As Ashveil neared the dungeon gate, memories of his past pressed against him with sharp clarity. The gate was only a few hundred steps away, its black iron rising like the open jaw of some ancient beast, but his thoughts drifted back to the day that had shaped him most: his Awakening.
The Awakening ceremony was one of the few events where rich and poor gathered beneath the same roof. It was held in the great stone hall at the center of the city, adorned with banners that bore the crests of noble families. Polished marble floors gleamed beneath shafts of sunlight, and the air smelled faintly of incense and perfumed oils. For most children, it was the most important day of their lives—the moment they would touch the unknown system that governed the world and awaken to the gifts hidden in their souls. Nobles flaunted their wealth openly, dressed in silks and jewels as they escorted their children to the dais. Commoners came in patched clothes, but their faces shone with hope, desperate that perhaps their children might rise above the grinding poverty of the outskirts.
And poverty was all the outskirts knew. Families clawed for survival, their coin purses drained by endless taxes while bandits prowled the roads unchecked. More than once, Ashveil had seen charred remains of wagons on the dirt paths, goods stolen, families left broken. The city guard never came—too busy guarding the estates of nobles and patrolling the paved avenues of wealth.
It was common to hear a mother wailing at night for her stolen son, or a father raging at the sky for a daughter who never returned from market. Hunger and fear ruled the outskirts like twin kings, and nobles turned blind eyes to both. Why should they care, when their tables overflowed with roasted meats and sweet wines?
Ashveil had grown up watching the imbalance sharpen into cruelty. To the nobles, the poor existed only as labor, as tools, as bodies to throw at dungeons or into fields until they broke. That was the world he had known before the Awakening, and it was the same world he walked in now.
Ashveil had stood among them at fourteen, Amelia clinging to his sleeve with wide eyes. She was only eight years old then, her golden hair tied into messy braids, her black eyes—like their father's—glimmering with excitement for her brother's future. Everyone whispered about the strange tattoo on Ashveil's arm, the supposed blessing from a god. Some looked with awe, others with envy. "He will be great," they said. "A hero in the making."
When his name was called, Ashveil stepped forward, the entire hall watching. His heart pounded in his chest as he placed his hands on the ceremonial crystal. The Awakening flowed into him—light searing his veins, symbols flickering before his eyes as the system unlocked.
And then… only one thing appeared. A skill window. The name?
"?????"
Confusion spread first. Murmurs echoed in the hall, nobles leaning forward with narrowed eyes, commoners whispering behind their hands. Then came the laughter. Harsh, cutting, merciless. The same voices that once praised him now mocked openly.
"So that's the divine child? Nothing but a fraud."
"Useless—he can't even awaken a proper skill."
"A shame. I thought he'd be different."
Ashveil's hands trembled slightly at his sides, but his face betrayed no emotion. Inside, his heart cracked, but outwardly he stood still, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing him break.
It was Amelia who couldn't hold back. The moment she heard their cruel words, she darted forward, stomping her foot with righteous fury. Her small hands balled into fists, her cheeks puffed red with anger as she glared at the crowd.
"You shut up!" she shouted, her voice trembling yet sharp. "My brother is better than all of you! If you laugh again, I'll break your arms and legs! Hmph! Hmph!" She stomped again for emphasis, puffing out her cheeks like an angry kitten.
The hall erupted in more laughter, but not at Ashveil now—at the little girl who dared to defend him. Amelia didn't care. She lunged toward them, ready to swing her fists, only for Ashveil to kneel and catch her in his arms, holding her back.
"Let me go, Ash!" she snarled, her eyes watering as she kicked against the floor. "I'll hurt them! I'll show them!" Her voice cracked with fury and heartbreak, muffled against his chest.
Ashveil held her tightly, his expression calm but his eyes shadowed. He whispered softly, so only she could hear. "It's not worth it, Amelia. Let them talk."
Inside his mind, however, fire burned. He swore to himself in that moment, with Amelia trembling in his arms, that he would always protect her. He didn't need the validation of nobles or the applause of the crowd. He didn't need recognition, nor did he crave the approval of those who mocked him. The only voice that mattered was hers—the only eyes he wished to see light up with pride were Amelia's.
The ceremony moved on, nobles applauding when their children revealed powerful spells or combat gifts. Envy filled the room when a young noble awakened flame magic, when another revealed a skill that doubled their strength. But Ashveil barely heard it. He only felt Amelia's small hands gripping his cloak, her angry little face pressed into him as though to shield him from the world.
When it ended, whispers followed them as they left. Cruel words trailed in their wake, but Amelia's defiance made them bearable. "Don't listen to them, Ash," she said fiercely, her black eyes flashing with conviction. "They don't know anything. You're the strongest person I've ever known."
He had smiled faintly at that, ruffling her golden hair. But inside, he made his vow eternal: I don't need the world's blessing. I don't need their recognition. As long as Amelia smiles, I have everything I need. And no matter what happens, I'll keep her safe.
Now, years later, as the dungeon gate towered before him, Ashveil felt that same vow thrum in his chest like an unyielding drumbeat. The nobles and commoners alike had mocked him, but Amelia had stood at his side. And for her sake, he would walk into the jaws of death itself.
With his pack heavy on his shoulders and his heart heavy with resolve, Ashveil stepped toward the gate.