Khaine had learned the city's rules the hard way. Eldoria was built on lies. Everyone believed magic, demons were myth.
But Khaine didn't have time to think about myths. He had a stomach that screamed every day. He had empty hands. He had a body that had learned to survive by moving like a shadow. He had learned that if you were weak, you disappeared.
That afternoon, the sun was high and cruel, and the streets were crowded with people who didn't care if he lived or died.
Khaine aimed for a simple theft. Just enough to fill his stomach for another day. He chose a market stall, because it was busy and because no one paid attention to the poor.
The sun was high, and the market was loud.
Khaine kept his head down, moving like a shadow through the crowd. His hands were empty, but his eyes were sharp. Hunger made people desperate, and desperate people made mistakes.
He spotted a stall with bread stacked too high and a guard's attention too far away. Perfect. He slipped his hand under the cloth, feeling the warm loaf.
"Hey!" a voice shouted. Khaine froze.
A woman's hand grabbed his sleeve. "You think you can just take what isn't yours?"
He tried to pull away, but the crowd was already turning. A man shoved him, hard.
"Thief!" someone yelled.
Khaine's heart hammered. He didn't fight. Fighting would only make them enjoy it more. He tried to run, but two men grabbed his arms.
"Let go of me!" Khaine shouted, struggling.
One of the men, older and scarred, looked at him like he was disgusted. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be," the man said. "You're not special. You're just a numskull."
"I'm not a numskull!" The scarred man's eyes narrowed.
"Then stop acting like a fool," he said, and he raised his hand. Khaine flinched, but he didn't move. The first blow hit his ribs like a stone.
Khaine dropped to his knees, breath escaping him in a painful gasp. "Stop!" he begged, voice cracking. "Please—"
"Stop?" the scarred man repeated, smiling cruelly. "You think you get to ask for mercy?" The crowd laughed. Someone threw a stone that hit Khaine's shoulder. Another man kicked his side.
Khaine curled up, trying to protect himself, but the blows kept coming. "Why are you hitting him?" a woman shouted from the crowd.
"He stole," another replied. "He deserves worse."
Khaine's vision blurred. His ribs burned. His teeth clenched. "Please," he whispered again. "I'm hungry. I'm not trying to hurt anyone." A tall man stepped forward from the crowd. His face was calm, almost bored.
"Don't kill him," the tall man said.
The scarred man paused, looking up. "Who said anything about killing him?"
The tall man's eyes met Khaine's. "You don't need to kill him," he said. "Just warn him." The scarred man spat on Khaine's face.
"Warn him," he repeated, voice rough. "Then send him back to his hole." The tall man leaned closer to Khaine, his voice low.
"Next time," he whispered, "you try that, you won't live." Then he stepped back. The crowd dispersed slowly.
Khaine stayed on the ground, shaking, trying to breathe. He heard the tall man's voice again, far away. "Get up," he said. "You've got nowhere to go but deeper trouble."
Khaine forced himself to stand, each movement sending sharp pain through his ribs. He looked at the bread still in his hands, now torn and dirty, as he swallowed the lump of saliva gathered in his throat.
---
Khaine stumbled home, each step heavy. The bruises ached. His body felt like it had been broken and rebuilt wrong. He entered his small, abandoned cottage and stood in the doorway, staring at the sky.
The sky looked different now. It looked open. Endless. Unforgiving. He had never seen beyond the walls. He didn't know what was out there.
He shut the door and collapsed onto his bed, trying to sleep. But sleep didn't come easy.
He was woken by a knock, it wasn't soft neither was it polite, it was a harsh, and heavy sound on the broken wood of his door.
Khaine sat up quickly, heart hammering. His bruises ached, and the pain made him dizzy, but he forced himself to move, he opened the door slowly with exhaustion vivid in his blue eyes, his black hair disheveled and fell on his forehead.
Four men stood there, dressed in dark uniforms. Their faces were calm, their eyes empty. They looked like they'd been carved from stone.
Before Khaine could speak, they grabbed him, hands on his arms. "Wait—who are you?" Khaine gasped.
But they didn't answer. They dragged him out of the cottage as if he was already a prisoner.
The four men didn't walk him to a carriage or a prison. They didn't take him to the city's gates, they took him to a place that didn't belong to the world.
A portal opened in front of them like a wound in the air. A swirling, dark gap that swallowed the light, the men pushed Khaine through.
"The hell!" He exclaimed in utter amazement, "where the hell are you guys taking me..." His voice was low like a whisper, since his lips were too sore to voice out words properly.
His breath hitched in shock, he felt lost in the darkness of the portal. Then, suddenly, the darkness broke, he was pulled into a swirling vortex of light and wind.
He screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the portal. He saw flashes, buildings, clouds, people, and then, massive structure appeared.
A building so large it looked like a city itself, it was made of white stone, with tall towers and sharp spires. The academy was alive with movement. Students poured out of the building.
They wore uniforms, boys in blue jackets, white shirts, and blue pants. Some boys wore different clothes, but still followed the same color scheme. Girls wore blue skirts, blue jackets, and white shirts, though a few dressed like the boys. The uniforms made the students look like a sea of blue and white.
Khaine stared in shock, he had never seen so many people, he had never felt so much power.
The portal closed behind him with a silent sound, and the guards pushed him forward toward the massive doors, Khaine looked up at the academy's towering entrance.
"What is this place." He whispered to himself.