The morning sun cast long shadows through Grandia's eastern quarter, gilding the edges of towering spires and elegant facades with molten light. Along the main thoroughfare, mana-powered streetlamps dimmed as daylight strengthened, their soft blue glow fading until the next dusk. Enchanted carriages glided silently over cobblestones, bearing nobles and wealthy merchants to their daily affairs. Citizens moved with purpose, many casually gesturing to perform minor cantrips—warming a cup of tea, freshening clothes, or sending small messages that fluttered through the air like luminous butterflies.
This was Grandia, one of the 3 jewels of the Western Continent, a city where magic infused every aspect of life.
Six streets away from this splendor, in an alley that never saw direct sunlight, a small figure crouched behind a stack of empty crates. Ten-year-old Ren pressed himself against the grimy wall of Madame Bellflour's Bakery, his threadbare clothes blending with the shadows. His dark eyes, too large for his thin face, watched the back door with unwavering attention. His stomach growled, but he ignored it with practiced patience.
Timing was everything.
The door swung open, and Ren tensed. A plump woman emerged, balancing a tray of misshapen pastries—perfectly edible but too imperfect to sell to Grandia's discerning customers. This was Greta, the assistant baker, who worked the morning shift. Unlike the afternoon baker who threw scraps directly into the waste bin, Greta always placed the tray on a small table first, then went back inside for the bin.
Those precious seconds were Ren's opportunity.
As soon as the door closed behind her, Ren darted forward with the silence of a cat. His small hands, calloused despite his youth, snatched two pastries from the tray. He was back behind the crates before the door reopened, his heart pounding but his movements controlled. Greta returned, dumped the remaining pastries into the bin, and went back inside, never suspecting the small thief who had relieved her of part of her burden.
Ren didn't immediately eat his prize. Instead, he carefully wrapped one pastry in a relatively clean scrap of cloth and tucked it into his pocket. The other he broke in half, examining it with appreciation. Almond cream filling. His favorite.
"Looks like we're lucky today," he whispered to no one in particular, though his words were meant for the stray cat he'd befriended, who would be waiting back at his sleeping spot. Half for him, half for her. That was their arrangement.
As he prepared to slip away, a commotion from the main street caught his attention. Shouts and cheers echoed between the buildings, growing louder. Curiosity overcame caution, and Ren crept toward the sound, pastry half forgotten in his hand.
At the edge of the alley, he pressed himself against the corner of a building and peered out. The normally orderly thoroughfare had erupted into celebration. People lined the streets, craning their necks and pointing excitedly. Children sat on parents' shoulders for a better view. Shopkeepers stepped outside their establishments, momentarily forgetting their wares.
Then Ren saw them, and his breath caught in his throat.
The Grandia Army was returning from a mission, led by their most elite members—the Talented. At the front rode three figures on magnificent steeds. The first, a woman with silver-streaked hair, wore flowing robes of midnight blue embroidered with arcane symbols that occasionally shimmered with inner light. A Mage, and from the complex patterns on her attire, one of high rank. Beside her rode a broad-shouldered man whose armor gleamed impossibly bright, as if it captured and amplified the morning sun. A subtle red aura surrounded his massive greatsword—the mark of a Swordmaster. The third leader was less ostentatious but perhaps most impressive: a slender figure in simple but elegant attire, whose very presence seemed to bend the air around them—a high-ranking Talented with a rare Ability.
Behind this triumvirate marched the regular forces, their uniforms pristine despite whatever battles they had fought. Many bore minor wounds worn like badges of honor. They walked tall, proud, acknowledged by the citizens they had protected.
Ren edged closer, forgetting his usual caution. He squeezed between adults who were too engrossed in the spectacle to notice the small street urchin. A few steps more, and he had a clear view of the procession.
The silver-haired Mage raised her hands, and with a graceful gesture, conjured a shower of harmless sparks that rained down on delighted children. The Swordmaster dismounted with fluid grace and knelt to speak with a wide-eyed boy who couldn't have been much older than Ren. The aura around his sword pulsed gently, and the child reached out in wonder to almost—but not quite—touch it.
