Chapter 1: The Boy Who Shattered the Wand
Snow fell in heavy sheets over Draven Hollow, blanketing the crooked houses and broken fences. The village was small, poor, and nearly forgotten, but it carried a reputation whispered across taverns and markets: the cursed place where no child was born with strong magic.
That was not entirely true. Some children had sparks—little flickers of power, enough to light a candle or warm a hearth—but nothing like the brilliance found in the great cities.
Except Karl Draven.
The boy with nothing.
No spark.
No rune.
No glow in his blood.
Just muscle. Just grit. Just a stubborn refusal to bow to the destiny others chose for him.
"Magicless freak."
Karl ignored the hissed words as he trudged down the icy street. His cloak was torn and too thin to block the cold. Boys his age, carrying polished wands and rune-carved books, laughed as they passed him by.
One pointed at him. "Look! It's the deadweight of Draven Hollow!"
Another snickered. "He's not even worth the snow on his boots. Bet he won't last a week at the Academy."
Karl didn't answer. He had learned long ago that silence was sharper than any curse.
But deep inside, a voice whispered: I'll last longer than all of you.
---
The Arcane Academy loomed ahead like a fortress of marble and light. Its spires rose high into the storm, glowing with runes that cut through the gray sky. Students streamed through the gates, cloaks flaring, wands tucked into belts.
Karl stopped at the entrance, boots sinking into the snow. His heartbeat thundered louder than the storm.
This was his chance. His only chance.
He had no magic, but he had something no spell could forge—strength.
"Name?" the gatekeeper barked, his beard crusted with frost.
"Karl Draven," Karl said, squaring his shoulders.
The man snorted. "The one with no magic? Hah. Good luck surviving your first lesson."
Karl walked past without answering. He wasn't here to survive.
He was here to conquer.
---
The first lesson came too soon.
The Academy wasted no time.
By midmorning, Karl and dozens of other first-years stood inside a dueling hall, the floor carved with ancient runes that glowed faintly beneath their boots. Torches flickered along the walls. The scent of ash and steel hung in the air.
Professor Veynar, tall and thin with robes that shimmered faintly, scanned the crowd with cold disinterest. His eyes swept over Karl once, then narrowed.
"You. Draven."
A hush fell over the students.
"Yes, you. Step forward."
Karl walked into the center of the stone ring. His fists clenched, heart hammering.
Veynar's lip curled. "The Academy admits fools these days. Let's show the others what happens when muscle-bound peasants think they can stand among mages."
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
A boy stepped into the ring opposite Karl. His robes were fine, trimmed with silver thread. A polished wand rested easily in his grip. His name was Aric Vale—an heir to one of the noble houses.
"Try not to cry when you burn," Aric said with a smirk.
Karl said nothing. His arms, hardened from years of chopping wood and hauling stone, rippled beneath his thin shirt.
"Begin!"
---
Aric raised his wand. A bolt of fire burst forth, roaring across the ring. Gasps filled the hall.
Karl didn't move.
The flame struck his chest—and fizzled. Smoke curled upward, leaving only a faint scorch on his shirt.
"What—?!" Aric stumbled back.
The crowd erupted.
"Did he just tank a firebolt?"
"No way—he should be ash!"
Karl grinned for the first time that day. He stepped forward, each stride cracking the stone beneath his boots.
Aric panicked and fired again—ice shards, lightning sparks, a gust of wind sharp as knives. Each spell broke against Karl's body like waves on stone.
The hall went silent.
Karl closed the distance in three strides. He seized Aric's wand—
Snap!
The wand broke in half like a twig.
Gasps echoed. Aric fell back, eyes wide with horror.
Karl stood tall, the broken wand useless in his hands.
"I don't need magic," he said quietly, his voice carrying across the hall. "Strength is enough."
---
Chaos erupted.
"He broke it with his hands!"
"That's impossible!"
"Is he even human?"
Even Professor Veynar's eyes widened. His lips pressed into a thin line, as if unsure whether to punish Karl or recruit him.
But Karl wasn't listening. He looked down at his hands, at the fragments of a noble's wand, and something stirred inside him.
Not magic. Not power.
Something stronger.
The promise of a future where muscles could shatter the very laws of magic.
And for the first time in his life, Karl Draven allowed himself to smile.
---
Far above the dueling hall, unseen eyes watched through a crystal orb.
A voice whispered in the shadows.
"The boy with no magic… could he be the weapon we've been waiting for?"