Rain fell steadily over the village of Brumvale, turning narrow dirt paths into streams of mud.
The sound of droplets striking broken rooftops echoed endlessly, as if the sky itself mourned the misery below.
Inside an abandoned wooden shed at the edge of the village, Aureliux Drafent sat silently. His small body was curled against the cold wall, thin arms wrapped around his knees. At seven years old, his frame was frail, but his eyes—sharp, calculating—belonged to someone far older.
Hunger gnawed at his stomach.
Since Selira Drafent's death, food had become a luxury. Some days he ate scraps. Some days, nothing at all. Yet the pain of hunger was familiar—manageable. What truly burned inside him was something else.
Neglect.
From a crack in the wooden wall, Aureliux observed the village square. Adults argued over grain. A drunk man kicked a starving dog.
Children laughed as they mocked a crippled beggar who crawled near the well.
No one stopped them.
No one cared.
"This world is no different from Earth," Aureliux thought bitterly.
In his past life as Agus Suhardi, he had believed laws existed to protect people like him. He had believed that truth mattered. In the end, that belief had led him to a dark corridor, a sharp pain, and death.
Here, in Arkheim, the rules were simpler—and crueler.
The weak were ignored.
The powerless were erased.
A faint translucent panel flickered before his eyes.
Status Window
Name: Aureliux Drafent
Age: 7
Strength: 4
Agility: 6
Intelligence: 9
Vitality: 5
Hidden Trait: Adaptive Growth (Locked)
He stared at the numbers without emotion.
This system did not comfort him. It did not promise heroism. It merely recorded—as if the world itself was watching to see whether he would break.
Outside the shed, voices drifted through the rain.
"That orphan's still alive?"
"Hah. He'll die soon enough."
"No parents, no backing."
They were villagers. Ordinary people.
And yet, their words were sharper than blades.
Aureliux felt no fear.
Only clarity.
"If I remain weak," he realized calmly, "I will disappear just like Mother."
A memory surfaced—Selira's gentle smile, her trembling hand holding his.
Live. Rise.
His fingers clenched slowly.
He would not beg.
He would not wait for mercy.
If this world respected only strength, then he would master it—step by step.
That night, Aureliux lay awake, staring at the cracked ceiling. Each sound sharpened his awareness. Each breath became controlled.
Tomorrow, he would begin preparing his body.
Tomorrow, he would sharpen his mind.
Brumvale was only the beginning.
Far beyond this village stood towering cities, noble houses, and castles built upon the suffering of people like Selira Drafent.
One day, he would stand there.
Not as a victim.
But as someone who would make the world remember his name.
The rain continued to fall.
And within the heart of a forgotten child, hatred—cold, disciplined, and patient—quietly took root.