Shivam, an orphan, sat in his crowded room, watching the other children play. Laughter echoed around him as they chased each other, their minds filled with dreams of being adopted by a loving family. In a world where Iso—those who could harness Fol—were highly valued, many of the orphans had tried to awaken basic elemental abilities, hoping to attract potential families. Some succeeded, earning admiration and chances at adoption. Others failed and were ignored.

Shivam, however, never tried. He didn’t want to be chosen just for an ability—he wanted a family that truly cared about him. But as he watched prospective parents come and go, their eyes scanning the orphans with interest, none ever stopped for him. At sixteen, he was the oldest child in the orphanage, and most people wanted younger children, especially those with Fol abilities.

He didn’t ask for much. He didn’t wish for riches or power—just a simple, loving family. But as days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years, that wish remained unfulfilled. Now, at seventeen, his eighteenth birthday was just a day away. And with it came the orphanage’s rule: once a child turned eighteen, they had to leave.

When that day finally arrived, Shivam stepped out of the orphanage with nothing but the clothes on his back. No one stopped him. No one cared. Why would they? He wasn’t special. He couldn’t control Fol.

Outside, the town bustled with life. Streets were lined with stalls selling food, medicine, weapons, and trinkets. Merchants called out to passing buyers, the air thick with the scent of spices and sizzling meat. Shivam walked through the crowd, taking in the unfamiliar world.

On the street corners, beggars sat with outstretched hands, pleading for alms. Some were missing limbs, others looked sickly and weak. But then there were those who appeared perfectly fine. Shivam frowned. Why were they begging? Couldn’t they work? He didn’t understand.

As the sun set, the streets emptied, and the stars emerged, casting a soft glow over the buildings. Wandering deeper into town, Shivam noticed a shift in his surroundings. The streets became rougher, the people around him sharper, their eyes scanning him with caution—or something else entirely. He quickened his pace, eventually finding himself in a small park.

A single bench stood under a dim streetlight. Exhausted, he sat down, stretching his sore legs. His stomach growled in protest. He hadn’t eaten all day. Hugging his empty stomach, he sighed. He had nothing to sell, no money to buy food.

Tomorrow, he would find work. Anything to earn enough to feed himself.

Later

As Shivam sleeps soundly on the bench, his soft snores blending with the quiet of the night, a mysterious figure emerged from the shadows. Silent and deliberate, the figure approached him and placed a hand on his neck. A faint, almost invisible light flickered, and something was passed into him. The figure lingered for only a moment before vanishing into the darkness.

The next morning, Shivam woke up feeling strange. There was a dull pain at the back of his neck, and his body felt oddly light, yet unsettled—like something inside him had shifted. He stretched his arms and legs, shaking off the stiffness from sleeping outside, but the feeling remained. Something was different. Not physically, but deep within.

Pushing the thought aside, he set out into the town, determined to find work. He approached every busy area, offering to do anything in exchange for money.

But no one paid him any attention.

He went to a construction site, only to realize that workers were usually hired through official contracts. He asked the butchers at the meat stalls, but they turned him away. Some rejected him kindly, explaining that they couldn’t hire just anyone, while others dismissed him coldly, not bothering to give a reason.

At first, he was confused. Then frustrated.

Why was everyone like this? Why wouldn’t they give him a chance?

Defeated, he made his way back to the park where he had slept the night before. As he sat down on the bench, his stomach growled in protest. He clutched it, grimacing. He needed food.

A strong, rich aroma drifted through the air, making his mouth water. His gaze followed the scent to a nearby restaurant. As he approached, he saw the chefs and staff tossing leftover food into a garbage bin.

Shivam hesitated. The food still looked edible.

His pride screamed at him not to do it, but hunger clawed at his insides. He couldn’t afford to be prideful. Swallowing his shame, he reached into the bin and grabbed some of the discarded food, eating it quickly. It was cold and stale, but as his stomach filled, he felt a sense of relief.

He didn’t notice the staff approaching until one of them barked at him.

“Hey, kid! Get away from there!”

Shivam turned, startled, as another staff member scowled at him.

“Don’t eat that crap, and don’t loiter around here. You’ll ruin our restaurant’s reputation!”

They waved him off, shooing him away like a stray animal. Shivam backed away, his throat tight with unspoken words.

They were throwing the food away anyway… so why did it matter? Why couldn’t they just give it to him?