"Did you see that?" a woman nearby exclaimed to her companion. "They cleared out the entire nest of shadow beasts in the northern forest! The farmers can return to their lands now."
"I heard they faced a minor demon incursion as well," her friend replied. "That's why Archmage Lyria herself went with them. Those foul creatures are appearing more frequently these days."
Ren absorbed every word, his eyes never leaving the heroes. He studied the sigils on their uniforms, the way they carried themselves, the respect they commanded without demanding it. In his mind, he imagined himself among them—not for the adulation, but for the purpose in their eyes, the sense of belonging to something greater than themselves.
"One day," he whispered, so softly that no one could hear. "One day, that will be me."
A sudden jostling broke his reverie as the crowd surged forward for a better view. Ren, small and light, was nearly knocked off his feet. He stumbled backward, bumping into something—no, someone—solid and unyielding.
"Watch where you're going, gutter rat," sneered a voice from above.
Ren looked up to see a boy perhaps three years his senior, dressed in the fine clothes of a merchant's son. The boy's hand glowed faintly with a minor cantrip, and before Ren could apologize or step away, he felt an invisible force trip his feet from under him. He fell hard onto the cobblestones, his precious half-pastry tumbling into a puddle.
The merchant's son laughed, joined by two similarly well-dressed companions. "Look at that! The street trash wanted to see the heroes. As if someone like you could ever be anything but dirt beneath our boots."
Ren picked himself up, ignoring the sting in his palms and knees. He glanced at his ruined breakfast but didn't give the bullies the satisfaction of seeing his disappointment.
"They protect everyone," he said quietly, nodding toward the Talented. "Even people like me. Even people like you."
The older boy's face darkened. "What did you say, rat?"
But before the confrontation could escalate, the crowd shifted again as the procession continued down the street. The merchant's son and his friends were drawn away by the spectacle, quickly forgetting the insignificant street child they had tormented.
Ren remained where he was for a moment, watching the heroes until they disappeared around a corner. Then, with a small sigh, he turned and melted back into the familiar shadows of his alley.
The rest of Ren's day followed its usual pattern—a carefully choreographed dance of survival. After delivering half of his remaining pastry to a grateful gray tabby cat who lived in his current shelter—a forgotten storage space behind The Drunken Pegasus tavern—he set out to earn what copper coins he could.
By midday, he had swept the floor of a cobbler's shop for two coppers, run a message across town for another copper, and helped an elderly herb seller organize her stall for a handful of wilted greens that would make a meager soup. Not a bad haul, but not enough to feel secure either. In Grandia, security was a luxury reserved for others.
As afternoon stretched toward evening, Ren made his way to the central market square. The day's trading was winding down, and this was often the best time to find discarded produce or to offer help to tired vendors packing up their wares. The square also featured a magnificent fountain at its center—a marvel of both artistry and magic. Water danced in complex patterns, sometimes forming shapes of animals or flowers before dissolving back into the basin. More importantly for Ren, it was a popular gathering spot where he could listen and learn.
He settled on the fountain's edge, far enough from the wealthier citizens to avoid unwanted attention but close enough to hear their conversations. His hands worked automatically, peeling the wilted outer leaves from the greens he'd earned earlier, preparing them for his evening meal while his ears absorbed the city's gossip.
"...another tax increase to support the Academy's expansion," complained a well-dressed woman.
"Worth every coin," her companion replied. "My Eliza awakened a B-class Ability last spring. She'll be starting at the Academy next month."
"How wonderful! You must be so proud."
"Indeed. Though the fees are substantial even with her rank. I don't know how families with lower-ranked children manage it."
Ren's ears perked up at the mention of Abilities and the Academy. He shifted slightly closer, pretending to wash his greens in the fountain's lower basin.
"Speaking of which," the first woman lowered her voice, though not enough, "did you hear about Merchant Fallor's son? Awakened a D-class. Barely enough to qualify for the Academy at all. They're devastated."
