Somewhere deep within the belly of a mine, a frail boy toiled like a machine gone mad. His body looked like it had been built of bamboo sticks, thin, bent, barely holding together. His eyes, sunken and dark-ringed, burned like a lion's. Even his tattered rags drooped over his limbs as though ashamed to hang from such a skeletal frame.
If you looked at him, you'd think he was a slave. But he wasn't. He was just a nobody, from a small village no one cared about.
His name was Lemonk.
He came from a place called Franster. A remote, quiet village barely touched by the noise of the world. So then, why was he now buried in this hellish mine?
It all began on the day of Awakening.
In this world, a person's life truly begins on their 14th birthday. On that day, through a sacred ritual, each child awakens their natural talent, and more importantly, receives their soul artefact. The lucky ones awaken strength. Some awaken magic. Some awakens skills and blessings.
Lemonk was an orphan, but Franster wasn't a cruel place. Unlike many villages where orphans were spat on, beaten, or worse, Franster gave him a chance. He was poor, but not unloved. And that, he believed, was enough.
On the morning of his Awakening, Lemonk woke before dawn. The stars still shimmered above when he walked barefoot to the sacred site. He was too excited to sleep. This was the day everything changed. The day he left hunger behind. The day he became someone.
When he arrived, the village chief was already there, talking with the local priest from the Temple of Awakening.
The chief looked at Lemonk and raised an eyebrow. "Why are you here so early, boy?"
"For my awakening ritual, Uncle Village Head," Lemonk replied earnestly.
The old man laughed heartily. "Hah! You're still so direct, it's hilarious."
"Is it really that funny?" Lemonk asked, scratching his head.
Still chuckling, the chief waved him off. "Go stand over there in the corner. We'll wait for the rest before we begin."
Lemonk nodded, quietly moving aside. He didn't mind waiting. He had waited his whole life for this.
The priest, a kindly man who had served Franster for decades, observed the exchange with a smile. He liked Lemonk. Most people did.
Soon, the villagers began to gather. Excited parents, fidgeting children, whispers of hope and dread buzzing through the crowd like static before a storm.
The Awakening ritual was about to begin.