Jax Thorne ducked just in time as a fist whizzed past his ear. The air whistled, and he stumbled backwards, his boots scraping against the cracked stone of the Arcane Alliance's training yard. Laughter coming from a group of mages encircling him—sharp and mocking, digging into him like knives.
"Nice dodge, Scavenger!" Rylan, the biggest of his bullies, sneered. Arcane sparks flickered faintly at his fingertips, readied for another swing. "What's your next move? Gonna run and hide like usual?"
Jax clenched his jaw, keeping his mouth shut. Responding only made things worse. At nineteen, he was thin, all sharp elbows and disheveled brown hair, nothing like the muscular mages dominating this domain. They had power; he had nothing—no spark, no Mage Energy, no family. Just a talent for survival.
This training yard was a dusty square, flanked by long spires glowing with elemental fire or divine light. Known as the heart of the Alliance, it was where mages trained against Necromancers. For Jax, it felt more like a prison. He didn't truly belong, though his parents' former status as Elemental Mages had granted him access—barely.
"Hit him again!" someone yelled. The crowd, mostly teenagers like him, cheered. Jax quickly glanced to the side, searching for an escape route. No luck. The circle tightened, and Rylan came nearer.
"I gotta admit," Rylan said, cracking his knuckles, "you're fun to mess with. No powers, no courage. Why're you even here?"
Jax's hands formed fists. He longed to retort, to say something clever, but the words got stuck in his throat. He'd heard it all before. Weak. Useless. A burden. Ever since he was six, when the war took his mom, dad, and little sister, he'd become the punching bag. Too young to train in Mage Energy back then, and now just too powerless.
A shove from behind sent him sprawling to the ground, dirt filling his mouth. The crowd cheering with laughter. Rylan stood over him, arcane energy flaring even brighter. "Stay down, Scavenger. It's where you belong."
"Hey!" A sharp voice sliced through the tumult. Jax's heart lifted just a little. He recognized that voice.
Jane pushed through the crowd, her short black hair bouncing as she marched forward. At eighteen, she was smaller than most, but her glare could halt a rampaging bull. Her leather jacket was adorned with gadget parts—bits of wire and metal that hummed faintly. No Mage Energy for her, but Jane didn't need it; she created her own power.
"Back off, Rylan," she said, positioning herself between Jax and the mage. "Or I'll short-circuit your fancy sparks."
Rylan snickered, but his gaze flickered to the device on Jane's wrist—a homemade stun gauntlet. "What's this, Scavenger? Need your girlfriend to come to your rescue?"
The crowd chuckled. Jax scrambled to his feet, brushing dirt off his tattered shirt. "She's not my girlfriend," he murmured, cheeks burning. Jane shot him an annoyed yet amused glance.
"Keep chatting, big guy," Jane said to Rylan, tapping her gauntlet. "This thing's got enough juice to fry your ego."
Rylan's smirk faltered. He could take Jax, no question, but Jane's gadgets were unpredictable. Last month, she had knocked out a bully with a smoke bomb that reeked of rotten fish. Nobody dared mess with her for long.
"Whatever," Rylan huffed, waving a hand. "You're both losers." He turned to his audience. "Let's go. They're not worth the trouble."
The crowd dispersed, tossing insults over their shoulders. Jax exhaled, his shoulders sagging. Another day, another beating narrowly avoided. Just barely.
"You okay?" Jane asked, her tone softer now. She crossed her arms, studying him like he was one of her inventions.
"Yeah," Jax lied, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip. "Thanks for the rescue."
Jane rolled her eyes. "You need to stop letting them boss you around. Stand up for yourself, throw a punch, do something."
"Easy for you to say." Jax kicked a pebble, watching it skitter across the yard. "You've got your gadgets. What do I have? Bad luck?"
She grinned, though a glimmer of concern flickered in her eyes. "Bad luck is your specialty. Come on, let's get out of here before they reconsider."
They slipped from the yard, weaving through the bustling streets of the Alliance. Mages hurried by, cloaks flashing with elemental or divine runes. Hovering lanterns cast a golden light, yet the shadows felt heavy to Jax. This place was his home in a way, but it never felt secure.
