Arlen sat cross-legged by the campfire, its flickering light casting shifting shadows on his expressionless face. The crackle of burning wood mingled with the distant murmurs of the bandits, but his mind remained sharp and focused, untouched by the chaos around him. The ropes that bound his wrists bit into his skin, yet he didn’t struggle. There was no fear, no hesitation—only the quiet hum of satisfaction that things were proceeding according to his calculations.

He had known this moment would come. For months, the plan had been forming in his mind. Living in a society that measured worth by the presence of magical power, Arlen had understood his fate the moment he became self-aware. He was an anomaly, untouched by the energy that flowed through every lifeform. And because of that, he was dangerous—not to others, but to his family.

The world didn’t forgive weakness, especially not in a family as promising as his. If he stayed with them, if he went to the capital and failed the magic evaluation, the stain of his inadequacy would ripple outward. His brother Theo’s burgeoning genius, his sister Lena’s brilliance—all of it would be overshadowed by the whispers about their “worthless” sibling. His parents would feel the weight of shame, their ambitions for the family dimmed.

Arlen had resolved long ago not to let that happen. But leaving wasn’t a simple matter. He was just a child, a fragile, powerless child in a harsh world. Running away had been his first idea, but the odds of survival were slim. He could imagine the terrain—merciless forests, the creatures that roamed them, and the starvation that would come before anything else. Still, it had been an option, if only as a last resort.

The second option had always been the better one: to wait. To set the stage. Over weeks, Arlen had planted seeds of information—a casual remark about the caravan’s valuables, a feigned overheard conversation in the market. The hints were subtle enough to escape suspicion yet irresistible to those seeking an opportunity. He knew how caravans worked, how word of their routes spread, and how bandits lurked at the edges of every journey.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

When the attack began, Arlen had played his part perfectly. He hadn’t resisted, hadn’t screamed. Instead, he had let himself be taken, his silence interpreted as fear. But fear was the furthest thing from his mind. This was a calculated move, a step toward freedom—not for himself, but for his family.

Now, as he sat in the midst of his captors, his thoughts were calm, precise. The bandits believed they had taken a frightened, powerless child. In reality, he had delivered himself into their hands. He didn’t spare a thought for their fates—pity and anger were luxuries he couldn’t afford. To him, they were tools, no different from the ropes that bound his wrists or the fire that warmed the camp.

One of the bandits, a wiry man with a crooked grin, glanced at Arlen before quickly looking away. Even among the lawless, the boy’s silence unnerved them.

As the fire crackled, Arlen’s thoughts drifted to the nature of magic itself, the concept that governed everything on this planet. People worshipped it as divine, an otherworldly force bestowed by the heavens. But Arlen saw through the myth. He understood the truth.

Magic wasn’t divine; it was a natural evolution of the planet. His absence from it wasn’t a curse—it was an exception, a deviation from the expected path. His body hadn’t adapted like the others; he was untouched by the energy that saturated the world. And because of that, he had no place in this society. To stay would mean exposing himself, and by extension, his family. To leave was the only way to ensure their future.

The bandits were simply a means to that end. Arlen didn’t care what happened next, whether they ransomed him, abandoned him, or tried to sell him. He had already removed himself from his family’s equation. His failure would be his own, not theirs.

For a brief moment, he wondered if his absence would bring them relief or sorrow. Either way, it didn’t matter. Their future was secured.

As the night deepened, Arlen’s gaze flickered to the ropes around his wrists. He could feel the tension in the camp, the way the bandits avoided looking at him for too long. They didn’t know what to make of him—this quiet, unnervingly calm child who didn’t cry or plead.

The path was set, and Arlen would walk it—not as a victim, but as the quiet architect of his own destiny.