Twenty-five days.
That was all the time Arin Valcrest had left before the orphanage doors would close behind him forever. Twenty-five days before he would have to survive in a world filled with magic, monsters, nobles, and unknown dangers. But strangely, Arin no longer felt the same hollow dread that had consumed him when he first woke up in this world. In its place, something else was growing: a sharp, clinical curiosity and a quiet, iron-willed determination.
The orphanage kitchen was already alive with noise the next morning, even though the sun had barely climbed over the rooftops. Steam rolled out of a large iron pot as beef stew simmered inside. The scent of boiled meat, green peas, and savory spices drifted through the humid air.
Arin stood beside the stove, stirring the pot with rhythmic care. Beside him, Tomas leaned against the table lazily, cradling a loaf of bread like it was a holy relic.
"Careful," Tomas warned with exaggerated seriousness. "If you ruin the stew again, the children might actually start a rebellion."
Arin raised an eyebrow without looking away from the pot. "I ruined it once."
"You ruined it spectacularly," Tomas replied with a wide grin.
Across the room, another boy named Garrick laughed as he sliced through a crusty loaf of bread. "He's right, Arin. Last time, the stew tasted like someone had boiled a pair of old boots."
"That was because someone," Arin replied calmly, giving the stew another slow rotation, "forgot to lower the fire while I was called away."
Tomas pointed at his own chest proudly. "Yes. Think of it as a bold experiment in culinary magic."
Another boy, Milo, snorted from across the table. "You almost poisoned the entire orphanage, you idiot."
Arin shook his head and took a small taste of the liquid. This time, it was perfect. The meat was soft, the peas tender, and the spices balanced. "It's done," Arin announced.
"Good," Tomas said, reaching for a bowl immediately. "Because I'm currently starving to death."
Soon, the dining hall was filled with the sound of clinking spoons and happy chatter. Bread and stew were passed down the long wooden tables as the younger children ate with frantic energy. Arin sat beside Tomas, eating quietly, but his mind wasn't on the meal. He was calculating costs and logistics.
Finally, he turned toward his friend. "Tomas," Arin said in a low voice.
Tomas looked up, his cheek bulging with bread. "Yes?"
"I need your help today," Arin said.
Tomas swallowed and leaned back, eyeing Arin with a mock-suspicious squint. "That sounds like trouble already. What kind of mess are we getting into?"
Arin sighed. "No trouble. At least, not intentionally."
"Disappointing," Tomas replied, though his eyes twinkled.
"I want to go into the city today," Arin explained.
Tomas blinked. "The city? For what?"
"To buy a rune pen," Arin replied.
The casual nature of Arin's statement made Tomas freeze. "A rune pen?" he repeated, his voice dropping an octave.
"Yes," Arin confirmed.
Tomas leaned forward slowly, his expression turning serious. "You're actually serious about this."
"I am," Arin said.
Tomas scratched the back of his head. "Well… that explains the strange questions you've been asking lately. You're really going to try it."
Arin nodded. "I want to prepare before I leave. Supplies, clothes, and the pen. I don't want to be figuring this out while I'm sleeping in a ditch."
Tomas thought for a moment, then a slow grin spread across his face. "Well," Tomas said, "if we're going to the city… I'm coming with you. You'd probably get scammed by the first merchant you meet."
After breakfast, the two boys made their way to the caretaker's office. Arin gave a sharp knock on the door.
"Come in," Marta's voice called from within.
She was sitting behind her desk, sorting through an endless stack of kingdom papers. She looked up as the boys entered, her gaze lingering on them for a moment. "What is it?" Marta asked.
Arin stepped forward respectfully. "Madam Marta, I wanted to ask permission to go into the city today."
Marta raised an eyebrow. "The city? For what purpose?"
"I'll be leaving the orphanage soon," Arin explained. "I thought it would be wise to use my inheritance to buy a few things I might need for the journey."
Tomas nodded vigorously beside him. "Responsible preparation, Madam. High-level adulting."
Marta studied Arin's calm face and Tomas's overly-eager one. She sighed, rubbing her temples. "Very well," she said. "But stay out of trouble. I don't want the City Guard bringing you back in iron cuffs."
Tomas smiled brightly. "We are the very definition of responsible citizens, Madam."
Marta gave him a flat, unimpressed look. "That statement alone makes me want to lock the doors."
The city was a sprawling labyrinth of stone and timber. By the time they had walked more than three miles, Arin realized how little of this world he had actually seen.
Stone roads stretched across districts pulsing with life. Merchants shouted prices, horse carriages rattled past on iron-rimmed wheels, and food stalls filled the air with the irresistible scent of grilled meat and sweet pastries. Arin's stomach let out a treacherous growl.
