AI 아트: Chapter 1: Shadow of the Street The Denovan inn was as lively as ever, the familiar sounds of patrons chatting and the clinking of mugs filling the air. The warmth of the fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows on the worn wooden floors. The low hum of conversation seemed to seep into the walls, a constant buzz that blended into the rhythm of the inn's operations. I wasn’t particularly invested in the noise, though. My attention was focused on the counter as I idly wiped it down. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do. The inn, after all, wasn’t exactly a glamorous enterprise. It kept the family afloat, but that’s about it. There were no grand celebrations here, no lavish parties or important guests—just the steady stream of customers who came and went, always with the same weary faces, always with the same tired eyes. My father took care of the business side of things with his usual, no-nonsense approach, handling payments, haggling with merchants, and making sure there was enough firewood for the stove. While he worked with his customary efficiency, my mother, always with a kind smile on her face, worked in the kitchen. The air was thick with the scent of her cooking, the warmth of freshly baked bread mixing with the smoky undertones of simmering stews. Life was simple. Quiet. Predictable. Not the kind of life that made anyone a legend. But then, I wasn’t looking for that. We were fine, and that was enough for me. No need for anything more. The simple life suited me. I didn’t need grand ambitions or a path filled with glory. I wasn’t a hero. I wasn’t a legend. I didn’t care about fame, wealth, or power. I cared about keeping my family safe, and right now, that meant keeping my head down and not stirring the pot. There were far too many risks in the world outside these walls, and I wasn’t about to bring any trouble to our doorstep. Cherry and Red were the only things that made me even remotely anxious about the future. Cherry, my younger sister, always poking around in the kitchen, looking for scraps, asking about how everything worked, about how the world worked. Her curiosity was endless, and while it was endearing, it also reminded me that we couldn’t keep her here forever. She wanted more. Red, the more serious of the two, always helping Father with the physical work. He was strong for his age, and though he often put on a brave face, I knew he was just as eager as Cherry to get out into the world, to experience something beyond the confines of our small inn. They were good kids. Smart, too, though a little more eager to get out there and do something than I was. I was fine with what we had. But for them, I knew it wouldn’t be enough for long. My father interrupted my thoughts. “Izra, take this pouch to the next street. A customer left it behind,” he said, handing me a small leather bag, the weight of it soft but unmistakably real. I didn’t hesitate, just nodded, and took it in my hand. I barely looked up as I nodded. “Sure.” It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t anything important. I grabbed the pouch, stepped outside, and found myself under the cool night sky. The crisp evening air felt good against my face, and I let it fill my lungs. It was one of those rare nights where the town of Walsy seemed quiet, peaceful. The streetlights barely lit the way, casting long shadows on the cobblestone path, the yellowish light flickering weakly against the cold. I started to walk, my boots making soft echoes in the quiet. A simple errand, just like any other. Then I heard it—voices. A man’s voice, gruff and pained. I turned toward the sound, my eyes catching a dimly lit alleyway at the corner of my vision. There, a group of men were circling someone lying on the ground. Their movements were jerky and aggressive, their postures taunting and proud. I recognized one of them immediately—James Nicks. The arrogant merchant’s son, with his usual gang, kicking a man who couldn’t even defend himself. I felt nothing but pity for the man. There was no justice in this, no sense of right or wrong—just a display of power, nothing more. I didn’t feel any desire to intervene. What was the point? It wasn’t my business. What could I possibly do? I watched for a moment longer, as the man on the ground curled in defeat, his body trembling with every blow. There was no fight left in him. It was hard to understand how someone could feel justified in this kind of cruelty. But that was the world, wasn’t it? Might made right. Wealth and power dictated everything. There was no fairness, no balance, just people using whatever they had to get ahead, to dominate. As the sound of approaching guards grew louder, before I turned away Our gazes locked. , and continuing my walk without a second thought. The guards would deal