Nero slowly made his way through the streets of the walled village where he found himself against his will. It was a kind of labor camp, for almost all that existed there were vast fields of golden wheat, tended by thousands of filthy people. Here and there were also meadows where all kinds of farm animals were kept. They were lined up parallel to one another, like mirror images reflecting endlessly, one field looked identical to the next.
People walked busily along the road, most with downcast eyes, tired gazes, and tattered old clothes. At first, Nero thought they were slaves, but something about these people wasn't quite right—something that was so typical of slaves. The people held themselves upright; in their eyes, behind the weariness, lay hope and confidence. They looked like slaves, they worked like slaves, yet they behaved like people who seemed to be waiting for something.
Then, very rarely, groups of people dressed in the finest clothes would pass him by, striding through the crowds with proud bearing, or being carried in beautiful carriages. The people parted before these individuals; some even bowed.
Nero walked along the muddy, dirty paths, passing numerous fields and farms. The magicians who brought him here seemed to ignore him and didn't pay much attention to what he was doing. That surprised Nero. No one punished him for doing nothing? That was strange.
A man approached him. He had black hair and a tanned complexion. He was noticeably taller and quite muscular compared to Nero. He grabbed Nero's shoulder, stopping him abruptly.
"Who are you?" he asked. His voice was hoarse and seemed old.
Nero hesitated briefly; his mind raced to come up with a story, but he knew nothing about this world, this planet, or its inhabitants. Inventing a plausible backstory was nearly impossible, and simply guessing was dangerous.
So he furrowed his brow as if in deep thought. "I don't know, my good sir," he muttered in an absent-minded voice. "The last thing I remember is waking up here with a terrible headache. I think i lost my memory…"
"Oh, really?" the man asked skeptically, staring at Nero.
Nero clicked his tongue. "I'm sorry," he said, hanging his head sadly. Lars studied Nero's expression closely, wondering if he could believe him. In the end, he just shrugged: "I've heard that this kind of thing can happen," he said, "Don't worry about it! I'll make sure you settle in here just fine!"
Nero looked at him with wide eyes, just like a child would, "Really?" he asked. The man laughed, "Of course, of course. Just listen to what I tell you, and everything will be fine. I'm sure your memories will come back sooner or later!"
"I hope so," said Nero, "I feel so… lost."
The man smiled encouragingly, "Anyway. I'm Lars, the third overseer of this district of the Ascension Camp. My job is to make sure the people who work here behave themselves."
"Ascension Camp?" Nero asked, genuinely confused. The man glanced at him briefly, as if he were looking at an idiot. "Yes, don't you really remember anything at all?"
Nero shook his head. The man sighed: "Ascension Camp is a place where mortals go to work for the mages. If we work hard enough, we get the chance to become a mage! Who wouldn't want to be a mage?" the man said, his voice full of anticipation, as if it were just around the corner.
Nero's eyes darkened slightly, but he lowered his gaze so Lars couldn't see.
Nero knew immediately that this was a lie—not from Lars, but from the mages.
Nero didn't know much about traditional magic, since his own magic always came from the black stones, but he knew that this kind of magic couldn't simply be given away. After decades of research, Ester had finally succeeded, but it was an incredibly extreme method, and the likelihood that it would be applied to thousands of mortals was zero. Besides, he remembered all too well the way the mages had treated him. Like dirt, like someone who meant nothing, a creature among them, like a slave, not like a future magician. Nero needed no further information to understand what this camp was. It was nothing more than a glorified slave camp, like the mines where he had been forced to work for a decade.
He knew this kind of exploitation; he had experienced it in his own world. Only there, the promise for obedience was not magic, but salvation in paradise. Both were lies. Nero was certain of that, yet he continued to play his part.
"What's so special about being a magition?"
The man sighed heavily, "It's not magition, they are called m-a-g-i-c-i-a-n!" he pronounced every single letter, like explaining a little child something for the dozens of times,
"You really don't remember what a magician is?"
