Hey, it's me again—aka the Forsaken One.
It's been five years since I opened my eyes in this world.
This continent is called the Torine Continent. Mid-sized, not tiny, not massive. Big enough to hold more problems than my last life, apparently.
The power system here is simple on paper and terrifying in practice:
Novice at the bottom.Then intermediate , Adept, Expert, Master. , grandmaster
Above that, Transcendent.
Then Demi-God.
And at the very top, Godhood—the ones whose existence turns maps into suggestions.
Somewhere along the line, people decided this was normal.
There are rumors that in the current era there are seven Swordmasters at Transcendent rank and seven Magicians at the same level. Humans. At least officially. Vampires, elves, dwarves, beastfolk—they all have their own factions and high-rankers. Humans are "allowed" in some of those circles.
Allowed.
That word always sounded fishy.
Probably a treaty. Or a leash.
On top of that, there are sorcerers who don't just play with elements—they curse. People talk about them in hushed voices, saying they use curse energy, born from negative emotions, twisted prayers, and dirty secrets.
Add to that:
Aliens.
Demons.
Dark organizations.
Ancient monsters.
This world is a full package deal.
"Jesus…" I muttered internally once, then remembered there's no Jesus here. Just gods who might actually show up if you annoy them enough.
The more I learned, the more one thing became clear:
I'm going to have to be crazy strong to survive this.
[Talk about confidence, host,] the system remarked.
"It's not confidence," I replied inwardly. "It's self-defense."
The important thing is: what I'm controlling, slowly, is basically magic and curse energy—from the inside out.
In Torine, people say:
Magic is the perception of elements—fire, water, wind, earth, lightning, etc.
Curse energy is negative power, born from hate, fear, despair, resentment.
Most people just follow what their predecessors did. Same rituals, same circles, same elements. No one questions much.
"Stigmatic losers," I called them once, half-joking.
They see the surface and decide it's the whole ocean.
Me? I decided to play with molecules.
If I can feel how things are structured—the tiny shifts in what makes matter solid, light, or burning—then I don't have to accept the "this is how we always did it" rulebook.
My magic stats are really high for a five-year-old, according to the system. My nightly battles with low monsters outside town, the curse energy I've brushed against, the mana patterns I've felt in my own body—they've all added up.
I even had a near-death experience once, when a beast's claw came a little closer to my neck than it should have.
[You call that "a little closer"?] the system grumbled. [You blacked out for six seconds.]
"Six seconds is still alive," I answered. "We take those wins."
[You're impossible.]
I can already fight a Novice, 2nd-stage monster with just a stick, as long as I'm careful, fast, and cheat with footwork and intent.
The problem?
Neither me nor the system fully understands this world's public power levels yet. We're piecing it together from gossip and observation. Marta has been very careful about what she says when kids are listening. I can feel her fear whenever real danger is mentioned.
She won't allow me to be in danger. If she knew what I was doing at night…
I have to talk to her.
My training has already been too intense. One time, I pushed myself until I passed out while practicing. When I woke up, Marta, Miya, Lina, and all the other kids were frantic, searching everywhere.
I saw Lina's eyes red from crying, Miya's jaw clenched, Marta's hands shaking.
I can't keep lying to them completely.
And then there's Lina and Miya—their affection is getting… heavy. Not in a bad way. Just strong. I feel like if I keep letting it grow unchecked, they'll become too dependent on me, and when I eventually walk into real danger, it'll hurt them more.
I'm grateful. But I need room to become what I have to be.
As for elements:
The truth is, I decided to play innocent.
Publicly, I'll use fire and lightning as my "basic" elements—stuff people can understand and categorize. Easy to explain. Easy to underestimate.
Secretly, my real affinities are electricity and space.
I can already create a small ball of stable element—like a tiny fire sphere or compressed pull, about the size of an ice-cream scoop. My body, though, is still growing. Most of my stats are high in potential, but haven't fully translated into raw physical force.
The system told me that from age 7 onward, my true training will start to pay off. My nervous system, muscles, and mana pathways will all catch up to what I've been building.
And at age 12, this world has awakening ceremonies.
Kids stand in circles, get blessed (or not), and their "official" talent is decided in front of everyone.
Lina and Miya are 9 now. They'll be there before me.
That thought brings me back to the present.
To the wooden table. To bowls of food. To noise.
To Lina, Miya, and the other orphans arguing about my face again.
"I'm telling you, he's cursed," Lina said, jabbing her spoon in my direction. "No normal boy is allowed to be that pretty."
Miya snorted. "That's not how curses work."
"It is now," Lina insisted. "Look at him. If we take him to the city, some rich auntie is going to see his face and steal him."
Arun, chewing, nodded gravely. "We'll have to fight them."
Mei sighed. "We can't fight nobles."
Rian hugged his stuffed toy. "Mister Flop will bite them."
I quietly scooped food into my mouth, trying not to let my amusement show too much.
Marta rubbed her temple. "Can we stop planning hypothetical noble kidnappings at the table?"
Lina ignored her. "Sister Miya, who does he like more, me or you?"
Miya raised an eyebrow. "That's a trap."
"Answer," Lina demanded.
Miya pretended to think. "Well, I feed him extra when you're not looking, and he always calms down when I hold him, so…"
Lina slammed her hands on the table. "Unfair! You use food hacks!"
I nearly choked on my bread.
