Damons Ravencier was born into one of the ten great founding bloodlines, descended from the very first legendary players, the 10 Kings.
In these families, every child awakened at birth. Their connection to the system was so strong it seemed written in their blood.
But Damons… defied that certainty.
At his birth, no light. No circle. No power. Nothing.
A stain, an anomaly in the perfect Ravencier family tree. Yet, out of pity—or perhaps calculation—his family granted him a reprieve: ten years. A deadline for awakening to manifest.
But the years passed. And nothing changed.
Worse still: seven years after his birth, his younger sisters, triplets, were born. And as a cruel echo, none of them awakened either.
Failure had no place among the Ravencier. In this bloodline where the "Assassin" class was passed down as a sacred legacy, weakness was a disgrace.
At the age of ten, Damons was thus banished, along with his sisters, only three years old at the time. A small bag. A few coins. And the prohibition to ever bear the name Ravencier again.
Since that day, he had done everything to survive.
[TEN YEARS LATER – SILVERCROW]
Ten years of toil. Odd jobs. Sacrifices. Without a system. Without skills.
But with one thing: a will that nothing had yet broken.
The sun hadn't risen yet, and Damons was already carrying a crate bigger than himself. His arms trembled with the effort, his lungs burned.
A voice snapped behind him, deep and sharp:
"Faster, kid. The players arrive in two hours."
Damons turned his head, forcing a smile despite the sweat already dripping down his back.
"Yeah, yeah! I'm going!"
He had slept only three hours that night. As usual, he had stayed up, watching over his sisters between two delivery rounds. And yet, here he was. Still standing. Still on time.
Four hours later, he moved on to his second job: combat zone cleaner. Coagulated blood puddles, shattered walls, and sometimes even pieces of still-warm monsters.
A coworker, recoiling from a suspicious substance, called out to him:
"Aren't you afraid of catching something, Damons?"
Without stopping his scrubbing, he replied in a falsely light tone:
"If I get sick, maybe I'll get a day off."
The guy chuckled, a bit nervously. But Damons continued cleaning in silence. His mask barely concealed the fatigue in his eyes.
That evening, he was serving trays in a cafeteria for apprentice players. Kids younger than him, already awakened.
They laughed. They mocked.
"Hey, waiter, you forgot my drink! Too slow or what?"
Damons bowed slightly, still smiling:
"Sorry, I'll be right there!"
He quickened his pace, almost slipped, but managed to catch the glasses just before they fell. His boss, behind the counter, sighed loudly.
"Useless! Look at the mess you made. For that, you'll work more… and unpaid."
"Alright… I'll do it," replied Damons with a sincere smile, despite the knot tightening in his throat.
When the day finally ended, he found a moment of peace in an alley, alone. He sat down right on the ground. The sky was black. His clothes soaked. His hands trembling.
With the few coins he had earned, he went grocery shopping.
"With this, the four of us can eat meat tonight."
[A FEW HOURS LATER – DAMONS' HOME]
The old door creaked softly as it opened. He didn't have time to say a word before a high-pitched scream rang in his ears:
"DAMONS!"
Three human tornadoes rushed at him at full speed. He opened his arms just in time, right before being overwhelmed by a whirlwind of hugs.
He let out a tired but happy laugh.
"I'm home, little tornadoes."
In his arms, his three little sisters. His world.
⸻-
[NOTES: SILVERCROW, CAPITAL OF THE FICTIONAL COUNTRY VELEDRIS, IS DAMONS' HOMETOWN.
LIKE ITS HERO, THIS WORLD IS AN ORIGINAL CREATION.]