As he walked, his legs screamed at him to stop. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been wandering—hours, maybe more. His feet ached, but he kept moving until he reached the front of a small store.

Just then, a shout broke through the noise of the street.

A woman cried out, “Thief! Stop them!”

Shivam turned just in time to see two figures sprint past him, one clutching a stolen purse. He had two options—chase them or do nothing.

He chose the second.

The thieves barely glanced at him as they ran past, but just before disappearing into the crowd, one of them tossed a few silver coins his way, a silent ‘thank you’ for not interfering.

The woman, however, didn’t thank him. She ran after them, still shouting for help.

Shivam looked at the coins in his palm. A real meal. For the first time today, he smiled.

Without wasting time, he made his way to a food stall, eager to buy something proper to eat. But as he approached, the stall owner gave him a disgusted look.

“Kid, don’t come near my stall. You’ll dirty it.”

Shivam frowned, confused—until he looked down at himself. His clothes were filthy, stained from sleeping outside and eating from the garbage.

He opened his mouth to explain, but before he could, someone bumped into him hard, shoving him aside. The sudden force nearly made him fall.

For a second, he was too stunned to react. Then, his fingers instinctively curled around his coins—only to feel nothing.

His heart sank. The coins were gone.

Stolen story; please report.

His gaze shot to the person who had pushed him, and realization hit. A pickpocket.

Anger flared inside him as he rushed after the thief, pushing through the crowded street. But no matter how hard he tried, the sea of people swallowed them up, and within moments, they were gone.

Defeated once again, Shivam dragged himself back to the park.

This time, when he approached the bench, he wasn’t alone.

A girl around his age sat there, her shoulders shaking as quiet sobs escaped her lips.

Shivam hesitated. He wasn’t good at comforting people. Maybe it was better to leave her alone. Just as he turned to walk away, her voice stopped him.

“Sir, will you marry me?”

He froze. What?

Slowly, he turned to face her. Why would she ask something like that? But the moment he did—she was gone.

His breath hitched. What…?

A chill ran down his spine as he looked around. There was no sign of her. Had he imagined it?

Heart still pounding, he sat down on the bench, rubbing his arms to shake off the uneasy feeling.

That’s when he noticed it.

A strange, tingling sensation in the air.

He lowered his head, hugging his knees to his chest, trying to ignore the creeping feeling that someone was watching him. But then, he felt something else.

Fol.

His head shot up.

He could feel Fol around him. For the first time in his life.

Staring ahead in shock, his vision adjusted—and suddenly, he saw it.

Fol wasn’t just an invisible force anymore. It was there, swirling faintly in the air, moving between people like unseen currents.

A slow grin spread across his face. Not because he could now call himself an Iso. Not because people would finally see him differently.

But because now, if someone tried to take something from him again—he could fight back.

As Shivam focused on the Fol around him, he raised his right arm.

For the first time, he felt the energy respond to him, gathering in his palm. A strange warmth surged through his fingers as if the very air around him was bending to his will.

He barely had time to process it before the energy shot forward.

The blast struck a pigeon mid-flight.

To an ordinary person, it looked like the bird had simply dropped dead out of nowhere. But to those who could see Fol, the truth was clear—Shivam had unleashed a raw burst of energy that had killed it instantly.

His heart pounded. He hadn’t meant to do that.

Rushing forward, he picked up the lifeless pigeon, gripping it tightly.

I can cook this.

The thought was both practical and unsettling. He had no food, no money—this was his best chance to eat. He knew the park had a water source, and if he searched carefully, he might find a container to store some.

But how do I light a fire? How do I even skin it?

As he stood there, deep in thought, an idea formed.

I can borrow a knife from a butcher.

With the dead pigeon in hand, Shivam made his way to a nearby butcher shop. The rich scent of raw meat filled the air as he stepped forward.

“Excuse me,” he said hesitantly. “Can I borrow a knife?”

The butcher looked down at him, then sneered.

“Why would I lend you my knife, kid?” His voice dripped with mockery. “Don’t you have any coins to buy one yourself?”

The butcher let out a loud laugh, and soon, the people around him joined in. The sound felt heavier than before, pressing down on Shivam like an invisible weight.

His fingers clenched around the pigeon.

Why do people always look down on me?

Rage bubbled inside him. Without realizing it, he instinctively commanded the surrounding Fol to gather in his fist.

