The academy bells tolled, signaling the end of lectures. Students spilled out into the courtyard, chatter filling the air. Ren walked beside Leon, his friend's noble uniform crisp and spotless compared to Ren's slightly rumpled one.
Leon stretched, grinning. "Another day closer to awakening. You ready?"
Ren deadpanned. "Ready to be disappointed? Always."
Leon laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "You're impossible. I bet you'll surprise everyone."
"Surprise them by sleeping through the ceremony, maybe."
They reached the fork in the road where the cobblestones split—one path leading toward the Noble District, the other toward the Artisan District.
Leon adjusted his satchel. "Well, this is where we part ways. Try not to trip over soot on your way home."
Ren smirked. "And you try not to drown in crystal chandeliers."
Leon chuckled. "Fair trade. See you tomorrow, Ren."
Ren raised a hand in lazy farewell. "Yeah, yeah. Don't be late. Heroes should set a good example."
As Ren walked toward the Artisan District, the evening air cooling around him, his thoughts drifted back to his first days at the academy.
'Funny how Leon and I ended up friends,' he mused. 'Noble kid, destined for greatness. Me, the sarcastic slacker. Should've been oil and water.'
He remembered the day clearly—an early lecture where Ren had fallen asleep at his desk. The professor had demanded an explanation, and Ren, half‑awake, muttered, "Testing the durability of the furniture." The class had erupted in laughter, but only Leon had leaned over afterward, grinning, and whispered, "Bold strategy. I approve."
From then on, Leon stuck around. He dragged Ren into study groups, sparring sessions, even meals. Ren never asked why, but he suspected Leon enjoyed the contrast—his own earnest drive balanced by Ren's dry wit.
'Guess even nobles need someone to remind them not to take life too seriously,' Ren thought. 'And I… well, maybe I needed someone to drag me out of naps.'
The city of Arcanvale was alive with its usual evening rhythm. Leaving the Academy District, Ren passed the tall spires and libraries where students still lingered, practicing spells under the watchful eyes of instructors. The district always felt too polished, too full of ambition. Everyone there carried themselves like they were destined for greatness. Ren, meanwhile, carried himself like he was destined for a nap.
Beyond the academy gates, the road wound toward the Artisan District, where his family lived. Here, the streets were narrower, lined with workshops and bakeries. Sparks flew from forges, the smell of fresh bread mingled with smoke, and neighbors called greetings as they closed shop for the night. Ren muttered under his breath, "The land of soot and soup," earning a chuckle from a passing baker.
Farther north lay the Market District, bustling even at dusk. Merchants shouted prices, adventurers haggled over monster drops, and farmers unloaded carts of produce. Mana shards jingled in pouches, cores glowed faintly in lockboxes. Ren's mother often came here to trade, dragging him along when she needed someone to carry baskets. He always found excuses to escape.
In the distance, the Noble District gleamed with marble streets and enchanted fountains. Mansions rose behind iron gates, their windows glowing with crystal chandeliers. Ren glanced at it briefly, unimpressed. "Even their dogs probably awaken better systems than me," he muttered.
Finally, the road curved toward the Guild District, where banners of the Adventurer, Mage, Merchant, and Artisan guilds fluttered proudly. Quest boards glowed with new postings, taverns roared with laughter, and smiths delivered weapons to eager adventurers. Ren's father often visited here to supply armor, while his mother negotiated contracts.
But Ren's destination was simpler—the Ashford home, modest but sturdy, with a forge attached to the side. The rhythmic clang of hammer on steel rang out even before he opened the gate. Sparks painted the twilight with brief flashes of orange.
Ren pushed open the wooden door and shouted, voice echoing through the hall:
"I'm back!"
From the forge came his father's reply, muffled but cheerful: "Welcome home, son!"
In the kitchen, his mother's voice rang sharp and practical: "Shoes off before you drag soot across my floor!"
And from upstairs, Lyra's dramatic shout: "Finally! I thought you'd fallen asleep on the road!"
Ren smirked faintly, dropping his bag by the door. "Tempting. But I figured you'd miss me too much."
Lyra bounded down the stairs, her braid bouncing as she landed with exaggerated flair. "Don't flatter yourself. I just wanted someone to help me finish the bread before it goes stale."
Ren raised an eyebrow. "Ah yes, the noble quest of carb preservation."
Inside, the warmth of home greeted him. The dining room smelled of stew simmering with herbs, and fresh bread sat on the table beside a ledger. His mother, Elira, sat with quill in hand, tallying crystal shards with the precision of a hawk.
