EPISODE 1
A CRUEL LIFE
Rain was pouring over the city that night. Streets slick and shiny, puddles reflecting the dim streetlights like tiny mirrors. A cold wind sliced through his thin jacket, biting into the bones of a skinny boy. His name was Ardan.
He was only seventeen, but he looked fragile, his face bruised and pale. His blue eyes were tired, and his black bangs plastered to his forehead only added to the gloom surrounding him. The rain soaked him to the skin, but it was nothing compared to the pain he endured every single day at school.
Ardan trudged along, eyes fixed on the muddy ground. Each step felt like he was carrying the weight of the world. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to block out the hurt—but the memories of the day came crashing back.
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Real Life Hell
At school, he was always the target. Not just beaten, but mocked, humiliated, turned into the punchline of cheap jokes.
"Hey, trash is here!" a student shouted as Ardan stepped into the classroom.
His chair was kicked, books snatched and thrown to the dusty floor. A group of students surrounded him, grinning with malice.
"Look at his eyes! Blue, but dull… like a dead fish. Disgusting!"
Laughter filled the room. Ardan lowered his head, hiding behind his wet bangs. Hands clenched under the desk, body trembling. He knew that fighting back would only bring more pain.
"Why was I born to be nothing…?" hemuttered.
Every day felt like hell. Sitting in the corner didn't help; teachers sometimes looked at him like a shadow best ignored.
In the cafeteria, it was the same story. Friends laughed and ate fried chicken, burgers, sipping soda, while his stomach growled. His allowance barely covered the ride home, leaving only instant noodles for dinner at his cramped apartment. He watched their meals with a bitter envy.
A long sigh escaped him. Bowing his head, he whispered:
"Even when I do nothing, the world keeps laughing at me…"
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A Life Too Small
The rain hadn't fully stopped when he returned. Clothes soaked, shivering, and cold biting deep into his bones. His small apartment, barely three by three meters, welcomed him with a leaky roof and puddles forming on the floor.
The place felt more like a prison than a home. Cracked walls, peeling paint. A rickety wooden table, a thin mattress in the corner, and a cracked mirror completed the scene.
Ardan boiled his instant noodles. Opening the package, a foul smell hit him—the noodles were spoiled. But hunger won over disgust. Each bite felt bitter, like swallowing sand.
The spoon slipped from his hand. Tears rolled down without his notice.
"Why… why does my life have to be like this?"
He rested his head on the table, exhausted in body and spirit. The rain outside seemed to amplify his sorrow. Sleep claimed him… and in that sleep, a strange dream arrived.
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The Dream
He stood in the ruins of a grand palace. Golden pillars stretched high, many of them collapsed. The sky was ablaze red, and the wind carried the scent of iron and ash. Thousands of giant shadows knelt around him, heads bowed.
A deep, commanding voice echoed, shaking him to his core:
> "Rise… Forsaken Heir."
Ardan spun around in panic.
> "Who… who are you?!"
No answer came, only repetition, louder and deeper this time:
"Your destiny awaits. Rise… before the world swallows you."
He jolted awake, heart hammering, sweat cold on his skin. The apartment was still cramped, leaky, silent.
Glancing at the cracked mirror, he saw his eyes flash gold for a heartbeat, then return to empty blue.
"…What… was that? A dream? Or… hallucination?" he muttered, fear gnawing at him. Yet something inside him had begun to stir.
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Pressure Never Ends
The dreams kept coming, night after night. The voice called, teasing, commanding:
"Rise…"
"Your destiny awaits…"
Sometimes his heart raced for no reason; sometimes his head throbbed with dizziness. He wondered—was he losing his mind, or was something far greater waiting for him?
In reality, nothing changed. He remained poor, bullied, and dismissed as worthless. Life crept on, slow and cruel.
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A Spark of Power
That day, the rain had just ended. The school's back field was muddy when a group of students dragged him along.
"Fight back if you dare, loser!" one shouted.
A kick hit his stomach, blood trickling from his lips. Everyone laughed at his collapse in the mud.
But this time, Ardan refused to bow. His heart rebelled. Trembling, soaked, filthy, he slowly got up, fists clenched.
"If I stay silent… they'll crush me. I have to… I have to be strong…"
A student lunged at him, fist swinging. Reflexively, Ardan raised his hands to block.
BRAKK!
The boy flew backward several meters, slamming into the hard ground. Silence fell. Wide eyes stared at him in shock.
Ardan froze, heart pounding, hands shaking. In his palm, a strange circular symbol glimmered briefly before fading.
The voice returned in his mind:
"Your power is no illusion. This is your destiny."
Fear, confusion… but also a spark of determination.
He looked at the stunned students. Breath ragged, hands trembling, the memory of the golden circle still fresh. Something strange was rising inside him.
Suddenly, a faint light appeared in the night sky, shaped like fragments of the same symbol from his palm. The wind whistled, carrying the scent of iron and wet earth.
The deep voice echoed again, urgent this time:
"Rise… Forsaken Heir… your time is almost up."
Ardan stared at the sky, eyes glinting. Far in the distance, a massive silhouette loomed at the edge of the field, watching his every move.
Heart racing, he bowed his head, clenched his fists. A small golden flame flickered around him—signaling that something far greater awaited.
"This… is just the beginning…" he whispered.
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