Year 1045 of the Mergorian Calendar. The world was experiencing rapid advancements in technology and industry since the Second Holy War. But that wasn't the case for those who weren't human. Since that war… races like Elves were considered inferior to humans.
Morning. A fifteen-year-old boy, an Elf. He had long grown used to being treated differently—especially after his mother's death. He survived alone in Vento District, the slum where Elves lived. Though close to the city center, the gap between humans and non-humans was painfully clear.
Úlrey Nerrenvi had survived by stealing from city dwellers since he was a child. It was his daily routine. If caught, he'd be beaten by adults. His choices were simple: hunger or injury.
The morning in Vento District was bleak. A thin fog shrouded the narrow, cobblestone streets, littered with puddles and trash. Old buildings stood precariously, seemingly waiting to crumble. This is where Úlrey Nerrenvi grew up—not with love, but with wounds and hunger.
Úlrey walked slowly, his eyes keenly observing the city guards' movements. He knew their patrol patterns. Today, he was targeting apples and bread from the southern market. He'd only drunk water for two days, surviving on scraps from a previous theft.
He managed to slip into the market and moved quickly. A bright red apple nearly fell from the table as he snatched it. But before he could escape…
"HEY!! YOU LONG-EARED RAT!!"
The merchant yelled, raising a wooden stick. Úlrey immediately dove into the crowd, disappearing into the market's chaos.
He chuckled, clutching the stolen apple. "Nice, my instincts are still sharp," he muttered.
But his laughter died as he turned into a back alley and found three City Guards blocking his path.
"Enough, Úlrey. This is the third time this week."
"Take him to headquarters. Or… maybe we rough him up here first?"
Úlrey, ever clever, played with their words.
"Aren't you tired of chasing a kid like me?" he said, smirking. "Or do you need someone to take your frustrations out on because your wives won't touch you anymore?"
One guard, a large, pot-bellied man, stepped forward, his eyes blazing with anger.
"You asking for a beating, cursed Elf!?"
But Úlrey knew how to play the game. He didn't wait for them to attack. His legs moved first, kicking a trash can towards the guards, momentarily hindering their approach. In a flash, Úlrey slipped into a narrow gap beside an old brick house, a space too small for the large adult men.
Curses and shouts echoed behind him. He heard heavy footsteps, then silence—they had given up the chase.
Úlrey hid behind a pile of rotting wood, breathless but still smiling. He slowly bit into the stolen apple, as if it were a victory prize from a great battle.
"Is this what they call life?" he murmured, gazing at the gray sky above the alley. "If so… can I last longer?" Úlrey sat silently for a moment, letting the sweetness of the apple touch his tongue. Though dirt clung to his skin and his clothes were ragged, in his heart, he felt like a victor. He hadn't starved today. That was enough.
However, as he finished the last bite of the apple, a soft yet clear voice came from behind the woodpile.
"You're quick."
Úlrey instantly leaped back, his body as agile as a wild animal. His left hand reached for a small knife tucked into his waist. But he saw not a guard or an adult, but an Elf girl, his age, with silvery-white hair braided behind her. Her blue eyes reflected the faint light from the overcast sky.
Úlrey narrowed his eyes. "Who are you? I've never seen your face around this district."
The girl didn't answer immediately. She stepped out of the shadows, then sat on a log across from Úlrey. "My name is Lys. I just came from the north. Our district… was burned."
Úlrey said nothing. He knew what she meant. He knew of many Elf districts 'cleaned' for nonsensical reasons. Supposedly, to 'maintain order'. But he knew it was just a justification for humans to expel and slaughter at will.
Lys continued, her voice soft but firm. "I heard about Úlrey Nerrenvi from the kids here. They say you're the fastest, the smartest… and the most stubborn."
Úlrey raised an eyebrow, his long ears twitching slightly. "Are you looking for a friend or trouble?"
"No, I don't intend to cause trouble. I'm looking for someone who isn't afraid of humans," Lys replied without hesitation. "And I think you're the only one who fits the bill."
Úlrey chuckled shortly, somewhat bitterly. "You don't choose to be brave around humans. If you aren't, you die. If you are… maybe you still die, but at least with your head held high." He seemed to be laughing, but his heart felt resigned.
Lys looked at him intently. "Something's happening. Something bigger than us. I don't know everything, but… the guards have started hunting Elves outside the district. Not just thieves. They're catching everyone."
Úlrey fell silent. Beneath his casual demeanor, he sensed a shift. The atmosphere in the district had become heavier lately. Some Elf kids who used to share his sleeping space in the old factory ruins… hadn't returned since last week. Úlrey looked up at the gray sky again. The fog was thickening, shrouding the narrow streets and the smell of wet garbage. But his mind wasn't on the weather, but on the words of the girl named Lys.
Just when he thought Lys had left, her soft voice echoed again. She hadn't actually left her spot.
"Úlrey… there's one more thing you should know," she said, this time more seriously. "These arrests… it's not just about evicting us. They actually have a reason."
