A Web Novel Adaptation
In a world bathed in light… he was born in shadow.
The city of Caelumaris floated like a dream across the sky, its crystalline towers shimmering beneath the sun. Skyships drifted between spires of living glass and enchanted stone, leaving trails of stardust in their wake. Streets buzzed with arcane energy, with noble children playfully bending fire, air, and light to their whims.
Among the crowd, standing on the cracked edge of a shadowed street, a boy watched quietly.
His name was Artha.
Fifteen years old. Thin. Barefoot. Wrapped in ragged, threadbare robes.
Magic sparked all around him, but he held none.
They passed him like he didn't exist.
"They said he had nothing. No magic. No power. No right to dream."
His memory, as always, returned to that night — the night the world burned.
He had been six.
His mother had held him close, hidden behind the remnants of a shattered stone wall, her voice trembling with fear… and love.
"Artha… if the world turns against you—then you turn toward the sky. Always."
She had looked up then, past the smoke and fire, toward the stars. And so had he.
That was the last time he saw her eyes alive.
The fire came from the ground — red, hungry, and cruel.
A demon horde had surged into their village, tearing through homes and families. Screams echoed. The night sky turned crimson.
Artha remembered his father — dark-skinned, strong-armed, smelling of oil and ash. A man who worked hard and spoke little. That night, he had crouched down and looked Artha in the eyes.
"You must watch, Artha. Even if you can't fight... watch the world. Understand it.""Protect your brother. Live."
Then he'd tossed Artha into a hidden cellar, sealing the hatch. Artha watched through a narrow crack as the screams rose. As shadows fell. As silence came.
That was how his world ended — not with fire.
With silence.
With no goodbye.
He woke with a jolt.
Breath ragged. Heart pounding.
The alley was cold. Dew clung to his skin. Morning light slipped across broken bricks and rusted bins. He wiped sweat from his brow and sat up, legs stiff from sleeping on stone.
Still shaking… after all these years.
He stood, brushing dirt from his ragged sleeves, and began walking.
Noble children passed him in clean robes, laughing and tossing spells at one another. One sent a spark near his feet on purpose.
"Careful, dust-rat. Don't burn your trash robes."
Artha didn't react. He was used to it. He had learned long ago — if they mocked you, you kept walking. If they hated you, you survived anyway.
They mock what they don't understand.And I… barely understand myself.
He reached into his shirt and pulled out a small pendant — cracked, blackened from fire.
Inside was a faded sketch of his mother. Next to it, a drawing of a boy with a bright smile — his older brother. The pendant was all he had left. That, and the memories.
His mother's voice echoed in his mind, soft and fading:
"When the world forgets you… remember your name. Artha. It means purpose."
Then his father's voice, firmer:
"You were born to see what others fear to question."
He clutched the pendant tightly.
And that's when it happened again.
The world glitched.
No other word described it.
One second, the wind blew through the streets. Birds flew overhead. Laughter echoed.
The next… everything froze.
Time halted.
A bird hung in the air mid-flight, wings frozen open. Sparks from a spell hovered like stars caught in honey. The wind vanished. The world stopped breathing.
And in that stillness, Artha stood alone.
His eyes flickered — a faint violet glow. The ground beneath him cracked slightly, not from weight, but from something wrong. Like space itself was fracturing.
And sometimes… when pain rises too strong to hold… the world breaks.
It lasted only seconds.
Then — reality snapped back.
The world moved again.
Birds flew.
Children laughed.
Artha collapsed to his knees.
No one noticed.
He panted, heart racing. His body ached. His mind buzzed with fear.
I didn't ask for this power. I don't even know what it is.But if I don't find out… I'll never find him.
He looked again at the locket.
His brother's face stared back at him — frozen in time, like the last memory he'd managed to keep.
In the distance, rising above the floating city, were the gates of Aetherion Academy.
A place where only the most gifted were allowed.
A place where truth, magic, and history danced hand in hand.
A place Artha had no right to enter.
And yet… he stared at it.
Eyes hollow.
Back straight.
Heart trembling.
The world left him behind…But the sky still waits.And so… begins the journey of the boy who had nothing.