The energy swirled violently, eager to be released.

A single thought crossed his mind—I could blast him right now.

It would take just one shot. One burst of Fol, and this man would regret ever mocking him.

But before he could act, a firm hand rested on his shoulder.

“Why are you making fun of a kid?”

The voice was calm, yet it carried weight. “Are you so insecure that you need to mock a child just to feel better about yourself?”

The laughter around them immediately died down.

The butcher stiffened, his face darkening with a mix of offense and fear. He glared at the person standing behind Shivam but didn’t say a word.

Shivam looked up, expecting to see some kind of hero. Instead, he saw a well-dressed man standing beside him, a soft but knowing smile on his lips.

That smile… for some reason, it calmed him.

His anger faded. The swirling Fol in his hand dispersed into the air.

The butcher finally spoke, though his voice was strained.

“I suppose… lending the kid a knife wouldn’t be such a big deal after all.”

His hands trembled slightly as he reached for a blade.

But before he could hand it over, Shivam shook his head.

“I can’t accept something if you don’t really want to give it,” he said simply. “Sorry for causing trouble.”

Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.

The man followed.

Shivam noticed but didn’t stop. He had no interest in talking. But the man wasn’t done.

“Kid.”

Shivam ignored him.

“You’re an Iso, aren’t you?”

Shivam froze mid-step.

The man continued, his voice amused. “I saw what you did back there. That was an unusual amount of Fol gathering in your fist. If I hadn’t stepped in, you might’ve shot that butcher in the face.”

Slowly, Shivam turned to face him.

The realization hit him hard.

This man could see Fol.

That meant only one thing.

He was an Iso, too.

Shivam watched the man carefully, his body tense with wariness.

The man took a step closer, smiling.

“I haven’t introduced myself yet, right?” he said casually. “Name’s Len Suru. I’m an elemental specialist, which means I work with Elemental Fol. Like this—”

He raised his palm.

The air around it shimmered, Fol gathering in an instant. Then, in the blink of an eye, the energy transformed into a small flame that flickered above his hand.

Shivam’s eyes widened.

Fire. He made fire out of thin air.

If I could do that, Shivam thought, I wouldn’t have to search for wood or flint to start a fire. I could cook my meals anytime.

Excitement replaced his fear. He hesitated for a moment, then looked up at Len with hopeful eyes.

“S-Sir Len,” he stammered, “could you… teach me how to do that?”

Len chuckled. “Sure thing, kid. But—” he tapped Shivam’s forehead lightly with a finger “—you haven’t introduced yourself either.”

Shivam hesitated again. Should I tell him my name?

He had spent years being ignored. Most people only saw him as "that useless orphan." No one ever asked for his name—because no one cared.

But Len wasn’t like the others.

After a moment, Shivam answered.

“My name is Shivam, Sir Len.”

Len smiled. “You don’t have to call me ‘Sir.’ Just Len is fine, okay?”

Something inside Shivam stirred.

The way Len said his name… it wasn’t mocking or cold. It was just—normal.

Respectful.

It was something he wasn’t used to.

Len motioned for him to follow, leading him down a narrow alleyway. They passed through a few turns before stepping into an open field.

It was vast and empty, a barren wasteland. The land had potential—it could be a farm, a settlement, or even a training ground—but no one had touched it.

Len turned to face him. “Alright, let’s test how familiar you are with Fol. Try to command it to gather around your whole arm.”

Shivam nodded. He raised his arm and focused, mentally commanding the surrounding Fol to come to him.

The energy responded, swirling toward his arm—but it only covered half of it.

Len watched and nodded. “You can control it, but not fully.”

Then, Len raised his own arm.

Shivam felt it immediately.

The Fol surrounding his arm vanished—drifting toward Len instead.

What?!

Shivam stared as his energy left him and gathered around Len’s arm.

“See this?” Len said, flexing his fingers. “This is what we Iso call ‘Recode.’”

Shivam swallowed. “Recode?”

Len nodded. “It happens because I’m more familiar with Fol than you are. When two Iso are near each other, Fol will naturally flow toward the one with more experience. Since I have stronger control, the Fol you gathered instinctively left you and came to me.”

Shivam clenched his fists. That means weaker Iso can have their energy stolen.

Len smiled. “But here’s something interesting—”

He raised his other hand, summoning another flame.

