Silvren moved through the sprawling crowd, his sharp, blue eyes scanning every man and woman bustling along the lively streets of Veyrin.

A few months ago, these same streets had been almost deserted—silent and lifeless, with merchants abandoning their shops and people disappearing behind locked doors. But since the new lord had taken over, the city had started to breathe again.

Shops reopened, carts rolled by, and laughter and chatter filled the air.

Even Silvren, who cared little for politics, had overheard whispers of reforms. Not that it mattered to him. All that concerned him was how the bustling streets made for better business—his kind of business.

Sliding through the throng with the ease of someone accustomed to going unseen, he silently shifted between his next targets. A group of teenagers laughing too loudly, two women gossiping as they strolled, and an old man who practically oozed wealth, his fine robes on display and his beard groomed to perfection. The gleaming rings on his fingers and the slight bulge in his coat pocket made the choice easy.

Silvren trailed the old man from a safe distance, slipping through the gaps in the crowd like smoke on a windy day. When they neared a stretch of alleyways he knew well, he sped up, his thin frame allowing him to dart forward without drawing attention.

In one swift move, he brushed against the man, as if just another passerby in a hurry. His fingers slipped into the man’s coat pocket like he’d done it hundred times before and closed around the coin pouch. The weight felt promising.

Got it.

Without missing a beat, Silvren turned on his heel and ducked toward the alleys, his heart thrumming with exhilaration. He didn’t look back—there was no need. He knew the timing, knew how long it would take for someone to realize they’d been robbed.

Except today, his luck seemed particularly rotten.

“Stop! Thief!”

The shout cut through the street like a blade, and Silvren’s blood ran cold. The old man must have felt the sudden lightness of his pockets because his voice rang out again. “Hey! Thief! Catch him! That one! Silver hair!”

If Silvren wasn’t already running, he certainly was now. His legs pumped faster as panic tightened in his chest. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed the worst—two guards were barreling toward him, cutting through the crowd like wolves on a scent.

How had he missed them? He’d been too focused on his prize, too eager to slip away. Now that coin pouch felt heavier than ever, dragging him down with the weight of his mistake. A rookie mistake, he probably lingered his finger for too long that the oldie caught. Or maybe— now’s not the time. Goddess Lumaris help me!

His breath came in ragged gasps as he continued to speed through the alleys, the guards shouting behind him. This wasn’t the first time he’d been chased, and he still bore bruises from the last time he’d been caught. Being small had saved him from a stint in the city cells, but the guards had been more than happy to give him a thorough beating as a “lesson.”

Unfortunately, these weren’t the same guards. New ones had been enlisted since the new lord arrived, and Silvren had no idea what they might do to him. Worse still, he’d heard rumors that some of them were as strong as Mages.

He risked another glance. Luckily, these two didn’t seem to be throwing fireballs or summoning ice walls. They were just fast. And that wasn’t exactly comforting either.

His feet barely touched the ground as he ran. He leaped over crates, dodged past a couple kissing against a wall, and even dove through the open window of a house, scrambling out the other side. But no matter what he did, the guards kept up, their footsteps pounding closer and closer. They weren’t giving up, and his energy was fading fast.

Two days without food had left him weak, and he could feel it now in the heaviness of his limbs and the ache in his chest. His breath burned in his throat, and every step felt slower than the last. The guards were gaining on him.

And then the alley ended.

Silvren skidded to a stop, his heart sinking as he stared at the open square ahead. The main square. The worst possible place to be.

It was crowded today, more crowded than usual. A large gathering had formed, and there were more guards stationed there than he’d ever seen before. Too many to count, too many to dodge. With the guards breathing down his neck, he knew it was his only option and snaked inside the crowd. Soon, the crowd gave way to a long line that was headed straight toward the center of the square.

Without a second thought, he made his way toward it, slipping into the crowd and weaving along its edges until he found a spot. As the line shuffled forward, Silvren seized the moment, slipping into a gap and squeezing himself between two people.

“Hey! Get back! No cutting!” the man behind him snapped, shoving Silvren forward.

Silvren stumbled but held his ground, mumbling an apology while avoiding eye contact. The line continued to move, and he did the same, his eyes flicking nervously toward the edges of the square.

The guards hadn’t given up. They were scanning the crowd, moving between people and asking around—clearly, searching for him. His obvious silver hair didn’t make it any easier. If he had to guess, there were no more than two people in the throng with silver hair and his size—or maybe it was just him.

Silvren cursed under his breath. His luck had really rotted today. Maybe he’d stolen from someone important. The old man had looked wealthy enough to be connected.

For a second, he actually considered slipping the coin pouch back. Should I? It would just let me free. Maybe then the guards would call off the chase. But the growl of his empty stomach quickly shoved that thought aside. Those coins were his ticket to survival.

