Water dripping off the rusted overhang above hit my neck like cold needles. I shivered and grimaced from the chill. The damp brick wall I leaned on seemed to absorb all the heat from my body.

  Beside me, my sister huddled under a blanket. Her breathing was quiet—too shallow. It had been almost three days since we found anything more than the crust of stale bread. The hollow look in her eyes was starting to scare me.

  “Stay here,” I whispered. My voice felt rough and gravelly.

  She didn’t say anything, she just watched me with those wide gaunt eyes. I can’t look at them for long.

  I made my way to the end of the alley we were resting in. My feet slid on the black slush in the street as I moved away. The air here tasted like thick sulfur and coal smoke. After carefully making my way out of the slums and into the lower middle class areas, I saw my target across the cobblestone street. The baker was carrying a tray of burnt heels towards the waste bin. He had a round belly and was wearing a thick fur lined coat. He glanced over at me from across the road and looks away. He doesn’t see me. Nobody ever sees gutter rats unless they’re in the way.

  I waited for the door to his bakery to close before I made my move.

  I slunk over to the waste bin and dug my arm through the stinking refuse until they hit something. Bread. It's hard, cold, and smells of sour yeast, but it's food.

  I shoved the loaf into my tunic, the rough crust scratched my skin.

  “Hey! Gutter-rat!”

  A heavy hand slammed into the back of my neck and I’m sent sprawling. The world spun until my back hit the cobblestones. The air leaves my lungs in a sharp, agonizing wheeze.

  “Think you can steal from me?” The baker's face was a mask of rage.

  He doesn’t even wait for an answer. His boot connects with my ribs—a dull sickening thud that rang throughout my body. I don’t cry out, I stay curled up around my prized possession. I can’t let him find the bread.

  Another kick hit my chest. Another catches my shoulder.

  Pain is a trade. I'll take the bruises. I'll take the broken ribs. As long as Mia eats, it would all be worth it. I squeezed my eyes shut and counted the strikes as they come. Finally, he simply picked me up and threw me into the street. Muttering, he walked back into his bakery without looking back.

  People walking down the street don’t even look down at my ten-year-old broken body. They simply step over me, I’m invisible. I groan, the pains unbearable but it doesn’t matter, I needed to get back to Mia. I staggered to my feet and dragged myself into a nearby alleyway.

  “This isn’t fair” I clenched my fists in anger and disgust.

  “How can they treat us like this? Like less than nothing.” I yell and punched the wall with all my strength. I don’t even feel the pain.

  Putting my back to the wall, I slide down until I'm seated and finally let myself release a single tear. But my eyes, my eyes are filled with rage and determination.

  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  “He’s gasping again. Watch his chest.”

  The voice was rough and unfamiliar.

  I groan as memories flash through my mind, memories that are mine but feel far away. What was that dream? I…Mia? My sister. With that one thought, a wave of fragmented memories come back to me filling gaps in my mind. I almost wish they hadn’t. Along with the memories came a wave of emotions of sorrow and anger. Burning white rage.

  Resolving to sort through these memories later, I lurch upwards. The gray sky above me is gone, replaced with a canvas ceiling.

  Pain flares up in my side—the same spot the baker kicked—but it's sharper, hotter. My hand instinctively flies to my chest and I feel thick, stiff, damp bandages.

  “Easy lad, you've got more holes in you than a fisherman's net.”

  I turned my head, my vision swimming. Two men sat on a bench across from the cot I'm laying on. They were wearing leather gambesons and iron-studded pauldrons. One of them is holding a whetstone and the rhythmic skritch-skritch of a blade made my head throb.

  I try to speak but my throat was dry. “Mia…"

  “Unless that's the name of the shadow-wolf you killed, she isn’t here.” the soldier sharpening his blade said. He stopped sharpening his sword and leaned forwards, his eyes fixed on my face and hair. “We found you laying in the dirt next to it writhing around.”

  “You're lucky we were patrolling the fringe, who knows what would have found you if we hadn’t been there.” The other man said. There were a few moments of silence before he spoke again. “Just realized we forgot to introduce ourselves, sorry about that. I’m Trent and the guy right there is Bran.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Come to think of it, I couldn’t actually remember my own name. As soon as I had that thought thought, it popped into my head. I repeated it a few times.

  “Kael, my name's Kael.”

  “Well Kael, it's nice to meet you. We are a part of the fourth frontier division,” Trent said, leaning back. “I’m a First Tier, Mid-stage soldier. Bran here just hit Peak-stage.”

  “Tiers? Stages?” I croaked, the words feeling like sandpaper moving around in my throat. “I…what are you talking about?”

  Bran stopped sharpening and looked at me in disbelief. “You don’t know? Most people are unawakened. Once you awaken as a First Tier, you climb through ranks initial, mid and peak before you can even try to break into the next tier. That wolf you killed? That was only a First Tier Initial-stage beast. Even first tier soldiers would struggle to kill that monster.”

