound of his own voice was hollow, foreign. Swinging his legs over the edge of the cot, he let his bare feet touch the cold, uneven floor. His room—a tiny, sparse box of cracked plaster and silence—offered no comfort, only the bare minimum of shelter. But for Rifi, it was a haven. For the past year, these four walls had kept him hidden from the chaos of the outside world.He pushed himself upright, crossing the room to the window with slow, deliberate steps. Outside, the stars hung above Hepestus like indifferent watchers, their light flickering faintly in the cold night air. He leaned on the windowsill, letting the crisp chill bite into his skin, hoping it might banish the residue of the nightmare. It didn't.This was his last night here, his last night in safety. Tomorrow, everything would change. The northern barracks and after it the northern border awaited him—a place where recruits like him were sent to face the perils of the borderlands. Most of them would die there, their names forgotten except as numbers on a record."Would they remember me?" he murmured. "Would they even care?"The thought was bitter, but not unfamiliar. His hand drifted to his scar again, tracing its jagged path across his chest. It wasn't just a mark; it was a reminder of a life taken and a life spared. His life had been bought with blood—the blood of his family. His parents and his sister had given everything, wielding their magic to hold back an enemy Rifi hadn't even been old enough to understand. Their sacrifice had saved him, but it had left him adrift.Years had passed since that night. For most, the awakening of magic came in their early teens, a sudden rush of power that announced their potential to the world. But Rifi's awakening had been late—too late. At nineteen, he was the oldest newly awakened mage in Hepestus, or so he'd been told. The delay had cost him precious time, years when he could have been training, advancing, or securing a future. Now, he was playing a dangerous game of catch-up.He rested his head against the window frame, staring at the streets below. In the dim light of the mana orbs, the city seemed almost peaceful, but Rifi knew better. Hepestus was a city of survival, where power dictated worth and weakness was a death sentence. He had survived this long, but barely.The thought of his magic brought a flicker of hope, though it was faint and fragile. Magic flowed through the world in ten distinct ranks, from the fragile Black core to the mythical White. The White core was legend—a pinnacle of power whispered about in old stories. Rifi had only just advanced to the Brown core, the second of ten ranks. It was a small step, but a step nonetheless."Will it be enough?" he whispered to the night air. "Would they be proud of me?"He tried to picture their faces, but time had blurred their features. He could barely remember the sound of their voices, the warmth of their touch. But he remembered their sacrifice, and the weight of that memory pressed on him like the whisper in his dreams.The sky outside was growing lighter, the stars fading as dawn crept over the horizon. Rifi turned from the window and began to prepare. His possessions were few—a spare tunic, a small knife, and a single mana stone, its faint glow dimmer than he would have liked. The city's conscription program provided each recruit with two mana stones per month, just enough to sustain their abilities. It wasn't generous, but it was better than nothing."Still, I should be grateful," he muttered, his voice low and hollow. "The stones helped."Gratitude was hard to muster when the cost of survival was so steep, but Rifi forced himself to push the bitterness aside. Today marked the beginning of his true trial. The northern borderlands awaited, a place where survival was a privilege earned with blood and toil. Recruits like him—poor, unconnected, disposable—were sent to the most dangerous posts, their lives gambled on the thin chance of a breakthrough.The northern border, plagued by relentless beast attacks, had claimed more lives than anyone could count. Rifi's chances were slim, but he couldn't afford to falter. Not now, not after everything that had been sacrificed to bring him here. The streets of Hepestus were quieter than usual, a somber stillness hanging in the early morning air. The faint echo of footsteps on cobblestones mingled with the occasional murmur of voices. Guards patrolled the city's main thoroughfares, their polished armor glinting under the dim light of the mana orbs lining the streets. Early risers hurried toward their daily work, baskets and tools in hand, their heads bowed against the chill. Among them were other recruits, their uniforms worn and mismatched, their faces a mix of grim determination and barely concealed dread.Rifi glanced at them as he walked. Most were young—some even younger than himself—but all bore the same haunted look. Their eyes were wide with uncertainty, and their postures hunched as though they carried invisible weights. They moved in clusters or pairs, as if strength in numbers might stave off the reality of what awaited them."How many of us will return as corpses?" Rifi muttered under his breath, his lips curling into a bitter smile. "We already look like them, some of us."The thought lingered, heavy and uncomfortable. He tightened his grip on his pack, his fingers brushing against the rough fabric. Ahead, the barracks loomed—a fortress of cold, gray stone that seemed to devour the sunlight struggling to crest the horizon. The air grew thicker as he approached, the weight of the place pressing down on him like an invisible hand.In the barracks yard, hundreds of recruits had already gathered. Their chatter was low, subdued, a hum of unease that rippled through the