The soft blues and pale orange painted the sky above the border town, a quiet morning hue that made the streets feel more peaceful than they were.

Birds chirped from rusted rooftops. A couple of food stalls were already unpacking steamers and crates. Somewhere farther down the main road, the tram's magnetic hum rumbled into life. It was just another morning at the edge of the town.

Far from the shielded district where wealth lived behind glimmering gates, the outskirts were quieter. Here, on a sloped patch of cracked stone and moss, sat a small general shop with a faded wooden sign and a roof that creaked in the wind.

Sixteen-year-old Rowen blinked at the gray ceiling of his cramped room, tucked just above the shop. He had lived here for as long as he could remember.

He didn't know if he had a mother or father. No birth records, no family name. Just a handful of memories of the old man who raised him, his grandfather, who ran the shop like it was the last piece of order in the world.

The old man had passed three years ago. Since then, Rowen had run the place alone.

Rowen rolled out of bed, his bare feet meeting the chill of the creaky wooden floor. The air carried the usual scent of dust and old paper.

Downstairs, sunlight filtered through grimy windows, casting long stripes of light across shelves stocked with everyday odds and ends.

He didn't have time to open the shop. School still mattered, at least until the Awakening.

He grabbed a piece of stale bread from the counter, chewing with little thought, then slung his worn bag over one shoulder. He halted at the door, his eyes lingering on the space where his grandfather's stool once was.

The Potential Awakening was getting closer. Everyone talked about it, whispering hopes of becoming a mage, a knight, or a tamer. Of discovering something more.

Rowen wasn't sure what he felt, maybe nothing at all.

Outside, the cracked stone path was cold beneath his feet. Another day had begun.

Rowen stepped out into the narrow lane behind the shop, where morning mist still clung to the stones. The street was already waking, with a couple of neighbors sweeping their doorsteps and a deliveryman with their vehicle buzzing past overhead.

His school was a twenty-minute walk, tucked between a warehouse district and a scrapyard. It didn't have a name worth remembering; most just called it the Lower School, not unkindly, but honestly. The other one, the one on the hill with glass windows and floating gates, was Westlight Academy. That was where the children of merchant clans, city officials, and registered mages studied.

Rowen didn't envy them. Not much, anyway.

At Lower School, they taught you how to read runes, identify basic crystal types, recognize mana crystals, and repair civilian tech the kind of knowledge needed to survive, not shine. Enough to prepare students for life in the outer zones. Enough to be tested.

The Potential Awakening was less than a week away.

Held on the school's common ground.A federal government team oversaw it. They brought special crystal-based devices to measure raw potential for all paths: mage, knight, tamer, etc.

Your path didn't matter as much as your potential. And if yours was high enough… one of the top universities might notice.

That's what most kids dreamed of. A ticket out.

The walk to school passed in a blur of cobbled roads and familiar silence. By the time Rowen reached the narrow school gates with chipped paint and rusted hinges, most of the students were already inside.

The Lower School didn't have much in the way of grandeur. Just three long, low buildings arranged in an L-shape, their roofs patched with scrap metal and covered in old moss. A few students milled around the courtyard, tossing small crystal shards back and forth like dice; others gathered near the notice board talking about the Awakening.

Rowen stepped through the classroom door just as the old wall clock clicked past eight.

"Cutting it close again," a voice said from near the back.

It was Calen, with short hair, a slightly crooked grin, and a mark of dirt always on his sleeve no matter how early it was. He raised a hand lazily in greeting, a half-eaten fruit bun in the other.

Rowen gave him a tired look and dropped into the seat beside him.

"Bread again?" Calen asked, not waiting for an answer. "You should've come over. Ma made mushroom stew last night. There was enough for two."

Rowen shrugged. "Didn't want to bother."

"You're not a bother. She worries about you, you know. Both of them do."

Rowen didn't respond. His fingers tugged at a frayed edge of his bag. Calen's parents had offered help after his grandfather passed—food, supplies, even a place to stay. He'd accepted some of it, but not all.

The shop was still his home. The little backyard garden still grew enough herbs and tubers to sell when the season was kind. And upstairs, on the second floor, in that creaky little room, it was quiet, but it was his.