  “For a kid with no rank at all to kill one with a stick and a rock…it shouldn’t have happened.” Trent said.

  “And the flowers?” I asked.

  “Suture Lilies,” he said, his face falling. “Many people know of them. They’ll save your life, but if unprocessed, the pain usually makes you wish you hadn’t.”

  “I’m also still confused about what you mean by tiers. How are people ranked by tiers? What do you mean I’m unawakened?” I watched their faces grow more and more shocked.

  “Wait, are you saying you also have no idea what magic is?”

  Before I could respond asking what that was, the air in the tent suddenly changed.

  It wasn’t a sound or a gust of wind. It felt like the atmospheric pressure had tripled in a heartbeat. It got harder to breath and what felt like a cold, heavy weight settled on my shoulders almost pinning me to the cot. It was suffocating, this invisible pressure made my heart beat hammer against my ribs.

  Trent and Bran went rigid. Almost simultaneously, they both snapped into a salute, their faces turning pale.

  The tent flap opened and a man stepped in. He was lean and dressed in a sharp dark uniform with heavy polished silver armor. On the upper right side of his breastplate was a black emblem of what look like a boar. The air seemed to almost vibrate around him somehow.

  “General Kaine,” they whispered.

  He walked to the edge of my bed, his boots were silent on the dirt floor. His eyes were a cold grey that seemed to stare into my soul.

  “A First Tier Stalker dead,” the General said. His voice was monotone and dangerous. “And a boy who survived a double dose of Suture Lilies. The reports said that you were a mess of cuts and injuries.”

  I struggled to breathe, the weight in the room making me gasp. I didn’t understand how he was causing this effect on me. “I…I just wanted to live.”

  The General leaned down, his face inches from mine. The pressure increased until the corners of my vision began to blur. “The nearby duchies have a habit of sending spies across our borders.”

  He grabbed my chin. “White hair. No detectable rank. High pain tolerance. You fit the profile perfectly.”

  He stared into my eyes for a long moment. I didn’t know what the man was talking about. I just knew that he was the most dangerous thing I had ever encountered.

  “I swear I am not. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Finally, he let go and straightened up. The pressure eased but the air still felt thick.

  “I am General Kaine,” he stated. “Tomorrow, we’ll find out if you’re a miracle or a liar. For your sake, let's hope can prove you're not a spy. Trust me, I will find out.”

  He turned on his heel and left through the tent flap as quickly as he’d come..

  Trent let out a huge breath of air. “I’ve never seen the General release as much intent onto a civilian as he did to you. Your lucky your heart didn’t stop.”

  They got up and walked out of the tent. Bran looked back before leaving, “Well, I believe you at least.” He said with a sympathetic look on his face.

  "Wait, you haven't told me what magic is yet."

  "You'll find out tomorrow."

  I laid back feeling exhausted. What in the world just happened? More importantly. Who am I? Closing my eyes, I spent the next few hours absorbing and analyzing the memories floating around my mind.

  By the time I opened my eyes again, the tent was much darker, almost pitch black. I wiped my eyes on my tunic, they were very teary and wet. I tried to process everything I learned about myself but I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be able to for a very long time. I did however manage to piece together a little bit of my background out of the jumbled mess of memories that had returned.

  I came from another world, a medieval world similar to the things I had observed in this one. However, it didn’t have tiers or rankings or whatever this so-called magic was. I lived in the town of Thenith which was in the kingdom of Ashbur. Lived however, was a very big overjustification. Me and my sister Mia were barely living and only survived off of scraps of bread and whatever else we could get our hands on. We lived deep in the slums and were regarded as gutter rats or otherwise, good for nothing orphans.

  We weren’t always like that though, we had a mother and father once. We all lived in a small house behind my fathers smithy. Everyday, I would help him fetch water and heat up the fires. While we did only reside in the lower class area, it was a comfortable and nice living until one day everything changed. Soldiers had barged into the blacksmith and demanded my father go with them. They needed soldiers for all the little wars and skirmishes the kingdom kept involving themselves in, since my father was only a simple blacksmith living in the lower class, he was regarded useful only as a soldier. A week later, he was pronounced dead. A little while after that, my mother fell ill and also died. Without any guardians or parents, the smithy was sold by the city to the highest bidder and we were promptly kicked out without being spared a single glance. Within a month, me and my sister had lost both our parents and the roof over our heads.

  I leaned my head against my pillow. Everything was starting to click and come together. I was however still missing many memories. I didn’t know anything about what happened to me after that.

  I closed my eyes hoping I could get some rest before tomorrow, but sleep eluded me.

  Do you want to see the mc duel people in the next chapter or go on an excursion with the soldiers.