In Velmark, everyone learns the same thing from childhood.
Hunters are everything.
They are the ones chosen by the gods, the ones who carry Marks on their bodies, the ones who get to leave this place behind and become the ones who matter to the world. Kids discuss it as if it's inevitable, like one day they'll wake up and find a glowing crest on their wrist or shoulder and their life will finally start.
But the truth is, it doesn't happen for everyone.
Some people are chosen. Some aren't. And that's the truth behind it.
When you turn fifteen, you start checking your body every morning. At sixteen, you check it twice. By seventeen, majority of your friends have already awakened, and the village treats it like a festival every single time. Food gets thrown onto tables, elders start praying louder than usual, and parents suddenly become braggers who argue their child's god is the best.
"The Storm God chose my son!"
"The War Goddess marked my daughter!"
"Minerva herself blessed our family line!"
It's loud, bright, annoying, and honestly… it makes you sick if you're standing on the wrong side of it. I have never been part of the celebration. Not even when my twin brother, Ginya, awakened.
He was chosen by the All-Knowing, Father of all gods. People got awe-struck at him like he was a living legend. While when their gaze met mine, they acted as if I am an Invisible man who doesn't exist anymore.
I silently waited for my turn. I remember the nights I wept to sleep and met with dreams which didn't feel home. Every morning I woke with a single thought,
"Maybe mine would come tomorrow, maybe next month, maybe next year."
I kept hoping and the dates kept changing until it was the year I turned twenty-one.
Because in Velmark, if you reach twenty without a Mark, you're done. Hunters don't awaken late. Miracles don't happen once you are out of the so-called age of miracles. The gods don't suddenly change their minds.
My name is Gintaro Shinya.
Twenty-one years old, jobless, and still stuck in the same village where people half my age already have futures. I gamble for a living and I am good at it. Not because I enjoy it, but because it's the only thing left for me to make easy money and something which doesn't require a Mark. It's pathetic, but at least it keeps me eating.
Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that I didn't belong here. Why?
Because I had dreams. Dreams which you wouldn't call normal if you had them yourself. Dreams of a world that wasn't Velmark.
A world where people didn't rely on gods or Marks. A world where they created weapons out of metal and fire, things they called guns, things that used ammunition and a powder-like substance called 'Gunpowder'. In those dreams, guns changed everything. They weren't magic. They were human-made, and somehow that felt more real than anything in this village.
Maybe those dreams were meaningless.
Or maybe they were the only reason I kept thinking I wasn't completely ordinary.
I came out of my vivid daydreams and found myself leaning against the wooden fence outside the village square. The ceremony was about to begin and I was again watching it like I always did
Today was the Summer Solstice, the day the fifteen-year-olds gathered to see if the gods would bother noticing them. They stood in line, trying to look brave, but their hands were shaking and eyes were shut tightly.
I could almost hear what they were thinking in their soft mumbles.
"Please choose me."
"Let it be a good god."
"Let my life start today."
The priest raised his hands slowly, closed his eyes and started moving his fingers on the rosary beads while his mouth moved on its own as if he was whispering something to grab the attention of the not-so attentive gods.
"One by one," he announced as his eyes opened, calm as ever. "Step forward."
The first kid was a frail-looking boy. He stepped forward and I could see him shaking uncontrollably and as expected Nothing happened. The gods are never affectionate towards his kind. The silence was awkward, but it conveyed everything, the kid failed. I had to stop myself from laughing because it's always easier when it's someone else.
The second was a girl, she was a rowdy little girl whom I knew from back when she smuggled fruits out of my house. She stepped forward and a faint glow greeted everyone by appearing on her arm almost immediately.
The crowd exploded. It didn't care which god or goddess until a child from their village was chosen.
"A Mark!"
Her mother started crying happiness shone all over her wide face, her father got clapped by someone on the back, and the girl just stood there staring at her own skin like she couldn't believe it. I could almost feel her shock, anyone would be stupefied at the scene.
I looked away before the bitterness settled too deep.
I wasn't jealous.
And here comes a big fat lie to hide my emotions. Of course I was jealous.
Jealous, Yes. But I wasn't angry at her. I was angry at the world, angry at the gods, angry at myself for still standing here after all this time, still watching, still hoping like an idiot.
A laugh came from behind me.
"Shinya."
I didn't need to turn around. I already knew.
Riku.
He got his Mark at sixteen, chosen by Lykeios, the God of the Hunt. Of course the hunting god would choose someone like him. He was agile, and he belonged to a long line of hunters and gatherers.
