** The wagon creaked and groaned as it trudged along the overgrown path, its iron wheels crunching against roots that sprawled like veins across the ground.

The dense canopy above was a kaleidoscope of verdant greens, sunlight spearing through the gaps to dapple the forest floor in gold. The air shimmered with life, thick with the sweet, earthy scent of moss and the faint tang of distant blossoms.

Azyen sat in silence at the edge of the wagon, his gaze sweeping across the ever-shifting landscape. Giant trees towered like ancient sentinels, their bark gnarled and pulsing faintly with an inner glow.

Vines hung up in the distance like curtains, stretching indefinitely, swaying lazily in the warm breeze. Their delicate leaves catching flecks of light. Beneath them, strange luminescent fungi sprouted in few places, their faint blue light casting an otherworldly light on the surrounding grass.

The wagon jostled violently as it hit a hidden rut, and Azyen gripped the side to steady himself. Around him, the wilderness whispered and roared with a symphony of rustling leaves, distant calls of unseen creatures, and the low hum of the flux, ever present in this living world.

But Azyen's heart ached with every passing mile. This place, so alive, so vibrant, was a stark contrast to the emptiness within him. The wilderness thrived with life and power, while he lost his in a similar place. He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms as memories of that day resurfaced.

Vermin of humanity. He shook his head, resisting to remember.

Karum, a city close to the border of Lefeer Kingdom, loomed somewhere ahead. The city was surrounded by flux barriers, one of the few defenses capable of holding back the relentless tide of vegetation that sought to reclaim everything.

These barriers weren’t just defenses—they were lifelines, fragile domes of power keeping nature’s unyielding will at bay. Without them, the vines would strangle the streets, the roots would shatter the foundations, and the nature would consume it all, as it had done to countless cities before.

Yet even with its barriers and walls, Karum seemed small—a flicker of defiance against a world ruled by nature’s unrelenting dominion. It didn’t dominate the land; it survived by grace, clinging to its fragile foothold amidst a realm where humanity was an afterthought.

Azyen felt the pull of the city, not out of longing, but out of necessity. The wilds, for all their beauty, were indifferent to his plight.

A rustle from the underbrush caught the youths' attention.

The forest was beautiful, yes, but it was also fierce and unpredictable. The youths' eyes darted to the shadows between the trees, where something massive shifted—a hulking form, silent yet watchful. It melted back into the foliage before they could fully glimpse it, leaving only the faint trembling of leaves in its wake.

"That’s a Roroko," the old driver said. "No need to fear it. It’s a vegetarian species that keeps the vegetation in check, though its imposing stature is quite frightening."

"Even vegetarians might wonder what meat tastes like," Azyen muttered, tightening the grip on his sword. The forest was no place for complacency, no matter how harmless something seemed.

"Is it strong? This Roroko?" Darvus asked, his voice laced with curiosity and unease.

"Strong?" The driver shrugged. "Perhaps. I wouldn’t know. Never had the misfortune of meeting one in combat. But take my advice: the Roroko are the least of your worries when crossing a forest like this."

Azyen narrowed his eyes. "Old man," he said sharply, cutting through the murmurs of the other youths. "You’re not a mancer, are you?"

The question hung in the air like a blade, startling everyone.

"You’re not?" one of the village youths asked, incredulous.

The driver laughed, a dry, weary sound tinged with sorrow. "Hah! No, lad. I wasn’t gifted like you. Never bonded with a shard, never bore the mark." His eyes flicked to Azyen, hiding something unspoken.

"Then how are you still alive, traveling the wild like this?" Darvus pressed. "You could die at any moment!"

The driver chuckled again, this time more softly, like the wind through the leaves. "Couldn’t we all? Whether it’s here, out there, or in some soft bed at home. Death comes when it wills. But don't you worry, I’m not an easy target."

He reached beside him and pulled out a shardspire rifle, its crystalline core glinting with captured flux energy. It wasn’t sleek, like a weapon born from mastery, but battered and scarred. A tool of survival, not pride.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Borrowed power, Azyen thought to himself, turning his gaze back to the forest. **

This world doesn’t belong to me. It never has, it never will. I am an intruder here, an uninvited guest trespassing on sacred ground. Every creak of the wagon beneath me, every crunch of its wheels over the gnarled roots sprawling across the path, feels like an insult to this world.

The forest doesn’t need words to convey its displeasure—I feel it in the restless sway of its branches, in the way the wind seems to shift against us.

But I have to press on, until I will be strong enough to escape this world. Maybe I will find one willing to shelter me. A peaceful world void of corrupted people? That would be nice.

What else is there for me to do here? To accept how things are and to succumb in the "way of the world"? I’m not ready to forsake my soul and become like them. Not yet.

The wagon jolts as it crosses a narrow stream, and I glance down at the water. My gaze catches my reflection, and for a moment, I can’t look away. Haunted eyes stare back at me, cold and unrecognizable, framed by unkempt hair and a face that carries years of weariness I haven’t lived.

