Chapter One - Soul Heart

The forge had left his clothes soaked and his muscles aching, but Noah walked home with steady steps. He was thinking about soup. About the warmth waiting behind the door.

When he reached the gate, he stopped.

The door was open.

No voices. Just silence.

He stepped inside—and saw the wreckage.

Two summoners in uniforms were tearing through the house. One was already prying up the floorboards, exposing the dirt underneath. The other was tossing aside drawers and breaking jars, scattering herbs and tea leaves across the floor. The air smelled of dust and metal.

His grandmother stood between them, trembling, her voice cracking with desperation.

"Please... that money is my grandson's. He works day and night for it... please..."

A cough overtook her. She fell to her knees, arms shaking.

"We've always paid. Always on time. Why are you doing this?"

The summoner pulling up the floor stopped and stood, brushing off his uniform. In his hand, a small leather pouch.

"Our new boss doesn't tolerate excuses," he said flatly. "The last collector? Soft. Let Nouls like you believe you had choices."

He tucked the pouch into his coat.

"Blame your daughter for leaving you with her debt. You're lucky to still have a roof. Only Zouls have rights. Maybe it's time someone reminded you of that."

Noah stood frozen in the doorway, fists clenched.

"What are you doing to her?!"

The younger summoner turned at the voice. "Stay back, kid—"

But Noah didn't wait.

He charged in low, twisting just as the forge master had taught him. He planted one foot, shifted his weight, and slammed his shoulder into the man's ribs. The summoner stumbled, hitting the wall hard.

Noah turned to his grandmother—

And pain exploded through his chest.

The second summoner didn't hesitate.

Without words or movement, a crack in the air opened beside him — and from it, a stone arm burst through, glowing faintly with etched runes.

It punched him square in the chest.

Noah flew backward, his body hitting the wall like a sack of iron. He gasped, the breath ripped from his lungs. His ribs screamed.

Laughter echoed through the room.

"These Nouls always hide what they've got," the second summoner said, sneering. "Always pretending they're poor."

Noah lay gasping on the ground.

Then he saw it.

On the back of the summoner's coat: a golden chalice. Inside it, a dark red liquid. Carved into the side of the cup, one word:

Zoul.

He burned the image into his mind.

He would never forget it.

Groaning, he dragged himself forward.

His grandmother was collapsed on the floor, her outstretched hand still reaching for the hiding spot beneath the boards—now empty.

"Grandma..." he whispered, crawling toward her.

Her eyes didn't open.

The summoners were gone. The Link had vanished. The silence returned—too complete to bear.

Two days had passed.

The sky was heavy with clouds, as if mourning with him. A cold wind swept over the earth like invisible blades. The ground was soft and damp.

Noah knelt before a fresh grave, fingers sunk in the wet soil. The hood clung to his head, drenched in rain, but he didn't move.

"I couldn't even protect you..."

His voice was hoarse, barely above a breath.

"I'm a failure... Just like my mom, huh? Maybe that's why she left. She knew before I did."

He closed his eyes. Rain struck his cheeks. He didn't wipe it away.

"But I swear, Grandma..."

His jaw tightened.

"Even if it costs what's left of me... I'll find them. Every last one. And they'll pay. For all of it."

He bowed until his forehead touched the earth.

Then he stood.

His bag was light on his back—far lighter than the weight pressing on his chest.

He reached into an inner pocket and pulled out a folded scrap of parchment. On it, drawn in smudged charcoal, was the symbol he'd memorized with perfect clarity:

A golden chalice. A red liquid.

And the word:

Zoul.

It was all he had.

It was all he needed.

For days, he wandered the narrow alleys of the poor district where he'd grown up, showing the drawing to anyone who might recognize it. Blacksmiths. Librarians. Merchants. All shook their heads. All turned him away.

Until one afternoon, near the marketplace, a red-haired woman in neat, well-kept clothes paused to watch him. A sword hung at her hip. Her presence didn't belong in a place like that.

She felt him before she saw him.

His Soul Heart pulsed—dense, heavy, unnatural. She didn't know why, but she couldn't ignore it.

She stepped up behind him and touched his shoulder. The shopkeeper he'd been speaking to went pale, backed away, and disappeared inside the shop. Noah didn't even turn.

"I didn't do anything wrong. Can't even talk to people anymore without some filthy Summoner showing up?"

When he finally turned, his eyes were already burning.

But the woman spoke calmly.

"I know where that symbol comes from."

He narrowed his eyes, suspicious.

She crossed her arms. "Come with me. Be my apprentice, and I'll show you what that symbol means. I can help you become a true Zoul."

He didn't hesitate. The word echoed in his mind.

Spinning on his heel, he swept low, aiming a kick at her chin. She caught it effortlessly with one hand. He jumped back immediately, breath sharp.

"Don't compare me to those worms," he growled. "They called me and my grandmother 'Noul' before they killed her. Said only Zoul have the right to live. I'd rather die than become one of them. I won't be your little soldier. Go find some other orphan to experiment on."

She sighed. "Bad choice of words," she said, bowing slightly. "I didn't mean to offend you. And I'm sorry for your loss. I don't work for the kingdom anymore. I was just buying spices for lunch—this is the only market that carries the ones I need. But I felt your potential. Your Soul Heart. You've been nurturing it since you were a toddler, haven't you?"

