No Path Chosen

"It's so bright."

"Is that fire?"

"I can feel it... but my hand's not burning."

"It feels... natural."

The flames danced in his mind, flickering like warm breath against his skin. But they didn't hurt. They comforted him.

And then, just as quickly as they appeared, they vanished.

Leon Edalious opened his eye with a quiet gasp, the golden traces of fire still burning in his thoughts.

He sat up in bed and blinked at the sunlight peeking through the curtain.

"Ah… it's morning already," he muttered sleepily, rubbing one eye. Then a thought struck him.

"Wait—it's Wednesday!" He shot upright, eyes wide. "They must've gotten up early and eaten my share!"

Without another word, he threw off his blanket and leapt from his bed. His room was medium-sized, just big enough to hold three boys. He shared it with two others—his bed sat against the wall beside a small wooden chest that held his few belongings. The space was often cluttered but comfortable in its own chaotic way.

As his bare feet thudded down the stairs, the scent of cooked renbypie still hung faintly in the air—a sweet, tangy aroma made from the ripe fruit that grew in the backyard.

The moment he reached the bottom floor, disappointment punched him in the chest.

The dining room—located to the right of the entrance hallway—was a battlefield of crumbs. A few younger boys were still there, bickering over a napkin or chasing each other with sticky fingers. The last bits of renbypie were smeared across the long wooden table, evidence of a feast he'd missed entirely.

Leon groaned. "Seriously?!"

From the bathroom beside the kitchen, the door creaked open and Eva, a tall teenage girl with damp hair, emerged wrapped in a towel.

"Overslept again, Leon?" she asked with a smirk.

"Shut up, Eva! They didn't wake me up!"

"Whose fault is that?" came another voice.

Leon turned to see Eli—tall, slender, a year older, and annoyingly calm—leaning against the table, hands behind his head.

"You're late. That means no pie, no complaints."

Leon's face tightened. "You guys could've at least tried! I'm telling Mother Caramel!"

He spun on his heel and stormed toward the stairs, ignoring the laughter behind him. The second floor was quieter. Dust motes floated in the morning light as he approached the front-right corner of the house.

Mother Caramel's room.

He opened the door without knocking.

Empty.

The room was still and neat, almost too neat. Her bed was made with perfect corners, and the small desk beside it held nothing more than a few essential items—some faded makeup, a worn book, and a neatly arranged set of medicine vials. Across from the bed stood a tall wardrobe filled with elegant Victorian-style dresses, each draped like a memory.

Sunlight poured through the large window, casting long golden streaks across the polished floor.

Leon sighed. "Outside, maybe," he muttered, closing the door gently behind him.

He trudged back downstairs, but before he could make it to the door, someone blocked his path.

Harry, the quietest of the bunch, stood near the dining room archway, arms crossed.

"Are you really gonna lie to Mother about the pie?" he asked plainly.

"What?" Leon frowned.

"It wasn't even made for us. It was just leftover. No one meant for you to have any."

Leon clenched his jaw. "You could've woken me up!"

"We did. You just got weird," Harry said.

Leon blinked. "What do you mean—'weird'?"

Harry tilted his head. "You started mumbling in your sleep. You were talking about fire. Said it was close, that you could feel it or something."

Heat crept up Leon's neck. His ears turned red.

"I said that?"

"Yeah. You looked scared. Or… I don't know, like you were trying to grab something that wasn't there."

Leon turned away, face burning now for a different reason.

"Whatever. I'm going out," he mumbled, brushing past him.

He didn't want to admit it, but he'd felt off ever since those dreams started. They weren't nightmares, exactly. But they lingered. The feeling of fire—real, present, like it wanted something from him—refused to fade even after waking.

He reached for the doorknob, ready to leave the orphanage and get some air.

But then… he heard a voice.

From the room just left of the entryway. The office.

That voice… I've heard it before.

He tiptoed closer, pressing his ear gently to the wooden door.

"...he's just a boy."

"He's more than that. I'm sure of it."

The voices were hushed, but something about the tone sent a chill up his spine.

And then—

The door swung open.

Leon stumbled back.

Standing in front of him was a man no taller than himself, covered in short, dusty brown fur. He wore a worn cap and a faded blue work uniform, the kind with a stitched name tag over the chest. His face was lined with years of labor, and his eyes glimmered with familiarity.

"A sneaky little dude, aren't you?" the man said with a chuckle. His voice was deep but kind.

