Everything was blurry. A dull, searing pain stretched across Rifi's chest, each breath a struggle. The faintest whisper, almost as if carried on the wind, brushed his ear—"Please, live." Then, a thud, heavy and final, landed on top of him, followed by a lifeless face, eyes dimmed forever.

Rifi jolted awake, drenched in sweat. The words echoed in his mind, refusing to fade. "Please, live." He lay still, staring up at the dark, cracked ceiling of his small room, heart pounding, chest heaving as he struggled to pull himself from the clutches of the dream.

The night outside was calm, but sleep eluded him. He pushed back the thin, worn blanket and stood, walking toward the open window. The air was crisp, and the stars above blinked down at him indifferently, the sky so serene in contrast to the turmoil that simmered within. This was his last night in the cramped room he had called home for the past year—four plain walls, barely enough space for the essentials. Yet, despite its simplicity, it was the best place he'd had in years. A place of safety, at least for a time.

His hand moved unconsciously, tracing the jagged scar that ran from his right shoulder down to his abdomen. The sensation was familiar, a constant reminder of the battle that almost claimed him.

"Will I survive another year? Or will I join the others soon?" The thought lingered, heavy. "Would they be proud of my breakthrough to the Brown core?"

He mused over his progress. The world of magic was divided into ten core ranks: Black, Brown, Purple, Blue, Green, Red, Orange, Yellow, Grey, and White—the last, a rank so mythical that it was spoken of only in legend.

Rifi had only just begun his journey, recently advancing to the Brown core. But for those like him, a lone soul with no connections, no powerful lineage to guide or protect him, the road ahead was treacherous. Most who started the path did not live to see it through.

He had no family, no one to anchor him to this world. They had long since departed, taken by war, disease, or the brutality of life in Hepestus. Awakening as a mage a year ago had been both a blessing and a curse. The City-State's recruitment had given him a chance, pulling him from the brink of starvation, offering a path, however dangerous. It had provided him with two mana stones each month, along with basic training in swordsmanship and magic. But the cost? A year of mandatory service on the front lines.

"Still, I should be grateful," he whispered to the night air. "The stones helped. And free training? There's no such thing as free in this world."

As the stars faded into the growing light of dawn, Rifi's thoughts darkened. Today marked the beginning of his true trial. He would head to the northern barracks, where recruits like him, poor and without influence, would be assigned to the most dangerous posts. It was no secret that the northern border, plagued by frequent beast attacks, claimed the lives of many young legionaries. His chances of survival were slim, yet he couldn't afford to falter.

The streets of Hepestus were quiet as he made his way toward the barracks. The occasional guard patrolled the cobbled streets, and early risers hurried toward their daily work. Among them, other recruits, some with looks of grim determination, others with nervous smiles. Most were like Rifi—unsure, yet bound by the same fate.

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"How many of us will return as corpses?" Rifi muttered, his lips curling into a bitter smile. "We already look like them, some of us."

The barracks loomed ahead, an imposing structure that seemed to swallow the light of the rising sun. Hundreds of recruits gathered in the yard, surrounded by hardened legionaries who eyed them with the detached scrutiny of those who had seen too many come and go.

A Centurion, towering and broad, stepped onto a raised platform, his voice amplified with magic.

"Recruits!" His voice boomed, silencing the crowd. "Today, you become Legionaries of Hepestus. Take pride in this. The city will provide you with one mana stone per week. Use it wisely. With greater rank and duty comes greater pay."

His eyes swept over them, cold and calculating. "Now, form lines and receive your assignments."

Rifi, as was his way, waited for the crowds to thin before stepping forward. He disliked crowds—too many people, too much noise. He approached a legionary sitting at a table, handing over his papers with quiet apprehension.

The older man glanced at the documents, then up at Rifi with a sharp, discerning eye. "What do we have here? Rifi... it says you've got hunting experience. Is that true? I don't need another lying fool in my ranks."

Rifi offered a nervous smile. "Yes, sir. I've hunted since I was young—survival depended on it."

The legionary held his gaze for a moment before grunting in approval. "Good. I hope for your sake that's true. Since you've broken into the Brown core, I'll assign you to a scouting squad." He pushed a small bundle toward Rifi. "Here's your uniform and standard equipment. Report to Rudeus over there." He pointed toward a small group of mages standing off to the side.

Rifi took the uniform, fingers brushing over the leather straps and the sword hilt. It wasn't anything remarkable, but to him, it was the finest gear he had ever laid hands on. His mind wandered, wondering how much all this had cost the city—

"You can admire your sword later," the old legionary barked with a laugh. "Move along, I've got others to deal with."

Rifi nodded, adjusting his grip on the uniform, and made his way toward the group. As he neared, a rugged man with a serious expression stepped forward, saving Rifi from the awkwardness of introductions.

"It seems our last member has arrived," the man said, his voice rough but not unkind. "A Brown core mage and a hunter to boot. Better than a green recruit, eh? At least this one might last longer than a week." He chuckled, and the others joined in with laughter that rang out, though laced with a kind of grim acceptance.

Rifi forced a smile. "I'm Rifi," he said, voice quieter than he intended. "I hope I can meet your expectations."

Rudeus clapped him on the shoulder. "Relax. No need to be so formal. I'm Rudeus, five years in the Legion, and a peak Purple core mage. These are Lucilia, Albus, and Julius. All early or mid-Purple core mages. You'll get to know them soon enough. For now, we need to move. Time's short."

And just like that, Rifi's life as a Legionary began. There was no time to process the magnitude of the change. By the time he gathered his bearings, they were already on the march toward the northern border.

As scouts, it would be their job to lead the larger group, ensuring the path was clear of ambushes. It was a dangerous assignment, but Rifi didn't dwell on it. He simply fell into step, listening as Rudeus filled him in on the basics. The legionaries they led were mostly new recruits like him, all bound to this grueling life.

His thoughts drifted to his lightning magic—an element rare and difficult to master. Most lightning mages died young, unable to harness the volatile power of their magic. It required a tremendous amount of mana just to conjure a single bolt, and Rifi's abilities, at this stage, were limited.

The only thing he could do with his lightning that yielded good resutls, was enhance his speed, but this required a lot of concentration on his part, sending just the right amounts of lightning mana through his brain and nerves. If he overdid it, it would hurt a lot and he would start going numb. But he had already decided that pain or no pain, he would temper his body alongside his magic. Where others saw risk, Rifi saw a challenge.

After all, he had survived this long.