The day had finally come.
Turning sixteen felt like any other day to him, yet everyone in this world knew what it meant once you reached that age.
Sitting beside Peg, the boy broke the silence.
"I don't feel any different."
Peg looked at him and laughed softly.
"Most don't. And since you don't know the hour you were born, it could happen at any time."
The boy felt a twinge of unease.
Today was the day of provocation, it sounded like a blessing. You became stronger, faster—gifted with a power unique to yourself. Yet in truth, many people lived their entire lives after acquiring their power without ever discovering what it was.
There was no guidebook.
No voice announcing what you had gained. You either found your power yourself—or it found you.
People talked in the mines. He had heard all kinds of rumours surrounding the provocation.
Some couldn't handle it. Their bodies were too weak, or their power too overwhelming. They died—or worse, lost their minds.
The provocation was the world inciting a response to one's body and soul, leading to a violent result.
Although that is what they told him in the mines.
The thought did nothing to ease his worry.
"So," he asked quietly, "what comes after the provocation?"
Peg paused and pulled a piece of bread from his pocket. He had undergone his day of provocation long ago—everyone in the mines had. Some knew their power. Others never did.
"What comes after?" Peg repeated. "Most people just keep living. As if nothing happened, some use their power only when they need to."
Then Peg met his eyes, his expression turning serious.
"But some fight. They grow stronger. They change the world."
He leaned back slightly.
"The kings of each kingdom—those men aren't for show. No one knows what they had to do to reach that level, but they have real strength. Some revere them as gods among men. Others believe they made deals with devils."
Peg let out a short laugh.
"But my knowledge is limited—just stories passed between slaves. I've heard there's a second provocation too, though I don't know how one achieves it. This old—" he smirked, "—young man hasn't reached it yet."
The boy felt a spark of intrigue.
If power could truly change the world… then maybe freedom wasn't impossible.
"Is there a third?" he asked. "A fourth? A fifth?"
Peg burst out laughing.
"Well, seems this young man wants to become a god himself. I've heard rumours of a third, but nothing concrete. As for a fourth? Never heard of it. And a fifth—" he chuckled, "—if you reach that, you can gift me another leg."
They both laughed.
The boy sorted through the information in his mind. Possibly three provocations. The first at sixteen. The second unknown. The third is only rumours. The kings likely possessed at least the third—maybe more.
It was overwhelming, especially with his own provocation looming.
Still, one question lingered.
"So where did the provocations come from?"
Peg stopped eating.
"Who knows?" he said. "Some say they're blessings from the gods, given to help humanity survive the monsters. Others believe they're curses—that's why so many die upon their day of provocation."
He shrugged.
"As for me? I don't think anyone truly knows. The world's a big place. If there's an answer, it's out there somewhere, waiting."
Peg resumed eating.
The boy's thoughts drifted—to the knights.
They had to possess powers of their own. They too would have gone through the same at sixteen.
They were strong and fast, but none seemed especially different from the others.
Compared to the workers, they looked powerful—but that ignored malnutrition and endless labour.
Even Peg never spoke of his own power. Yet somehow, he always had bread.
The boy had heard of abilities over the years. Enhanced strength. Fire manipulation. Enhanced speed. Jumping incredible heights.
Yet he had never actually seen a power used.
Nor did he understand how one grew stronger.
Perhaps the kings truly were gods walking among men.
Before he could finish the thought, the horn sounded.
Time to return to work.
As they parted ways, Peg gave him a final look and patted his back.