The fire didn’t move toward him like raw Fol did. It stayed perfectly in place.

“Once Fol is converted into an element, it changes its fundamental nature,” Len explained. “That’s why I could take your raw Fol, but I can’t take back my own fire.”

Shivam’s mind raced. Raw Fol is unstable—it can be stolen. But Elemental Fol is different.

Len grinned. “That means if you ever fight someone, remember this— you can steal their raw Fol, but you can’t disrupt Elemental Fol once it’s been formed.”

Shivam nodded and asked,

Shivam: “L-Len, how can I use fire like you?”

Len chuckled and replied,

Len: “Shivam, you’re not even familiar with Fol yet. If I teach you elemental Fol now, you’ll probably burn your own hand instead of creating a flame. So, let’s start with the basics first, alright?”

Shivam felt a little disappointed that he couldn’t learn how to create fire like Len, but at the same time, he was grateful that Len was willing to teach him at all. Len cleared his throat and continued,

Len: “If you want to control the Fol around you and make it respond to you naturally, you need to first meditate. Let the Fol come to you slowly, get used to your presence, and become familiar with you. You have to be patient.”

Shivam nodded, then sat down on the ground and closed his eyes. He tried to meditate, focusing on letting the surrounding Fol approach him. Len watched him for a moment before creating a stone seat with his Fol and sitting down.

Unlike the Iso Len had met before, Shivam wasn’t arrogant or impatient. Most people who discovered they were Iso acted superior, refusing to listen properly. But Shivam… he seemed different—obedient and willing to learn.

As time passed, Shivam began to feel hunger gnawing at him, but he suppressed it and remained focused on meditating. Len glanced at him occasionally. After three hours, the Fol around Shivam started to stir, slowly gathering around him. It clung to him like an invisible mist, wrapping around his lower half by the fifth hour.

Len smiled to himself—Shivam was a fast learner. His ability to attract Fol this quickly was impressive.

Two more hours passed, and Fol had completely surrounded Shivam’s body. Seeing this, Len leaned forward and whispered in his ear,

Len: “That’s enough. Good job, Shivam.”

Hearing this, Shivam quickly snapped out of his meditative state—but to his surprise, the Fol around him didn’t disappear. It remained attached to his body, flowing naturally as if it had truly accepted him.

Excited, Shivam stood up and ran a little, curious to see if the Fol would fall away or scatter. But no matter how much he moved, it stayed with him.

Finally, he stopped running and flopped onto the ground, exhausted. Just then, his stomach let out a loud growl.

Shivam instantly felt embarrassed—his stomach had just betrayed him in front of Len, someone he was starting to respect deeply. Hesitantly, he glanced up at Len, only to see him chuckling.

Len: “Looks like someone’s hungry after training.”

Shivam blinked in confusion. Training? When did he train? He had just been sitting there meditating—he hadn’t done anything physically exhausting.

As Shivam stood up, stretching his sore limbs, Len turned to him with a casual smile.

Len: “Do you want to have dinner with me? I’ll probably eat at a stall. No need to worry about money—I’ll cover it.”

Shivam hesitated for a moment, his pride telling him to refuse, but his empty stomach made the decision for him. He was grateful, though a little embarrassed that Len was paying. He simply nodded, and Len motioned for him to follow.

The two walked through the bustling streets, the market glowing with lanterns as the evening set in. The air was filled with the rich aroma of grilled meat, sizzling vegetables, and fresh bread. Stalls lined the street, each boasting different meals—some sold steaming bowls of soup, others skewers of seasoned meat. Shivam’s eyes darted around, taking in the overwhelming variety.

But as they passed by the crowded stalls, Len led him to a smaller, quieter one. Unlike the others, this stall had empty seats, and it was clear that it hadn’t been attracting many customers. The stall beside it, however, was packed, with people happily slurping down bowls of noodles.

Shivam glanced at Len curiously. Why here?

Before he could ask, Len grinned and called out,

Len: “Vallis! You up to serving me and my friend some food?”

A moment

later, the stall’s owner stepped out from behind the counter. She was a striking woman, likely in her late twenties, with sharp eyes and an air of confidence. She crossed her arms, smirking as she recognized Len.

Vallis: “Long time no see, Captain Suru.”

Shivam stiffened at the word. Captain? He turned to Len, who simply smiled as if nothing was unusual.