The orphanage yard was still wrapped in the quiet blue of early morning. Dew clung to the grass like scattered pearls, trembling gently whenever a faint wind passed through. The world had not yet fully awakened; the city beyond the walls slept in soft silence, its chimneys barely breathing thin threads of smoke into the pale sky.
But one figure was already moving: Arin Valcrest.
His breath came in sharp bursts of white mist as his feet pounded across the damp ground. The cold air clawed at his lungs, but he kept running. Faster. Harder. His muscles burned and his legs screamed, yet he pushed himself further. He sprinted until his vision blurred and his chest felt like it might tear open. Only then did he finally stop, bending forward with hands on his knees, dragging in deep breaths as sweat rolled down his neck to drip onto the grass below.
"Still… not enough…" Arin muttered.
He straightened slowly, then dropped to the ground for push-ups. One. Two. Three.
His arms trembled by the twentieth. By the fiftieth, his chest felt like molten iron. At seventy, he collapsed flat against the dirt, but after only a few seconds, he forced himself back up.
"…Again."
When he finally finished the hundredth rep, he rolled onto his back and stared at the slowly brightening sky. Every muscle in his body throbbed. This was the third day of this grueling routine. After the goblin fight, Arin had realized he was wasting his physical potential. To survive in this harsh world, he needed a strong, athletic body to complement his rune magic. It felt like torture, the initial tearing sensation in his muscles now dulling into a steady ache—something his body was learning to endure.
He sat up slowly and began the next set: sit-ups and squats. By the time the first rays of sunlight crept over the rooftops, his shirt clung to his back, soaked through.
"Good," he whispered, his voice hoarse but determined. "Again tomorrow."
By the time the dining hall buzzed with the noise of children eating and chatting, Arin was seated at the long wooden table, staring down at a bowl of pea soup. His arms felt like stone and his legs felt worse as he lifted his spoon with agonizing slowness. Across from him, Tomas watched with narrowed eyes.
"You know," Tomas said thoughtfully, chewing a piece of bread, "you used to be a normal human being."
Arin blinked.
"…What?"
Tomas gestured dramatically.
"You used to wake up at reasonable hours like the rest of civilization."
Lyra laughed softly beside them.
"That's not true," she said. "Tomas wakes up after the rest of civilization."
"That's slander," Tomas replied.
Lyra smirked.
"It's accurate."
Tomas pointed at Arin.
"But him? He wakes up before the sun like some kind of cursed rooster."
Arin rubbed his shoulder absently.
"It's called training."
"It's called insanity," Tomas corrected.
Lyra tilted her head.
"So you really are training every morning?"
Arin nodded.
Tomas slammed his hand on the table.
"See?!"
He turned dramatically toward Lyra.
"I told you! The man has abandoned sleep entirely."
Arin rolled his eyes.
"Your definition of sleep is twelve hours."
"It's called recovery," Tomas said proudly.
Lyra laughed again.
For the past few days, the three of them had begun sitting together during meals. At first, it had been a little awkward. But slowly, almost without noticing it, something changed. They studied together, practiced together, argued constantly—and somewhere along the way, they had become friends.
The next week unfolded in a rhythm that slowly became familiar. Mornings were for the yard—running until his lungs burned, followed by the relentless cycle of push-ups and squats. Each day the soreness faded a little more; each day his body responded faster, stronger, and more controlled.
Afternoons were for magic.
Tomas stood in the field, his hands glowing with a faint earthen light. "Rock bullet!" A fist-sized stone shot forward, striking a hanging wooden target.
"Faster than yesterday," Lyra noted, clapping.
"Of course," Tomas puffed his chest. He raised his hands again chanting "mud wall", and the ground rippled as a thick wall of packed mud rose from the earth to form a crude shield.
"Better," Lyra approved, before stepping forward herself. "Water bullet." A ball of water launched like an arrow, hitting the hanging wooden target cleanly.
Tomas blinked. "…Okay, that was cool."
Lyra raised her hand again, forming a thin arc of water. She swung her arm, and the liquid hardened into a slicing edge that severed a thin tree branch. It dropped to the ground with a soft thwack.
"Okay, that was definitely cooler," Tomas whistled.
Nearby, Arin sat beneath a tree surrounded by hundreds of pages of rune circles and scribbled notes. An almost empty bottle of rune ink sat beside him as he carefully redrew another circle, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"…Not stable." He erased a line and adjusted the inner curve. "…Closer."
Later that night, the dining hall was quiet.
Only two candles burned on the long wooden table.
Their light flickered gently across the pages spread before the three teenagers.
Arin scribbled runes carefully while Tomas leaned back lazily in his chair.
Lyra read a small magic theory book.
For a while, the only sound in the room was scratching quills.
Then Tomas sighed loudly.