"How unfortunate. But at least he Awakened something. Better than those who never develop any Ability at all."
Ren had heard such conversations before. In Grandia, a person's worth was often measured by their magical potential. The Awakening Ceremony was a pivotal moment in any child's life—the ritual that would determine whether they possessed a magical Ability and, if so, its rank. The highest ranks—SSS, SS, and S—were exceedingly rare and virtually guaranteed positions of power and prestige. Even A through C ranks opened many doors. D and E ranks were looked down upon but still offered opportunities unavailable to the unAwakened.
As the women moved on, Ren's attention was drawn to a different conversation—this one between a group of older children sitting on the opposite side of the fountain. They wore simple but clean clothes, marking them as likely from working-class families rather than the streets.
"...starts next week," a freckled boy was saying. "I'm nervous about the entrance assessment."
"You'll be fine," his friend assured him. "The Public Schools aren't like the Academy. They take anyone who can read a little and count to twenty."
"My sister says they even have special classes for those who can't," added a girl with braided hair. "That's how they prepare everyone for the Public Awakening Ceremony."
Ren froze, his hands still in the water. Public Schools? Public Awakening Ceremony? These were terms he'd heard in passing but never fully understood.
"Is it really free?" asked another boy skeptically.
"The schooling is," the girl confirmed. "You only pay a small fee for food and lodging if you stay in the dormitories. My cousin does that since his family lives too far to travel daily."
"And the first Awakening attempt is free too," added the freckled boy. "Though you have to pay if you want to try again after failing or if you get a low rank and want to see if you can awaken something better."
Ren's mind raced. Free education? A chance at the Awakening Ceremony without the prohibitive costs that kept it out of reach for street children like him? It seemed too good to be true.
He listened intently as the children continued discussing the Public School system—how it was funded by the Empire to ensure a baseline of educated citizens, how it offered basic magical theory alongside practical skills, how it prepared students for either trades or, for the lucky few who Awakened significant Abilities, potential advancement to higher education.
When the group finally departed, Ren remained at the fountain, his soup greens forgotten in his lap. For the first time, he could see a path—difficult and uncertain, but a path nonetheless—that might lead from the alleys to the ranks of those who protected others.
The next morning found Ren standing across the street from the Eastern Quarter Public School. The building was modest compared to the grandeur of Grandia Academy, whose distant spires could be seen even from this part of the city. But to Ren's eyes, the simple three-story structure with its worn stone steps and iron gates might as well have been a palace.
Children streamed through those gates—some eager, some reluctant, all with a destination and purpose that Ren envied. He watched them for hours, gathering courage, observing their interactions, trying to imagine himself among them.
Would they accept someone like him? A boy with no family name, no fixed address, no clean clothes or proper shoes? The doubt nearly overwhelmed him, sending him back to the familiar safety of his alley several times. But each time, the memory of the returning heroes—especially the Swordmaster kneeling to speak with a child—drew him back.
For three days, Ren observed the school from a distance. He noted when students arrived and departed, which teachers seemed kind and which strict, what the younger children carried with them. He performed extra odd jobs, saving every copper. He even sacrificed meals to trade for a secondhand shirt with only one patch and a pair of shoes that, while too large, could be stuffed with rags to fit.
On the fourth day, he approached the gates.
"Can I help you, boy?" asked an older man who appeared to be a caretaker, eyeing Ren's attempt at respectability with a mixture of suspicion and pity.
Ren swallowed hard. "I want to enroll," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. "In the school."
The caretaker's eyebrows rose. "Do you now? And where are your parents? There are forms to complete, a small fee for materials..."
"I don't have parents," Ren admitted. "But I have these." He held out his hand, revealing the seven copper coins he'd managed to save—every bit of his worldly wealth. "And I can work. I'm good at cleaning and running errands. I learn quickly."
The man's expression softened slightly. "An orphan, eh? Not the first to come through these gates, though most come from the Imperial Orphanage, not..." he gestured vaguely at Ren's appearance, making it clear he recognized a street child when he saw one.
