“What is it, Rynel?”

  The director’s voice was quiet and gentle.

  But Rynel stood there for a long time without saying anything.

  Even if he tried to speak,

  his throat clogged.

  At last his lips trembled,

  and he managed to speak—carefully.

  “There’s··· something I want to tell you···”

  “What kind of story?”

  “There was a kid who smiled at me.

  And I··· I··· I···”

  He couldn’t finish.

  A name stopped in his mouth and disappeared.

  Rynel lowered his head.

  His fingertips trembled.

  The director rose slowly from her chair,

  then approached him with care.

  “Was it··· an injured animal?”

  “······”

  “Sometimes that happens.

  Kids have brought in kittens or small birds before.

  They tried to save them, but··· they were clumsy, and in the end they had to let them go.

  Some of them cried, saying they couldn’t do it.”

  As she spoke,

  she patted his back softly.

  Rynel blinked.

  He knew she’d misunderstood,

  but he didn’t correct her.

  It wasn’t something he could explain in words···

  and someone holding him like this—

  it was the first time for him.

  “My chest··· it hurts so much.”

  “Yes.

  That’s called ‘sadness.’”

  The director smiled—sad, but warm.

  “When you lose something precious,

  it’s the feeling that rises up from inside.

  You felt it, too.”

  Sadness.

  The word seeped into him slowly.

  Yes—this wasn’t the first time.

  A feeling he’d been sensing for a while.

  Something pressed deep inside his chest.

  Only now

  did he understand what it was.

  Rynel nodded slowly.

  This was a wound.

  And at the same time—

  proof that his heart was alive.

  After that day,

  Rynel often looked up at the sky.

  Watching clouds drift,

  he sometimes thought.

  If these feelings are what it means

  for a “heart” to keep growing···

  how far

  will he be able to feel from now on?

  Time passed quietly.

  The orphanage was peaceful,

  and the children spent their days laughing and chattering.

  Rynel tried, little by little, to blend in.

  It was still awkward,

  but it was better than being alone.

  Then, one day,

  a strange visitor came to the orphanage.

  A rough cloak.

  Worn-out boots.

  An old sword hung across his back.

  The children surrounded him in excited voices.

  “Are you really an adventurer?”

  “Have you ever fought a dragon?”

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  “Have you seen treasure? You have, right?”

  The man laughed heartily,

  set his bag down, and dropped into a seat.

  “Ha-ha, sure.

  Never seen a dragon, but I’ve seen a fish with wings.”

  The children’s eyes lit up.

  The adventurer began to speak, slowly.

  A desert ship racing through a sandstorm.

  Islands floating in the sky.

  A forest where violet petals fell like rain.

  Friends he met there,

  meals they shared,

  songs beneath the night sky.

  “At the end of the sea, I saw a real golden apple.

  Take one bite and···

  exactly one wish comes true.”

  The children fell into the story without even breathing.

  Each pair of eyes sparkled,

  and the room quickly filled with warm imagination.

  Rynel watched quietly from a corner.

  At first, he thought it was someone else’s story.

  But then—

  a scene flashed through his mind.

  A small hand.

  A small voice.

  And the expression as she spoke.

  Real freedom is being able to go anywhere,

  and become friends with anyone.

  It was Luar’s words.

  An adventurer’s life

  resembled that.

  With no one’s orders.

  With nothing forced on you.

  A life where you choose, and move forward.

  That was··· freedom.

  His chest beat hard.

  Maybe he, too,

  had been looking for that.

  Rynel stood up.

  Without realizing it, his mouth opened.

  “I want to···

  I want to become an adventurer too!”

  For a moment, the room went silent.

  All eyes turned to him at once.

  The child who was always quiet.

  The child who always sat alone—

  speaking his dream for the first time.

  The sister stared at him in surprise,

  then smiled gently.

  “That’s a wonderful dream.

  Someday, Rynel··· I’ll be waiting for the day you tell me your story.”

  Rynel drew in a small breath,

  and··· nodded.

  For the first time.

  Truly for the first time—

  it was the moment he chose something for himself.

  After that day,

  Rynel changed a little.

