The orphanage always smelled like wet rags and boiled cabbage. Even on the morning Lyle Greenbottle was meant to leave, nothing had changed. The cracked windows let in a gust of damp air, and the ceiling above his bunk still leaked with every drizzle.
He sat on the edge of his bed, a small duffel bag packed beside him. It wasn't much. A change of clothes. A rusted toothbrush. And at the very bottom, wrapped in the tattered corner of his old baby blanket, was a thick, dust-covered book.
It had no title. No author. Just a leather-bound cover with a strange golden crest stamped into it—an eye surrounded by runes in a language he couldn't read.
The Matron had given it to him last night.
"This was left with your name on it. By your parents. Guess they wanted you to have it when you turned sixteen," she'd said, voice devoid of affection. "Don't go thinking it means they cared."
He didn't respond. He never did anymore.
Sixteen. The age when everyone awakened their mana core. The day they were sent to military school to train and be sorted by affinity: fire, water, earth, lightning, or the rare celestial types.
But Lyle… nothing had happened.
No awakening. No elemental spark. He was tested twice—still no reaction. The instructors labeled him Null-Class, a "mana dead" as the other kids joked.
"Guess you'll be target practice at Fort Varion," someone had laughed at breakfast. He didn't know who. It didn't matter.
He sat now in silence, legs dangling off the edge of the bed, staring at the book. His fingers itched to open it, but he was afraid. Afraid it would be empty. Afraid it would mean nothing—just like everything else.
He clenched his fists.
"Why did you leave me…?"
His voice cracked as the words slipped out—raw and hoarse. His chest tightened, eyes stinging.
And then—a single tear hit the book's surface.
A golden shimmer pulsed from the leather like ripples in water.
Lyle froze.
He blinked. The book was glowing. Not brightly, but faintly… like it had just taken a breath for the first time in centuries.
The crest on the cover twisted.
Then the book opened on its own.
Pages flipped wildly, faster than he could follow. Wind whipped through the room as though an invisible storm had been unleashed inside it. The old ceiling light exploded in a burst of sparks, and shadows curled along the walls.
A voice echoed from the open book—calm, cold, and inhuman.
> "Tears of the lost. Blood of the broken. You who are forgotten by fate… I awaken thee."
The pages stopped.
A brilliant rune, glowing blue and gold, burned itself into the open page, and a system message—not from any known magic scanner—flashed in Lyle's mind:
---
[Wizard System Online]
Welcome, Heir of Arcai. Initiating Arcane Soul Link...
Scanning… Mana Core: Hidden
Mana Affinity: ∞ (Unlimited)
Status: Suppressed Wizard Bloodline detected
First Spell Unlocked: [Arcane Bolt]
Skill Tree Unsealed: Spellcrafting, Runesmithing, Soulbinding
Caution: Your existence violates magical law. Remain hidden.
---
Lyle gasped. He could feel it—something deep inside him was no longer dormant.
He held up his hand instinctively. Energy—real, visible energy—swirled at his fingertips. Not fire. Not lightning. Not any element he had seen before. It was… pure arcane force.
The book pulsed again.
> "Hide your power. Trust no one. And survive."
And just like that, the glow faded.
Silence returned to the room, broken only by the distant honk of a military transport horn.
He looked down at his hands, still trembling, still glowing faintly.
Null-Class? Yeah, right.
They had no idea what he really was.
He reached into the bag, slid the book back inside, and stood tall for the first time in years.
Time to show the world what a Wizard could do.