"Focus," Tomas said dramatically, mimicking a soldier. "We must remain disciplined."
"You're the one staring at the meat stall like it's your long-lost lover," Arin noted dryly.
"Discipline is a journey, Arin. I'm currently on a detour," Tomas admitted.
Most of the buildings around them were humble wooden structures—shops and simple homes. But as they neared the central district, the architecture shifted. Stone buildings rose tall, beautifully carved and decorated with banners.
"Rich people certainly know how to live," Tomas muttered.
Arin nodded silently, but his eyes were scanning the storefronts. Then he spotted it.
The Rune Artifact Shop was a fortress of polished stone. Large banners hung above the entrance, and inside, the air felt different—heavy and still. Artifacts rested behind thick protective glass: rune stones, enchanted tools, and metal rings engraved with glowing patterns.
Behind a heavy counter stood a merchant with a generous belly and several gold chains draped around his neck. Gemstone rings glittered on his fingers as he looked down at the two boys with immediate suspicion.
"What do you want?" the merchant asked, his tone clipped.
Arin stepped toward the window in the glass partition. "We would like to buy a rune pen," he said.
The merchant raised an eyebrow. "A rune pen? Do you even know the price, boy?"
Arin didn't blink. "How much?"
"Fifteen silver coins," the merchant said bluntly, clearly expecting them to turn and run.
Tomas whistled softly. "That is… slightly terrifying."
The merchant folded his arms. "So? Can you afford it, or are you just here to waste my time?"
Without a word, Arin reached into his pouch and placed fifteen silver coins on the counter. The merchant's eyes widened, his skeptical posture softening instantly.
"Well," the merchant muttered, reaching for the coins. "You certainly surprised me."
Tomas leaned forward, flashing his most charming smile. "Would you perhaps consider lowering the price for two young, aspiring scholars of the arts?"
"No," the merchant said instantly.
"What about a student discount?" Tomas tried.
"No."
"A friendship discount?"
"No."
"A sympathy discount for two poor orphans?"
"No."
Tomas sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up. "You drive a hard bargain, sir."
The merchant rolled his eyes, but as he pulled a beautifully crafted metal pen from a velvet-lined case, he paused. "Fine," the merchant said, grumbling. "I'll include a small bottle of basic rune ink. Just so you don't come back tomorrow complaining the pen doesn't work."
Tomas clapped his hands together. "Victory!"
Arin accepted the items carefully. The pen felt heavy and cold in his hand, a precision instrument of logic and power.
On the way back, Arin stopped at a leather shop and purchased a sturdy belt designed to hold his father's dagger for seventeen bronze coins. He paid without hesitation, much to Tomas's surprise.
"Planning to become an adventurer?" Tomas asked, eyeing the belt.
"Planning to survive," Arin replied.
They eventually succumbed to the temptation of street food, buying two skewers of juicy meat glistening with oil and spices for four bronze coins each. Arin took a bite and felt the warmth spread through him. It was incredible.
Tomas closed his eyes in bliss. "I could die happy right now."
"You say that about food far too often," Arin replied, though he couldn't help but smile.
Night finally fell upon the orphanage. Tomas sat at the table in their shared room, pretending to read a book but mostly watching Arin.
Arin sat on his bed, the mechanical tome open beside him. He skipped past the assembly diagrams and went straight to the elemental rune section. I just need to see if the syntax holds, he thought.
"I just need to see if this works," Arin murmured quietly to himself.
He tore a clean sheet of paper from his notebook and opened the bottle of transparent rune ink. He pressed the metal pen into the liquid, watching as the nib absorbed the ink. Then, slowly and with the precision of a programmer writing a delicate line of code, Arin copied the fire rune from the book.
The symbols were alien, but he could see the "logic gates" within them—the curves that represented heat, the sharp lines that suggested friction, and the central dot that acted as a trigger.
He finished the final stroke. The ink was invisible on the paper, just as Tomas had said.
Arin held the paper in his hand. He took a deep breath and pushed a small thread of mana into the page. At first, nothing happened. The air remained still.
Then—a spark.
A tiny, brilliant flame suddenly ignited in the center of the paper. Arin froze, his eyes widening in the flickering light. He had done it. This wasn't just a physical reaction; it was a command executed successfully. It was magic.
He was so lost in the mesmerizing dance of the flame that he didn't notice the paper curling as the fire moved toward his skin.
"Ah!"
Arin yiped and dropped the burning paper as the heat nipped at his fingertips. But as the small fire died on the stone floor, Arin didn't look upset. He began to laugh. A quiet, breathless sound of triumph.
"So this is magic…" Arin whispered, looking at his singed fingers.
For the first time since arriving in this world, Arin Valcrest didn't feel like a stranger in a strange land. He felt like a master of a new language. He felt powerful.