The morning sun kissed the tops of trees, casting long shadows along the wide dirt road leading to Whitevalley Town. Birdsong echoed over the rolling plains as the birds swooped down to catch their morning meal.
Dew from the cold night cast webs upon the grass, sparkling in the light from the newly emerged sun, painting a wonderful sight. The natural ecosystem was in harmony, free from any disturbances.
Footsteps sounded, spooking the feasting birds who had been busy digging in the fresh soil. Their wings fluttered as they retreated from the approaching figure.
A young and skinny boy walked stiffly down the wide dirt road, his emerald eyes seeming dull. His blond hair was dirty, as were his once expensive looking clothes and leather boots.
This was Michael Aurelius, the only son of the Aurelius family of Velmara City.
He knew that his appearance was less than ideal, but he did not care. After being forced to travel alone through the wilderness for over half a month, he was dead tired.
Even with his orange rings, Michael was almost powerless to protect himself against the beasts within the forest. Since he only knew chore magic and had yet to fully acclimatize to his newfound strength, things had been grim.
His only option had been to hide and flee, catching a few hours of sleep whenever it was safe, yet always remaining vigilant.
He had thought surviving in the mana-scarred lands had been difficult, but this was even worse. At least there had been no beasts and he didn't have to constantly be on guard.
What's worse was that beasts weren't the only predators he found during his trip.
He had run into slave traders, mistaking them for law abiding citizens along the way. If it weren't for his instincts, Michael would have been taken, sold into slavery for the remainder of his young life.
Battered and bruised, the young boy persisted, intent on reaching his destination.
Whitevalley Town.
Michael raised his head, shielding his eyes against the sun that peaked over the horizon. In the distance, a large stone wall stood against the backdrop, large and imposing.
His heart surged and tears welled up in the corner of his eyes as he finally was within reach of his goal. All the hardship he'd faced head on had made the world seem bleak and unforgiving, yet he had made it.
Before he knew it, Michael began to run. His body cried out in pain with every step, but he ignored it, his vision misting as he ran towards the walls.
The tears flowed down his face and he cried, airing out all of his grievances. These past few weeks had been the worst time of his short life. He had lost everything he cared for and gone through unbearable pain both physically and mentally.
Most kids at the tender age of ten would have just given up. Michael almost did too, but the only thing that had kept him going was the thought of avenging his mother.
But even this felt trivial right now as he sprinted towards the gates of Whitevalley Town. He was at the end of his rope, exhausted in both body and soul.
"Halt!" a yell came from not far away, a mage dressed in a tight fitting white and black robe called out, raising his left hand. Three orange rings glowed upon his wrist, seemingly ready to activate a spell at a moments notice.
Michael began to slow his run, his breathing now ragged from pushing his small body to the limits. After finally coming to a stop, he hunched over with his hands upon his knees and sucked in large breaths of air.
"State your business, boy."
Michael looked up, his eyes moving to the badge on the left breast of the mage. It was a wand between two mountain peaks, a crest he'd seen before during his tutoring sessions back at the City Lord's Estate.
Thank the god's… I made it to Whitevalley…
Michael opened his mouth to answer, but his vision suddenly swam as his consciousness began to fade away. Darkness swallowed him before he fell to the ground with a thud, fainting in front of the gates.
Perhaps it was the sudden relief after his long and frightful journey, but his body had finally given out.
"Tch, what the hell is wrong with this kid?" The mage clicked his tongue, obviously annoyed.
"He looks like a scrawny kid from the slums," another commented, letting out a sigh. "Check for a slave mark, he might have escaped somehow."
"Eh? I don't want to touch him, he's so dirty…"
Eventually, the junior mage was coerced to inspect Michael's body, looking for the slave mark. The young man pulled a disgusted face as he grabbed the boy's collar in search of the sigil that branded him a slave.
"Hmm? Nothing?" he exclaimed in surprise.
"Check his wrists, some traders don't like branding the neck since it ruins the aesthetic of their product."
Letting out a sigh, the junior mage rolled up Michael's tattered right sleeve. His body froze for a moment, almost imperceptibly as he spotted the unassuming ring upon the boy's finger.
Turning his back towards his superior, the man tried to yank the storage ring of Michael's bony finger, but the thing didn't budge at all.
"What's wrong?"
"N-Nothing!" The man replied, muttering a curse under his breath. He threw the hand to the side, clearly annoyed about not being able to acquire the storage ring of the unknown boy.
"Hurry up and check his other wrist, there'll be merchant's arriving from the south soon." His superior said impatiently.
"Yes sir," the man replied, letting out a grumble under his breath.
He reached for Michael's left sleeve and yanked it back without any care or concern for the young boy, but upon doing so, he did not find a slave brand that he'd been searching for, but something else entirely.
Two gasps sounded out, each one filled with utter shock and confusion.
The mage's stared at the three glowing orange rings on the boy's wrist, dumbstruck. Though they appeared a little dim right now, they were unmistakably orange.
"H-He's an Ember Mage!?"