Kael flipped through the report slowly, the thin sheets of paper crackling faintly under his fingers. The handwriting wasn't neat, more like hurried scrawls from someone too tired to care.
"Disturbances reported along the eastern canal: livestock gone missing, unexplained disappearances of able-bodied citizens, strange noises at night, etc."
That was it. No precise numbers, no names, no timeline just a list of unsettling incidents.
Kael sighed under his breath. So vague. Is this even a report or just a grocery list of problems?
He looked up at the man across from him. Sitting there in the dimly lit office, the man's face was framed by tired lines and a permanent scowl. The room itself wasn't any better small, dim, its walls aged and cracked, its shelves sagging under the weight of dusty records no one had bothered to touch in years. A crooked curtain allowed a thin beam of sunlight to spill across stacks of neglected paperwork, the light catching on dust motes that drifted lazily in the stale air.
Kael thought it fit perfectly. Of course the Outcasts' office would look like this like the Bureau itself gave up on them years ago.
He cleared his throat. "So this is my first task? Already?"
The man's dull eyes lifted from his paperwork. His voice was sharp, curt, leaving no room for argument. "Yes. In fact, I partially hired you just to deal with it. The others are… busy with their own duties."
Kael tilted his head, unimpressed. The man had the presence of a stern old geezer the kind who never smiled and probably never would. Still, he couldn't deny one thing: If there was ever a lucky day to walk through that Bureau door, this was it.
The man reached into a drawer and retrieved a thin, black object. At first glance, it looked like a piece of lacquered wood, but when he held it out, Kael saw how it flexed unnaturally hard like metal, light as paper, but strangely pliant. The surface shimmered faintly, swallowing the light around it.
"What is your name?" the man asked.
"Kael," he answered instantly.
The man's gaze narrowed. "Second name?"
Kael scratched the back of his head, his lips curling into a nervous grin. "I… don't have one."
It wasn't a lie. It wasn't even that he'd forgotten. From the moment he could remember, there had never been anything else. "Kael" was the only name he knew, the only identity he'd ever been given.
The man didn't press further, nor did he show judgment. He simply nodded once and tapped his temple with two fingers. His eyes glowed faintly, shifting from their dull blue into a deep, burning crimson. For a few seconds, Kael felt as if those eyes were peeling back the layers of his being, searching through his mana, weighing him silently.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the glow faded. The man took the card, his other hand sketching invisible lines across the air. The room grew quieter, as if holding its breath, while faint patterns of light burned in the air above the card before sinking into the black surface. When he stopped, he pressed the object onto the desk with a firm hand and slid it toward Kael.
"This is your authentication card," the man said. "It allows entry into Bureau-restricted zones and verifies you as a member of this branch though we're hardly held in high regard. The Outcasts."
Kael picked up the card, turning it over in his hand. His name was etched in bold golden letters across the dark surface, the contrast so sharp it almost glowed. At the bottom, a small, ornate symbol a stylized "O" with a zero inside its center was engraved. Beside it, in neat script, were the words:
> Gate / Stage: 20
A strange feeling tugged at him as he stared at it. It was simple, yet heavier than he expected. An identity. Something official. Something that recognized him if only barely.
The man stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He faced the window, staring out at the slanted rooftops and gray sky beyond. His shoulders were stiff, his back straight, like a soldier standing at attention even when no one was watching.
"I know we've only just met," he said, his voice carrying a heavier tone now. "But I expect big things from you. Make the name 'Outcasts' known far and wide."
He turned, extending his hand across the desk. His expression hadn't softened, but there was a weight behind the gesture an unspoken challenge.
"My name is Luther. Captain of the Outcasts. My orders here are absolute. And rule number one don't die."
Kael smirked faintly and stood, clasping the captain's hand. "That's an order I can live with."
The handshake was brief, firm, and then it was done.
Moments later, Kael stepped out of the musty office and into the open streets. The air felt fresher here, though heavy with the weight of his new mission. The report crinkled in his hands as he looked down at it again.
His thoughts drifted bitterly.
Life feels too rushed. The trials ended, and here I am stealing, getting a job, and now sent on a mission. Feels like I'm stuck in some novel where the author's sprinting through the plot.
His lips curled into a wry grin as he tucked the paper away.
But hey I'm not one to complain.