The Kingdom of August hummed with life as morning rays swept over its cobblestone streets. The clang of blacksmiths' hammers rang from the forges, and the air was rich with the mingling scents of baked bread, fresh herbs, and alchemical elixirs. Magic crackled faintly in the air, a constant reminder of the arcane power that flowed through the land like an invisible river. 

Near the center of the bustling marketplace stood a towering bulletin board, a monument of prestige and ambition. On its polished wooden surface, names gleamed in golden script under the heading Archon Wizards. These were the kingdom's elite, wielders of magic so profound that their names were etched into history itself. 

Cynus stood a few feet away, staring at the board as if it held the key to his future. His hands hung limp at his sides, calloused fingers twitching involuntarily. His reflection, faint on the board's polished surface, stared back at him—a scrawny boy with unkempt black hair and wide amber eyes that seemed to flicker with unspoken yearning. 

"Ignis Valen," he muttered, reading aloud the name of one of the most revered Archon Wizards. A wielder of fire magic so powerful that his flames had once turned an entire battlefield to ash. 

Cynus raised his hand and summoned a flicker of flame to his fingertip. The tiny ember sputtered weakly before fading, leaving behind only a wisp of smoke. His shoulders sagged. 

"Hey, Candle-boy!" a voice cut through the noise, sharp and mocking. Cynus turned to see Jaron, a stocky boy his age, swaggering toward him. A group of kids followed close behind, their grins wide and wicked. 

"Did you finally set the world on fire, or was that just the breeze snuffing you out again?" Jaron jeered, drawing laughter from his gang. 

Cynus clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "Get lost, Jaron." 

"Aw, don't be like that," Jaron said, stepping closer. "We just want to see the future Archon Wizard in action. Come on, Candle-boy, light something up for us. Or is that too much for you?" 

The laughter cut through Cynus like a blade. He felt his cheeks burn, but not with magic—just the familiar sting of humiliation. 

"I said, leave me alone," he snapped, his voice trembling. 

Jaron smirked. "Or what? Gonna roast me with that mighty flame of yours?" 

The words hung in the air like a challenge, and for a moment, Cynus considered answering it. He wanted to lash out, to show them all that he wasn't as weak as they thought. But deep down, he knew his magic wasn't enough—not yet. 

With a sudden burst of movement, Cynus flipped the bench he'd been sitting on. The crash startled the group, and they scattered, their laughter fading as they disappeared into the crowd. 

Cynus stood there, his chest heaving. He turned back to the bulletin board, his gaze lingering on the golden names. Each one seemed to taunt him, reminding him of how far he was from the person he wanted to be. 

"You don't sound too sure about that," a voice said from behind him. 

Cynus spun around, startled. A man leaned casually against a nearby lamppost, his cloak tattered and his boots caked in dust. He looked like he'd walked straight out of a battlefield, his scarred face a testament to a hard life. His eyes, though, burned with a sharp intensity that made Cynus uneasy. 

"Who are you?" Cynus asked warily. 

"Kael," the man replied, pushing off the lamppost and taking a step closer. "And you? What's your name, kid?" 

"Cynus," he said, his voice cautious. 

"Well, Cynus, I saw that little scene back there." Kael gestured vaguely toward the bench. "Got some fire in you—figuratively speaking, of course. But if you think that temper's gonna get you anywhere near that board, you've got a long way to go." 

Cynus bristled. "What do you know about it?" 

Kael's lips quirked into a half-smile. "More than you think. Look, kid, I've seen a lot of people like you. All dreams and no plan. You think you can just stumble your way to greatness?" 

"I'm not just dreaming," Cynus shot back, his voice rising. "I've been training my whole life!" 

Kael raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And all you've got to show for it is a flicker?" He shook his head, the scar on his face twisting as his expression hardened. "Hate to break it to you, but the world doesn't care about dreams unless you can back them up." 

Cynus opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught in his throat. Kael was right. No matter how hard he tried, his magic barely amounted to anything. 

"But," Kael said, his tone softening, "if you're serious about this, meet me at the old training grounds outside the city. At dawn. Show me what you've got." 

Before Cynus could respond, Kael turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving only the faint scent of ash in his wake. 

Cynus stood there, his thoughts swirling. He glanced back at the bulletin board one last time, his eyes locking onto Ignis Valen's name. 

"I'll prove it," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the market's noise. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Cynus felt something stir deep within him—a flicker of hope, faint but unyielding. 

Little did he know, this flicker would one day ignite a fire that would change not only his life but the entire Kingdom of August.