"In this world, threads define a person's destiny. Just by looking at someone's threads, you can tell how powerful they are.
The color of the threads reveals the type of magic a person wields, while their number and glow reflect the strength and amount of magic they possess. These threads descend from the sky—some even say from heaven itself—connecting to our souls and granting humans their magical abilities," explained the orphanage head, Malric.
"Woah… that's amazing!" Toma exclaimed, eyes wide.
"Grandpa," Mika asked, her brows furrowed with concern, "why doesn't Ren over there have any threads?"
"Ah… you see, Ren is special," Malric said gently, his gaze softening. "Unlike the rest of us, he has no threads. No one knows why. But that's all the more reason to support him, so he never feels alone, okay?"
Malric's words lingered in the air , but the morning sun seemed to call the children away from their seats. Toma boulted towards the courtyard, laugther bubbling out of him like a sparkling stream.
Riku stumbled after him, tripping over a loose stone but bursting into giggles instead of crying. Airi shook her head, hands on her hips, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Mika clutched the hem of her dress, shyly tiptoeing behind the group, while Souta lounged against the wall, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched the chaos.
From his perch atop a small hill, Cyril's calm gaze swept over the scene, the morning breeze teasing his hair. A soft smile curved his lips — a rare, quiet acknowledgment of the joyful mess below.
Ren dove into the fray, scooping Riku up mid-fall, spinning him around. "You'll have torun faster than that!" he laughed, the sound ringing like sunlight through the courtyard.
"Breakfast is ready everyone" Elara said joyfully.
The children rushed into the dining hall, their laughter echoing off the walls. Toma paused by Ren's side, tilting his head curiously.
"Hey Ren… even without threads, you always seem so happy, so full of life. How… how is that possible?"
Ren smiled warmly, his eyes softening as he looked at them.
"It's because of all of you. You accept me as I am… and that's more than enough to make me grateful every single day."
Everyone gathered around the dining table.
Toma piped up, eyes sparkling with excitement,
"Hey, there's a grand festival in town today!"
Malric shook his head with a stern but gentle tone.
"Yes… but it's only for the nobles and royals, Toma. We commoners cannot participate."
Souta slammed his fist on the table, eyes blazing with anger.
"Damn those nobles! Do they really think we're nothing but insects? They always treat us like this… someday, I'll show them exactly what a commoner is capable of!"
Ren's voice was calm, steady, and soothing.
"Souta… you shouldn't speak in such anger."
Cyril leaned back, a confident smirk playing at his lips.
"Relax, Souta. Don't think I'm out of the race — I'll surpass you yet."
The day passed in ordinary warmth laughter, chores, and playful arguments filling the air, until night quietly descended upon the orphanage.
Everyone was asleep. Ren lay quietly on his bed, staring at the ceiling, an uneasy feeling gnawing at him.
Across the room, Toma crept to the door, his steps light as a whisper. Ren stirred, noticing the movement, but dismissed it with a thought. Probably just to the bathroom…
Toma slipped outside, heart racing with excitement. He sprinted toward the town, desperate to catch the festival before it ended. Fireworks bloomed across the night sky, painting it with light. The air shimmered with magic he had never seen before, and wonder filled his eyes.
But in his awe, he collided with someone — a young nobleman, a bottle slipping from his hand and shattering on the ground.
"Watch where you're going, brat! You spilled my precious liquor!" the nobleman barked, his voice sharp with outrage.
Toma stumbled back, fear flashing across his face. "I-I'm sorry! I wasn't looking…"
The nobleman's eyes narrowed, scanning him. "Wait. You're no noble. Not even a royal… you're just a filthy commoner. That means you'll pay for this."
Toma trembled, his voice breaking as he pleaded. "Please… I didn't mean to cause trouble. If you let me go back to the orphanage, we can repay you somehow…"
"You know, my father doesn't allow me to drink… that's why I came here, away from everyone. And then you—" the nobleman's son sneered, his words slurred with alcohol, "you just had to ruin it. You'll pay for this!"
His fist shot forward, striking Toma across the face.
Toma collapsed to the ground, blood trickling from his nose. The nobleman's son, drunk and unrestrained, pounded him again and again — each blow heavier, crueler than the last.
"P-please… I'm sor—"
"Hah! I just remembered… I've got a new spell I've been itching to try out." His eyes gleamed with sadistic joy. He raised his arm, threads glowing faintly above him. "Steel Magic: Ironclad Fists!"
A metallic shimmer wrapped around his fists, forming brutal iron gloves. He grinned wildly.
"Hahaha! This spell— it's so much fun using it!"
Meanwhile, back at the orphanage, Ren grew restless.
"He hasn't come back in a while…"
Stepping outside, he quickly realized Toma was nowhere to be found. Ren paused, clenched his fists, and understood at once Toma had gone to the festival. Without wasting a second, he sprinted toward town.
The night air carried a dreadful sound: metal fists slamming again and again, like a blacksmith mercilessly striking hot iron.
Ren followed the noise, his heart sinking with every step, until he finally reached the scene.
There, under the cruel glow of fireworks, lay Toma—his small frame crushed beneath a noble's merciless blows. Blood stained his face, his body trembling with the weight of agony.
Ren's eyes widened. His legs gave way, yet he forced himself forward. The noble paused, sneering, as Ren dropped to his knees and cradled Toma's broken body in his arms.
"Tomaaaaa!! What the hell happened to you?!" Ren's voice cracked, raw with despair.
Toma's face was barely recognizable, swollen and bloodied. With fading strength, he forced a weak smile.
"I… a..m… sor…ry… big bro…ther…"
"No! Don't you dare! Stay with me, Toma! Elara can heal you—yes, she'll fix this. You'll be fine in no time. You have to be…" Ren's lips quivered, his desperate smile trembling with lies even he didn't believe.
But Toma's voice never came again.
Ren's world collapsed as he saw it—the faint threads of life that bound Toma… unraveling, snapping one after another, until nothing remained.
Toma was gone.
Beaten to death at the hands of a drunken noble's cruelty.
Ren's mind went blank. His heartbeat slowed, steady yet unnatural, echoing like a drum of doom. He rose to his feet with an eerie calm, as though grief and rage had been hollowed out and replaced by something else entirely.
A suffocating black aura seeped from his body, not threads of magic, but a malignant force that seemed to devour the very air around him.
"What now? You think you can fight back?" the noble sneered, masking his unease with arrogance. "What can a filthy commoner do to someone like me?Even if anyone finds out, who cares about a commoner's life?"
He kept ranting, but his voice faltered when Ren suddenly blurred from sight. In the blink of an eye, Ren appeared before him, his speed unnatural, inhuman.
A sphere of writhing black energy coalesced in Ren's hand, pulsing like a living wound. Without hesitation, he drove it into the noble's face. The explosion of force sent the young aristocrat sprawling, his features twisted and broken.
For the first time, the nobleman felt it—not magic, not threads, but something far more sinister. A weight pressed down on his chest, suffocating him, clawing at his very soul.
"You… what are you?" the nobleman stammered, his bravado crumbling into raw terror. "This isn't magic… you're no human. Not even a demon… you're something worse… far worse."