Marta gave me a look that said "don't die at the table."
"Ikarus," Lina said, turning to me with narrowed eyes, "blink twice if you like me more than Miya."
I stared at her.
Then very slowly… blinked once.
Lina gasped in horror.
Miya smirked.
Marta burst out laughing, then covered her mouth.
"Traitor! Tiny traitor!" Lina clutched her chest. "The betrayal!"
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and said, in a small voice, "I like everyone."
Lina slumped. "He's diplomatic. He's already better than politicians."
Miya leaned an elbow on the table. "That's because he has a brain, unlike someone."
Lina glared. "You're both bullying me."
"Consider it payback," Miya said. "You've bullied him since he was a dumpling."
Marta listened, eyes soft, a small smile tugging at her lips.
But behind that smile, I could feel it—the worry she carried like a second skin.
The way her gaze lingered when I came back with scratches. The way her body tensed whenever anything dangerous was mentioned near the kids.
I couldn't blame her. She'd lost everything once already, choosing to save me. The idea of losing me now…
But I couldn't live a lie forever.
I finished my food and wiped my mouth properly.
"Martha," I said.
It came out smaller than I wanted, but steady.
She looked over. "Yes, Ikarus? What is it?"
"I want to talk to you," I said. "About something important."
"Can it wait until after chores?" she asked automatically, already reaching for the dishes.
"No," I said.
She paused.
Everyone at the table felt the shift.
Lina blinked. Miya's eyes sharpened. The younger kids looked between us, sensing something.
Marta set the bowl down slowly.
"All right," she said. "Let's talk."
We sat alone in the small side room Marta used as an office and storage. Shelves lined the walls, full of folded clothes, spare blankets, jars of herbs.
She closed the door and turned to me.
"Okay," she said gently. "What's weighing on your little head?"
I took a breath.
"I know you've been wondering," I said. "About how I started… training. From when I was three."
Her eyes flickered.
"I can't tell you everything," I went on, looking at the floor, then back up. "Not because I don't trust you. But because it's not safe."
"Not safe how?" she asked quietly.
"There are higher powers," I said. "Beings. Systems. People I can't explain yet. If I say too much, it could put you and the others in danger."
She was very still.
"I have to train," I said. "I'm going to be in a lot of life and death situations. That's just… the path in front of me. I might even die someday because of it."
Her hand flew to her mouth.
Tears sprang to her eyes so fast it startled me.
"Hey," I said quickly. "I'm not saying I want to. I'm saying… I'm walking toward something dangerous on purpose. Because if I don't, it'll walk toward us."
She shook her head, blinking away tears that refused to stay back.
"Ikarus," she said, voice trembling. "I know I'm not your real mother. I know that. But I will always worry about you. From the moment I chose you on that ship, I… I knew you were meant to be someone great. Bigger than this place."
She laughed weakly, one tear escaping down her cheek.
"But I also thought maybe… maybe you'd want a normal life. Just once. Just… be a child. Grow up, get a job, grumble about taxes. Not… fight gods and monsters."
I stepped forward.
My small hands clenched at my sides.
"I'm always thankful for you," I said. "You gave me a life I wasn't supposed to have. You threw away your old one to save a boy you didn't even know."
She opened her mouth to deny it.
"Don't," I said, surprising both of us with the firmness in my voice. "Don't say you're not my mother. You are. To me, you are. And I'll always love you."
Her composure shattered.
She crouched down and pulled me into a hug, arms wrapping around my small shoulders. I pressed my face into her chest, feeling the rough fabric, the warmth, the tremble.
"I'm proud of you," she whispered into my hair. "You hear me? Whatever path you walk. I am proud of you."
I swallowed.
"I'll be careful," I said. "I won't throw my life away. But I can't stop training. I can't pretend to be normal and waste time while things get stronger out there."
She held me tighter.
"Five years old," she muttered, half-scolding herself, half-scolding the world. "What kind of five-year-old talks like this?"
"A cool one?" I suggested.
She laughed through her tears, a choked sound.
"Fine, fine," she said. "You're cool. You're also still going to bed on time. And if I catch you half-dead again, I will personally drag you to the healer and lie about how old you are."
"Understood," I said.
We stayed like that for a while.
Mother and son—not by blood, but by choice.
When she finally let me go, her eyes were still red, but her shoulders looked… lighter.
"Go," she said. "Before I change my mind and tie you to a chair."
"Yes, Mom," I answered.
The word felt right.
That night, when the orphanage was quiet again, I slipped toward the back door.
[So,] the system said as I eased it open. [You're finally "free," huh?]
"Yeah," I replied, stepping into the cool night. "That feeling of lying to loved ones… wasn't a good feeling."
[You told her enough without saying too much,] it said. [Damage control achieved.]
"Now I can walk forward without pretending," I said. "No more half-hearted 'normal kid' act. She knows I won't stop."
[Then what are we waiting for?] the system asked, tone sharpening, almost excited.
I tightened my hand around the old stick at the door, feeling the familiar weight.
The sky above Torine was clear tonight. Stars watched silently. Somewhere out there, seven Swordmasters and seven Magicians moved pieces on a board I hadn't even seen yet. Vampires and elves plotted. Demons and aliens waited.
My path was pointed straight at all of it.
"This," I said softly, stepping off the orphanage porch into the dark, "is the first step to our godhood."
And I meant every word.