I scowl at the sight, anger sparking to life in my chest, only to fade into a hollow ache.

What am I now? A ghost clinging to the fragments of a past life? Even here, surrounded by people and nature brimming with vitality, I feel empty, out of place—an insignificant ant walking among giants.

Maybe having my vengeance would be enough. Maybe it won’t.

I inhale sharply, letting the fresh air fill my lungs, as if it might awaken the life inside me. But instead of doing that, it weighs heavy, pressing down on me like the judgment of the sins I've never committed.

I wonder if my creator can sense my brokenness. Does it know what I’ve lost? Does it even care?

Darvus leaned forward, awe in his voice. “Wow, did you feel that?” The wagon had just passed through the flux barrier, and the air seemed to hum around us.

“Yeah,” one of the youths murmured, holding up his arm where fine hairs stood on end. “It was like… something passed through me.”

“Look ahead,” another said. “No more vines.”

Darvus frowned. “So, they can’t cross the barrier? But why can we? The wagon’s made of wood, right?”

“Dead wood,” I corrected, leaping off as the lizard pulling the wagon slowed to a stop. The creature snorted, nostrils flaring.

The driver chuckled, gripping the reins. “Alright, lads. End of the line.”

“Thanks,” I said curtly, brushing past. My focus was on the gates ahead. Guards stood rigid, armed with shardspire rifles, eyes sharp, scanning every traveler.

The buzz of city life seeped through the gate, a hum of voices, haggling, hammering, laughter. It was a symphony of chaos, vibrant and alive. A rhythm so different from the village, where silence reigned over noise. I enjoyed silence, but I was more accustomed with the atmosphere here. I grew up in a city.

After a brief inspection, the guards waved me through without question. Marvin’s forged papers had done their job. Relief flickered through me, but I buried it, quickly grabbing my bag. If the guards had accepted my identity, the Mercenary Hall wouldn’t question it either.

Good job, Marvin.

Inside the city, anonymity cloaked me like a second skin. There was something both exhilarating and unnerving about stepping into a place where no one knew me. I was just the son of a retired mercenary now, I had no need to fear others attempting to take my life.

But I'm not going to let my guard down anyway.

Without wasting time following the tempting smell of roasted meat, I followed Girath's instructions. The Mercenary Hall in Karum was easy to find. It was larger than I expected, a black stone structure fortified with wooden beams and engraved with countless sigils and runes, tokens from those who’d come here before.

Mercenaries filtered in and out of the hall, their faces hard and weathered, their weapons stained with fresh blood. Some limped, others bore bandages, yet all exuded an aura of resilience. The air they carried was faint but distinct, like the lingering smell of smoke after a fire.

This was their life, but it wouldn’t be mine. My path was different.

I gripped the letter Girath had given me. The paper was slightly crumpled from the journey, and the ink had smudged in places, but his signature remained clear and bold. The letter was as much of a testament to Girath’s trust in me as it was to my skill, and that carried a weight on its own.

A man exiting the hall met my gaze. He assessed me, then nodded in a way that pleased me.

Did he just approved of me? Coming to such a place, I had adopted an unfriendly posture and gaze, yet I have never thought that someone would treat me like this. Could he sense that I'm a 2nd Sky?

Steeling myself, I stepped through the arched entryway.

The hall was bustling, though I could tell at a glance that the bar was the main attraction for most. A dozen eyes tracked my entrance, some glancing over dismissively, others sizing me up with a mix of curiosity and mild amusement.

I was younger than most, and no doubt looked like a newcomer the way I sized up everything, both for orientation purposes and threat assessment.

A long counter dominated one wall, behind which stood a tall man draped in a leather cloak. His hawk like eyes scrutinized me, glancing from my face to the sword at my side. "What’s your business here?" he asked, his voice rough like gravel but laced with a hint of curiosity.

Wordlessly, I handed him the letter. "I’m here to register. A recommendation from my master, Girath."

He unfolded the paper carefully, his gaze flicking over the words. For a moment, something shifted in his expression—consideration, perhaps? It didn’t matter. This was my first step into a world I intended to conquer.

“Girath, huh?” The man’s lips curled into a faint smirk as he rubbed his fingers together. Without warning, the letter burst into flames. Ashes fluttered through the air, drifting like moths as he blew them away with a casual breath.

“What’s the meaning of this?” I demanded with a sharp tone, getting ready to defend myself.

The man ignored both my question and reaction, his piercing eyes scanning me anew, as though reevaluating everything he’d first assumed. “Not every day Girath sends someone our way. He doesn’t exactly hand out his trust like candy.”

I stepped forward, my tone unyielding. “I ask you, sir, to explain why have you burned the letter from my master.”

He chuckled, gravel lacing his voice. “Come with me.” He motioned for me to follow. “Azyen, kid. We’ll see if Girath’s faith is well-placed. If you’re as good as he says you are, then there would be no shortage of work for you.”

Every fiber of my being bristled at his arrogance, but I swallowed the retort, choosing instead to follow in silence.