Rain slicked streets. Muddy puddles reflected the dim lanterns of Nursa, a small town in Zorka province. In the vast world of Azol, where magic, strength, and assassins coexisted, Nursa was nothing special—just a town where the desperate survived by their wits.
Laxyie's boots splashed as he ran down a narrow alley, eyes fixed on the scene ahead.
A group of three thugs cornered an old woman, her back pressed to a wall. She shook, clutching her basket of goods.
"Hand it over, granny," one sneered, brandishing a rusty dagger.
Laxyie's jaw tightened. He didn't hesitate. With a sprint, he dropped behind a crate and leapt onto the nearest thug's back. His small dagger found the gap in the man's armor. A grunt, a stumble—enough to create chaos.
"Get off me!" the thug yelled, swinging wildly. Laxyie ducked and rolled to the side, kicking another thug square in the stomach. The man crumpled onto the wet cobblestones.
The last thug froze, staring at the wiry teenager standing in the rain, eyes sharp and steady. Laxyie's dagger gleamed under the lantern light.
"Leave," he said simply. His voice was calm but his eyes full of void.
The thug hesitated, then bolted. Laxyie didn't pursue. He turned to the old woman, who was trembling but unharmed.
"T-thank you…" she stammered.
"Be careful," he said, brushing rain from his hair. "The streets of Nursa aren't safe."
She nodded, eyes wide, and scurried away into the mist.
Laxyie wiped his blade clean on his coat. Seventeen years old, and he had survived on his own for a decade. Alone, hungry, hunted sometimes—but stronger because of it.
Nursa wasn't just a town; it was a maze of narrow alleys, hidden threats, and opportunities for someone like him. A place where the clever could survive, and the weak would be forgotten.
In Azol, a vast world of unimaginable power and danger, he was just one boy. But even one boy could make a difference.
Laxyie crouched on a rooftop, eyes scanning the streets below. He wasn't a mage, nor a warrior blessed with elemental power. For now, he was an assassin, and that was enough.
The night stretched on. Somewhere in the shadows, danger was always waiting—but Laxyie was ready."Damn this World", he muttered.
Laxyie didn't have the luxury of a normal childhood. Born in Zorka province, he was the son of Boron, an assassin whose name alone could make people tremble. Boron left soon after Laxyie was born, disappearing into the shadows to protect his family from the enemies he had made.
For a few short years, Laxyie had his mother. She was quiet but strong, and she was a loving and caring person. She taught him to watch, to listen, and to be careful—lessons that would save his life. But when he was seven, the safety of their small home in Nursa was destroyed. Boron's enemies came for revenge, and his mother was killed before his eyes. He ran, he hid, and he cried, but it didn't matter. That night, he understood something he would never forget: the world doesn't forgive and the sins of his father has lead to the death of his mother.
After that, Laxyie learned to rely on himself, his childhood was taken away from him. He begged, worked odd jobs,and sometimes had nothing to eat for days. No place to sleep .
The streets of Nursa were harsh, but as hereditary ,he was tall, strong, and quick. He ran, climbed, jumped, and fought. Knives became part of him, shadows became his allies, and instinct became his guide. He survived by thinking fast, striking faster, and never showing fear.
By seventeen, he was no longer a boy who needed protection. He could take care of himself—and others, if he chose. Beneath his calm and careful exterior, there was a fire: a quiet determination that he would not be a victim again and hunt down his father for his pain caused by him.
The world of Azol was vast, full of people with strange powers and terrifying skills. Laxyie didn't have magic, elemental strength, or a fancy system. He was just an assassin. But for now, that was enough.