Cosmic Seal

A Mysirable State

"How the hell did I end up here? did I really fell from the sky or what?" Well, that was Alator's thought at that moment.

It has been roughly two years since then; yet, Alator has lived on the street without a place to call home or even a shelter to lay his head. He only sleeps from one tavern to another, and that's if he wasn't kicked out before midnight.

He rubbed his left arm, feeling the lack of flesh and traces of his bones peeking out from his skin.

Sixteen years is the peak age for every lucky kid in the Wastelands to participate in the Bloodline Awakening Ritual and awaken their Soul Essence, then embark on the path of a Mage. But Alator wasn't that lucky. He was an orphan, with no memory of who he is or where he came from.

"If only Old Han was still alive."

He chuckled bitterly as old memories flashed in his mind.

He closed his eyes and suddenly felt as if he was back in the camp, watching Old Han demonstrating martial arts moves as he and other kids watched and followed each of his moves.

The old man had been the closest thing to a guardian he had ever had. He took care of Alator and some other kids at the refugee camp, teaching them martial arts and survival skills, telling them stories of the Awakened and Legendary Mages.

That story had given Alator a strong sense of purpose, and he strongly clung to his desire of awakening his Soul Essence one day, hoping to become a Legendary Mage so people would tell his stories too. But after Old Han died, things became extremely difficult for Alator.

He glanced at the steel pendant around his neck, shaped like a crescent moon. He had been wearing this pendant ever since he was a child, so he believed it might have some connection to his family.

As Alator was sitting under the tree, two drunk men walked out of the tavern and made their way towards him. One was slim while the other was a bit chubby.

"Hey kiddo, why are you always sitting here? And where are your parents?" the chubby one said, swaying slightly.

"Maybe his parents abandoned him because he was useless. Just look at him. He looks like trash," the slim one said.

"Hahahaha!" The two burst into laughter.

"It must have been tough, kid, living such a miserable life at such a young age. Why don't you consider committing suicide? At least your trashy parents will be proud of you for once," the chubby man mocked.

"Hahahaha!!" This time, their laughter was even louder than before.

Alator slowly got up and took a step forward, planning to walk away from the two drunk men. But the chubby man suddenly grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back.

"You dare walk out on me?" the man said and swung his right hand forward to slap Alator. But before his hand could reach him...

Alator caught his hand before it could even reach his face. He roughly twisted the man's wrist unnaturally.

"Crack!"

Breaking his wrist and holding it in place.

"Ahhhhhhhhh!" The man screamed at the top of his lungs from the excruciating pain assaulting his hand.

"You..." The slim one was startled, and it seemed like he had gotten a hangover all of a sudden after seeing his colleague in that situation.

"Let him go!" he yelled and punched towards Alator's face.

Alator raised his left hand and grabbed the useless punch.

"No... no... no!!" The slim man pleaded, anticipating what Alator was about to do. Alator smirked and equally broke his wrist as well.

He raised his leg and kicked them aside. The two crashed on the wet, dirty ground, crying and writhing in pain.

He purposefully stepped on their injured hands, eliciting a miserable cry from them.

Alator began to walk away from the tavern as his feet splashed against the puddles left by the rain.

He still desired to become a Mage, but his current problem right now was money. He was broke as hell, and he needed money so badly right now. Not that he couldn't get money through the usual way, but he had decided not to engage in dangerous activities anymore. He wanted to do something better with his life. Hence, he was planning on joining the Scripers to earn money and probably actualize his dream of becoming a powerful Mage.

As Alator was walking, a cold wind blew past him, and he shivered a bit. He reached into his wet coat, pulled out a dirty hip flask, and took a sip. A taste of sour alcohol burned his throat and warmed him just enough to remind him he was still alive.

"Ahhh!"

He grimaced at the sour taste that hit his tongue.

"That should do the job."

He suddenly smiled as he just remembered the two drunk thugs insulting him earlier.

"Idiots," Alator shook his head. "Yeah… I guess I'm no better."

He was no different from them after all. He was practically a drunkard, a thug, and a gamb... Well, he wasn't a gambler, though. He never used his hard-earned money to gamble. But in actual sense, it should be. He never used the money he stole from people to gamble.

Survival had forced him into the same life he mocked, stealing, hustling, doing whatever it took to keep living. Still, life was brutal enough that he sometimes wondered if he had been better off dead.

Alator was currently living at the outskirts of Raven's Peak Domain. So it was normal to find these kinds of people all around.

Right now, Alator was on his way, heading to the Storm Scripers garrison. But he knew he had not even awakened his Soul Essence yet, so joining the Storm Scripers is impossible. But he still wanted to give it a try.

Alator continued to walk ahead through the narrow path with bushes on his either side. As he raised his head, he saw a shadow standing far ahead in the distance.