The cold iron grate of the Ninth District holding cell smelled of damp rust, oxidized copper, and the bitter tang of low-grade Aether-Miasma.
Rian Craig sat on the concrete bench, resting his forearms on his knees. He didn't look at the heavy iron bars, nor did he look at the two grey-armored guards leaning against the corridor wall with their standard-issue mana pikes. His eyes were fixed on the dim, translucent interface hovering inches above his lap.
> [Host Identity: Rian Craig]
> Host Base Level: 1 (Locked)
> Host Physical Attributes:
> • Strength: 10 (Standard Human)
> • Agility: 11
> • Endurance: 10
> • Mana Capacity: 50 / 50 (Tier E - Defective Core)
> [Bound Entity: Living Shadow (Dormant)]
> Entity Level: 1 / 100 (0 / 100 EXP)
> Entity Density: Tier E (Fluid Thread)
> Entity Reach: 1.5 Meters
> Available Abilities: Umbral Siphon (Passive)
Locked at Level 1.
For three years, the high-district elders of House Craig had subjected Rian to every ritual, conduit flush, and high-density crystal alignment available in the First District. They fed him purified Tier A cores and assigned top scholars to examine his nervous system. The result was always the same: Rian’s base body rejected standard mana integration. While his eldest brother Julian awakened high-tier Archival Spatial magic, his second brother Valen manifested Crimson Flame, and his sister Lyra inherited the lethal Shadow-Blade affinity, Rian remained static.
A defective noble. An outcast.
"Three minutes, failure," the lead guard rasped through his iron visor, tapping his pike against the bars. CLANG. "The transport airship to the Ninth District Academy leaves at sunrise. Lord Arthur’s scribes signed your banishment papers an hour ago."
Rian didn't answer. He slowly unbuttoned his cuff, inspecting his left wrist.
Underneath his pale skin, where a normal Awakener's channels would glow with blue or crimson light, Rian’s veins were laced with fine, midnight-black threads. They didn't pulse with standard magic. They twitched in rhythm with his breathing—like living roots drinking from an unseen underground stream.
Beneath his boots, his silhouette didn't stay still. It detached slightly from the concrete floor, rising a fraction of an inch into a thin, dark ribbon that wrapped around his ankle like a cold thread.
...Master... cold... hungry...
A faint, fragmented rasp echoed inside Rian's mind. It felt like dry leaves scraping across stone.
Rian kept his face expressionless, tightening his mental suppression. Not here. The guards carry mana trackers tuned to Tier D frequencies. If you pull atmospheric miasma inside the holding cell, the alarms will trigger.
The shadow flattened back onto the concrete with a subtle hiss, merging into his boot silhouette.
At 05:30 hours, the iron cell door shrieked open.
Flanked by two Vanguard guards, Rian stepped out into the misty courtyard of the Transit Depot. The morning sky over the Ninth District was a dull, polluted violet, choked by industrial smog rising from the outer foundries.
Standing near the boarding ramp of the Vanguard Transport Airship was Victor Vance—nephew of the Guild Master of the Vance Merchant Guild. He held a brass mana tester in his gloved hand, his sharp face twisted into a sneer.
"Look at you," Victor mocked as Rian walked up the steel ramp. "The fallen prince of House Craig. I didn't believe the rumors, but you really don't have a single drop of noble pressure left."
Victor flared his mana aura. A wave of hot, suffocating red light surged from his skin, forcing the two guards to step back in deference.
> [Target Identified: Victor Vance]
> Level: 5 (Tier D- Flame Affinity)
> Mana Capacity: 350 / 350
> Threat Level: Moderate (Physical Superiority)
Victor leaned in, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Lord Valen sent word last night, Rian. You think being banished to the Ninth District means you get to live a quiet life as a scout? Valen wants you broken before mid-term evaluations."
Rian stopped on the ramp. He looked at Victor, then down at Victor's polished boots.
Beside Victor’s heel, Rian’s shadow stretched along the steel deck, its thin dark thread touching the edge of Victor’s red aura.
> [Living Shadow Passive: Atmospheric Siphoning Initiated]
> Absorbing Stray Thermal Mana from Target: Victor Vance...
> Living Shadow EXP: 0 / 100 -> 8 / 100 (+8 EXP)
A slight strain tugged at Rian's chest. Even siphoning eight points of ambient mana felt like pulling a lead weight through his veins. His defective Level 1 body couldn't process large surges without physical feedback.
"Is that all, Victor?" Rian asked, his voice steady, flat, and quiet.
Victor’s face flushed with irritation at Rian’s lack of panic. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Enjoy the Ninth District while you can. You won't survive the first trial."
Rian continued up the ramp into the crowded lower passenger deck, finding a quiet corner near the iron girders. He sat on a wooden bench, pulling his dark coat tight against the cold draft leaking through the hull.
He closed his eyes, inspecting his status window.
> [Living Shadow Status]
> Level: 1 (8 / 100 EXP)
> Mana Pool: 50 / 50
> Entity Reach: 1.5 Meters
Eight EXP from a flared aura, Rian thought, feeling a dull ache in his left arm as his channels adjusted. Slow. Painful. But it's a start.
He looked out the glass porthole as the heavy turbines roared to life, lifting the metal vessel off the tarmac toward the dark horizon of the Ninth District.