The classroom buzzed softly as more students filled the seats. Most were just like Rowen and Calen, sons and daughters of repairmen, cart-pullers, street hawkers, or laborers.

Kids who knew how heavy a full water drum was and what it cost to get a chipped mana crystal replaced.

From the corner of his eye, Rowen saw the teacher enter, a thin man in his forties with a long coat and tired eyes. He placed a rune tablet on the desk and cleared his throat.

"Good morning. Before we begin, a reminder. The Potential Awakening is five days from now. Be punctual. Be calm.

And no, I don't know if you're permitted to retake it.

A few kids laughed. The teacher didn't.

Present.

Rowen sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the ceiling.

"I was rash…" he whispered.

There was a flicker of something new inside of him now—a soul artifact no one had seen before. Proof that he wasn't ordinary.

And yet… he had thrown everything away the moment things didn't go his way.

Even now, that thought gnawed at him.

He clenched his fists, breathing deep.

This wasn't the end. Maybe it never was.

After some thought, he decided:

Before making any more choices, he would first understand this thing inside him.

Only then would he choose his next course of action.

Rowen remained still, lost in thought—until a sudden breeze, despite closed windows, brushed against his face.

A faint glow shimmered before him.

He blinked. Floating in mid-air was a small creature—chubby, glowing faintly with soft green light, with pointy elf-like ears and moss-colored hair that looked more like sprouting leaves. Its eyes were bright, curious, and old.

Then it yawned.

"…Finally," it muttered, stretching mid-air like a lazy cat. "That took long enough."

Rowen scrambled back. "W-What are you!?"

The floating creature rubbed its eyes. "Hmm… a better question is what you are. I was born with you, you know. But until today, you barely leaked a drop of mana. I slept for years. And then today—boom—mana feast! I woke up."

Rowen blinked. "You were… born with me?"

"Obviously." The creature floated down and poked his chest. "Soul-bound spirit. You're my master. I'm your contracted sprite."

"Contracted? I never made any contract with anything."

"Don't need to. It's automatic when born like this. Your soul chose me."

It gave a lazy salute. "Name's Fern. Sprite of Growth. And you…" The creature floated up, hovering in front of his eyes. "You're the farmer."

Rowen blinked again. "What?"

"Try saying 'Status,' Master," Fern said with a knowing grin.

Rowen hesitated, then muttered, "Status."

In the next moment, a translucent screen blinked into view in front of him, glowing with faint golden lines.

📜[Status Screen—Rowen]📜

Name: Rowen

Race: Human

Path: Farmer

Class Rank: Apprentice Farmer (Unranked)

Soul Link: Active

Contracted Spirit: Fern—Sprite of Growth

Unique Trait: Class Adaptability (Passive)

Energy Type: Mana

Mana Capacity: Unknown

Status Screen: Locked to Soul Artifact Awakener Only

Rowen stared.

"A… status screen? This is like something out of a game."

Fern smirked. "Nope. This is your sole interface. Rare as hell. Even I didn't expect that."

Rowen's eyes scanned the details. "Farmer? That's… my class?"

"Yep," Fern nodded. "But not just any farmer. The kind who can grow things no one else can. Learn things no other path can touch. You're a builder, a grower, a nurturer."

Rowen looked at Fern again. "What exactly… can you do?"

Fern puffed up with pride. "I'm the Sprite of Growth. I can sense mana in soil, identify plants, help with spiritual growth, and assist with certain abilities you unlock as a farmer. I also manage your independent space."

Rowen narrowed his eyes. "Independent space?"

Fern floated backwards and clapped his tiny hands. A soft shimmer rippled through the room. With a low hum, a faint outline appeared against the wall—a glowing wooden door with twisting vines etched across its surface.

Rowen's mouth fell open.

"This," Fern said proudly, "is your Verdant Domain—a space separate from the real world. Only you can enter it. Time flows differently here. You can farm, experiment, grow magical crops, raise spirit beasts, or… just nap in peace."

Rowen took a step toward the glowing door, heart pounding.

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.