Red let out a long sigh as he stood there above his mother’s grave.

The last person who cared about him in this world had died, leaving him without a shoulder to lean on. His brown eyes looked up at the gray clouds gathering above him, threatening to drench the land with rain.

Mother loved thunderstorms, thought Red. Thoughts of his mother playing with him in the rain took over his mind until a rumble woke him from his daydream. He brushed his rust-colored hair backward with his large hands as he took one last look at his mother’s grave. Goodbye, mama.

He had no idea why he needed to leave. He didn't have anywhere else to go and no place he could call home. Red's stomach shook as the rumbling in the sky became more prevalent.

Where could he possibly go at this hour? His mother used to take him to the gypsies, who would show him kindness by providing him with a place to stay while his mother went off to earn some money for the both of them. He wouldn't be able to go to them now. They had enough problems without having to deal with a young man of his age who could simply go to work.

But for Red, skills of any kind eluded him, be it labor or otherwise.

He tried every job in town, but he always ruined it by being a klutz or failing to pay attention and causing an accident. His struggles living a typical existence never ceased. Red had a problem that overshadowed everything in his life, one that wasn't a roof over his head, food in his stomach, or a lack of skills.

Red’s biggest problem was that he was dumb.

There wasn’t any kind way to look at it. Red's mother regretted not being able to locate a safe place for Red to belong. She understood that without her, he would be exploited or perish in an accident he caused by being dumb. "Thinking is too difficult for you, Red; just keep to yourself and don't talk to strangers," she said to her son.

She wanted her empty-headed boy to understand that for him, scrounging for scraps is preferable to falling for someone else's tricks. Red heard the message loud and clear. He'd been avoiding people ever since and trying to keep his thoughts from forming anything coherent, which he was already quite adept at.

A mile out, Red spotted the white city. Peeking over the white walls, the white castle at the center of the city stood like a beacon, guiding him back. The magnificent sight of white walls and gleaming buildings that shone even under the sun's overbearing rays is known throughout the continent of Aleidsa as the city of Soalde. Soalde was renowned for its advancements in magic and the creative ways they employed it, even in the time before the crossbow was invented.

Soalde had its own magical beasts, usually found only in the wild, that were specially bred to pull vehicles across magically illuminated streets. There was always a transportation system moving around the city, as well as a transportation system for goods that moved impossible-to-move freight from one end of the country to the other in a matter of days, thanks to the magic beast and the magic cart. The city's food was grown using advanced agricultural techniques that allowed crops to grow at environmentally controlled temperatures all year long. Magic symbols enhanced the water and soil, which sped up the growing process.

Because the city's structures are fueled by enchanted symbols, neither a home nor a place of business or government ever feels hot in the summer or cold during winter. Every innovation made by the city would be impossible without the Sage Symbol System, abbreviated as SSS, the fuel of the modern era. Thanks to SSS, the world of Eronia has eliminated many of life's inconveniences.

With SSS, people can now be free of Mother Nature's fickle temperament. No longer do they have to worry about beasts lurking out their front door or dastardly bandits eyeing their homes. With SSS, magic keeps these worries at bay!

Of course, if you're wealthy enough to afford such luxuries.

SSS is implemented and maintained by a class of certified mage, who reap rewards both financially and socially. And mages aren't the only ones swimming in gold and being highly acclaimed; the warrior class and other fighters have been propped up as well. Sage symbols require materials from land and beasts, materials that can only be found in hostile environments known to consume the weak and the cowardly.

So warriors, along with wielders of magic and others willing to brave the wilds, step forward to bring back what is required for SSS. Eager to fill their coin purses and to innovate and come up with the next new magical invention, merchants and nobles issued a call for these brave souls. There was always work available to those willing to hunt.

For people like Red, this type of work held no value. Throughout history, warriors, adventurers, and mages have derived their skills and abilities from their bloodlines. A hunter from a century ago could smile, knowing that his skills would be passed down the line. For people like Red, it was difficult to break into a business that was so reliant on one's lineage. His mother, who came from a poor family, did not possess any hidden magical talent to pass down to Red. Red never knew his father.

He came from a line of poverty.

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It was well known that the aristocracy of this land came to power due to their talent-rich bloodlines. It was unknown how far back these families could be traced. Records indicated that they had ruled since before the Sage Symbol System and even before the invention of bronze weaponry. With all of the time that had passed, the power that they wielded was incomprehensible.

Red approached the towering white gates of Soalde, his head hanging low as if he carried a heavy weight upon his shoulders. His mother's words echoed in his mind, urging him to avoid any thoughts that might hinder his focus. He struggled to push aside the gnawing hunger and the nagging uncertainty of his future, wondering if these were the very thoughts she had warned him about. As the thunder rumbled above him, Red trudged forward, oblivious to the storm brewing around him, lost in his own thoughts.

