Living in a rundown orphanage, I learned one truth early:
The powerless have nothing.
No respect.
No future.
People like me are stepped over, ignored, barely counted as alive.
That's why I want to climb.
Climb until no one can look down on me again.
Climb until the world is forced to remember my name.
Climb until I'm strong.
But wanting strength and attaining it are two different things.
In Fantasia Terrae Divisae, strength is measured by your core. Knights carve mountains with Aura. Mages with abundant mana twist storms from thin air. Priests mend bones with Ether and create armaments with spiritual energy. Evokers whisper and spirits obey. Invocation users become walking miracles or disasters. Gifted by the Gods.
And then there are Jaki users.
I try not to think about them.
But my problem is simple:
I haven't felt anything in my core.
Not a spark.
Not a flicker.
Not even a pulse.
Kids younger than me can already sense theirs.
But me?
Just emptiness.
Like sitting in a locked room waiting for someone to open the door… but no one ever does.
And that's exactly why I want to climb.
Because if I stay where I am, I'll die.
The world doesn't wait for the weak.
Strength is currency.
Weakness is death.
So I must climb—even if my core is silent.
Even if I'm nameless.
Even if the world tells me I'm nothing.
Because deep down… I know something is inside me.
I just have to survive long enough to uncover it.