Úlrey narrowed his eyes cynically, disbelieving. "A reason? Since when did humans need a reason to oppress?"
Lys shook her head slowly. "After the Second Holy War, the Mergorian Council enacted the Anti-Arkana Law. All forms of magic—white, black, even healing—were completely banned. Accused of being part of the devil's legacy. And because Elves were known as users of Natural Arkana, we're all… branded as a threat. Even those who can't use magic."
Úlrey sighed heavily. He'd long known that Elves were considered strange, dangerous, even unclean by many humans. But he hadn't expected the real reason… to be fear of something long dead… magic.
So they think every Elf can still use magic?" Úlrey asked, a shiver running down his spine. "I don't even know any spells or anything."
"It's not about whether we can or not," Lys replied. "But about what they fear. And human fear… is the reason they burned down our homes."
Úlrey was silent. His eyes fell on his dirty hands, old and new scars crisscrossing his skin. He'd thought it was all about poverty, caste, and power. But now he knew. They lived in a world that considered their very existence a threat to be eradicated.
Lys stepped closer, her voice softer but deeper.
"Úlrey, you have to stop just running. This city is changing. They won't just beat you for stealing. One day… they'll hunt you just for breathing."
Úlrey looked at Lys. Their eyes met, two Elf children with different wounds but a purpose slowly merging.
"Did you come here just to tell me that?"
"No," Lys replied. "I came because I need help. There's… something you need to see. But not now. Tonight. At the ruins of the Old Cathedral."
"The… the… Old Cathedral!? The one in the north!?" Úlrey's eyes widened. "Are you crazy!? That place is heavily guarded! You want to commit suicide!?"
"If we don't start fighting, we're all dead now," Lys replied softly, before turning and walking away into the fog.
Úlrey stood still for a long time, letting the cold air pierce his skin.
The apple he had been holding was now down to its core.
He stood up, looking towards the fog where Lys disappeared.
The Holy War ended long ago… but its wounds and fears still linger," he murmured. And now, they want our blood to atone for it."
After Lys's departure, Úlrey pondered for a long time. The girl's words echoed in his mind—about magic, human fear, and something bigger than daily hunger.
—As the day turned to evening, Úlrey returned to his hiding place in the factory ruins. He stored the apple core and sharpened his knife. Usually, he slept quickly after finishing his work, tucking himself under the rubble, but… not tonight. He waited. And as the fog thickened and the sky turned dark, he set off, moving in the city's shadows towards the ruins of the Old Cathedral in the north.
The Cathedral ruins were on the city's edge—a magnificent building that had once been a center of worship before the Second Holy War erupted. Parts of its walls had collapsed, stained glass shattered, and the main altar was now overgrown with weeds among the cracked stones. Yet, its aura was still… strange. There was a heavy silence there, as if the world was holding its breath.
Úlrey arrived just after midnight. He hid behind the rusty iron gate, observing his surroundings. A few guards patrolled, but Lys wasn't lying—they rarely approached the altar. As if something there was something even humans were reluctant to touch.
"Úlrey," Lys's voice whispered, calling from the shadows of the ruins. She emerged from behind a cracked statue of an old god. "Follow me. But don't make a sound."
They slipped into the deepest part of the cathedral, past rubble and moss, until they reached a hidden underground chamber whose entrance was blocked by large stones. Then, with a soft pulse of magic from Lys's hand, the stone shifted revealing a dark passage below.
Úlrey was startled. "You… you can use magic?"
Lys just looked at him. "Just a little, a natural talent. But that's what made our family a target."
They descended together. The atmosphere underground was vastly different—a thin magical aura hung in the air, like the whispers of an undead past. At the end of the corridor, there was a circular room, perhaps once a place of worship or the storage of sacred relics. But what caught Úlrey's attention wasn't the room… but the figure lying in its center.
A human.
A young man, perhaps seventeen or eighteen years old, with black hair and strange clothing, not from this time. He was asleep on an old magic circle that still faintly glowed. There were no wounds, no blood, but it was as if he had just fallen from the sky and landed there.
"Who is that?" Úlrey whispered, astonished.
"I don't know either," Lys replied. "A few hours ago, light appeared from the altar above. When I checked, he was already here. And… I don't know who made this magic circle. It might be from the First Age."
Úlrey slowly approached, cautious. The man seemed ordinary, not threatening, despite his unusual clothing and hairstyle. As if he didn't belong here.
Suddenly, the man groaned softly.
Úlrey quickly retreated, shielding Lys behind him, his knife ready.
The young man's eyes slowly opened. Their dark brown color reflected surprise and confusion. He sat up slowly, looking around like someone seeing the world for the first time.
"Hey!" Úlrey exclaimed. "Who are you? Where did you come from?"
The man looked at them both, confused. He touched his head, as if holding back a headache. Then, in a low voice that sounded strange to their ears—not because of its tone, but because the language was foreign, though he seemed to understand Úlrey—he said:
"…My name… is Angga… Angga Sagara."