The old man's body lay cold and still in the snow, a stark contrast to the warmth that now pulsed faintly within Elias. He stared at the lifeless figure for a long time, his mind racing with questions that had no answers. Who was he? Why had he saved him? And what had he done to Elias? The old man's words echoed in his mind: *"A chance to find your own path, to discover your true strength."* But what strength? What path? Elias had spent his entire life scraping by, surviving on wits and luck. He had no power, no skills, no future. He was just a street rat, a nobody.
But something was different now, wasn't it? That warmth in his chest, that spark of energy… it was real. Elias could feel it, faint but persistent, like a low ember waiting to be fanned into a flame. He didn't know what it meant, but he knew it wasn't something he could ignore.
The dawn light grew brighter, casting long shadows across the alley. Elias knew he couldn't stay here. Garrett and his gang would return eventually, and the last thing he needed was to be caught standing over a dead body. He knelt down beside the old man and gently closed his eyes, a gesture of respect for the stranger who had given his life for him. Then, with one last look, Elias turned and slipped away into the maze of alleys that made up the lower district.
The streets were beginning to stir as the city awoke. Vendors were setting up their stalls, shoveling snow away from their doorsteps, and the smell of fresh bread wafted through the air. Elias's stomach growled, but he ignored it. The hunger was always there, gnawing at him, but it was no longer his only concern. He needed answers—about the old man, about the strange warmth inside him, about what was happening to him.
Elias made his way to the only place he knew he could think clearly—the ruins.
The ruins were an old part of the city, long abandoned and forgotten. Crumbling walls and broken pillars jutted out of the ground like the bones of some ancient beast. The place was rumored to be haunted, cursed even, which was why no one ever went there. But Elias had always felt a strange comfort in the ruins, a sense of peace that he couldn't find anywhere else. It was quiet, secluded, and safe from the dangers of the streets.
He found his usual spot, a small alcove beneath a collapsed archway, and settled in. The stone was cold against his back, but he didn't mind. He closed his eyes and focused on the warmth inside him, trying to understand it, to grasp it. He could feel it pulsing rhythmically, like a heartbeat, but every time he tried to reach out to it, it slipped away, like water through his fingers.
Frustrated, Elias slammed his fist into the ground. What was he supposed to do? How could he find his "true strength" if he didn't even know what it was?
"Think, Elias," he muttered to himself. "There has to be something, some clue…"
His mind drifted back to the old man, to the way his hands had glowed with that strange light. Was it magic? Elias had seen mages before, but only from a distance. Magic was a gift, something you were born with or weren't. The wealthy, the nobility—they were the ones who had magic, who could command the elements or bend reality to their will. For someone like Elias, magic was as unreachable as the stars. He had never even considered it, never thought it was something he could have.
But… what if it was?
Elias frowned, concentrating harder on the warmth. He pictured the old man's hands, the way they had glowed, and tried to imagine that same light coming from his own hands. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, just as he was about to give up, he felt it—a faint flicker, a tiny spark that danced across his palm. His eyes flew open, and he stared in disbelief as a small, pale light hovered above his hand.
It was weak, barely visible in the daylight, but it was real. It was magic.
Elias's heart raced with excitement and fear. He had done it. He had actually done it. But before he could celebrate, the light flickered and vanished, leaving his hand empty once more. The warmth inside him dimmed, and he slumped back against the wall, exhausted.
"Is this it?" Elias whispered to the empty ruins. "Is this all I can do?"
He knew that magic wasn't easy. He had heard stories of mages training for years to master even the simplest of spells. But this… this was barely anything. A flicker of light, a spark that vanished almost as soon as it appeared. It wasn't enough. Not if he wanted to survive, not if he wanted to change his life.
The sun climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the ruins. Elias sat in silence, lost in thought. What was the old man thinking? Why save him if this was all he could do? But then, maybe that was the point. Maybe the old man knew that Elias would have to struggle, to fight for every bit of progress. Maybe this was just the beginning.
"I can't give up," Elias muttered to himself. "Not now."
With renewed determination, he closed his eyes again and focused. This time, he didn't try to force the magic out. Instead, he let the warmth flow through him, let it build up naturally. He felt it grow stronger, more stable, until it was almost too much to contain. Then, slowly, carefully, he guided it to his hand. The light appeared once more, brighter this time, more solid. It hovered above his palm, flickering slightly but holding its shape.
Elias smiled, a genuine smile that he hadn't felt in years. It was working. He could feel the magic, control it. It was weak, yes, but it was a start.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his hand, and the light vanished in an instant. Elias cried out and clutched his hand, but there was nothing there, no wound, no mark. Just pain, searing and intense, as if something was trying to rip its way out of him. He doubled over, gasping for breath as the warmth inside him turned to fire, burning him from the inside out.
"What… what's happening?" he groaned, curling up on the ground. The pain was unbearable, worse than anything he had ever felt. It was as if the magic was tearing him apart, consuming him.
Images flashed before his eyes—fire, blood, shadows. He saw faces, unfamiliar and terrifying, twisted in rage and sorrow. Voices echoed in his mind, distant whispers that grew louder, more insistent. They spoke in a language he didn't understand, but the words were filled with anger, with despair.
*"You cannot escape your fate…"*
The pain intensified, and Elias screamed, clutching his head as the voices roared in his ears. He felt like he was drowning, sinking into a dark abyss from which there was no escape. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the pain stopped. The voices fell silent, and the warmth inside him vanished, leaving him cold and empty.
Elias lay on the ground, trembling, his body drenched in sweat. He had no idea how long he had been lying there, but it felt like hours. Slowly, he forced himself to sit up, his limbs shaking from the effort. Whatever had just happened, it was over. But the fear lingered, a deep, gnawing fear that he couldn't shake.
"What was that?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "What's happening to me?"
He didn't have any answers, but one thing was clear—this magic, whatever it was, was dangerous. It wasn't just a tool, something he could control. It was alive, wild, and it was far more powerful than he had realized. The old man had given him a gift, yes, but it was also a curse.
Elias knew he couldn't stay in the ruins any longer. He needed to find out more about this magic, about what had been done to him. He needed to learn how to control it, to master it before it destroyed him. But where could he go? Who could he turn to? The thought of seeking help was almost laughable. The nobles would never bother with a street rat like him, and the mages… they would probably see him as a threat.
But Elias wasn't completely without options. There was one place he could go, one person who might have answers.
The Academy.
It was a long shot, a fool's hope, but it was all he had. The Academy was the center of all magical knowledge, a place where the greatest mages studied and trained. It was also completely out of reach for someone like Elias. But if he could somehow get inside, find a way to learn about his magic, maybe—just maybe—he could find the answers he needed.
Elias got to his feet, still unsteady but resolved. He didn't know what awaited him at the Academy, but he couldn't stay here. The old man had given him a chance, and he wasn't going to waste it. He would find a way, no matter what it took.
As he left the ruins behind, Elias felt the warmth inside him flicker back to life, weak but steady. It wasn't much, but it was enough. He didn't know what the future held, but he knew one thing for certain:
His path had just begun.