"Prices are rising again," she muttered, not looking up. "Lunch at the tavern costs five shards now. Last year it was three."
Ren slid into his chair, deadpan. "So basically, glowing rocks run the world."
"Mana crystals," Elira corrected sharply. "Shards for daily use, cores for trade. One hundred shards make a core. That's the backbone of our economy."
Lyra plopped into the chair beside him, eyes wide. "And novice armor costs three whole cores now! Imagine—three hundred shards just to not get stabbed."
Ren poked at the bread. "Guess I'll awaken the Sleep System. Zero effort, maximum savings."
Lyra giggled. "You'd bankrupt us in a week."
Dinner was simple but hearty—fresh bread, roasted vegetables, and stew thick with potatoes and meat. Darius entered from the forge, wiping soot from his hands, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. He smelled faintly of smoke and iron, but his smile was warm.
"Busy day?" he asked, settling into his chair.
Ren shrugged. "Lecture about systems. Same old destiny talk."
Elira raised an eyebrow. "You should pay attention. Your system will shape your future."
Ren tore off a piece of bread. "Or ruin it. Depends on the roll of the cosmic dice."
Lyra leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "Professor Aldwyn said hobbies matter, right? So what hobbies do you even have?"
Ren thought for a moment. "Sleeping. Eating noodles. Sarcasm."
Lyra burst out laughing. "Then you'll awaken the Noodle System. Passive skill: choke dramatically."
Darius chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't tease your brother. Systems reflect more than hobbies—they reflect character. I spent years at the forge before awakening Blacksmith. Your mother traded since she was young. That's why she awakened Merchant."
Elira tapped her ledger. "And thanks to that, we keep this household running. Shards don't stretch as far these days. Nobles hoard cores, adventurers demand discounts, and farmers struggle to keep up."
Ren raised an eyebrow. "So basically, nobles eat steak while farmers eat debt."
The conversation flowed easily, filled with warmth and teasing. Darius spoke of adventurers who bargained too hard for armor, demanding dragon‑proof steel at novice prices.
"One came in today," he said, ladling stew into his bowl. "Wanted a breastplate that could withstand fire breath. Offered me two cores. Two! Do they think dragon scales grow on trees?"
Ren smirked. "Maybe they think you're running a charity."
Elira sighed. "Adventurers don't understand the value of craft. They see shards as rewards, not lifeblood. Farmers, smiths, tailors—we keep them alive, but they forget."
Lyra puffed her chest. "Not me! When I awaken Mage, I'll pay Dad full price for my enchanted staff."
Ren deadpanned. "Generous. Truly the empire's savior."
As the stew disappeared, the family's chatter turned to memories. Darius spoke of his apprenticeship under his father, hammering steel until his hands blistered. Elira recalled her childhood in the marketplace, learning to haggle with merchants twice her size. Lyra dreamed aloud of heroic quests, waving her spoon like a wand.
Ren listened, half amused, half detached. His old life felt distant—lonely nights in a cramped apartment, deadlines, instant noodles. No laughter, no clanging forge, no teasing sister. Just silence.
'Second life, second family,' he thought. 'Still feels borrowed. But warmer.'
After dinner, Ren carried his bowl to the sink, listening to Lyra argue with their mother about whether enchanted shoes counted as "necessary expenses."
"They make you run faster!" Lyra insisted, waving her spoon like it was a mage's staff.
"They make you spend faster," Elira countered, tapping her ledger with the quill. "And we don't have shards to waste on shoes that think they're smarter than you."
Ren muttered, "Solution: don't run."
Lyra threw a bread crust at him. He caught it lazily, popped it into his mouth, and shrugged. "Efficient recycling," he said, chewing.
Darius chuckled from the forge doorway. "You two sound like a pair of guild merchants arguing over prices." He shook his head, disappearing back into the glow of the forge. Sparks soon flew again, painting the night with bursts of orange.
Ren climbed the stairs to his room, the wooden boards creaking under his weight. His room was simple—a bed, a desk, a shelf of books he barely touched. He flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
'Tomorrow's the ceremony. Everyone's excited. Me? I'll probably awaken something useless. But at least I won't be alone this time.'
Downstairs, Lyra's laughter echoed, mingling with the steady rhythm of the forge and his mother's sharp voice reminding Darius not to overspend on coal. Ren closed his eyes, resigned but faintly grateful.