The city was suddenly lit up by a bright flash, leaving those with open eyes temporarily blinded. Red felt a powerful impact on the top of his head, causing his body to convulse and collapse face-first into the dirt, a trail of smoke following behind. His mind fractured under the force of the blow, and attempting to control his thoughts became like trying to hold onto water, with nothing tangible to grasp. A distant voice called out to him, but he couldn't see who it was through the veil of darkness that clouded his vision.

“Open your eyes, boy,” a voice demanded.

“Mother?” Red said, grasping out into the darkness.

“Get your hands off me Red, you big dolt!” the voice shouted insincerely.

Another voice that was gruffer started to laugh. “I said, open your eyes Red. You got your eyes closed." A gloved hand slapped Red across the face.

Red opened his eyes and saw two men he'd known for the majority of his life. Both wore gleaming white armor and had curly facial hair, resembling the painted posters hung throughout the city urging young men and women to join Soalde's city guard. These two were in charge of guarding Soalde's western gate. They knew the city's children, especially the poor ones, since the slums were not far from the western gate.

Red was also from the slums, which is how he knew them.

One of them shook his head at Red as he said, “We saw you get struck by a lightning bolt, Red. Are you ok?”

“The lightning attacked me?” Red asked, incredulous and looked up at the angry gray clouds with flashing lights above him, taking a large gulp of his salvia.

The other guard let out a laugh, “This kid’s head is emptier than an imaginary pail full of air."

The guard kneeling beside Red looked to the other guard and chided, “Stop that, will ya? You already know this boy has a hard enough time living and you look for ways to make it worse, Pharq?”

The other guard, Pharq, put up his hands submissively, having the wherewithal to know he was in the wrong and said, “You’re right, Hewy,” He turned to Red, “I’m sorry, Red. I didn’t mean to say anything cross against you.”

“Sorry for what?” Red asked, getting back to his feet. Jokes were the last things that he could keep up with.

“That’s a real man for you,” Pharq said while patting Red on the shoulder, “Forgive and forget.”

Red shrugged, not comprehending what the mustached man was on about. Hewy put out his hands in case Red tipped over. He didn't want it to happen in case Red got hurt, and if the young man did fall, he needed to make sure it wasn't on top of him. Red was a thin young man but was large in stature. Hewy was worried at the possibility of such a person falling on him. But Red appeared to be in good shape; his eyes were focused and his legs were well beneath him.

“I like boxing,” Red stated to both the guards after getting his bearings. The guards looked at one another, not knowing what to make of what he was saying.

“It’s the sweet science,” Red said something else random, which caused the two guards to cock their heads sideways.

“Um, Red, what are you on about?” Hewy asked, now questioning if the lightning charcoaled the young man’s mind.

Poor guy, Hewy thought, he needed every bit of brain he had left.

“Boxing, Hewy, do you not know the greats like Willie Pepp and Muhammad Ali?” Red asked, beginning to stress with the thought that Hewy wasn’t a fan of boxing.

Hewy was just about to touch Red's shoulder and offer him some coins, assuming that the lightning strike had caused him to become addle-brained, and hoping to alleviate the pain of his descent into madness, when Pharq suddenly interjected, "Are you talking about the gypsies' bare-knuckle fighting technique?"

“Ah, yes,” Hewy recalled, now recollecting what he knew the gypsies to do from time to time in a sport they called boxing or bare-knuckled boxing, “You meant that boxing.”

Red shook his head at the two of them, “That’s the barbaric stuff. I like the sanctioned fights where they have to follow the Marquess of Queensberry Rules.”

“Never heard of it,” Pharq admitted. Hewy by his side shook his helmeted head

Red let out a frustrated sigh. How could these men not watch boxing? It just didn't sit right with him.

“Have a nice evening, gentlemen. Tonight, I'm going to bed early. In the morning, I'm going for a run. Nothing beats good old-fashioned roadwork,” Red stated before he departed. The two guards nodded their heads, but confusion remained apparent in their eyes. Red then jogged through the gates of Soalde, his face becoming increasingly stressed as he moved.

My body, Red thought, why is my body so slow? I had put so much work in this training camp and I’ve somehow degenerated into a slower version of myself.

When Red turned a corner of a building, it struck him that his thoughts weren’t completely his own.

Red closed his eyes and journeyed into the depths of his mind, where he discovered memories and visions from a past he had never known. In his memory, there was another world that was nothing like his own. The wagons were made of metal and had no beast of burden to pull them, yet they still moved. Great glass towers went so far up that they touched the sky, and the land was so level and paved that it didn't appear to have been constructed by mortal hands. The experience of these recollections were murky to Red, and he couldn't make heads or tails of what they meant, but one memory stood out clearer than the rest: boxing.

Clear as a bell the fighting style that was boxing was ingrained in his mind. The footwork, head movement, and punching techniques were all there for him to use, just as if he had practiced them his entire life. Red could feel his mind expanding and developing with the new information, but he wasn't much smarter in anything other than fighting. There were no memories of job skills or how to operate in a social setting so that you could collaborate with others to make a better living. There was only boxing.

Sighing, Red continued his jog toward the only place that he could stay for the night: the Reeking Valley in the slums.