That day, Tris witnessed a scene he would never forget.
A child with a survival instinct as tenacious as weeds, refusing to surrender even when trampled underfoot.
Inside a foul‑smelling hut of damp and rot lay a child clothed only in ragged, discolored scraps of cloth.
Its frail body was covered in bruises. Long, filthy brown hair hung in tangles across its face, yet behind that curtain shone a pair of eyes filled with light.
Even in the most desperate state, those eyes burned with determination, clinging stubbornly to life.
But life often strikes down the wretched without mercy, no matter how strong their resolve. "Your organs are badly damaged. That bread won't help you. Without treatment, you won't live much longer." The words rang out, cruel but truthful.
Hearing this, the child only stared upward, as if asking what could be done.
Even now, those eyes showed no despair, no fear—only an unyielding hunger to live.
Tris was satisfied with what he saw.
Between a strong body and a strong spirit, he valued the latter far more.
So many are born into misfortune, robbed of the chance to shine.
Tris wondered: if given an opportunity, how far could this dying child go?
He stepped closer, drew a costly healing potion from his ring, and gently lifted the child upright. Carefully, he poured the liquid into its open mouth, drop by drop—each spill would be a waste of fortune.
At once, the child's fading life returned.
Though grime still covered its skin, the pallor gave way to a healthy flush.
Bruises melted away. Breath steadied.
The child, once collapsing, now sat upright unaided.
It stared at its own body, eyes wide with astonishment, joy trembling within.
Then, suddenly remembering itself, the child bowed deeply toward Tris.
"Thank you for granting me this medicine."
Tris: "What is your name?"
Child: "It's Rin, sir."
Tris: "Rin. I need a servant. Will you follow me?"
The child's eyes widened, disbelief written across its face.
Tris: "You don't want to?"
Rin: "No—no, it's not that. Please, allow me to serve you!"
That day, many saw two children leaving the slums: Ahead walked a figure straight‑backed, clad in clean, costly garments.
Behind trailed a thin, dirt‑stained shadow, still gnawing quietly on a piece of hard bread.
A striking contrast, side by side, leaving an indelible impression on all who witnessed it.
Back at the inn, Tris shrugged off his cloak and tossed it onto a chair.
Turning, he noticed Rin still hesitating at the doorway.
Tris: "Come in, and close the door."
Rin: "Master, I'm afraid I'll dirty the floor."
She glanced down at her bare, filthy feet, then at the polished wooden boards.
Tris: "If it gets dirty, I'll clean it later." With magic, cleaning was quick and effortless.
Only then did Rin step inside, tiptoeing carefully as though afraid to stain the floor.
Her eyes wandered curiously around the room.
Tris had rented a fine, expensive chamber for comfort, and to a child used to a rotting hut, the furnishings were marvels.
Tris: "Come here."
He opened a door leading to a private bath and toilet.
Looking at his filthy servant, he instructed, "Wash until you're completely clean before coming out. Throw those rags in the bin. Hot water is here, cold water there. Soap is kept here..."
From reactions, Tris realized Rin was utterly unfamiliar with such things, so he explained each detail patiently. Afterward, he left Rin to it and returned to his own work.
...
Nearly an hour later, Rin emerged wrapped in a towel.
Seeing his new servant restored to human semblance, Tris paused in silence.
Tris: "Female?"
Startled, Rin nodded shyly.
Only now, after the grime was gone, did her face reveal delicate, feminine features.
Earlier, no one could have guessed her gender.
Tris considered it briefly, then dismissed the thought.
He had lived through countless strange dreams—even in female bodies—so little could truly surprise him.
Tris: "I'll buy you proper clothes later. For now, wear these."
He tossed her a set of his own garments.
Though oversized, sleeves and hems could be rolled, and the belt would hold.
Rin blushed yet smiled as she dressed in the soft, clean fabric.
Tris: "How old are you?"
Rin: "I'm nine."
"Yet he's even older than me. With that skinny look, no one would ever guess," Tris thought to himself.
She was a head shorter, making her age hard to discern.
Tris: "Can you read, write, or do arithmetic?"
Rin: "I was taught letters and simple sums to manage expenses.
I once wrote my name in the dirt with a stick."
Tris: "Very good."
He had expected little, so her answer impressed him.
'A child this poor, yet given basic education—perhaps by a caretaker?' he wondered, but chose not to ask further.
Tris: "Excellent. With that foundation, you'll save much time learning. Beyond arithmetic, you'll study cooking, adventurer's knowledge, and combat skills.
Cooking and adventurer lore can wait, but math and physical training must begin soon. Any questions?"
Rin: "Master, I still don't know your name." She spoke timidly.
Tris: "I am Tris, a Mage."
Thus, that day, the bond of master and servant between two children was forged—a milestone marking the beginning of a story that would endure far into the future.