He leaned against the fence beside me, arms crossed.
"You're still watching these kids?"
I shrugged. "Its out of Habit."
"It's pathetic." That one line hit harder than it should have.
Riku looked at me like he genuinely didn't understand. How would he?
He belonged to the chosen group and was staying in the village by choice but I, I feel like a pathetic loser and I know I am not one. But, Riku never mocked me and that was one thing I liked about him.
"Geez... Seriously," he muttered, lowering his voice. "You're twenty-one. Just stop." His tone carried a sense of worry and he was right about it.
Stop waiting. Stop dreaming. Stop pretending something is going to change.
I smiled a little because it was easier than saying anything else.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "Maybe."
Riku snorted.
"Come drink tonight. At least you'll be useful somewhere." He was talking about today's gambling plan, he has the money, I have the brains and it has always been this way.
He didn't wait for my reply and casually jumped off the fence and went his way like he had no worries in the world and I had all.
I stayed there, watching the ceremony continue. Gods blessed the kids and Marks appeared on wrists and shoulders. Cheers rose. It was funny as well as frustrating to watch, futures of every kid was being decided in seconds.
And me?
I was already past the age of miracles.
I exhaled slowly and looked toward the forest beyond the village. The monster line. The place Hunters went, and people like me didn't. My brother Ginya went out there three years ago.
He promised he'd come back with stories, with glory, with proof that someone from this unknown, unnamed village could become something more than an average nobody.
I waited and waited, counting off days and yet, He never returned.
My fist clenched without me noticing.
And then I felt it.
Heat.
Not from the sun. Not from embarrassment.
Something... deeper.
I blinked, confused, and my gaze fell upon my left hand.
The back of my hand was glowing.
For a second, I thought I was imagining it.
Then the pain hit, sharp and violent, like something was carving into me. like a dagger was twisting the insides of my hand.
I gasped, stumbling back as the light spread crimson across my skin. Lines twisted together, forming a circle.
The circles then took the shape of Six chambers. Like the cylinder of a revolver.
My knees almost gave out but I held on. I couldn't let this moment go
At twenty-one…
A Mark? It must be a dream, another of those weird dreams.
This was impossible. And yet it was happening.
The symbol burned as if it were being engraved onto my soul.
I swear I heard something whisper my name, distant and cold.
"Shinya."
I took in a deep breath and stumbled over the other side of the fence, somehow holding myself together. I didn't stay long enough for anyone to notice.
I rushed home, wrapping my red scarf over my wrist to hide the glow. Awakening this late wasn't normal. It wasn't something you announced in the village square. It could be the subject of mocking or a dangerous business.
Once inside my house, I slammed the door shut, heart pounding. I took a sigh of relief and I knew that nobody was there to notice me as everyone in the village was busy with the awakening ceremony.
My hands shook as I pulled out an old metal chest that belonged to my grandfather. From it, I grabbed a torn grimoire, a record of every divine mark ever witnessed. My grandfather was a Scribe Scholar, one who loved to get information on all the divine Marks in the continent.
If I was going to get answers about my mark, it would be here.
I flipped through page after page, scanning symbols, comparing them to the one burning on my hand.
Nothing matched. Until the very last page. It held almost no information, only a single mark.
A circle with six chambers. I caught my breath.
"Mark of the Minor God of Guns and Technology — Hexaron."
A minor god. But I didn't care. A god had chosen me. And I could become a Hunter. That's all that mattered to me.
I read further.
"Little is known of Hexaron. He is considered a jester among the gods. His chosen often fall into support-based classes."
Below it, there was a rather small list of classes.
Hexshot. Powderwright. Ironcaster. Spark Engineer. Bullet Scribe.
My excitement drained instantly when I saw the first one.
Hexshot.
Weakest Revolver Support Class.
Of course.
The gods finally noticed me, and even then they gave me the weakest role possible.
Support.
Trash.
A joke.
I stared at the mark again, still glowing faintly. And suddenly I remembered my dreams like a
De-ja-vu.
The guns.
The ammunition.
The world beyond Velmark.
Maybe this wasn't a joke.
Maybe it was the only path that actually belonged to me.
I clenched my fist. The mark didn't hurt anymore but the glow was still there humming slowly.
"…Even with the weakest class," I muttered, "I'll become a Hunter."
My voice was quiet, almost bitter.
"But I'm not going to stay weak."