with it, or at least they would try. But nothing would change. Not really. The next day, the whispers spread. James had been caught by the guards after the altercation, but unsurprisingly, he was released shortly after. His father had paid a fine, of course. It wasn’t justice. It was a simple transaction—a fine paid, and the offender walked free. The balance of power was tilted, as it always was. Money always spoke louder than right or wrong. Later that afternoon, James walked into the inn. His usual smugness was replaced with something darker, something colder. He leaned against the counter, his presence now heavy in the air. He scanned the room before locking eyes with me, his glare sharp and cutting. "Where’s the one who decided to play hero last night?" he sneered. His voice carried a biting edge, as if he thought he could intimidate me with his words alone. I didn’t respond right away. His words didn’t bother me. I was more interested in keeping my distance. I didn’t need to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, I focused on the counter, wiping it down again, pretending I hadn’t heard him. I had other things to focus on. “I know it was you who called the guards,” he continued, his voice full of venom. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” The accusation hung in the air like a dark cloud, but I refused to let it affect me. I blinked, my mind slow to catch up with the accusation. He thought I called the guards? But I hadn’t done anything. I just left. It’s pure coincidence that the guard came. How could he possibly know that? It didn’t matter, though. He didn’t care about the truth. He cared about blaming someone, anyone. I didn’t care enough to correct him. It wasn’t worth the effort. I kept my gaze on the counter, my grip tightening on the rag in my hand. I could feel the tension in the room now, the weight of his words pressing down on me. His voice dropped lower, a dangerous whisper. “You’ve made a mistake. I’ll make sure of it.” The threat hung in the air between us, the weight of it making my skin prickle. And then he was gone, his footsteps echoing in my mind long after he left. I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to feel. Was it my fault? Maybe. But I didn’t have the energy to dwell on it. I had other things to think about. I didn’t have time to get tangled in his games. Luis showed up later, like he always did after a long day at the forge. His shirt was dark with sweat, his hands rough from hours of working the metal. He wasn’t blessed by mana or aura, just like me, but that never seemed to bother him. He was content in his own way, always lost in the rhythm of his craft. “You decided where you're applying for academy yet?” Luis asked, placing his gloves down with a sigh. His voice was light, but I could see the weariness in his eyes, the toll that the day’s work had taken on him. I shrugged, wiping my hands absently. “I’ve been thinking about it. I’d like to go to a magic academy, but... I don’t have mana. So it’s probably not gonna happen.” Luis chuckled, leaning back against the counter. “Guess we’re in the same boat, huh? No mana for either of us. Magic’s never made sense to me, anyway. But I’m pretty sure I could make a pretty damn good sword.” I sighed, nodding. “Yeah, I guess. If I can’t learn magic, I’ll focus on swordsmanship. It’s the only option left.” Luis grinned. “Reids Academy’s your best bet then. No magic required.” I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of the thought. “But getting in is another thing. They only let in the rich kids or the ones with connections. I don’t have either.” Luis gave a hearty laugh. “We’ll make it, one way or another. You with your swords, me with my forge. Who knows, maybe we’ll make a name for ourselves yet.” For a moment, his enthusiasm made the future seem less distant, though I wasn’t sure I cared as much as he did. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t need such ambitions, that I was content just riding along with his dreams. But I let him have his moment—it was his way of keeping hope alive. We could try, sure. But I wasn’t expecting anything. As we continued talking, Baron Rustan Ethelstar walked in, his usual warm smile lighting up the room. His presence was like a steadying force, something solid in the middle of the turbulence. Baron Rustan wasn’t like the others of his station. He was approachable, genuine, and always seemed to carry himself with a sense of humility. He greeted my father with a nod before his eyes found me and Luis at the counter. “Evening, boys,” he said, his voice steady and calm. “Izra, could I have a word with you?” I glanced at Luis, who gave me a knowing smirk and a quick slap on the shoulder. “Good luck with the noble,” he teased before wandering off to find himself a drink. I