Unwanted Life.

⚔️ Author's Note – Read This First ⚔️

This isn't your usual story.

The first few chapters? Maybe a little slow. Simple. Human.

But don't be fooled. What you're holding is something massive. A world built on forgotten legends, broken dreams, ancient powers, and people who were never supposed to rise.

If you're here for a shortcut thrill, it's fine to walk away.

But if you stay…

Be ready. This story gets bigger, darker, wilder, and far more real than you ever expected.

Only those who dare witness something grand should turn the page.

*******

Auren sat on the rooftop, gazing at the metro and contemplating as usual, legs hanging, gazing at the metro. 

Metro trains below him move along their sky rails, running through the skyline of neon towers and ancient stone temples that are located there. Magic and machines are their work here, except for him.

"I wish somebody noticed me," he grumbled, tightening his fists as a burst of city noise against a billboard. "Even as a failure mage," huh

What if I became a hero... uhh, man, wake up, you're nothing...

Within the city's pulsating hub sat the Ryuki Dojo—a sacred sanctum of war magic and honor. And his father is the guardian of the town.

Both his brothers were trained there. Expect Auren? He was always the one to be dispatched to purchase carrots, wash utensils, and assist her mom in daily chores.

Useless, Invisible, and Forgotten by Father and Brother

.

Far in the Ryuki main city, a tall and cool figure stands still on a neon tower, watching everybody.

In the heart of the city was the Ryuki Dojo, a grand obsidian building constructed a long time ago, before magic and technology. A mighty tall gate where the structure of beasts, witches, and ancient figures was built with five element magic: fire, water, wind, earth, and ether.

This Ryuki dojo isn't merely a training place—it is a symbol, a school, and a legacy monument of history itself. Standing at its helm is the great Master Hoshin Maru, the person who had conquered thunder and traversed the fire of trials.

And at his side stood yet another name heard and revered in equal proportions: Ryden Ryuki, the city's Guardian and Auren's father.

Ryden had been in a great war that occurred 2 decades ago; the huge fight occurred between Ryuki City and Yuzen City. Now, he left the legacy of the dojo and its moral values; he brought up three sons. Two of them are already magicians of the city.

The eldest of the brothers is Veon Ryuki, born with fire in his veins. People gave him the title of "Blazing Hawk" of Ryuki. He's only sixteen years old.

The youngest, Kaen, was feral, quick, and cutting with wind magic. At age ten, he had already burst trees apart with pressure blasts and flown in maneuvers that left his instructors stuttering.

Then there was the second child: Auren Ryuki.

No fire. No wind. No magic. Only silence.

At ages twelve, thirteen, and even fifteen, the mage affinity test had reported the same result: "No elemental signature detected."

He recalled the previous test clearly. The hall had been chilly. The crystal ball perched upon the pedestal glowed for all, except him.

His father stood silently behind the mage administrator. When the test was over, he said nothing. He did not even scowl. He merely turned around and departed.

That silence seared hotter than any fire ever could.

"Auren! Don't miss the rice and magical milk!" his mother shouted from the kitchen window.

"Got it!" he yelled back, slinging over his shoulder the battered messenger bag.

He walked fast through the market sector, avoiding delivery drones and spell-practicing children rehearsing levitations. Merchants greeted him.

"Back again, Auren?" inquired the vegetable peddler, Riku, the old man.

"Always," Auren replied, exchanging credits. "Mom's dish is incomplete without your carrots."

He grabbed rice and a bunch of long-burning candles and last visited the magical milk shop, which enchanted milk so it didn't fall, even if you took it in your hands, and with a small cooling spell cast so it never went bad.

As he turned around to go, a gray-robed man who was sitting near the fountain watched him intently. He wore a tattered hat over his face.

"You appear to be a boy with more than groceries in tow," the old man said.

Auren hesitated. "Just. Doing my part."

"There's more in your eyes than that. Sadness. Longing. Perhaps even a little fire, deep down."

Auren blinked. "I'm not a mage."

The old man smiled weakly. "Not yet."

Auren had no chance to question what he meant before the crowd moved between them. When Auren glanced again, the man was gone.

At home, he stepped into the comfort of family. His mother welcomed him at the door with a warm smile and lifted the bags. "You never forget anything," she exclaimed, tapping his cheek.

Veon and Kaen were already practicing in the big dojo courtyard behind their house. They were sparring—flames colliding with piercing gusts, laughter filling the air.

Their father lingered there, arms crossed, a fleeting smile on his lips. "Good, Veon. Your phoenix's reflexes are getting better."

Kaen dropped down beside him. "Notice how I avoided that last shot?"

Ryden laughed and patted Kaen's back. "Excellent."

Standing in the doorway, Auren observed in silence, the ghost of a smile on his lips. But his heart hurt.

He wished for his father's approval.

For even a glance.

Auren set the table and served the stew that night. He poured water, passed the bowls, and waited until they finished eating before taking his own meal.

They did not thank him.

Only her mom knows the agony he bore.

No one intended to be unkind. But silence cuts deeper when it is habitual.

Auren did the dishes after dinner while his brothers unwound. The burning water bit his fingers, but he did not complain.

He never did.

After a while, he ascended to the rooftop, his standard location. He observed the stars twinkle through the smog veil. Hover-trains passed, their lights scorching across the horizon.

He extended a hand out toward the stars and pictured it radiating.

Just once, he wished to feel heat not from cooking fires, but from power within him.

Just once, he wished his father to glance at him in pride.

"I want to be strong too," he whispered.

This life sucks more, but a dream always used to come to my mind. Who is that guy I keep on seeing in a dream? Does that guy ever live, or has something happened to him that nobody knows? That guy keeps on telling only one thing—remember the glory. I hope I will be able to find out the answer, but anyway, it's a dream, nothing at all.

I wish I had had a friend, respect, and something valuable.

The wind blew gently.

But there was no flame.

Just silence.