Jane nudged him. "You're brooding again. Spill it."
"Just… tired," Jax admitted. "Tired of being the weak link. Everyone else has power—mages, Necromancers, even you with your tech. Me? I'm just the guy who dodges."
Jane slowed down, grabbing his arm. "Listen, Jax. You're not weak. You've survived this long, right? That's not nothing."
He locked eyes with her, wanting to believe her words. Jane was the only one who didn't see him as trash. Since they were children, scavenging together, she'd always had his back. But her words didn't fill the void within him—the one aching for his family, for a purpose.
"Yeah, well, surviving isn't enough," he said, pulling away. "I need to be more."
Jane opened her mouth to protest, but a shout interrupted. "Thorne! Get over here!"
Jax groaned. It was Marek, the grizzled quartermaster, waving from a supply depot. His beard was streaked with ash, likely from grilling some rookie mage.
"Great," Jax grumbled. "What now?"
"Better find out," Jane nudged him. "I'll catch up with you later. Don't do anything reckless."
"Me? Never." Jax forced a smile, though anxiety churned in his stomach. Marek's assignments were never pleasant.
He jogged over, weaving around a cart stacked with glowing crystals. "What's up, Marek?"
The old man threw a crumpled map into Jax's hands. "Scavenging run. Old lab, outskirts. No one's been there in ages, but we need parts. You're the only one free."
Jax's heart sank. The outskirts were no go area—way too close to Necromancer territory. "Why me? Send a mage."
Marek snorted. "Mages don't scavenge; you do. Get moving, or I'll find someone else to feed."
Jax bit back a retort. No job meant no food, and he was already on edge. "Fine. I'm on it."
He shoved the map into his pocket and headed for the city gates, anxiety bubbling up. The lab could be picked clean, but if he got lucky, he might uncover something valuable—something he could trade for a meal. Or maybe something that could change his life.
The gates towered ahead, guarded by mages who barely acknowledged him. Beyond them lay the outskirts—crumbling ruins and gnarled trees, shrouded in dark mist. Necromancer territory loomed ahead. He needed to move fast.
As he stepped into the open, a chill crawled down his spine. The air felt eerie and heavy, like it was peering at him. He shook off the feeling, concentrating on the map. The lab wasn't far—about a mile, perhaps. Just another job.
The ruins were too quiet, almost unsettling. Broken walls jutted from the ground, cloaked in vines that pulsed as if alive. Jax's boots crunched on shattered glass as he approached the lab's entrance—a rusted metal door, slightly open. A faded sign read Kuro's Sanctum.
Kuro. The name sent a jolt through him. The legendary mage who created Mage Energies. If this was his lab, there could be something extraordinary inside.
Jax pushed the door open, wincing at the shrieking metal. Darkness engulfed him as he stepped inside. His hand fumbled for the small glowstone in his pocket, its dim light revealing dusty shelves and broken machines. The air was thick with oil and something sharp, like magic gone wrong.
He ventured deeper, searching for anything worth taking. A glimmer caught his eye—a small black orb resting on a pedestal, no larger than an apple. It hummed softly, and the glowstone flickered, as if the orb were absorbing its light.
"What the…" Jax felt drawn to it, hesitating before reaching out. His gut screamed to leave it alone, but his hand moved regardless. The instant his fingers touched the orb, pain erupted through him. Light—red, blue, gold, black—flooded his field of vision. Voices screamed in his mind, too numerous and dissonant.
"Chosen… Power… Endgame…"
He tried to pull back, but his body resisted. The orb pulsed, and something inside him snapped, like a lock breaking. He collapsed to his knees, and darkness overtook him.
When he came to, he lay on the floor, his chest heaving. The orb had vanished. But in his mind, a voice—cold, sharp, and alive—whispered.
"Welcome, Jax Thorne. The Endgame Construct is now yours. Survive, or perish."
Before he could grasp the situation, a low growl echoed through the lab. Red eyes glimmered in the shadows, moving closer. Too many. Too fast.