  The playground he used to only watch from a distance—

  now he was among the children.

  With awkward steps, slowly.

  And then, before he knew it—

  he was smiling naturally.

  “Rynel, come here!”

  “O-okay··· wait for me!”

  At first, his voice was shy.

  But it grew louder little by little.

  His expression softened,

  and he spoke more.

  The sisters watched the change quietly.

  Then they exchanged glances and whispered.

  “Only now··· he looks like a child.”

  “Really. To think we’d see him smiling···”

  At night, he opened books alone.

  Stories about adventurers.

  Following old maps,

  he traced routes with his finger and imagined.

  “Over here there’s a huge snow mountain···

  and here, a dragon’s cave···”

  He looked like

  a child truly dreaming.

  Only then, slowly,

  he began to understand the meaning of his name.

  A slender light.

  And a root that can grow free.

  Now he was quietly

  searching for the place

  where he could put down his own roots.

  Sometimes,

  Luar’s face surfaced in his mind.

  But now

  he didn’t cry.

  His chest still ached,

  but he was learning how to live

  while holding that pain, too.

  And more than anything—

  now, he could smile.

  A few days passed,

  just as laughter was becoming familiar.

  On a warm early-summer day,

  the orphanage went on a short outing.

  At the edge of a nearby forest,

  they spread blankets under the shade of trees,

  and the children shared the snacks they’d brought.

  “Rynel, try this! It’s sweet!”

  “Yeah··· thanks.”

  Clear sky,

  insect songs,

  children’s laughter spreading peacefully.

  That day, one sister seemed unusually busy.

  A child who’d found an injured baby squirrel

  sniffled and said,

  “Sister! This one··· it’s bleeding!”

  The sister hurried off to fetch first-aid tools.

  Just a moment.

  Only a few minutes.

  “Kids—where are you?”

  When she returned,

  she raised her voice and looked around.

  But···

  no one answered.

  Her face stiffened.

  The moment she realized three children were gone,

  it felt like the warmth snapped off.

  The shade deepened,

  and the inside of the forest was strangely quiet.

  Rynel silently examined the ground.

  On pressed soil between the grass,

  small footprints were scattered.

  They led

  into the forest.

  A boundary the orphanage had strictly forbidden.

  Children and sisters alike—

  a line no one was allowed to cross.

  Rynel took one step forward.

  “Sister.”

  His voice was quiet.

  “Here··· the kids’ tracks.”

  The sister rushed over.

  Where her gaze went—

  the faint footprints vanished beyond the forest line.

  In that moment,

  her face hardened.

  Rynel didn’t say more.

  He just started walking.

  Something—

  a bad feeling—

  slowly crawled up his back.

  The forest was deeper than it looked.

  Wind brushed through leaves,

  and somewhere, a sharp cry rang out.

  The sister shouted at the top of her lungs.

  “Eola! Rio! Ben!”

  Only echoes returned.

  Then—

  a faint sound of crying.

  Shaky breaths,

  small sobs.

  They pushed through the brush, and there—

  three children were curled up, trembling.

  “It’s okay! Sister’s he—”

  At that moment.

  A branch snapped.

  And a strange roar.

  Short, clipped footsteps

  closed in from every direction at once.

  Monsters.

  Black fur.

  Red eyes.

  Wolf-like beasts baring their teeth.

  Villagers called them

  Dusk Wolves.

  Dangerous creatures that sometimes appeared near the orphanage,

  prowling after children.

  Not the strongest kind, but

  fast and sharp.

  And above all—

  lethal to a child.

  The children, terrified, burst into tears.

  Rynel moved on instinct,

  stepping in front of them.

  The sister shouted urgently.

  “Rynel, no! Get back!”

  But the monsters moved first.

  They lunged in, howling.

  In that moment,

  Rynel said nothing.

  His eyes trembled slightly.

  Something—an emotion held down—

  seemed to slip through a crack.

  The empty forest

  suddenly held its breath.

  Then—

  the ground writhed as if alive.

  The world warped.

  An unseen pressure

  spread outward.

  The first monster’s movement stopped for an instant.

  And then—

  it was flung away.

