"I chose the hell that tells me its rules, rather than the hell that tortures me without reason."
Smoke from burning trash smothered the Ashen Quarter like a filthy blanket. It clung to skin, hair, lungs. Beneath Kael's boots, mud mixed with stale magical residue swallowed every step, thick and hungry. The smell—rust, old sweat, spoiled aether—was poverty fermented over decades. The smell of his life.
But tonight, something else cut through it.
Danger.
Kael ran.
His lungs burned as if filled with fire. In his chest, his damaged Iron Circuit pulsed erratically, like a heart that had forgotten its rhythm. Every time magic leaked out, his skin prickled as though pierced by countless needles—sharp, constant reminders that this body had never truly belonged to him.
Iron Circuit.
Bottom tier.
Even its leakage was worthless.
"He's over there!"
Kael glanced back. Three figures tore through the narrow alleys behind him—bigger, stronger, moving with effortless precision. Their circuits glowed faintly beneath their skin. Stable. Silver.
Academy uniforms, barely dirtied. Silver students hunting not because they had to—but because they could. In the slums, this was sport.
And no one protected Iron children like Kael.
He veered into an alley, shoulder slamming into cracked brick. Pain flared, but he didn't slow. Every turn was a gamble. Every breath, borrowed time.
Why am I running?
Because stopping meant dying.
The alley ended too soon.
A wall loomed ahead—old brick scarred by failed enchantments. No doors. No gaps. A dead end.
Kael staggered to a halt. His circuit leaked harder now, sparks of wild aether flashing against the wall like dying fireflies.
Footsteps closed in.
"It's over, trash," said their leader. Liam. Kael knew him. Everyone did.
Liam's Silver Circuit glowed perfectly along his arm—controlled, precise, flawless. Magic that went exactly where it was told.
"We just want a little… entertainment."
Kael pressed his palm to the cold wall. His circuit shuddered, trying to form something it never could.
If I could just—
There was nothing.
Only leakage.
Only pain.
His father, drunk and laughing bitterly, pointing at Kael's chest.
"Your circuit's broken, boy. You're like a carriage with no brakes. One day, you'll crash into something that destroys you."
Kael didn't know that something would arrive as a nobleman with empty eyes and an offer he couldn't refuse.
Footsteps echoed from the alley entrance—slow, measured, expensive.
"Interesting."
All heads turned.
A young man stood beneath a flickering streetlamp. His black velvet coat, threaded with silver, was worth more than the entire Ashen Quarter. Blonde hair, perfectly arranged. A face sculpted to be admired.
And eyes like cracked glass.
Valerius Thorne.
"An unfair game," Valerius said calmly. "Three Silvers against one broken Iron. Even by your standards, that's embarrassing."
Liam went pale. "L-Lord Valerius, we were just—"
"Leave."
One word.
The Platinum Circuit in Valerius's chest glowed faintly—not loud, not violent, but absolute. The pressure crushed the air itself.
The three boys fled.
Valerius approached. Kael pressed himself against the wall, heart hammering.
"I saw you at the market earlier," Valerius said, not looking at him. "Collecting spent crystals. Trying to extract residual aether with a leaking circuit."
Kael didn't answer.
"You're hungry. Alone. Your circuit makes normal work impossible." Valerius stopped two steps away. "I have a proposal."
Rain began to fall, mixing with the mud—and with tears Kael hadn't realized were running down his face.
"Become my magical servant," Valerius said. "I'll give you food. Shelter. Protection."
A pause.
"In return… you will be available whenever I require you. For anything."
The choice wasn't fair.
But Kael's life never had been.
Remain in the Ashen Quarter: starvation, abuse, death before twenty.
Go with this noble: safety, at the cost of freedom.
"Which hell will you choose?" Valerius added softly. "The one that tells you its rules, or the one that tortures you at random?"
Kael stared at his hands—hands that always shook from leaking magic. Then at Valerius's face—cold, hollow, but honest in its emptiness.
"If…" His voice broke. "If your orders go too far… may I refuse?"
Valerius smiled. A smile without warmth.
"No."
Kael exhaled.
Structured hell.
"Fine," he whispered. "I accept."
Aether-horses pulled the carriage through Pyralis—creatures of flesh and magic, hooves never quite touching the ground.
Kael watched the city change through the window. Filth gave way to marble. Chaos to order. Slums to mansions that rose like monuments to entitlement.
Every circuit here was perfect.
Everything controlled.
Thorne Manor was not a home.
It was a fortress.
White marble walls laced with glowing crystal. Enchantments embedded in every stone. Guards standing silent, each bearing at least a Gold Circuit.
Valerius didn't speak during the journey. But his Platinum Circuit pulsed restlessly beneath his skin.
In the library, he tossed a scroll onto the table.
"A magical contract," he said. "Read it. Or don't. The result is the same."
Kael read.
Absolute obedience.
Immediate presence when summoned.
No leaving the manor without permission.
Clause Four:
The servant shall accept all treatment from the Master as part of service.
"All treatment?" Kael asked quietly.
"Yes."
Valerius stepped closer. Their circuits brushed—Platinum pressing down on leaking Iron. Pain surged.
"My father says I need an outlet," Valerius said. "For anger. For boredom. For everything this world has no place for."
"Why me?" Kael asked.
"Because you're already broken," Valerius answered without hesitation. "And your leaking circuit doesn't trigger my father's sensors. You can exist near me without his knowledge."
Kael understood.
He wasn't the first.
Just the easiest to hide.
He signed.
The contract ignited, sealing itself into his circuit. Pain flared—focused, deliberate.
"The bath is to your left," Valerius said suddenly. "Clean yourself. You smell like desperation."
Kael turned to leave.
"And Kael," Valerius added, staring out the window, "welcome to the hell you chose."
THE FIRST NIGHT
The room wasn't a cell—but it wasn't a guest room either.
Small. Clean. A window with iron bars. Shelves of old books on basic magical theory.
Kael sat on the bed. His circuit still throbbed from the contract, but he wasn't cold. He wasn't hungry.
For the first time in his life, he was physically safe.
He tried channeling aether.
As always, most of it leaked out—but tonight, the leakage didn't scatter randomly. It formed patterns in the air. Fractured stars.
Leakage was supposed to be chaos.
This wasn't.
He focused. The leaking magic shaped itself into something resembling… circuitry. More complex than his own.
A knock.
Valerius stood at the door, pale, his Platinum Circuit pulsing erratically.
"I can't sleep," he said flatly. "Sit there. Don't speak. Just… be."
Kael obeyed.
Minutes passed.
"My parents never came when I couldn't sleep," Valerius murmured suddenly. "They sent servants. Servants fear Platinum Circuits."
He turned. Those cracked eyes fixed on Kael.
"You're not afraid, are you? Because you have nothing left to lose."
Kael understood.
This was what Valerius had purchased: someone who couldn't leave.
Eventually, Valerius slept.
Kael returned to his room. The strange patterns still hovered faintly in the air.
Through the barred window, he watched the moon.
Within the leaking magic, he saw it clearly now—not a flaw, but a language. A structure not meant for Iron Circuits.
Maybe this leakage wasn't failure.
Maybe it was something older. Deeper.
Maybe his broken circuit could do what perfect ones never could.
He gazed at the towering manor.
Structured hell.
But inside it, there was mystery.
And for the first time—hope.
"I sold my freedom for safety. But without realizing it, I may have also bought the key to everything they were trying to hide."