Chapter 1 — The Boy Without an Origin
The first light of dawn crept over the horizon, burning away the mist that hung low over the Crimsonwood Forest. Shafts of sunlight pierced through the canopy, scattering off droplets of dew that shimmered on leaves like tiny jewels. The forest breathed with quiet life — the hum of mana pulsing through every root and stone, a rhythm that matched the heartbeat of the world itself.
This was a world ruled by the System — where every living being was born with an Origin, the core essence that determined their power and path. Warriors, tamers, summoners, and elementalists all drew strength from their Origin Stones, hunting the beasts of the wilds to evolve and ascend beyond mortality.
But not everyone was so fortunate.
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A boy's voice broke the stillness.
"Father, are you sure this is the right area?"
His tone was steady but uncertain.
Aren Vale walked through the undergrowth beside a man who seemed carved from the wild itself — tall, broad-shouldered, his cloak torn and scorched from countless battles. The older man's pale eyes glowed faintly beneath his hood, white smoke curling from his breath like fog from a dying fire.
"Yes," Darius Vale replied, his voice deep and calm. "Tracks are fresh. Whatever made them is large… and mean."
Aren glanced down. The footprints were massive — the earth crushed into deep craters, the soil still trembling faintly from recent movement.
He swallowed hard. "Ravager, then?"
Darius's grin was grim. "If we're lucky."
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The two moved carefully through the clearing. Aren's spear — a hand-me-down forged from tempered steel — felt heavy in his grip. His leather armor creaked softly as he crouched beside his father.
His System Interface flickered to life at a thought, faint azure runes hovering before his eyes.
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[System Interface: Active]
Name: Aren Vale
Level: 1
Origin: None Detected
Core Affinity: Unregistered
Status: Normal
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He blinked the screen away with irritation. That one line — None Detected — burned worse than any wound.
In their home, the mountain village of Cinderhollow, even children carried minor Origins — ember sparks from Blaze Wolves, stone scales from Basalt Serpents, wings from Sky Mantas. Every festival season, someone else evolved, celebrated as a new protector of their people.
But every time Aren touched an Origin Stone, it went dark. Lifeless. As if his soul rejected the world itself.
Darius glanced over at him, sensing his son's thoughts without needing to ask. "Don't let that screen define you," he said quietly. "Power doesn't make a man. What he does with it does."
Aren nodded, though he didn't look convinced.
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A branch snapped ahead.
Both froze.
The air grew heavy. Even the birds fell silent.
Then came the low, guttural growl — deep enough to make the ground quiver.
A massive silhouette emerged from the shadows of the forest — a Ravager, its horns black as iron and its fur like bristled armor. Its breath steamed in the cold air, and jagged scars glowed faintly crimson along its flanks — the mark of a beast infused with ambient Origin energy.
Its red eyes locked on them.
"Stay back," Darius murmured, his voice calm but sharp.
The Ravager pawed at the ground once, twice — and charged.
The forest erupted in chaos.
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Darius stepped forward, his cloak flaring. White flames burst from his hands — ethereal fire that sang with an otherworldly tone.
"Ghast Origin — Wailfire Burst!"
The air trembled as he thrust his palms forward, and spectral fire roared across the clearing, slamming into the Ravager's shoulder. The creature howled, its momentum breaking as it stumbled sideways, trees splintering beneath its weight.
Aren felt the shockwave rattle his bones. His father's flames didn't burn like normal fire — they screamed, flickering in colors beyond sight, a power inherited from the rare Ghast Core his father had once claimed in the Netherfields.
"Now!" Darius barked.
Aren snapped out of his awe. He sprinted forward, spear leveled. Mana flared in his legs — weak, unrefined, but enough to propel him across the ground. He aimed for the Ravager's exposed neck and thrust.
The spear struck — but barely pierced its hide. The weapon splintered from the force, the tip snapping off. The beast swung its horned head, sending Aren sprawling into the dirt.
"Aren!"
He coughed, rolling aside just as a horn slammed into the ground where he'd been, shattering stone.
Darius raised his hand again — but his Ghast flame flickered, his breath ragged. The power took a toll each time it was used.
Aren forced himself to his feet, pain flaring in his ribs. He grabbed a jagged shard of his broken spear and darted behind the Ravager, moving as quietly as he could.
"Come on… come on…" he muttered.
The Ravager lunged toward Darius, ignoring the boy — exactly what Aren hoped for. As the beast reared back, he drove the broken spear shaft into its hind leg, right into a patch of cracked flesh glowing faintly red.
The creature roared, staggering. Darius seized the moment.
"Ghast Origin — Phantom Lash!"
White chains of fire erupted from his hands, wrapping around the Ravager's horns and neck. The creature fought, thrashing violently — until Darius pulled both hands downward.
A blinding flare of spectral fire engulfed the beast's head. When the light faded, the Ravager collapsed, its body smoking and still.
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For a long moment, only the wind spoke.
Aren sank to his knees, gasping for air. "We… we did it."
Darius exhaled slowly, his flames fading back into his skin. The scars on his arms glowed faintly before dimming. "You did well," he said, walking over to the corpse. "Quick thinking with the tendon strike. I'll admit, you learn faster than I did at your age."
Aren managed a weak grin. "Guess that means I'm finally catching up."
His father chuckled. "Not yet, boy. But close."
Darius knelt beside the beast's chest and drew his dagger. With practiced precision, he cut deep, reaching the still-glowing heart of the Ravager. A sphere of muted amber light pulsed faintly within — its Origin Stone.
He held it up, its glow reflecting in Aren's eyes. "Every warrior's first core is special," Darius said. "Even if it's not yours yet… you should try."
Aren hesitated, then took the stone. It was warm — alive. He felt its pulse against his palm, almost like a heartbeat matching his own. For a second, hope flickered in his chest.
He focused, whispering a silent plea. Please. Just this once.
The stone's glow intensified — and then, abruptly, dimmed.
The warmth vanished, leaving only a dull, gray shell. Another failed connection.
Aren lowered his hand slowly. "…It's dead."
Darius sighed quietly. He rested a heavy hand on his son's shoulder. "Then it wasn't yours to claim."
The boy's gaze stayed on the lifeless stone, his jaw tightening. "What if none of them are?"
"Then we keep hunting," his father said firmly. "Until the world runs out of stones, or you find the one that sings back."
Aren wanted to believe him — to believe that there was one out there waiting for him. But as he looked at the dark forest stretching beyond the clearing, endless and full of monsters, that hope felt as distant as the stars above.
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By the time they returned to Cinderhollow, the sun had already set. Lanterns flickered through the mist, casting the village in amber light. Children ran through the streets, chasing each other with sparks of their newly awakened powers, their laughter echoing.
Aren walked beside his father in silence, the failed Origin Stone heavy in his pack.
Darius looked down at him once more. "You did good today. Remember that."
Aren forced a smile and nodded. But deep down, he could feel it — a hollow ache that no praise could fill.
In a world where every soul was born with an Origin…
He was the only one still searching for his.