followed the Baron to a quiet corner of the inn, away from the noise and bustle of the crowd. His expression grew serious, his warm demeanor dimming as he leaned closer. “I heard about last night,” he began, his voice low. “James Nicks doesn’t let things go easily. You need to be careful.” I sighed, meeting his gaze. “I didn’t do anything. The guards showing up was a coincidence.” Rustan nodded, though his concern didn’t waver. “I believe you, Izra. But James doesn’t need proof. He needs someone to blame, and you’ve become his target. I don’t want to see you or your family caught up in his games.” His words carried weight, but there was little I could do. James Nicks had already made up his mind, and my options felt limited. “What should I do?” I asked, my voice quieter than I intended. Rustan placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Keep your head down for now. If things escalate, let me know. I’ll do what I can to protect you.” I nodded, grateful for his support, though a part of me still felt uneasy. Rustan meant well, but even a noble like him couldn’t shield us from everything. The balance of power in Walsy was fragile, and people like James had a way of exploiting every crack in the foundation. As the night wore on, I returned to my duties, trying to push the events of the day to the back of my mind. But the unease lingered, like a shadow I couldn’t shake. Later, as the inn quieted and the last of the patrons drifted away, I found myself staring out the window, the cold moonlight casting its pale glow over the streets of Walsy. Luis’s words echoed in my mind—about making a name for ourselves, about forging a path forward. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was time to stop hiding in the safety of the inn. The world was harsh and unforgiving, but if I wanted to protect my family, I couldn’t stay idle forever. James Nicks was a reminder of that—a storm on the horizon, one I couldn’t ignore. For now, though, I would focus on what I could control. One step at a time. One day at a time. The road ahead was uncertain, but I had no intention of giving up. My family was worth fighting for, and no matter how small our inn might be, it was our home—a place worth defending. And in the quiet of that moment, as the first light of dawn began to break over the horizon, I allowed myself a small, fleeting ho
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Chapter 1: Shadow of the Street The Denovan inn was as lively as ever, the familiar sounds of patrons chatting and the clinking of mugs filling the air. The warmth of the fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows on the worn wooden floors. The low hum of conversation seemed to seep into the walls, a constant buzz that blended into the rhythm of the inn's operations. I wasn’t particularly invested in the noise, though. My attention was focused on the counter as I idly wiped it down. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do. The inn, after all, wasn’t exactly a glamorous enterprise. It kept the family afloat, but that’s about it. There were no grand celebrations here, no lavish parties or important guests—just the steady stream of customers who came and went, always with the same weary faces, always with the same tired eyes. My father took care of the business side of things with his usual, no-nonsense approach, handling payments, haggling with merchants, and making sure there was enough firewood for the stove. While he worked with his customary efficiency, my mother, always with a kind smile on her face, worked in the kitchen. The air was thick with the scent of her cooking, the warmth of freshly baked bread mixing with the smoky undertones of simmering stews. Life was simple. Quiet. Predictable. Not the kind of life that made anyone a legend. But then, I wasn’t looking for that. We were fine, and that was enough for me. No need for anything more. The simple life suited me. I didn’t need grand ambitions or a path filled with glory. I wasn’t a hero. I wasn’t a legend. I didn’t care about fame, wealth, or power. I cared about keeping my family safe, and right now, that meant keeping my head down and not stirring the pot. There were far too many risks in the world outside these walls, and I wasn’t about to bring any trouble to our doorstep. Cherry and Red were the only things that made me even remotely anxious about the future. Cherry, my younger sister, always poking around in the kitchen, looking for scraps, asking about how everything worked, about how the world worked. Her curiosity was endless, and while it was endearing, it also reminded me that we couldn’t keep her here forever. She wanted more. Red, the more serious of the two, always helping Father with the physical work. He was strong for his age, and though he often put on a brave face, I