Chapter Two: Alachi- The city border

Carriages powered by seemingly nothing but wind swept past, the people of the town cloaked in a subtle desolation. At dawn, Alachi's streets glimmered under a pale morning light, revealing more of the city's quiet decay than Zarou had noticed in the dark. Some buildings wore chipped facades and broken shutters, while others bristled with half-finished magical contraptions that whirred and hissed, hinting at a past grandeur that now lay dormant.

Zarou pulled his hood low, trying to hide the iron chains dangling from his wrists. He wove carefully through pedestrians—sallow-faced vendors opening up shop, a few stray children scavenging for scraps, and exhausted workers trudging back from the night shift. Just then, the roar of a speeding carriage surged behind him, propelled by a swirling current of mana that caused a sudden gust of wind. He spun around, heart pounding, as the vehicle veered dangerously close.

"Watch out!" a woman's voice rang out, sharp with urgency.

Startled, Zarou stumbled backward, narrowly avoiding the carriage's spoked wheel. Its driver—no older than Zarou himself, perhaps twenty-one—leaned out from beneath the carriage's canopy. Her features were striking: a cascade of auburn hair tumbling around her shoulders, deep-set eyes that flickered with something akin to both concern and annoyance. She wore a short, fitted jacket trimmed with worn velvet, as though it had once been fashionable but had seen better days.

Her gaze flicked to the chains on Zarou's arms, lingering for an instant before she snapped the reins. "Are you hurt?" she asked, voice cracking with either relief or impatience. A faint swirl of mana settled around her carriage wheels, lifting them off the cobblestones once again.

Zarou swallowed, relieved he hadn't been run down. "No—I'm fine," he managed. Clearing his throat, he added, "Actually… could you direct me to City Hall? The one where I'm supposed to register?"

She blinked, her expression sliding from wariness to measured curiosity. "You mean the Bureau of Awakened Affairs office?" When he nodded, she jerked a thumb behind her, toward the center of town. "Follow this road two streets down, take a left at the fountain, then head straight until you see a tall spire with a white banner. That's your place."

"Thank you," he said quietly, trying not to focus on the lingering glances at his shackles.

She dipped her head in a quick nod, then urged the carriage onward, its mana-fueled wheels hissing against the cobblestones. As she sped away, Zarou released the breath he'd been holding. Another curious stare, another reminder of how out of place he was in Alachi.

Still, he couldn't turn back. City Hall, and all the unknowns it held, waited somewhere beyond the winding roads ahead. He steeled himself to follow her directions, tucking his chains closer to his sides. One step at a time, he told himself—one step closer to whatever lay in store for him next.

Rubbing his eyes Zarou repeats the instructions in his head.

Taking his first steps into the outside world left him with a sense of disconnect, there's finally others near yet this solitary feeling dwells deep within his being.

A wave of white noise brushes over his senses as he grazes shoulders with people of different races. Those of every plausible origin passed him by: elves with keen eyes and pointed ears, dwarves with short, powerful builds, and beastfolk whose various animal features marked them as part of Alachi's vibrant mélange. Yet among all this variety, Zarou noticed a distinct lack of empathy whenever people sensed his mana was unchanneled. In this city, simply possessing mana wasn't enough; lacking a "power" to activate it made him no better than a rootless outcast.

He kept his chains pressed close to his torso as he shuffled past a narrow alleyway, half-collapsed from disrepair. A faint voice floated through the cracked glass of a classroom window, barely audible above the morning bustle.

"…the gods grant each awakened a power," the unseen teacher explained with crisp enunciation. "Without it, mana is little more than a trickle of potential—unusable unless one studies sorcery from the ground up, which is rare and often restricted." A few children murmured questions; one asked what happened to individuals without powers. The teacher's response was lost to the wind.

Zarou's steps slowed, heart pounding at the words he had overheard.

"My magic doesn't need a power," he mumbled to himself, remembering how, in his old homeland, mana could be manipulated in a more direct, primal form. Powers were an alien concept, something told in half-whispered rumors rather than everyday reality. "What could it even mean that I need a special power?"

He risked edging closer to the cracked window, peering through the dusty pane. He caught a glimpse of a small classroom: a hunched instructor in flowing robes, a chalkboard covered in looping symbols. Bright-eyed students—elves, beastfolk, and humans alike—listened with rapt attention as the teacher used a faint flicker of magic to illustrate points on the board.

"…so remember, children," the instructor continued, "the gods give powers for a reason, to harness mana that cannot be naturally tapped. It's a benevolent design: imagine a world if raw mana could be shaped by anyone." He shook his head theatrically. "Chaos would reign. Our powers reflect the domain the gods bestow upon us."

One of the pupils raised a hand. "But what about those without powers?"

The teacher paused. "Well, those cases are exceedingly rare. They are called enigmas. Most can only channel a fraction of their mana, or none at all. If they can't develop a power through the usual awakening, they often remain… unaligned."

"Unaligned…" Zarou whispered. He felt a chill coil in his gut. That teacher's explanation clashed starkly with the lessons of his youth—where raw mana alone was enough to conjure wards, illusions, or healing spells with practice and discipline.

A bell rang, and the class stirred. Zarou inched away from the window, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. The chains rattled faintly, a grim reminder of how unwelcome he already was here. He closed his eyes, grappling with the realization that this city, and likely this whole region, viewed "powers" not as a luxury, but as the only way to channel magic effectively.

Yet he knew, somewhere in his murky past, that wasn't entirely true. He was proof enough—he possessed mana in some dormant, archaic way. It simply had not manifested into a neat, recognized "power."