Noah stood, eyes sharp.

"I don't know what you're talking about—nurturing? Soul Heart? I'm just a commoner who worked my ass off to survive. You've got the wrong kid. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

He turned to leave, but her next words stopped him.

"You want revenge, don't you? I can see it in your eyes. And if you truly don't know what a Soul Heart is or how to nurture it... let me tell you something. With your potential, I can train you. Not just to take revenge—but to make sure no one ever takes anything from you again."

He looked back. Her voice was like light piercing the fog—hope, wrapped in the shape of an offer.

She tilted her head slightly, as if the decision had already been made.

"Come with me. You'll want to hear what I have to say."

He hesitated. Watched her walk away. The hollow inside his chest pulled tighter.

He had nothing left. No more leads. No money. Just loss. Just rage.

It could be a trap—another cruel twist from a world that never gave. But still... he had to know.

He followed her.

They walked side by side down a cobbled street, the sun bearing down. She stopped at a street vendor, bought two sandwiches, and handed him one. He took it, but didn't eat. He said nothing.

She led him to a quiet plaza, shaded by trees. A stone bench sat beneath a leafy canopy. She sat, and finally spoke:

"So. Do you want revenge or not?"

He remained silent.

"You have potential," she said. "But right now? You're slow. Weak. What I'll teach you isn't about tricks or summoning shortcuts. Summoners rely too much on their Links."

She bit into her sandwich, still watching him.

"I'll teach you to train your body—and more importantly, your soul. I'll push your Soul Heart so far it'll feel like it's tearing in half. It won't be pretty. It won't be easy. But I promise you this: I can get you ready for the Academy in one year."

She tossed her napkin into a nearby bin and leaned back.

"Registration only opens every two years. The next window is twelve months from now."

Noah frowned. "Why are you helping me? What do you want from me? Some kind of creepy old lady fetish?"

She didn't blink. Just flicked him on the forehead. Hard.

"Watch your mouth, brat. I'm not even forty. And I don't care about snot-nosed kids."

He rubbed his head, muttering under his breath.

"I'm doing this out of spite. Just like you, they took something from me. And even though I'm a Summoner, I never accepted that disgusting idea that only Zoul—those born into bloodlines with Soul Links—deserve entry to the Academy."

His eyes widened.

"What the hell are you talking about? Only Zoul families can register? I don't even have a last name—how the hell am I supposed to qualify? I knew you were lying—"

Another flick. This one even harder.

"Calm down and listen."

She crossed her arms again.

"I said I'd train you to enter an academy. I never said which one. You really think there's only one?"

He opened his mouth to yell again—then lowered his voice instinctively. Any louder and he'd catch another flick.

"Elves? How am I supposed to get there? And what makes you think they'd even accept a human? What's different about them?"

She stood slowly, wiped her hands with a cloth, and looked him straight in the eye.

"You don't even know the Elven Academy exists, do you?"

She stepped closer, pointing to the necklace around his neck.

"That pendant? It's given to graduates of that Academy. But yours—look closely. See the leaves carved around the edges? That means it belonged to a noble house. And those leaves? They're the mark of the Elven kingdom."

He stared at her like she was spouting fairy tales.

"I was almost buying this until now... Elves? Nobility? That necklace was a gift from a simple girl I met six years ago. Her parents were merchants—not nobles. And Elves have pointed ears, don't they? I'd remember that—"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Let me guess—she wore a hood? A scarf? A hat? They're not stupid, kid. And those 'merchant parents'—are you sure that's what she told you? Did you ever see them?"

He shook his head slowly, then looked down at the pendant, slipping into silence.

She was an elf? No... I'd have noticed. Wouldn't I? I mean, I was kind of slow back then... not that I've changed much. But she said her family was working. Never said what they did.

Still... this isn't the time. None of this changes anything. I have people to find. People to make pay.

"Hey! Earth to brat?"

The flicker of warmth from remembering her smile — that brief, fragile nostalgia — was slowly devoured by the darkness coiled inside his chest. A soul that once had space for wonder, for laughter, now held nothing but vengeance. No room for sweetness. No light left to nurture it.

He tucked the pendant away anyway, sealing it like a memory too dangerous to hold. And he came back to himself — to the quiet storm building behind his eyes.

"My name's not 'brat' It's Noah."

"Well then, Noah," she said, "you can daydream about your mysterious girlfriend later..."

He raised a hand to object—then thought better of it. His forehead still stung.

She continued.

"The Elven Summoner Academy is the first. The original. And they still follow the Primordial Laws."

She raised a finger with each law:

"One: Anyone with a Soul Heart can develop a Soul Link. That's the flame on the emblem.

Two: Anyone who forms a Soul Link deserves the same chance to enter the Academy—regardless of heritage. That's the shield—defense of merit over privilege."

She paused.

"And the most important..."

"Three: Anyone who blocks access to that knowledge must be removed from society. Intolerance will not be tolerated. The swords? They're a promise. A warning."

She tossed the rest of her napkin into the bin, turned on her heel, and began walking.

"One year isn't long. But it's enough — if you're ready to bleed for it."