knew he was just as eager as Cherry to get out into the world, to experience something beyond the confines of our small inn. They were good kids. Smart, too, though a little more eager to get out there and do something than I was. I was fine with what we had. But for them, I knew it wouldn’t be enough for long. My father interrupted my thoughts. “Izra, take this pouch to the next street. A customer left it behind,” he said, handing me a small leather bag, the weight of it soft but unmistakably real. I didn’t hesitate, just nodded, and took it in my hand. I barely looked up as I nodded. “Sure.” It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t anything important. I grabbed the pouch, stepped outside, and found myself under the cool night sky. The crisp evening air felt good against my face, and I let it fill my lungs. It was one of those rare nights where the town of Walsy seemed quiet, peaceful. The streetlights barely lit the way, casting long shadows on the cobblestone path, the yellowish light flickering weakly against the cold. I started to walk, my boots making soft echoes in the quiet. A simple errand, just like any other. Then I heard it—voices. A man’s voice, gruff and pained. I turned toward the sound, my eyes catching a dimly lit alleyway at the corner of my vision. There, a group of men were circling someone lying on the ground. Their movements were jerky and aggressive, their postures taunting and proud. I recognized one of them immediately—James Nicks. The arrogant merchant’s son, with his usual gang, kicking a man who couldn’t even defend himself. I felt nothing but pity for the man. There was no justice in this, no sense of right or wrong—just a display of power, nothing more. I didn’t feel any desire to intervene. What was the point? It wasn’t my business. What could I possibly do? I watched for a moment longer, as the man on the ground curled in defeat, his body trembling with every blow. There was no fight left in him. It was hard to understand how someone could feel justified in this kind of cruelty. But that was the world, wasn’t it? Might made right. Wealth and power dictated everything. There was no fairness, no balance, just people using whatever they had to get ahead, to dominate. As the sound of approaching guards grew louder, before I turned away Our gazes locked. , and continuing my walk without a second thought. The guards would deal with it, or at least they would try. But nothing would change. Not really. The next day, the whispers spread. James had been caught by the guards after the altercation, but unsurprisingly, he was released shortly after. His father had paid a fine, of course. It wasn’t justice. It was a simple transaction—a fine paid, and the offender walked free. The balance of power was tilted, as it always was. Money always spoke louder than right or wrong. Later that afternoon, James walked into the inn. His usual smugness was replaced with something darker, something colder. He leaned against the counter, his presence now heavy in the air. He scanned the room before locking eyes with me, his glare sharp and cutting. "Where’s the one who decided to play hero last night?" he sneered. His voice carried a biting edge, as if he thought he could intimidate me with his words alone. I didn’t respond right away. His words didn’t bother me. I was more interested in keeping my distance. I didn’t need to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, I focused on the counter, wiping it down again, pretending I hadn’t heard him. I had other things to focus on. “I know it was you who called the guards,” he continued, his voice full of venom. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” The accusation hung in the air like a dark cloud, but I refused to let it affect me. I blinked, my mind slow to catch up with the accusation. He thought I called the guards? But I hadn’t done anything. I just left. It’s pure coincidence that the guard came. How could he possibly know that? It didn’t matter, though. He didn’t care about the truth. He cared about blaming someone, anyone. I didn’t care enough to correct him. It wasn’t worth the effort. I kept my gaze on the counter, my grip tightening on the rag in my hand. I could feel the tension in the room now, the weight of his words pressing down on me. His voice dropped lower, a dangerous whisper. “You’ve made a mistake. I’ll make sure of it.” The threat hung in the air between us, the weight of it making my skin prickle. And then he was gone, his footsteps echoing in my mind long after he left. I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to feel. Was it my fault? Maybe. But I didn’t have the energy to dwell on it. I had other things to think about. I didn’t have time to get tangled in his games. Luis showed up later, like he always did after a long