The streets of Crimson Court weren't made for people like him.
The upper towers gleamed in polished crystal and floating lanterns. The elite hovered on sky platforms, sipped liquid magic from golden flasks, and whispered secrets that decided wars. But down here—beneath the shimmering spelllight and far from the palace that ruled magic—was rot. Wet cobblestone. Broken rune tiles. Hunger. And a boy.
Ken, eighteen, black-haired, tall at 5'11, with a hoodie that had once been blue but was now soaked in grime, moved like a shadow across the alleys. His grayish eyes darted from every corner, scanning for guards, for trackers, for anyone who might recognize him.
Not long ago, he'd been invisible.
Now, he was the most wanted man in the world.
He used to live with his aunt. If you could call it living. She was cruel, obsessed with spirits and gods that never listened. His uncle had escaped first. Ken ran when he was sixteen. Took nothing but the clothes on his back and the name his father gave him.
He slept under bridges. He worked for Phoenix coins—sweeping taverns after blood duels, dancing for nobles when drunk mages wanted "a laugh," and sometimes standing in as a punching bag for rich kids practicing physical magic.
But Ken had one thing none of them did—healing hands.
He could mend wounds with nothing but a thread and a knife. Reset broken bones. Stitch flesh with precision. He didn't need enchantments. Just focus, silence, and the voice of his father echoing from a time when magic hadn't destroyed everything.
"Steady hand, Ken. Blood is fear leaving the body. Don't flinch."
His father… the best healer Ken had ever known. Gone.
Murdered in front of his eyes.
That night haunted him every time it rained. The thunder, the torn tent, the general's blood. The tall man with the smiling children's mask. His voice cold and distant.
"They can never defeat evil… when evil already lives in them."
He'd stabbed Ken's father through the spine with a jagged axe-like blade. Looked at Ken with those hollow eyeholes and said—
"Shoo off, kid. I'll spare you. You're not important yet."
And then lightning struck. He vanished.
Ken never forgot the blood on his hands. Not his father's, not since.
Now, two years later, he had nothing but guilt… and his skills. He avoided the Ministry. Kept his head down. Lived on crusts and luck. He thought if he stayed quiet, they'd forget.
He was wrong.
That morning, it began.
He was helping a merchant load crates behind a magic shop. Nothing illegal. Just lifting weight, earning four Phoenix coins for the day. Then someone shouted.
"There! That's him!"
He froze.
Ken turned and saw a group—three men, two women, all in robes etched with glowing Ministry sigils. One raised a staff.
"Ken Hayes! By order of the High Court, you are under arrest!"
"What?" he said aloud. "For what!?"
They didn't answer. Magic surged from their staves. Bolts of light and chains of force shot through the alley.
Ken ran.
His legs burned. Heart hammered. People screamed and scattered as he darted through market streets and leapt over barriers.
A poster unfurled above the plaza.
WANTED: KEN HAYES
FOR CRIMES AGAINST THE MINISTRY
REWARD : 5,000 PHOENIX
He gasped. "What the hell!?"
He didn't steal. Didn't kill. Didn't even cast magic!
A ball of crimson fire hit the street behind him, sending shards of stone flying.
And then…
A floating gray screen blinked into existence before his eyes.
[SHADOW SYSTEM: INITIATING INSTALLATION...]
[SYNCING WITH USER...]
[ERROR: FILES CORRUPTED..... INSTALLATION INCOMPLETE.]
He stumbled, nearly crashing into a barrel. What the hell was that!?
Was it a curse? A hex? A spell?
But before he could think, a firm grip caught his shoulder and yanked him into a nearby building.
Ken swung around, ready to fight—but a man in a long cloak and wide hat stood there, calm as rain. He was smoking something bitter and dark, scentless. His eyes were sharp.
"Don't move," the man said.
Ken narrowed his eyes. "You with them?"
The man took another drag. "If I was, you'd be cuffed already."
Ken hesitated.
The man gestured. "You want to live? Get in. I don't like blood on my doorstep."
Ken hesitated… but nodded.
Inside, the home was strange. Quiet. Old furniture. Walls lined with sealed scrolls. The air felt heavier. No sigils of protection, no floating furniture like most magic homes.
"Sit," the man said.
Ken didn't. "Why'd you help me?"
"Because I hate liars. And the Ministry's the biggest liar of all."
Ken didn't trust him—but he had no choice. He dropped onto a wooden stool, panting.
"I don't even know what I did," he muttered. "Why am I wanted?"
The man raised an eyebrow. "You don't know?"
"I haven't done anything!"
The man blew out smoke. "Your name is Ken Hayes. Your father was the battlefield surgeon who tried to save General Volan during the Chaos War."
Ken flinched.
"You were there when he died. When the smiling masked man stabbed him in that war camp."
Thunder rang in Ken's ears again. The smell of blood returned. Rain hitting canvas. His hands trembling as his father bled out on the table.
"I was sixteen," Ken whispered.
The man nodded. "The Ministry didn't want that general saved. Chaos magic was inside him. If your father had succeeded, people would've started asking questions. Like how Chaos magic got inside a High General in the first place."
Ken's stomach twisted.
"You saw too much," the man said. "That's why they want you gone."
Ken felt hollow.
"But I didn't tell anyone. I never—"
"Doesn't matter. You lived. That's enough."
Suddenly, the gray screen returned.
[INSTALLATION COMPLETE.]
[SHADOW SYSTEM ACTIVATED.]
[SURGEON RECOGNIZED: ABILITIES UNLOCKED.]
Ken gasped. Pain stabbed behind his eyes. Images flashed — muscle diagrams, nerve maps, pressure points glowing red. His hands twitched involuntarily.
"What's happening to me?"
The man smiled faintly. "Looks like your real inheritance just woke up."