Huff... Huff... Huff...
Heavy, labored breaths echoed through the silent forest. A silver-haired boy stumbled forward, his feet dragging across the uneven ground. His clothes were torn, clinging to his sweat-soaked frame, and his shoulders trembled with effort. Draped over his back was an unconscious girl about his age dressed in the black-and-white uniform of a maid. Her long dark hair swayed lifelessly with each shaky step he took.
Ezra gritted his teeth, his muscles screaming in protest. Every step felt like walking through sludge. His vision blurred around the edges, but he refused to collapse.
"Master Ezra..." a weak voice called beside him. Another maid—this one still conscious walked a few paces ahead, her face pale and marked with fatigue. "There's a cave... just up ahead. We should rest."
Ezra gave a faint nod. He didn't know who she was. In truth, he didn't even know who he was...not at the moment. The name Ezra was similar to what he had beared back on earth so it was easier to respond . He had woken in this frail body with no knowledge of its past, no memory of its experiences. The only truth he clung to was that he wasn't originally from this world. He was someone else...an author, a creator of worlds and stories. Now? He was a character he didn't know trapped in one.
And from what little he had seen so far, this world was not kind to the weak. At least, far more than what he had written it to be.
The mouth of the cave came into view. Wide enough to fit a bear, it loomed before them like a sanctuary. Ezra stumbled inside and immediately knelt down, lowering the unconscious girl with what little care his trembling limbs could offer. The moment her weight left his shoulders, his body collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.
He slumped against the rough stone wall, chest heaving as darkness nipped at the corners of his vision.
The maid beside him quickly moved to check the other girl's pulse and breathing. Once she was sure there was no danger, she turned her attention back to Ezra. He hadn't said a word since they escaped, and yet... the person before her felt like a stranger.
The silver hair, the blue-gray eyes, the delicate features everything about his appearance was familiar. She had known Ezra since childhood. She had seen him at his lowest, witnessed the scorn he endured from the Valecross family—the family that bore him but never truly accepted him.
Born to a lowly concubine who died shortly after childbirth, Ezra had grown up without protection or status. The Valecross, one of the eight great families, were elite in the art of mana manipulation. They could weave mana into threads and elements, creating complex and powerful techniques feared across the realm. But Ezra... had no mana. Not even a flicker. The family patriarch ignored him. The other wives mocked him. Even the servants turned their backs except for her. The maid beside him, Leona, had been the only one who treated him like a human being.
The Ezra she knew was timid. Weak. He would curl into a ball at the slightest raised voice. He never fought back when bullied. He spoke softly, rarely raised his head, and barely reacted to pain. He had been the perfect scapegoat in a family where only power was respected.
So when the family arranged a political marriage with the Zephirel family another of the eight great houses it was more of a strategic disposal than a union. A concubine's son with no mana offered nothing of value, and unsurprisingly, the Zephirel family had rejected the proposal on the spot. Not just rejected they had taken offense.
Ezra and his small convoy were turned away at the gates.
Then the ambush came.
Leona still trembled remembering it. Bandits had emerged from the woods like shadows, slaughtering the guards meant to protect them. It had all happened so fast. Screams. Blood. Then silence.
And yet, with her own eyes she saw Ezra fight in a way only possible for people who had trained and practiced still she knew he hadn't.
That shouldn't have been possible. The Ezra she knew couldn't have lifted a sword, let alone carried two people across a forest. And now, even as he sat in the cave bleeding, half-conscious and broken, there was a new weight in his eyes. Cold. Detached. Focused.
He looked... like someone who had seen far worse things than anything this world had to offer.
Leona knelt beside him, brushing the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead. "Master Ezra... you shouldn't push yourself like that."
Ezra opened one eye slowly, his gaze meeting hers with a calmness that made her flinch.
"I had no choice," he said simply not inviting the sympathy creeping him from her tone, he didn't want to get attached and he wasn't going to act like someone he wasn't. He a selfish person who always cared about only himself had saved these two maids, it gnawed at his mind and irritated him.
His voice was deeper than she remembered measured and firm, with none of the uncertainty he used to speak with.
"I need to train."
Leona blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt declaration. "Train?"
Ezra turned his face toward the cave ceiling. His chest still rose and fell rapidly, but his eyes remained steady.
"I don't know whose body this is," he murmured. "But I know this world doesn't forgive the weak. If I stay like this, I'll die. That's all there is to it."
Leona's lips parted slightly. Something about the way he spoke made it sound like he wasn't Ezra Valecross at all.
But she said nothing.
He didn't elaborate and perhaps it was better that way. He had always been kind, even as a coward. But now he seemed like someone who had burned kindness out of himself just to keep walking forward.
She wrapped her arms around her knees, turning her gaze back toward the cave entrance. The sunlight outside had dimmed, casting long shadows through the trees. Dusk had arrived, and with it came the real danger.
This forest was no place to travel at night. While the bandits were brutal, the beasts that roamed under the moonlight were worse. Even a weak forest snake here could possess enough venom to melt steel, and packs of shadow wolves were known to tear through seasoned mages. She could defend herself, yes but only barely. Her spark-level mana allowed her to conjure minor flames or levitate small objects. In a real battle, it would do next to nothing.
"Master Ezra," she said after a while, "we should stay here until dawn. Move again when it's safe."
Ezra didn't respond immediately. When he did, his voice was soft.
"Fine. We'll rest. But tomorrow... I start training."
She turned to him again, brows furrowing. "Train with what? You don't have mana."
Ezra's eyes remained closed, but his mouth curved into something close to a smirk. Not arrogant. Not amused. Resigned.
"Then I'll train without it."
Leona was silent. She couldn't imagine what kind of path he hoped to walk without mana in a world built on it.
But deep inside her, she felt something stir a strange unease mixed with a faint, inexplicable hope.
This wasn't the same Ezra she had grown up with.
And maybe, just maybe, that was a good thing.
Later that Night
Ezra opened his eyes again. The fire Leona had managed to kindle was flickering low, casting dancing shadows on the cave walls. The other maid still lay unconscious. Leona had fallen asleep sitting up, her head resting against her arms.
Ezra sat up with difficulty. His entire body ached, but the pain was grounding real.
He knew nothing about the boy whose life he now occupied. No memories. No history. Just the name everyone kept calling him: Ezra Valecross.
But he had lived through worse. He had written characters born into darkness, forced to claw their way to the light. This was nothing new to him.
The only difference now?
He was the one inside the story.
He glanced at his hands—thin, pale, trembling. This body was a mess. No strength. No mana. No advantages.
But it was his now.
"I've survived worse odds," he whispered to himself, voice steady as stone. "I wrote the rules of this world. I know how it works."
He clenched his fists slowly, teeth gritting at the pain in his arms.
"If strength is the only thing this world respects, then I'll carve it out myself."
He didn't need mana. He didn't need approval. He just needed time and determination.
Tomorrow, his path would begin.
Not the path of a mage.
But the path of a survivor.
Of a warrior.
Of someone who had nothing to lose, and everything to gain.