"Your powers are different in this world, and everyone might take that seriously because you can copy their ability, and even dominate others. I fear I shall not give you any more advice; go on and make your own way." Zephyrus's voice was firm, a final pronouncement that echoed through the forest.
"But I was reincarnated with this ability! I didn't even know all about this, and I'm not going to use this at my own advantage," Ronaldo pleaded, a desperate edge to his voice. How can he just leave me here? I literally just died! I don't know anything about this place, or how to even control what just happened!
"Words can't tell your pure intention; actions will." With that, the colossal dragon flapped its mighty wings, sending a powerful gust of wind that kicked up a cloud of dust and loose earth. The ground beneath Ronaldo's feet crumbled slightly, and he was forced to step back, a clear sign that his time at the Tree of Balete was over. Zephyrus, with a final, majestic beat of his wings, ascended to the very top branch of the Tree of Balete, watching Ronaldo leave its sacred grounds, a silent, imposing guardian.
Ronaldo walked, a strange mix of fear and indignation bubbling within him. He just… left me. After all that! After I literally died and got this weird, uncontrollable power! He stumbled through the dense undergrowth, the vibrant life of the forest slowly giving way to something far more desolate. As he reached the edge of the forest, the canopy thinned, and a chilling sight unfolded before him: a vast, destroyed landscape. It wasn't just a forest; it was a land scarred, where the outskirts of the Balete roots had been brutally dug up. This was the remnant of what was once a green, thriving forest, now a barren, lifeless expanse. Twisted, broken tree trunks jutted from the parched earth like skeletal fingers, and the air hung heavy with the dust of decay. The ground was cracked and dry, a stark contrast to the lush vitality of the cardinal tree's immediate vicinity. It was a horrifying testament to the very destruction Zephyrus had warned him about, a chilling echo of the environmental devastation he had witnessed in his old world.
Ronaldo set foot onto the barren land, each step crunching on the dry, brittle earth. The silence here was oppressive, broken only by the mournful whisper of the wind. He walked for what felt like hours, the sun beating down on his new, strangely resilient body. I wonder if I still get sunburned? He pushed the thought aside, his stomach rumbling loudly. He was hungry, a sensation he hadn't fully appreciated until now that he had a physical form again. As he reached the far end of the desolate expanse, a glimmer of hope appeared on the horizon: the faint outline of towering structures. "There's a palace!" he exclaimed, his voice hoarse. "I must go there. Maybe I could find something that will help me discover this world and my power, and eat. I'm hungry!"
He continued his trek, the distant structures growing larger with every weary step. Eventually, the barren land gave way to a dusty road, and soon, he found himself entering the Kingdom of Creyd. The sight was a stark contrast to the desolation he had just traversed. Towering castles, adorned with colorful flags bearing intricate crests, dominated the skyline. Quaint wooden houses, their roofs steep and gabled, lined cobbled streets. People bustled about, their chatter and laughter a welcome sound after the oppressive silence of the wasteland. He saw merchants hawking their wares, guards in polished armor patrolling, and children playing in the sun. It was a vibrant, living city, full of energy.
As he walked, his eyes caught sight of a poster paper tacked to a wooden post. It depicted a stylized sword and shield, with bold lettering announcing "The Trial of Triumph." Curiosity piqued, he stopped and then, following a faint sense of direction, entered a large, bustling building: the Guild Station. "Hmm, hello!" he mumbled, scanning the chaotic place. There was a long line of people, stretching from a central counter. Instinctively, he followed the line, joining the queue. He saw individuals of all shapes and sizes, armed with various weapons and magical implements: stern-faced warriors with gleaming swords, graceful archers with bows slung across their backs, and mysterious figures cloaked in robes, presumably witches or mages. It seems this is the place where every magic-born comes to.
"Excuse me, what is this for?" he asked a young man standing in front of him, who was clad in dark, elegant robes, his face partially obscured by a deep hood.
The young man replied coldly, his voice flat, "This is where we test what our ability is and our rank based on our pre-test."
"Ohh, is that so, thank you," Ronaldo said, nodding. Luckily, I have copied the skills of Zephyrus – the wind thing and the transparent fire thing. Huhu, I feel so guilty. Why do I have this? You could have made me powerless! He unknowingly stomped his foot in frustration, a small, childish gesture. Everyone in the vicinity looked at him, scanning him from head to toe, their expressions ranging from mild annoyance to outright suspicion.
"Aumm, I'm sorry," Ronaldo stammered, his face flushing. "There's a cockroach. I'm sorry!" He pointed vaguely at the floor, hoping to divert their attention.
"Next!" an old man shouted from the front, his voice gruff. He was assessing a glowing orb that seemed to determine the ranks and magic types of the applicants.
A young woman, her face pale with shock, stepped away from the orb. "Impossible! Your magic type is Time!" the old man declared, his own voice tinged with disbelief.
A ripple of murmurs spread through the room. "Is he a noble?" someone whispered. "Who could have a power like that? A common person can't have that!" another exclaimed.
"Try it again!" a burly man in heavy armor shouted, scoffing. "Maybe you should try scanning your attitude first!"
