Berdon City, Capital of the Azex Empire
The city of Berdon was immense. Mana-trains rushed over the rooftops, carrying the capital's hurried residents to their destinations. Hulking mana-beasts plodded along the roads, hauling carts laden with goods. The air itself thrummed with a low-grade energy, the ever-present heartbeat of a metropolis built upon and powered by magic.
In short, it was a vibrant, thriving city. And, like all such places, unbearably loud.
I stood behind my bar, pouring another measure of whiskey for a rather attractive patron. The amber liquid caught the soft glow of the crystal lamps, a mundane task in a world of wonders.
"Dear boy, you always know how to comfort a lonely lady," she said, her voice a practiced purr.
"Madam, I merely poured you a drink," I replied, my tone as neutral as the polished wood between us.
Her gaze slid over me, appraising. I couldn't shake the feeling she was comparing me to someone—a memory, perhaps. Finally, her eyes settled on mine.
"Oh, don't look at me with such frosty eyes. I'm only teasing."
"Don't worry. I'm quite used to it."
She smiled, a faint, knowing curve of her lips, and began tracing the rim of her glass with a fingertip. "Speaking of which, why don't you find yourself a girl? With your looks, I can't imagine it being difficult."
I raised an eyebrow a fraction. "Why would I need a girl when I can barely ensure my own stability?"
"Pffft."
My answer drew a genuine, melodic laugh from her. "Are you serious? You work at The Gilded Essence, one of the most exclusive bars in the Spire District. Your salary could feed ten common families, let alone the tips ladies like me leave you."
Picking up a glass and a cloth, I turned slightly, catching my reflection in the ornate mirror behind the bar. Cold, blue eyes stared back, like chips of glacial ice. My white hair, a legacy from my mother, fell in a stark contrast to the dark mahogany of the shelves. I had the build of a laborer—broad shoulders, tall frame—but the poised stillness of a statue. My face was a study in impassivity, as if all other emotions were foreign concepts I'd never learned.
'Tired' would be the most accurate description.
Honestly, I didn't understand why the tips were so generous. My demeanor wasn't exactly conducive to warm, smooth conversation.
"Now, now, boy. It's rude to admire yourself when there's a perfectly warm woman right in front of you," the lady chided playfully.
I turned my head back to her, the motion deliberate. "My apologies, Miss. But we're closing now."
---
After storing my apron and gear in the staff locker, I sank onto a solitary chair in the back room.
Boredom.
It was a dull, heavy weight in my chest. My entire life had distilled into this singular, pervasive feeling after my parents' death. A monotonous cycle: work, home, silence. In a world that worshipped strength, defined by one's affinity and capacity for mana, I was an aberration. A flaw in the tapestry.
Over seventy percent of the population could sense and manipulate mana to some degree. Even those without talent had a faint spark, a latent presence within them.
And me?
Nothing. I was a blank page. A void. Mana didn't just ignore me; it seemed to reject my very existence. Even the most potent, expensive potions had zero effect. My body neutralized them as if they were water. Anything touched by mana slid off me without purchase.
"Heh…" A dry, humorless sound escaped my lips.
But it wasn't that simple. The whole truth was stranger.
I couldn't feel mana. I couldn't control it.
Yet, I could do things that should be impossible for an ordinary human. My speed, reflexes, and strength existed in a realm beyond natural limits. To be honest, I didn't know my own boundaries. I had yet to find an object I couldn't lift, a door I couldn't break, a distance I couldn't cross with preternatural quickness.
There were no records of a condition like mine. Every mage or scholar I'd ever cautiously approached had been left baffled. I had no idea how my body functioned this way.
Naturally, I'd tried to register with the Adventurers' Guild. It was the obvious path for someone with physical gifts. But each time, the moment the receptionist or evaluator scanned me and found not a single wisp of mana, the result was the same: derisive laughter, pitying shakes of the head. I was never permitted to take the entry trials. Not once. A man with no mana was less than a child in their eyes—unreliable, fragile, a liability in a mana-saturated world.
"Roel. Get out."
I looked toward the doorway. There stood the head of security, a man perpetually clad in black. He'd always disliked me. I never learned why. Perhaps my silence unnerved him, or my unnatural strength posed some perceived threat to his authority. His expression was a familiar mask of contempt.
"Of course. Leaving."
---
I walked home through the cavernous streets. Mana-lanterns cast pools of blue-white light on the cobblestones, and the warm glow from apartment windows painted rectangles of gold in the evening gloom. The city was still alive—people returning from work, laughing groups emerging from theaters, couples strolling with bags from late-night boutiques.
Why...
Thud.
My thoughts were interrupted as I collided with someone, my mind too far away to steer my body. A figure tumbled to the ground.
A young woman in a simple, dark dress. She had hair the color of a starless night and eyes to match—deep, absorbing black pools that held no immediate reflection of the city's lights.
"My apologies. I didn't see you." I extended a hand, offering help.
Her expressionless face tilted upward, those dark eyes fixing on my outstretched hand. For a moment, she simply stared, as if the gesture itself was a curious puzzle. Then, after a beat of silence, she accepted it. Her grip was cool and firm.
"I am sorry for my carelessness. Please, allow me to compensate you for the dirt on your dress," I said, reaching for my coin purse.
She shook her head slowly.
"Then perhaps a replacement? A new dress?"
Again, a silent negation.
"Well, if there's nothing you require, then I—"
She pointed a slender finger directly at me. Her voice, when it came, was calm and clear, cutting through the ambient noise. "You don't feel mana. Am I correct?"
Great. Here it comes. Another mage looking for a target for their mockery. I braced for the familiar sting.
"Yes, Miss. You are correct. There's nothing I can do about it," I replied, my own voice flat.
But she didn't laugh. Instead, she fell into a thoughtful silence, her head cocked slightly as she studied me with renewed intensity. It wasn't disdain in her gaze, but something closer to clinical analysis.
"That's strange," she murmured, more to herself than to me. "You don't have a single drop of Aether either."