The city of Eldrinth had never been kind to the poor. It was a city of two worlds—one of gold and light, where nobles walked upon polished stone streets, where silk banners fluttered from the high towers, and where music and laughter echoed through marble halls.
And then there was the other world—one of filth and shadow, where the gutters overflowed with the forgotten, where beggars huddled beneath crumbling bridges, and where the city guards crushed those who did not belong.
Kian belonged to the second world. He had no family. No home. No future. Or so he thought. Because Kian was not ordinary.
He did not know it yet, but the world had never meant for him to be a beggar. He was something more. Something ancient. Something powerful. A boy cursed with too many gifts.
Kian had been living on the streets of Eldrinth for as long as he could remember. The city of light and shadow.
Once, it had been a beacon of wisdom and knowledge, home to the greatest scholars and warriors in the real.
But centuries of war, greed, and the slow decay of power had turned it into a city of division.
At its heart stood the Ivory Keep, a fortress of towering white stone where King Theron Vale ruled with an iron hand. The nobility flourished in glided palaces, surrounded by walls so high they never had to look upon the starving masses.
Their banquets stretched into the early hours of dawn, their goblets overflowing with honeyed wine.
But beyond the walls of wealth lay the true Eldrinth.
The slums. The forgotten streets. The places where the gutters ran thick with filth, where hunger gnawed at bellies like a beast that never slept.
And in those streets, the only law that mattered was survival. This was the world Kian knew. This was the world that had tried to break him.
And soon, it would be that he was unbreakable.
He had no memories of his parents, no recollection of where he had been before the streets became his home. All he had were scraps of memory—a woman's voice, soft but sad. A warm hand on his forehead. The scent of burnt sage and something metallic.
And then—nothing. He had learned quickly that the only rule in Eldrinth was survival one helped beggars. No one pitied orphans. If you were weak, you were trampled beneath the boots of those with power.
So Kian became quick. Clever. Invisible. He could vanish into crowds before guards could lay a hand on him. He could predict where food would be thrown, always arriving before the other street rats. He could slip through locked doors, though he never understood why they sometimes opened without a key.
He thought it was luck. But luck does not make shadows stretch toward you like loyal hounds. Luck does not make the air hum when you are angry. Luck does not set fire to your hands.
The first time Kian truly understood his power was during the cruelest winter Eldrinth had ever seen. The cold came early that year, creeping through the city like a silent killer.
The river froze solid, the markets emptied, and the nobles locked themselves in their palaces, their fires burning bright while the poor died in the streets.
Kian had curled into an alleyway, his body shaking, his lips cracked and dry. He had not eaten in days. The hunger clawed at him, making his vision blur, making his thoughts slow.
For the first time, he wondered if this was how he would die. And so, he whispered a prayer—not to the gods, because the gods had never listened. To no one. To nothing. Just a plea. A wish.
And suddenly—fire bloomed in his hands. Warm. Alive. It did not burn him. It did not hurt. It felt like part of him. His eyes went wide, watching the flames dance in his palms. He had created fire.
For the first time in his life, Kian felt powerful. And for the first time, he felt afraid.
Kian kept his gift a secret. He had heard stories—whispers of children born with unnatural gifts. The Godmarked.
Some were taken by the royal court, trained in secret, and never seen again. Others were burned at the stake, their powers called an affront to the natural order.
Kian did not want to find out which fate awaited him. So he hid. But power is not something that can be hidden forever.
It happened when Kian was thirteen. Hunger had forced him into the Noble District, where the streets were lined with perfumed gardens and grand estates.
It was dangerous—the city guards did not hesitate to kill thieves caught in these parts—but the bakeries here threw away loaves of bread still warm from the ovens.
Kian had just grabbed a half-loaf from a kitchen window when he heard the shout. "Thief! Catch him!"He ran. His bare feet slapped against the stone, his breath sharp in the cold air. He darted through narrow alleys, vaulted over barrels, twisted through market stalls—but the guards were fast.
Faster than they should have been.Too many of them. He turned a corner and skidded to a stop. A dead end. Panic set in as heavy boots thundered closer. There was nowhere to run. "This is where street rats like you belong," one of the guards sneered. "In the dirt."
Kian clenched his fists. He didn't want to die. And then—the world shattered. The air around him rippled, like the surface of a pond struck by a stone.
A pulse of invisible force rippled outward, sending the guards flying. The torches along the alley walls snuffed out all at once, plunging everything into darkness. The last thing Kian heard was a scream of terror—but it was not his own.
And then—he was gone.
Kian did not know how long he had been running. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart hammering in his chest.
The city blurred around him, the alleyways twisting into endless corridors of shadow and stone.
He had lost control. One moment, he had been cornered. The next, the world had cracked apart.
The guards had been thrown back like leaves caught in a storm. Their torches had died in an instant. And Kian had….. disappeared.
He didn't remember moving, didn't remember fleeing. He had simply wished to be gone. And then he was. It was impossible. It was unnatural and worst of all, it was magic.
Kian collapsed against a crumbling wall, pressing a shaking hand to his forehead. His skin was damp with sweat, his fingers trembling. What had he done?
By dawn, the city was alive with rumors.
"The thief vanished"
"Black magic. It had to be"
"I heard he killed six guards with a single word"
The nobles feared him. The beggars whispered his name in awe. But in the high towers of the Ivory Keep, the news reached ears far more dangerous.
At the highest point of Eldrinth, beyond the gilded halls of the nobility, stood the Tower of the Magi.
It was a place of secrets. A place of shadows. A place where men who feared the old world watched for signs that it might return.
In a dimly lit chamber, three figures stood before a great table of black stone. A map of the city lay before them, inked with golden lines, the streets of Eldrinth drawn in exquisite detail.
One of them—a man with silver eyes and robes dark as midnight—ran a finger along the map.
"There"! he murmured.
The other two leaned forward. "A disturbance", the silver—eyed magus continued. "A rupture in the air itself. The old magic".
"Where?" asked the second, a woman draped in violet silks. The silver-eyed magus tapped the map. "The slums". A silence fell between them. At last, the third figure spoke —a man with a voice like rusted iron.
"The Godmarked," he simply said. "After all these years, another has awakened". His eyes darkened. "We must find him."
Kian did not sleep that night. He sat curled beneath an old bridge, his arms wrapped around his knees, his breath shallow.
The river below was frozen at the edges, the water slow-moving and dark. He could still feel it. The power. The force inside him was raw and hungry.
He should have been excited. He should have felt invisible. But all he felt was fear. He had heard the stories. He knew what happened to those born with magic. They were hunted. They were taken. They were erased. But something was different now.
For the first time in his life, he had a choice. He could run. He could hide. He could pretend none of this had happened.
Or—
He could fight. The thought made his heart race. Him? A beggar? Fighting the king's Magi? The guards? The entire kingdom?
Impossible. And yet…. Something deep inside him whispered:
You were never meant to be small.
You were never meant to bow.
You were meant to be more.
Kian clenched his fists. For the first time in his life, he would stop running. He would stand.