crowd. Hardened legionaries patrolled the perimeter, their expressions carved from stone. They eyed the recruits with detached scrutiny, their gazes sharp and assessing. Rifi could see it in their eyes—they'd seen this before. They knew how many would make it back.The clamor stilled as a Centurion stepped onto a raised platform. He towered over the gathered recruits, his armor gleaming, his presence commanding. When he spoke, his voice boomed across the yard, amplified by mana."Recruits!"The single word cut through the murmur of the crowd like the sharp clang of steel. A ripple of tension swept through the yard, and all eyes turned toward the towering Centurion on the raised platform. His voice, amplified with magic, boomed across the space, commanding silence and attention."Today, you are no longer mere citizens. Today, you become Legionaries of Hepestus! You stand here as chosen defenders of this city—of its people, its lands, and its future. This is your duty, your honor, and your burden."His gaze swept over the sea of faces, cold and unwavering."The path you have chosen—or the path that has chosen you—is not an easy one. Beyond these walls lie dangers that will test your courage, your skill, and your resolve. Beasts that tear flesh from bone. Raiders who know no mercy. You will face them all—and you will either rise to meet the challenge or fall as so many before you have fallen."He paused, letting the weight of his words settle."For your service, the city will reward you. One mana stone per week—your lifeline, your weapon, and your tool for survival. Prove your worth, and the rewards will grow. With every step you take to advance your rank, so too will your compensation, your standing, and your power. But remember: nothing in this life comes freely. Every stone, every promotion, every ounce of respect will be paid for—in sweat, in blood, and in sacrifice."The recruits stood frozen, their expressions a mixture of determination and fear. The Centurion's voice softened, but its intensity only deepened."Do not take this oath lightly. The northern border awaits, a place where weakness is devoured, and only strength endures. But if you stand firm, if you fight as Legionaries, not as individuals but as a force united, you may yet survive. Some of you will not return. That is the truth of war. But those who do… will return stronger, sharper, and tempered like the finest steel."His eyes locked onto the crowd, as though searching for something in each face."Now, form your lines, receive your assignments, and prepare yourselves. The Legion does not wait for the faint of heart. The city demands strength, and strength it shall have."The crowd shuffled uneasily, and Rifi lingered at the back, as was his way. He avoided the crush of bodies, the noise of nervous whispers and shuffling feet. Crowds unnerved him. Too many people, too many eyes, too much chaos. He watched as the recruits stepped forward, one by one, to stand before a line of legionaries seated at tables.When the crowd thinned, Rifi approached one of the tables. The man sitting there was older, his face lined with years of service. He glanced at Rifi's papers, then looked up, his sharp, discerning gaze piercing through the young mage."What do we have here?" the man asked, his tone gruff but not unkind. "Rifi... it says you've got hunting experience. Is that true? I don't need another lying fool in my ranks."Rifi hesitated for a fraction of a second, then forced a nervous smile. "Yes, sir. I've hunted since I was young—survival depended on it."The legionary held his gaze for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he grunted, nodding as if satisfied. "Good. I hope for your sake that's true. Since you've broken into the Brown core, I'll assign you to a scouting squad." He shoved a small bundle toward Rifi. "Here's your uniform and standard equipment. Report to Rudeus over there." He jabbed a finger toward a small group of mages standing off to the side.Rifi took the uniform, his fingers brushing over the leather straps and the hilt of the sword tucked within. The weight of it felt foreign, yet strangely reassuring. It wasn't fine craftsmanship—just standard issue, scuffed and worn—but to Rifi, it was the finest gear he had ever held. A faint pang of unease flickered in his mind, though, as he wondered just how many recruits had worn this gear before him, and how many of them had lived long enough to hand it back."You can admire your sword later," the legionary barked with a laugh, snapping Rifi from his thoughts. "Move along. I've got others to deal with."Nodding quickly, Rifi adjusted his grip on the bundle and made his way toward the group. As he approached, a rugged man with a weathered face stepped forward. His expression was serious, but his eyes carried a hint of curiosity."It seems our last member has arrived," the man said, his voice rough but not unkind. "A Brown core mage and a hunter to boot. Better than a green recruit, eh? At least this one might last longer than a week." He chuckled, and the others joined in, their laughter sharp and edged with grim acceptance.Rifi offered a tentative smile. "I'm Rifi," he said, his voice quieter than he intended. "I hope I can meet your expectations."The man clapped him on the shoulder, his grip firm. "Relax, kid. No need to be so formal. I'm Rudeus, five years in the Legion, and a peak Purple core mage. These are Lucilia, Albus, and Julius. All early or mid-Purple core mages. You'll get to know them soon enough. For now, we need to move. Time's short."The introductions ended there. The group fell into step, their movements smooth and practiced, leaving Rifi scrambling to adjust. The barracks receded into the distance as they marched toward the northern border.