Lemonk stepped out of the quiet sanctity of the prayer room.
His next destination: the mine.
He had no strength, his limbs still heavy from the ritual. But his resolve hadn't dulled. Even in this weak, aching state, he knew what he had to do.
The village chief had offered him a small cottage near the mines. It wasn't much, but it was his. He worked part-time in the mines, earning just enough copper to pay for basic food, clothes, and supplies. The village did help orphans, but Lemonk, ever proud, refused to be anyone's burden.
So he worked. And now, more than ever, he needed to.
The temple was large, almost a labyrinth, filled with corridors, chambers, and living quarters for priests and palladians. Lemonk leaned on the wall, inching forward step by step through one of the long stone passageways.
He turned a corner that led toward the outer exit… but froze at the sound of laughter.
A group of boys stood near the temple's outer arch, their jeers echoing through the marble hallway. At the center of their pack stood a boy clothed in embroidered silk, golden-threaded cuffs, spotless boots, a sash with a noble family crest.
Herold Laymen.
The same boy who had sneered at Lemonk during the ritual. The boy who thought orphans weren't worth a place in the world.
When Herold saw Lemonk approaching, his lips curled into a vicious grin.
"Well, well," he said, raising his voice for all to hear. "Look who it is—the Great Lemonk, first awakener of the year! Tell us, how does it feel to possess such an amazing talent?"
Laughter erupted from the group.
Lemonk didn't react. He kept moving, one hand trailing against the wall for support.
Herold's grin widened. "What happened, oh mighty awakener? Why are you staggering like an old man? Or did you awaken the power of limping?"
His cronies laughed harder.
Without waiting for a reply, Herold strode forward and blocked Lemonk's path.
"I'm talking to you, trash. Or are you so dumb you don't understand your own worthlessness?"
Lemonk didn't answer. He didn't have the energy, and more than that, he didn't have the time. His focus was on getting home, resting, and planning his next step. These boys… they weren't worth his words.
But Herold mistook silence for defiance.
With a scowl, he drew back his fist and punched Lemonk straight in the face.
Crack.
The sound was sickening.
Lemonk reeled. Two teeth clattered onto the ground. Blood trickled down his lips.
Gasps filled the corridor. Even Herold looked shocked.
"Shit," he muttered, pale. "We're not supposed to..."
"Let's get out of here!"
The boys panicked. They scattered like rats, Herold leading the charge, vanishing down the hallway.
Lemonk dropped to one knee, head spinning, pain ringing through his skull.
But he didn't scream.
He didn't curse.
He didn't even say "Oof."
He simply placed a hand on the wall and, slowly, painfully, rose to his feet.
He continued walking.
Each step echoed louder than Herold's insults.
And somewhere, in the shadows of the temple corridor, someone watched.
Lemonk paused, sensing a presence, a breath, a flicker of movement in the corner of his vision.
He turned quickly.
Nothing.
The shadows were empty.
Confused, he shook his head and stepped into the sunlight.
Outside, the world felt colder, the air rougher.
Still bleeding, his jaw aching, Lemonk walked slowly toward the mines.
He didn't stop.
He didn't look back.
The path forward had begun.