day at the forge. His shirt was dark with sweat, his hands rough from hours of working the metal. He wasn’t blessed by mana or aura, just like me, but that never seemed to bother him. He was content in his own way, always lost in the rhythm of his craft. “You decided where you're applying for academy yet?” Luis asked, placing his gloves down with a sigh. His voice was light, but I could see the weariness in his eyes, the toll that the day’s work had taken on him. I shrugged, wiping my hands absently. “I’ve been thinking about it. I’d like to go to a magic academy, but... I don’t have mana. So it’s probably not gonna happen.” Luis chuckled, leaning back against the counter. “Guess we’re in the same boat, huh? No mana for either of us. Magic’s never made sense to me, anyway. But I’m pretty sure I could make a pretty damn good sword.” I sighed, nodding. “Yeah, I guess. If I can’t learn magic, I’ll focus on swordsmanship. It’s the only option left.” Luis grinned. “Reids Academy’s your best bet then. No magic required.” I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of the thought. “But getting in is another thing. They only let in the rich kids or the ones with connections. I don’t have either.” Luis gave a hearty laugh. “We’ll make it, one way or another. You with your swords, me with my forge. Who knows, maybe we’ll make a name for ourselves yet.” For a moment, his enthusiasm made the future seem less distant, though I wasn’t sure I cared as much as he did. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t need such ambitions, that I was content just riding along with his dreams. But I let him have his moment—it was his way of keeping hope alive. We could try, sure. But I wasn’t expecting anything. As we continued talking, Baron Rustan Ethelstar walked in, his usual warm smile lighting up the room. His presence was like a steadying force, something solid in the middle of the turbulence. Baron Rustan wasn’t like the others of his station. He was approachable, genuine, and always seemed to carry himself with a sense of humility. He greeted my father with a nod before his eyes found me and Luis at the counter. “Evening, boys,” he said, his voice steady and calm. “Izra, could I have a word with you?” I glanced at Luis, who gave me a knowing smirk and a quick slap on the shoulder. “Good luck with the noble,” he teased before wandering off to find himself a drink. I followed the Baron to a quiet corner of the inn, away from the noise and bustle of the crowd. His expression grew serious, his warm demeanor dimming as he leaned closer. “I heard about last night,” he began, his voice low. “James Nicks doesn’t let things go easily. You need to be careful.” I sighed, meeting his gaze. “I didn’t do anything. The guards showing up was a coincidence.” Rustan nodded, though his concern didn’t waver. “I believe you, Izra. But James doesn’t need proof. He needs someone to blame, and you’ve become his target. I don’t want to see you or your family caught up in his games.” His words carried weight, but there was little I could do. James Nicks had already made up his mind, and my options felt limited. “What should I do?” I asked, my voice quieter than I intended. Rustan placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Keep your head down for now. If things escalate, let me know. I’ll do what I can to protect you.” I nodded, grateful for his support, though a part of me still felt uneasy. Rustan meant well, but even a noble like him couldn’t shield us from everything. The balance of power in Walsy was fragile, and people like James had a way of exploiting every crack in the foundation. As the night wore on, I returned to my duties, trying to push the events of the day to the back of my mind. But the unease lingered, like a shadow I couldn’t shake. Later, as the inn quieted and the last of the patrons drifted away, I found myself staring out the window, the cold moonlight casting its pale glow over the streets of Walsy. Luis’s words echoed in my mind—about making a name for ourselves, about forging a path forward. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was time to stop hiding in the safety of the inn. The world was harsh and unforgiving, but if I wanted to protect my family, I couldn’t stay idle forever. James Nicks was a reminder of that—a storm on the horizon, one I couldn’t ignore. For now, though, I would focus on what I could control. One step at a time. One day at a time. The road ahead was uncertain, but I had no intention of giving up. My family was worth fighting for, and no matter how small our inn might be, it was our home—a place worth defending. And in the quiet of that moment, as the first light of dawn began to break over the horizon, I allowed myself a small, fleeting ho
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