"You know," he said, staring at the ceiling, "if you two ever become famous adventurers, I will absolutely take credit for mentoring you."
Lyra didn't even look up.
"You didn't mentor anyone."
"I provide emotional support."
"You provide noise."
Tomas grinned.
"Same thing."
He leaned forward.
"So tell me, Lyra."
"Yes?"
"Why are you so desperate to become an adventurer anyway?"
Lyra turned a page.
"I want to hunt monsters."
Tomas snorted.
"Specifically goblins, right?"
Lyra's hand stopped.
Tomas continued casually.
"Honestly, goblins are barely monsters. They're just ugly little green pests."
Lyra slowly lowered the book.
Her eyes were colder now.
"Goblins," she said quietly, "are not a joke."
Tomas blinked.
"…Hey, I was just—"
"They killed my father."
Silence filled the hall.
The candle flames flickered softly.
Lyra's voice had changed.
"When I was eight… we lived outside the city walls."
Her eyes stared at the table, but it was clear she was seeing something far away.
"My father built that house himself."
Her voice softened.
"He spent every coin he had on it."
A small smile appeared.
"We had a garden."
"Lemons."
"Chilies."
"My mother loved it."
A ghost of a smile touched her lips, then vanished.
"One night… the goblins came."
Her fingers tightened.
"There were dozens of them."
"Thirty. Maybe forty."
Arin's pen stopped moving.
"My parents fought."
Her voice trembled slightly.
"They killed many of them."
"But the horde just kept growing."
Her eyes closed briefly.
"My father told me not to cry."
"He put me inside a wooden trunk under the bed."
Her voice cracked.
"My mother held my face and said…"
She swallowed.
"'No matter what you hear… don't make a sound.'"
The candle flames flickered.
"They closed the lid."
Her hands trembled.
"I heard the door break."
"…then screaming."
"…then silence."
No one spoke.
Lyra's eyes glistened.
"When the city guards arrived in the morning…"
"…my father was dead."
She stared at the table.
"My mother was gone."
Her voice turned ice-cold.
"They took her alive, along with my father's body. I know those monsters likely consumed them both, but I know the truth about the women taken to those caves. They face a fate far worse than death."
A heavy silence settled over the room.
"Goblins don't deserve to exist," Lyra whispered.
Tomas looked down, the weight of his words finally hitting him. "I'm sorry."
Lyra wiped her eyes with a quick, sharp motion. "It's fine."
Arin leaned back slowly, looking at the flame. "That fight… I would have died," he said quietly. He glanced at Tomas. "If you hadn't been there."
Tomas rubbed the back of his neck. "Honestly? I've replayed that fight a hundred times in my head. We fought terribly."
"Correct," Lyra added bluntly.
"You didn't hesitate at all," Tomas noted.
"You wasted mana," Lyra replied. "You could have used earth magic to grab the goblin's leg. When the knife fell, you could have pulled it underground. You both lack real combat experience."
Arin nodded. "…Fair."
The room fell quiet again until Arin suddenly stopped writing. "…Guys."
Tomas looked up. "What?"
Arin slowly raised his head. "I think I did it."
Lyra leaned forward, eyes wide. "The electric shock rune?"
Arin nodded. "I think so."
Tomas stood up instantly. "Well, why are we sitting here?!"
The three of them ran outside into the cold night air. The training field stretched quietly beneath the moonlight. Above them, on the balcony, Caretaker Martha stood silently, watching.
Lyra passed an oil lamp to Arin. He pulled on his fingerless glove, his hands trembling slightly.
"Try not to blow your hand off," Tomas teased.
Lyra elbowed him. "Shut up."
Arin dipped the rune pen into the ink. Carefully, he recreated the new rune syntax he had designed onto the palm of the glove. Sweat rolled down his chin despite the cold. When he finished, he stood and raised his hand.
Mana flowed. For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then—CRACK!
A streak of blue lightning shot forward, striking a distant tree. A small black burn mark appeared on the bark.
"IT WORKED!" Lyra shouted, jumping in excitement.
Tomas burst out laughing and grabbed Arin in a hug. "You insane genius!"
Arin stared at his hand in disbelief. For the past week, he had watched his friends grow while he only studied and trained his body. Now, he could truly stand shoulder to shoulder with them. He would no longer be the one who had to be protected.
"It's not over yet," Arin said, a slow smile forming.
Lyra and Tomas looked confused.
"I designed the electric rune with two functions," Arin explained. He opened his palm again, and small sparks danced between his fingers like living light. "Electric shock on contact."
Tomas took a cautious step back. "You are officially terrifying."
Above them, Martha smiled quietly. She had been worried about Arin—worried how he would handle the world without traditional spells. But her children were growing stronger. For the first time, looking out into the dangerous world beyond the walls, she felt hope.