Ren's heart sank, but he stood his ground. "Please, sir. I want to learn. I want..." He hesitated, then decided on honesty. "I want to have a chance at the Awakening Ceremony someday. I want to protect people, like the Talented in the Grandia Army."
The caretaker studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "Wait here," he said finally. "I'll fetch Mistress Paola. She handles new enrollments."
As the man disappeared into the building, Ren fought the urge to flee. This was the moment of truth. If they turned him away, his fragile dream might shatter before it had truly formed.
Minutes stretched like hours before the caretaker returned with a severe-looking woman whose gray hair was pulled back in a tight bun. She carried a ledger and regarded Ren with calculating eyes.
"So," she said without preamble, "you wish to enroll in our school."
It wasn't a question, but Ren nodded anyway. "Yes, ma'am."
"Name?"
"Ren, ma'am."
She waited, pen poised over her ledger. When no family name was forthcoming, she made a small "hmph" sound and wrote something down.
"Age?"
"Ten, I think. Maybe eleven."
Another note. More questions followed—where he lived (he mentioned the tavern but not that he slept in the storage space behind it), what education he'd had (none formal, but he'd taught himself to recognize some letters and numbers), whether he had any guardians (no).
Throughout the interrogation, Ren stood straight, answered honestly, and tried not to fidget despite his growing certainty that he was about to be rejected.
Finally, Mistress Paola closed her ledger with a snap. "The Empire mandates that all children receive basic education, regardless of circumstances," she said, her tone making it clear this was policy rather than personal conviction. "You may enroll, but there are conditions."
Ren's heart leapt. "Yes, ma'am. Anything."
"You will maintain acceptable cleanliness. The school has washing facilities you may use. You will observe all rules without exception. You will not disrupt classes or cause trouble of any kind." Her eyes narrowed. "And you will find a way to contribute to your keep if you wish to stay in the dormitory. We have work for those who cannot pay the full fee—kitchen duties, cleaning, grounds maintenance."
"I understand," Ren said eagerly. "I'm not afraid of hard work."
"We shall see." She handed him a slip of paper. "Give this to the dormitory master. He will assign you a bed and explain your duties. Classes begin at first bell. Do not be late."
With that, she turned and walked back into the building, leaving Ren clutching the paper as if it were made of gold.
The caretaker gave him a small, unexpected smile. "Well then, looks like you're in. Better get yourself settled before evening meal."
Ren nodded, still stunned by his success. As he followed the caretaker's directions toward the dormitory building at the rear of the school grounds, he passed children in the courtyard who stared at his patched clothes and too-big shoes. He heard whispers and saw pointing fingers, but for once, he didn't shrink from the attention.
Let them stare. Let them whisper. He had taken his first step.
That night, lying on a narrow bed in a dormitory room shared with seven other boys—most of whom had given him a wide berth after learning he came from the streets—Ren stared at the ceiling and allowed himself to truly hope for the first time in memory.
The path ahead would be difficult. He would have to work twice as hard as his peers, both in his studies and in the kitchen duties assigned to cover his board. He would face prejudice and mockery for his background. The Awakening Ceremony was still years away, and even then, the odds of developing a significant Ability were slim for anyone, let alone a boy with no magical lineage.
But none of that dimmed the warm glow in his chest. He had a chance now—a real chance to become someone who could make a difference, someone who could protect others as he had never been protected.
In the darkness, Ren made a silent promise to himself: No matter what obstacles arose, no matter how many failures he might face, he would never give up on his dream. He would become a hero worthy of the Grandia Army, or he would die trying.
With that resolve firm in his heart, he closed his eyes and slept—not in a hidden nook behind a tavern, but in a bed he had earned, in a place where tomorrow held more promise than mere survival.
And somewhere in the vast, uncaring city, a gray tabby cat waited in vain for the boy who had shared his meager findings, unaware that her friend had taken his first step toward a destiny neither of them could imagine.