  Thud.

  With a brutal sound,

  one beast slammed into a tree.

  The others trembled

  and backed away.

  Blue light leaked from Rynel’s eyes.

  But he hadn’t lost his mind.

  There was will inside him,

  and emotion still alive.

  And yet—

  that gaze was too deep.

  Too cold.

  Something that couldn’t be put into words.

  A feeling and power

  no human language could contain.

  More precisely—

  the unrestrained nature of mana.

  “Rynel···?”

  The sister swallowed.

  With one arm around the children,

  she backed away carefully.

  Then she stepped forward.

  Rynel looked like

  a completely different being.

  A strange pattern rose in his eyes,

  and mana shimmered around it

  like invisible lines.

  The children were crying,

  and around them

  monster corpses lay scattered.

  The incident was dealt with quickly.

  The children returned safely,

  and the sisters and director

  organized the situation with tense faces.

  That afternoon,

  the orphanage was oddly quiet.

  Rynel was walking down the corridor

  to get water.

  And then—

  through a closed door,

  he heard his name.

  He stopped.

  He approached the door

  and listened.

  “I’m sorry···

  I looked away for just a moment···”

  “That’s the problem.

  A mistake in ‘management’

  leads directly to ‘loss.’”

  Bang.

  A desk shook hard.

  Rynel quietly leaned his back against the wall beside the door.

  The words beyond it—

  they were clearly about him.

  But they weren’t worry.

  They weren’t concern.

  Management.

  Loss.

  Those words stabbed in—

  strangely unpleasant.

  Rynel pulled away from the wall

  and walked down the corridor.

  He didn’t speak, but

  those words

  sank deep in his chest

  and stayed there.

  A few days later, as the sun was setting.

  Behind the orphanage—an abandoned shed.

  The director was facing a familiar man.

  Behind them, the sun dipped,

  and darkness stretched long.

  “A few days ago, there was an incident in the forest.

  Three children were attacked by monsters.”

  The broker lifted his head.

  He stayed silent, waiting.

  “I didn’t see it myself.

  The sister who escorted them reported it.”

  The director continued without meeting his eyes.

  “They said Rynel reacted.

  No gestures. No chants.

  He didn’t say a word,

  and one monster slammed straight into a tree.”

  “Elemental reaction?” the broker asked low.

  The director shook her head.

  “None.

  No flames.

  No magic circle.

  No visible mana flow.

  No elemental response registered at all.”

  She drew a short breath.

  “But the area··· warped.

  Like space itself was pressed from the inside.”

  Tap. Tap.

  Drumming the table with her fingertips,

  the director continued.

  “No element. No direction.

  But the sister said she felt it—

  that something was definitely there.”

  The broker’s eyes shifted subtly.

  “···It exists, but it can’t be detected···”

  “So after that day,

  we ran a simple test.”

  The director took out a document envelope and set it down—thunk.

  “A basic resonance test.

  Detecting elemental responses with magitech.”

  She tapped the envelope lightly.

  “The result··· elemental attribute: undetermined.”

  “Not fire.

  Not water.

  Not wind.”

  “And yet the mana measurement

  definitely registered.”

  The broker drew in a quiet breath.

  “···Pure non-attribute?

  Or maybe a rare lineage.”

  The director gave a small smile.

  “Could be telekinesis.

  Power without form—released through will.”

  The broker rubbed his jaw once.

  “······And the other kids?”

  The director shook her head.

  “They’re normal.

  Obedient, gentle.”

  “Any troublemakers?”

  “One, maybe.

  A difficult temperament, but··· manageable.”

  “Any talent worth taking?”

  “Don’t expect much.

  Among them, the only ‘useful’ one

  is that child—Rynel.”

  The director slid the envelope forward.

  “That’s why I brought it up first.

  This is··· something your side would want.”

  The broker said nothing for a while.

  He just stared down at the envelope,

  tapping the corner slowly with a finger.

  Then the corner of his mouth

  slowly lifted.

  “···So it’s been a while since one came in···

  a decent one.”

  Careful, but practiced,

  he picked up the envelope.

  Like a merchant

  ready to put a price on something.