"I—I wasn't listening!" Leon stammered, eyes wide.

"Haha! You haven't changed a bit," the man said warmly. "I'm just leaving anyway."

Leon tilted his head, confused. "Wait… do I know you?"

The man turned to Mother Caramel, who had appeared behind him. "I'll visit again soon. Thanks as always."

"You should," she said with a smile. "We're always happy to see you."

"I'd like to, but my work keeps me far. As a foreign worker, I rarely get into the city." He glanced back at Leon. "Take care of him."

And with that, he walked out the door, leaving a faint trail of old spice and mystery behind.

"Who was that?" Leon asked.

"That's Warhug. He's a donor—one of the good ones. He helps keep our lights on," she said gently.

Leon's shoulders sank. "Oh. So he just knows me because I live here."

"You sound disappointed."

"I thought he was someone important."

Mother Caramel arched an eyebrow. "Why are you in my office, Leon? Something to tell me?"

Leon hesitated. The words sat on his tongue, unsure if they wanted to be heard. Then, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Why do you make renbypie every Wednesday?"

She blinked, surprised.

"It's for our neighbor," she explained. "He comes home Wednesdays to check the mail. He used to help around here—repairs, gardening, that sort of thing. But work took him away."

Leon shrugged, already losing interest.

Mother Caramel studied his face.

"Is that really what you came to ask?"

He scratched the back of his neck, looking down. "…I've been having dreams."

She didn't interrupt.

"There's fire. I can feel it. It's warm, but it doesn't burn. It's like... it's waiting for me."

Mother Caramel's expression shifted. Her warm eyes sharpened slightly, the way they did when she was hiding something behind her thoughts.

She sat down on the edge of her desk.

"Dreams about fire, you say?"

He nodded.

She thought back to her conversation earlier that morning.

Earlier

"Has the boy shown any signs?" Warhug had asked.

"Leon? No… he's never been special in that way. A little clumsy, maybe. But no abilities."

"There's something about him," Warhug said. "We Possugurds… we see aura. And his burns bright."

"You see fire in him?"

"A blazing heart. Untamed, but fierce."

"But he doesn't look it. His hair—black as coal. Most Fireborns have streaks of orange."

"Maybe you haven't looked closely."

Now

"Mother?" Leon asked, snapping her from her thoughts. "Do you know anything about it?"

She stepped forward. "Come here, child."

He did.

She guided him toward the window, tilting his head toward the sunlight. Her fingers combed gently through his black hair.

She gasped.

"Oh heavens... there it is."

"What?" Leon asked.

She turned his face to the mirror.

There, hidden beneath the black strands, were faint streaks of glowing orange—barely visible, but unmistakable in the morning light.

"Leon… you're a Fireborn."

The words hit him like thunder.

Fireborn? Him?

His heart thudded against his ribs. For a second, time slowed.

He stared at his reflection. Those faint orange strands glimmered like embers in the wind—proof of something inside him that he never knew was there.

"What does that even mean?" he whispered. "Why now?"

Mother Caramel placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I think the fire has always been inside you. It's just... waking up."

Leon kept staring, caught between awe and fear. A strange sense of belonging burned in his chest. Not to this orphanage, not to the kids or the routine—but to something older, deeper. Something calling him.

And he knew—

His life would never be the same again.

As the moonlight spilled through the cracked windows of the dorm, Leon lay awake, his thoughts spiraling like wildfire.

The dream, the voice, the fire—it all felt real. Too real. And that single word still echoed in his chest: Fireborn.

He didn't know what it meant exactly, but deep down, something had changed.

In this country, most children began school at the age of eight, starting with elementary classes. By thirteen, they entered middle school, followed by high school at nineteen, and graduated at twenty-five. There were two kinds of schools—Normal Schools, where students learned basic knowledge and had no connection to magical arts, and Ascender Schools, where both Normborn and Potencborn trained to pursue a higher state called Path. Those schools only accepted students aged ten to thirteen.

But for orphans like Leon, school had never really started.

To cut down on costs, the orphanage had skipped enrolling them in elementary altogether. Most of the kids learned to read late—if at all—and anything they knew came from worn-out books or the rare patience of a busy caretaker.

Leon didn't care much about school before. But now? Now, he wanted to understand everything.

Especially the fire.

By dawn, he had made up his mind. He knew exactly who he had to talk to.