A skinny man who looks to be in his late 20's at least, turns into and sprints through a desolate alleyway, panting the whole way as if he'd been running for a while now. Close behind, two other men follow behind, both of them doing nothing more than a light jog and yet, they're easily catching up to the skinny man. Behind them, after images made of a strange, green energy are left with each foot fall, disappearing soon after. They glance at eachother, sneering as they do before breaking into a sprint for a split second, near instantly moving in front of the skinny man's exit and startling him, causing him to stumble back and fall to the floor. He tries to scramble back to his feet, but is promptly stopped as a foot stomps down on his shin, causing him to yelp.

  "Welnar Bismorg... Thought you could get away with not payin the protection tax?" One of the men says.

  "You're a real idiot, y'know that?" The other says as he applies just a bit more pressure to Welnar's shin, watching him squirm in pain with twisted glee. Welnar tries to speak up.

  "I-I swear, just a few more days and I can-"

  "Ah ah ah! Shh." But is promptly cut off by the man stepping on his shin. "We've already given you time. We've already given you second chances. You know what they say amongst us Sorcerers? Well, probably not." The two men laugh.

  "Fool a Sorcerer once, shame on them. Fool a Sorcerer twice... You won't live to tell the tale. And we've given you three chances! Aren't we so nice?"

  The man stepping on Welnar's shin leans closer, grinning the whole time. Welnar grits his teeth...

  "You're all... Bastards."

  "What you think of us doesn't matter. History is written by the strong, Bismorg. Not like anybody would care about the history of these slums."

  A swift kick strikes Welnar in the chin, sending his head to the ground. Then, one of the men raises their hand, causing purple energy to begin swirling around the hand, as well as Welnar's body. He begins to float.

  He tries to struggle, but his body feels as stiff as a rock. Barely even capable of breathing.

  Sorcerers... People who had awakened to their magical potential. Everybody has some amount of magical potential within them, some a minor amount while others have immense potential. But at the end of the day, your potential means nothing if you can't realize it. And that is what seperates the world into two categories: Sorcerers, those who have awakened to their magical potential, and Normals, those who haven't. Normals, Nobodies, weaklings... There's plenty names for them.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Every Sorcerer has a unique form, but it is also possible to learn some standard magic, called Invocations. Welnar has done lots of studying... Even if he himself, is... A normal. Unable to use magic.

  Welnar recognized that first Invocation as Haste, allowing one to become vastly faster for a minute at most. This magic being used on him though, it's not something he recognizes. Probably the Sorcerer's unique magic.

  Welnar snaps back to reality as he feels a force crush his left arm though.

  "Hey, wake up! I want to hear you scream as you fall at least."

  The sound of rushing water fills his ears. Welnar is suddenly flipped upside down, allowing him to see the river below that runs through these slums... The man was right, unfortunately. This village is a dump... Inhabited only by Normals, with Sorcerer's passing by to taunt and take advantage of the people here... These ones are no different.

  This world is cruel. The 83rd Age of Magic... Is hell, if you're a weakling. If you aren't blessed...

  These are the final thoughts of Welnar, as he is suddenly dropped into the rushing river.

  ...

  Welnar awakens, coughing up water. “I'm alive?” Are his first thoughts as he gasps for air. Where is he? He looks around, trying to get a grasp of his surroundings. Trees, trees and more trees... River behind him... Was he washed up in a forest? What luck! He survived those Sorcerer bastards!

  Then, it hits Welnar. What is he actually gonna do now? Forests are dangerous. Beasts reside within, magical and non-magical alike... He has nothing to his name except the clothes on his back...

  But his thoughts are interrupted, no, pierced as something else enters his mind.

  "Human... Find me... Follow..."

  A feminine voice speaks within Welnar's mind. Then, a flood of images straight to his brain causes him to hold his head in pain. Some sort of shrine? And... A metal halo? Welnar staggers to his feet, looking onwards at the forest as he feels a vague sense of direction, as if he already knows where to go. Not having much else of a choice, Welnar decides to take his chances with the path he now knows, rather than the path he doesn't, as he treks into the forest.

  ...

  As the rays of the sun begin to peek through the dense forest, Welnar finally finds it. Overgrown and retaken by nature, a small building carved of marble with a staircase inside leading downwards. Treading carefully, Welnar heads down and down... Strange torches line the walls, lit with a seemingly eternal blue flame. Finally, the staircase ends and past a short hallway lies a single room. Dozens, if not hundreds of various weaponry lay scattered around a pedestal, and on it sits a metal halo. The thing he saw from those images put in his mind. This is the shrine. He brings a hand to the halo, hesitating for a moment... Then grabbing it. Immediately, he feels his thoughts pierced again. But this time...

  "Oh finally, finally! Somebody has found me! I've waited for so long you wouldn't BELIEVE!" A woman's voice, sounding rather chipper.

  "Uh... Who, or what... Are you?" Welnar asks aloud to the voice in his head.

  "I am a living artifact, made long ago in the 21st Age of Magic. They do still call it that, right?"

  "Yeah, yeah. It's the 83rd Age of Magic. Wait, did... Did you say living artifact?!" Welnar is shocked as he fully processes the words... Artifacts... Special, immensely rare objects that hold magical potential... Rumors say that they can forcefully awaken someone's magical potential. But he's never heard of an artifact with sentience...

  "Yes, living artifact! You have some magical potential, but it's clear you haven't awakened to it yet. That's perfect."

  "Perfect? Why?"

  "Because it means your inner mana can align with mine, allowing you to fully utilize my abilities as well as whatever abilities you may develop from your awakening."

  Welnar blinks slowly, his brain getting lost on one particular word... "Mana?"

  "Ah, right! I suppose that's not a word you'd know. It's the energy that flows through me, you, and everybody. It's what gives us magic."

  "Oh, I-I see." Welnar's a bit embarrassed he didn't know the word... It was never mentioned in the books he read. The Halo, being connected through Welnar's mind, is able to sense the embarrassment.

  "Don't worry, Sorcerer's rarely shared the name with Normals and I guess that hasn't changed even now... Oh, right! I suppose I should introduce myself properly at least, if you plan on keeping me around. You may call me Monarch."

  "I'm uh, Welnar. Welnar Bismorg."

  "Interesting, very interesting... Okay! Now that introductions are out of the way, do you wish to undergo the awakening of your potential? I warn you, it'll be painful-"

  "Yes! I don't care if it'll hurt. If I get my awakening, then I'll be able to fight back against the asshole Sorcerer scum!"

  Monarch laughs for a moment. "Quite the determination you have, Welnar... Let's see if you can survive this then."

  "How bad could it possibly be?" Welnar wonders, as he feels a sort of... Heat, begin to rise in his chest…