A whole month of not being hungry. Of having food. He couldn’t just give that up, no matter how badly things were looking. Life was already unfair enough for street rats like him. If he let go of every prize he’d won—or stolen—he’d never get anywhere.

Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed how much the line had moved until he found himself almost at the front. His breath hitched when he saw the dozen guards stationed there, but he quickly forced himself to calm down. They didn’t know he was a thief. As far as they were concerned, he was just another scruffy kid standing in line.

His gaze drifted upward, toward the woman standing at the front of the line. She looked calm, poised, and important, dressed in a white dress with a crest of a rising phoenix embroidered at the center of her chest. At her side stood a strange… equipment, glowing faintly in the sunlight.

Silvren squinted at it, his eyes catching on the ruby embedded at its center. It was massive, polished to a gleaming crimson sheen. He couldn’t help but wonder how much a ruby like that would sell for—probably enough to feed him for an entire year.

But the dozen guards flanking the device made it clear that any attempt to grab it would end with him in shackles—or worse. And today, he did not want to find out what that ‘worse’ meant.

He was just about to slip out of the line and make his escape when he felt a firm hand land on his shoulder. He froze, heart thudding wildly.

“Your turn,” the woman said with a kind smile. Her voice was warm but left no room for argument. “If you’re nervous, don’t be. It only takes a few seconds, and then we’ll have the results.”

“Results?” Silvren croaked, his voice cracking. His mind raced. Results of what?

The woman’s smile widened slightly, and she gestured toward the glowing device. “Yes. The results of whether you’re a Mage, an Enforcer, or a mortal.”

Silvren stared at her, stunned.

“I know it’s nerve-wracking,” she continued, mistaking his silence for anxiety. “Everyone wonders if they have the mana organs that allow them to be more than normal. But trust me, it’s better to know than not to.”

Silvren froze, his heart pounding in his chest. Mage?

The word echoed in his mind, and his pulse quickened.

He knew of them—the Mages. They were the powerful, untouchable few who ruled the kingdom, standing above everyone else. He had heard tales in the bypass of how they even had institutes, honing their skills. It was odd. But it was… important. It was of an importance he’d never known. Apparently, they could control the elements, wield magic, and had wealth and status beyond imagination. Mages were nobles, always rich and always influential. They were nothing like him. He was just a street rat, a kid who had to steal just to survive.

His eyes darted back to the kind woman, his mouth dry. His voice trembled with hesitation. “I thought only nobles can be Mages?” He was asking.

Her smile remained gentle. “No, anyone can be a Mage if they have the mana organs necessary to make them one. It’s just that the kingdom never lets common people test for it.” She paused, meeting his gaze. “But Lord Arzan is changing that in his territory. We’ve already seen a lot of people from common backgrounds becoming Mages… and even Enforcers.”

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Her words lingered in his mind like a glimmer of hope—something he hadn’t dared to dream of. A life beyond the streets, beyond stealing scraps for survival.

“My name is Claire,” she continued. “And I’ve been tasked with conducting the tests in most of the Sylvan Enclave. It’ll only take a moment, just a simple test. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” She reached for his arm, guiding him toward the strange device.

For a moment, Silvren was paralyzed with uncertainty. But curiosity, that relentless spark in his chest, pushed him forward. What if this could change everything? Could he really be a Mage? Could something like that even happen to someone like him?

He didn’t know how to escape her grip, and frankly, he didn’t want to. There was something about her calm certainty that made him wonder if maybe he could just escape the life he’d known for so long.

As they reached the device, he finally found his voice again, his words shaky. “How does it work?”

The woman named Claire’s smile softened further, if it was possible. “Just put your hand on it. Lord Arzan built it to sense if you have the mana organs within you. That’s all it takes.”

The device before him was strange—a metallic structure, intricately etched with runes, standing tall with a large ruby at its center. There were three cubes in the center of it and handles that held the ruby—and the ruby, it was glowing faintly. Silvren swallowed hard. He had no idea what “mana organs” were, but he figured he might as well go along with it. If he was going to have any chance of changing his life, he had to take this shot.

He hesitated for a moment before reaching out and placing his hand on the surface of the ruby.

At first, nothing happened. The ruby remained still, its surface smooth. Silvren’s heart sank. He started to pull his hand away, thinking maybe it was all just a waste of time, when suddenly—

A jolt of energy surged through him.

It was sharp, like a burst of electricity.

For a long moment, he couldn’t focus. The world seemed to blur around him as he tried to comprehend the sensation. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.