Nero shrugged, tapping at his forehead.
Lars sighed, shoulders hanging, "That's not good at all," he said dejectedly.
"So?" Nero asked, "What are magicians?"
"Magicians are the mystical masters who have the privilege of cultivating magic," Lars explained.
"Magic?" Nero asked stupidly.
"Yes, magic, the power of a magician. With this power, they can directly influence the elements in their surroundings. For example, if they possess the power of wind, they can summon a wind strong enough to blow away your house. Unfortunately, that's already the limit of my knowledge. We, mortals, are only given very little information about magic."
Nero didn't let his disappointment show. He had hoped to get more information from this man. He had already read a few books explaining how magic worked and where it came from, but it had always been more myth than reality. Either it was a gift from God, or it came from a sacred flower, or you had to be chosen. The big problem was that the important books were always destroyed in the storms of the Polykenas, who, of course, didn't pay any attention to what valuable work they were getting into their destructive clutches. So Nero had to make do with the remnants he could find, or those that his more intelligent subjects were able to save.
Still, he kept questioning the man. He made an "aaa" sound with his mouth before asking, "So how do you become one of those… magicians…?"
Lars laughed, "If I knew that, do you think I'd be working my ass off here every day trying to earn credits?"
"Credits?" Nero pressed. The man nodded, "Every time you complete a task or a job, you get credits. With enough credits, you can buy a spot on the list of the chosen few, and then one person is randomly selected from that list every month. Unfortunately, the chances of being drawn are very slim, but you can increase your odds by paying more credits, since there's no limit to how many times you can enter in a month—though you won't get your credits back at the end. And you'll need those credits to pay for lodging, food and drink, and all the other necessities of life. So don't go wasting them all at once!"
"Well, anyway," Lars said after Nero remained silent for a while, "Since you're here, you'll be under my supervision, and I'll make sure you do your work diligently. For now, let me take you to the task house. There, you can choose your first assignment."
They arrived at a large building where many people had gathered. They made way for Lars as they approached the wide-open double doors. But before entering, Lars stopped and patted Nero on the back,
"From here, you're on your own. Just go in and give your name at the counter. Then you'll be registered and can officially start earning credits. Over there, you'll see tasks posted by other mortals on that board. They'll pay you in credits, of course. You can also post your own tasks, but I don't know why anyone would do that. And there, you'll find the official tasks of the magicians and the community. You can earn far more credits from those. Now go! I have other things to do."
Nero nodded obediently and bid farewell. He watched as Lars disappeared into the crowd, then he turned and entered the hall.
He approached the counter, behind which stood a man dressed in a robe.
He looked tired as he gazed at Nero,
"A newcomer? Name, please," he said in a monotonous voice.
"Nero."
"Nero who?" the man inquired.
"Nero… Nero Davis"
The man nodded, "Extend your hand."
Nero did as instructed. The man tapped Nero's hand with his index finger,
"It will itch a little now, but try not to move."
Nero nodded. The man began drawing a symbol on the palm of his hand with his finger. Nero raised his eyebrows in astonishment. In fact, it itched quite a bit, but Nero already knew the feeling. Briefly, a gray line lit up on his palm, but it disappeared after a short time as if it had never existed. Nero looked at the old Man,
-So he's a Symbolic. -
"This symbol is used to safeguard your credit balance. You can activate it with this stone." He handed Nero a small stone. Nero examined the stone carefully but couldn't discern anything peculiar.
"Don't lose it. It costs two hundred credits to replace it. You activate it by pressing the stone on your palm."
Immediately, Nero tried it out, and sure enough, the icon lit up slightly. A number appeared in Nero's head: Zero.
"You should have sensed a number by now. This number tells you how many credits you have. Oh, and also. The stone doesn't have infinite energy, so use it sparingly. It costs thirty credits to reload once."
Nero smiled sarcastically. "Of course it does," he muttered as he walked away from the counter. If the Symbolic had heard him, he ignored it, turning his bored gaze to the papers scattered across the counter.