???'s POV
"Haah," I sighed as I walked down the dark alley. Looking back, the path I had come from was swallowed by darkness, leaving no trace of where I had been.
My tense nerves eased slightly as what I had once considered a dangerous process turned out to be surprisingly safe.
With that thought, I looked up at the dark sky and continued my journey.
After taking several turns in a specific pattern, the surroundings began to lighten. Small lamps flickered along the alleys, casting a faint glow in the dim night, revealing a sparsely populated area.
As I walked further, the sounds of the city started to fill the air. Faint bickering grew louder, mixing with the occasional shouting, crying, and arguing.
But none of it surprised me. It was a common occurrence in the outer districts, the slums of Aridale.
Once, Aridale had been one of the most beautiful cities in the Fae country. But that was before the war for the throne, which had torn the city apart. A few decades ago, most of the families in Aridale had supported the first prince, believing he was the rightful heir. However, the end result favored the third prince, a turn of fate that would change everything.
After he was crowned, the third prince secretly disposed of his more powerful rivals, leaving only a few alive—those he granted lands to, allowing them to rule small territories. The supporters of the fallen princes were too ruthlessly crushed, their wealth and status taken, their families destroyed. This was the beginning of Aridale's downfall, a city that would never fully recover.
Shaking my head to push the dark thoughts away, I focused on my journey. I cautiously made my way toward home, keeping my senses alert, always wary of the trouble that could arise .
After cautiously walking for a while, I arrived at a somewhat shabby-looking house. Yeah, my house.
I quickly made my way to the door and entered, locking it behind me.
As I stepped inside, I glanced downward at the nearly invisible strings I had placed across the doorframe. They were designed to detect any movement, to alert me if anyone had entered. Seeing that the strings were intact, I let out a sigh of relief.
Inside, the house was small—just three rooms: a bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen. The sparse furniture made it feel empty, with little to distract from the bare walls and floors.
I removed the mask from my face, setting it aside, and quickly changed into my usual clothes—ill-fitting and a little worn, the ones that blended better with my surroundings.
Walking into the bathroom, I looked into the mirror. The reflection staring back at me was that of a young boy, around 15 or 16 years old, with a slightly feminine face. His dark black hair had streaks of grey running through it, and his green eyes shone with a subtle, exotic quality—striking in these parts of the slums.
Staring at my reflection, I fell into a trance for a moment, lost in thought.
Yeah, I was a reborn person. In my past life, I had lived on a planet called Earth, where I was successful and had everything going good for me. But one day, everything changed. My eyes went black, and suddenly, I found myself in a haze of disorienting consciousness.
That haze lasted for a year, and just when I thought I might never truly regain my sense of self, I finally began to think more clearly. It was then that I realized I was inside the body of a one-year-old child, born in the slums of Aridale.
My new parents named me Cier—they were a combination of a stoic-looking man, Cole and a little pretty woman, Seria. They weren't perfect, but they made a good pair, understanding and supportive of each other in different ways.
But life had other plans. When I was just five, my father was murdered by his supervisor at the factory where he worked. As was the way in these parts, they paid us a small sum of money and moved on without a second thought.
My mother, though heartbroken, decided to carry on and work harder for us. Yet, after a year, she, too, met an untimely end. It was said to be an 'accident' while she was returning home through a area controlled by the local notorious gang, the Lizardborn.
At the age of six, I was alone, forced to fight for survival every single day. Begging, pickpocketing, doing whatever small tasks I could to get by.
But life in the slums wasn't kind to orphans, especially ones as small as me. The constant threat of being sold off loomed over me, and I was often beaten for no reason by the ruffians who ruled the streets.
As I pulled down my shirt, the mark on my back became visible—a long, centipede-like scar stretching from my shoulder blade down my back. It was the result of a cruel 'game' played by members of the Lizardborn gang.
There were countless times when I found it hard to keep going, when the pain, hunger, and fear seemed unbearable. But somehow, I kept moving forward, clinging to the hope of a better life, even if it meant being cruel to me as well to others.
Snapping out of those thoughts, I fetched some water and quickly took a bath, letting the cool liquid wash away the grime and fatigue of the day.
After drying myself, I made my way to the bedroom. Sitting on my small, creaky bed, I carefully took out the bottle of sky-blue solution—the 'awakening potion.' This was no ordinary liquid. In this world, it was essential for anyone seeking to unlock their innate abilities, their true potential.
Yes, this world was what I would have called a 'fantasy world' in my previous life. I first realized its extraordinary nature when I was eight years old. That day, I witnessed the leader of the Lizardborn gang in a brutal fight against a rival gang. Before my eyes, he transformed into a half-human, half-lizard monstrosity and tore his enemies apart with cruel efficiency.
Watching that scene, I came to a grim realization—being ordinary in this world meant being powerless. And powerlessness was the same as being worthless.
Through a mix of working in the shadows and toiling in the light, I had somehow managed to scrape together enough to buy an awakening potion illegally. In the slums, this was the only option. The legal ways of buying potions were out of reach of most people in slums, reserved for those with backing from people in inner city.
Having a backer from the inner city came with its own price—a metaphorical collar around your neck, binding you to their whims and commands. For someone like me, who had endured a hard and cruel life since the age of six, such a life was totally unacceptable.