Steadying himself, he exhaled. No matter how lost he felt in Alachi's twisting social rules, he couldn't afford to stand still. City Hall still loomed in the distance, where, he hoped, answers—or at least official recognition—awaited him. And if the gods truly bestowed powers at their whim, perhaps they had plans yet unrealized for a man with raw mana and no channel to shape it.

Zarou took one last glance through the cracked window at the classroom of attentive students. The bell's clang still echoed in his mind, each reverberation underscoring just how different their lessons were from what he'd once learned. With a silent exhale, he turned and lifted his foot to step back onto the main street.

Before his foot left the narrow ledge, a gasp cut through the air. His heart jolted as he looked down to see a small, wide-eyed beastfolk child—cat-like ears flattened in alarm—staring up at him. The child's fur bristled around its neck, and a trembling finger pointed at the iron shackles dangling from Zarou's wrists.

"M-Monster!" the child squeaked, voice quavering with equal parts fear and confusion. "Stay away!"

Startled, Zarou froze where he stood. The chain links swayed, clinking ominously. To the child, it must have looked like he was lurking there on purpose, perhaps waiting to pounce.

"Listen kid, stop crying for a sec and tell me more about these gods and the powers that grant mana organs". But the child backed away with a sharp yowl, stumbling against a stack of empty barrels. From somewhere inside the building, an adult shouted in alarm.

Zarou sighs knowing he's not getting more answers from a child. What'd he expect really?

Panic welled up in Zarou's chest. He felt pinned by the child's terrified gaze, by the high-pitched cry that was sure to draw even more unwanted attention. A passing group of townsfolk slowed, eyes darting between the trembling child and the tattered man with heavy chains rattling at his sides.

"Is that a prisoner? How'd he escape?"

"He looks dangerous… Just look at those cuffs!"

"Don't get too close—he might be some rogue mage."

"Poor kid… he's terrified. Someone help!"

He instinctively took a step forward, hoping to calm the situation, but the child flinched at the movement. Zarou shrank back again, every fiber of his being thrumming with tension. How could he explain that he was no threat—that he himself had been prey to far darker cruelties?

You mind letting these people know I'm not here to hurt anyone?" he asked quietly, voice strained yet determined. "Else they might get the wrong idea."

He raised his hands in a placating gesture and edged forward, chains clinking. The beastfolk child—a small girl with wide, cat-like eyes and tufted ears—tensed, clearly uncertain. But when Zarou knelt to her level, she stood rooted in place, curiosity and fear warring in her expression.

Gently, he rested a hand on her scraped knee. "Let me help," he murmured. Though he lacked a formal "power" by he still had mana—a slow, natural flow that now pulsed through his fingertips—a faint warmth gathered beneath his palm, a soft glow that spread across the child's wound.

The ragged skin knit itself together, and blood that had begun to trickle along her ankle subsided. Around them, the crowd's hushed conversations died off, replaced by startled gasps and murmurs

Her eyes went round with wonder.

"Hey, mister how come a tramp like you understands healing magic ?"

Kids are often harsh but truthful, Zarou thinks, patting her on the head while furrowing his eyebrows in disbelief.

Zarou places his knee and asks:

"Hey, kid you're in that class right?"

Her expression brightened, her eyes went round with wonder. The ragged skin knit itself together, and blood that had begun to trickle along her ankle subsided. Around them, the crowd's hushed conversations died off, replaced by startled gasps and murmurs

"Yeah, that's my class anyone can go in if you need to be schooled mister"

"what's your name "

Glancing over to her teacher giving her the thumbs up.

"Anna with 3 N's" 

The teacher's face palmed in disbelief her student couldn't spell her own name.

"THERE'S ONLY 2 WHERE ARE YOU GETTING THE THIRD FROM!"

Pausing to take a breath, Anna inhaled sharply, then looked up into Zarou's dark eyes. She flexed her leg, testing the spot where there had been pain only a moment ago. When she found it gone, her tense shoulders relaxed. Slowly, her lips curled into a tentative smile. One of her tufted ears flicked in hesitant gratitude.

Zarou gave a reassuring nod, then stood, letting the gentle light fade from his hands. "Tell them," he repeated softly, stepping back to give her room. "Tell them I don't want any trouble."

She blinked, then turned toward the gathering onlookers. Her voice was small but clear enough to be heard: "Go Away!" she said, tapping her knee with a tiny paw-like hand. 

A ripple of uncertain relief passed through the crowd. Some lowered their guard; others still wore mistrust on their faces, but at least no one seemed ready to rush him. The child's soft endorsement—backed by the glow of mana she had just witnessed—had tempered the intensity of their fear.

Zarou could still feel their stares, and his chains rattled at his side like a reminder of every reason they had to doubt him. But he breathed a little easier now. Somewhere within the hush that followed, hope stirred—hope that, perhaps, not everyone would see him as a monster in need of caging.

"Enough!"

A hush settled once more over the onlookers, their collective tension still palpable. Just then, the classroom door swung open and the teacher stepped onto the street. Her demeanour was poised, each movement controlled, yet there was a certain warmth in the slight curve of her shoulders. Silver-threaded hair fell in a neat braid down her back, and her slate-gray robe swished against her calves, embroidered with faint glyphs that hinted at more arcane knowledge than she let on. A faint glow pulsed at her fingertips, enough to command attention without appearing overtly threatening.

The teacher tears the crowd apart with her stern yet calm voice, carrying authority .

After a tense moment, the group began to disperse, muttering about unfinished business or wagons left unattended. A woman tugged her young son away, and two weary-looking merchants cast a final suspicious glance at Zarou's shackles before shuffling off.

Her eye eye twitching as vision darts across to Zarou

"You!, get in here I have a few questions for you"