"What did you say?" The cold young man, who Ronaldo had just spoken to, turned sharply. The burly man was attempting to grab his back. With a flick of his hand to the left and a sharp snap of his fingers, the cold guy uttered, "Chrono Lapse." In an instant, the burly man began to shrink, his clothes becoming comically oversized, his features softening, until he was transformed into a gurgling baby, sitting on the floor amidst his discarded armor. The entire room erupted in laughter, a mix of shock and amusement.
"Woww, that is an amazing power!" Ronaldo clapped his hands in awe, completely forgetting his earlier embarrassment.
The cold guy's hood, which had been concealing his face, slid back, revealing a fine, handsome face. He wasn't tall, just average height, but his features were sharp and refined. "Woahhhh, impossible! It's Francis Lubraunth from the Lubraunth noble family!" someone gasped. "No wonder he had a power like that! Some thought time magic had vanished, and it's surprising that he has that power!" others whispered.
The old man, recovering from his shock, cleared his throat. "Time Magic, Rank Alpha Beta!" he announced, his voice filled with newfound respect. Another gasp of amazement filled the room. Francis Lubraunth simply turned his back and snapped his fingers again. "Chrono Relapse," he murmured, performing the gesture thrice. The baby-man rapidly cycled through his teen, adolescent, and adult versions, finally returning to his original burly form, albeit looking utterly bewildered.
"Next!" the old man called out, his eyes sweeping over the remaining applicants.
Ronaldo, still buzzing from the display of time magic, excitedly stepped forward. This is it! My turn! "Place your hand here, and it will know your affinity and rank," the old man instructed, gesturing to the glowing orb. Ronaldo eagerly placed his hand on the orb.
The orb, which had glowed with various colors for others, simply went stark white. A chilling, blank white, a sign that there was nothing in the person at all, a normal, non-magical person. Ronaldo's heart sank.
Just then, a familiar, ethereal whisper echoed in his mind.
[notice the orb contains a copyable affinity and ability. Do you want to copy it?]
"YES!" Ronaldo thought, his mind latching onto the opportunity.
[control c activated]
[copying 75%...80%...89%....97%...100%]
[copyable magic affinity and ability completed]
The old man, his face etched with disappointment, shook his head. "You have no affinity, young lad. We can't determine your rank."
"Aw, can we try again?" Ronaldo asked, a desperate hope in his voice. Maybe it needs a second try, now that I've copied it?
"Okay, just this one," the old man conceded, though his tone suggested it was a futile effort. Ronaldo placed his hand on the orb again. But alas, the orb still could not detect Ronaldo's power, even after he had copied the power inside it. Thus, Ronaldo was deemed rankless and had no defined type of power according to the Guild.
Dejected, Ronaldo went out of the Guild Station and walked for a while, his stomach rumbling even louder than before. "Man, I don't have money," he muttered to himself. Maybe I can just beg to the owner and wash the dishes after I eat. He spotted a small, cozy eatery tucked away on a side street, its windows glowing with a warm, inviting light. The smell of savory food wafted out, making his mouth water. He entered, the scent of cooked meat and spices instantly assaulting his senses.
An old man, who was taking orders at the counter, saw Ronaldo enter their eatery. "Welcome, let me know your order, and we will serve it to you shortly," the old man said, his voice surprisingly cheerful.
Ronaldo approached him, his shoulders slumped. "Mm, sir, I was lost, and I haven't eaten anything in three days. I'm really hungry, and I don't even have money. Can I have just your leftover, please? I will wash the dishes after I eat, sir, please…" Ronaldo begged, his voice cracking with desperation, his pride swallowed by the gnawing hunger.
The old man's cheerful demeanor vanished, replaced by a scowl. "What? What do you think us, a charity? No, get out! You bring bad luck to our business!" he snapped, waving his hand dismissively.
Ronaldo was about to turn and leave, his heart sinking, when an old woman stepped out from behind a curtain, emerging from the kitchen. "Why are you screaming? You're scaring our customers!" the old woman spoke gently, her voice soft and warm.
"There is a young boy who asked for leftovers, and I told him to go out," the old man grumbled, gesturing towards Ronaldo.
"What? Why? Where is he?" the old woman exclaimed, her eyes scanning the room. She spotted Ronaldo near the door. "Oh, young man! Come back!" she called out, her voice surprisingly strong.
"Here we go again! Don't do that! We barely have any customers!" the old man whined, throwing his hands up in exasperation.
"Shut up! That's why we have so many leftovers, because we cook over without customers!" the old woman yelled back, her gentle demeanor momentarily replaced by a fierce glare. The old man sighed dramatically, snapping his head away.
The old woman, ignoring her husband's protests, hurried after Ronaldo. "Hey, come back! We have some extra food here," the woman said, gently touching Ronaldo's arm.
Ronaldo's eyes widened, a flicker of hope igniting in them. "Really? Huhuhu, thank you, Grandma!" he said, tears welling up in his eyes.
"Come inside, sit and wait. I'll heat something for you," she said, her smile warm and comforting, a beacon of kindness in this strange new world.