The cubes glowed with an intensity that mirrored the pounding in his chest. His mind was racing, trying to make sense of the device’s reaction when the crowd around him started murmuring. He glanced nervously at Claire, but her eyes shifted from calm anticipation to pure shock.

His heart dropped. What had he done wrong? He hadn’t meant to do anything, just wanted to know if he was a Mage or not. But now it felt like all eyes were on him, and the weight of his actions pressed down on him.

Before he could react, a voice pierced through his thoughts.

“Halt right there! He’s a thief!”

The words made his stomach drop. His blood ran cold. The guards. They were still after him, and now they had caught up.

Panic surged through him, and without thinking, he spun around, ready to bolt, to run for his life. But just as his feet moved, something grabbed the back of his collar, yanking him backward, his feet leaving the ground for a split second.

He turned to see one of the guards holding him up, his grip tight on his tunic. The entire crowd was watching now, eyes locked on him with varying expressions. Some were curious, others just confused. But all he could focus on was the fierce grip of the guard and the murmurs growing louder behind him.

The guard’s voice cut through the silence. “Lady Claire, this kid is a thief. We saw him stealing a lot of coins. You need to give him to us.”

Claire’s gaze locked onto him, her expression unreadable. She didn’t seem flustered at all, but Silvren could see something new in her eyes—an understanding, an intent that he couldn’t fully comprehend.

Claire didn’t hesitate. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”

The words hung in the air like a bombshell. Silvren’s heart skipped a beat. He looked up at her in confusion, wondering if she had just heard him wrong. She can’t do that?

The guard looked equally surprised. “Why not, Lady Claire?”

“The kid is a Mage. Even if he had stolen, we can’t let him go with you. If he wills it, he’ll be moving to Veralt, to learn in the newly established Sorcerer’s Tower.”

The words hit Silvren like a lightning strike. A Mage?

His mouth went dry, and his mind scrambled to understand. A Mage? Him? The very thought was absurd. He had always thought that Mages were the elites, born into power and wealth, the kind of people who could throw fireballs and control the very earth beneath their feet. He had never once considered himself a candidate for such a life.

He blinked several times, his mind struggling to process. “M-Mage?” he stammered.

One of the guards scowled, still holding Silvren up. “This doesn’t change the fact that he’s a thief, Lady Claire.”

Claire turned to him then, her eyes softening once more. “Did you steal from someone?”

Her words were almost too much to bear. He stood there, staring at the ground, unable to meet her eyes. The shame of his past, of every crime he had committed to survive, surged up within him. He had stolen. He had harmed people, twisting and turning for a mere handful of coins, the only thing that mattered in his world.

“I… I didn’t mean to,” he whispered, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

Claire ignored his comment and looked directly into him. “Even if you did steal, I would let you off if you return the stolen money. I promise you, you’ll never have to steal again. Not with what we can offer you.”

Not with what we can offer you. The words hit Silvren like a sudden gust of wind, pushing his thoughts aside and leaving only the sharp reality of her offer. He blinked, eyes wide in disbelief. She’s offering me a way out? The thought seemed too good to be true. No more stealing. No more fighting for survival on the streets. He had stolen, yes—but to survive. Was this really a way out?

“Really?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly, though not entirely from fear. This was a chance—a real one. Could he trust it?

“Yes, really. If you return the money, there’s nothing else to be done. You won’t need to steal anymore.”

The guards still held him tightly, eyes waiting for any movement. But at Claire’s instruction, the guard loosened his grip on Silvren’s collar, and the young thief was finally free to move. His body felt like it was made of lead, but he could feel the weight of the pouch against his back. Slowly, he pulled the stolen pouch from his pocket and hesitated just for a moment. There was still that sliver of doubt, that gnawing suspicion.

What if this was a trick? What if, even after returning the money, he’d still be punished?

His hands trembled as he handed the pouch to Claire.

“Here,” he muttered, still unsure of what might happen next.

Claire accepted the pouch.

She turned and handed it to the guards who had been standing by. They nodded in acknowledgment and left without another word. Silvren could only watch.

When the last of the guards disappeared into the crowd, Claire turned back to him. Her smile was encouraging but there was a serious glint in her eyes as she studied him.

“Now,” she began, “we can start with introductions. You’re going to be the newest Mage in the Sorcerer’s Tower, but I don’t even know your name.”

Silvren hesitated for a moment. Mage. The word echoed in his mind. It felt strange, like an illusion. He wasn’t a Mage. Not really. His heart thudded in his chest.

“My name is Silvren,” he said, his voice almost lost in the noise of the crowd. It felt strange to say it out loud. His name had never meant much to him. It was just a label, a way to differentiate him from the other street kids. But now, as the words left his lips, they felt different.

Claire’s smile widened. “Silvren. It’s good to meet you.”

***

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