The falcon spotted him first.
A sharp cry split the forest air as it circled above the treetops, wings cutting through the light. Ikarus ran anyway, stick in hand, bare feet barely touching the roots and stones under him.
[You're going to die to a bird,] the system said. [Just so you know.]
"If I die to a bird," Ikarus thought back, ducking under a low branch, "I'm uninstalling you."
[We're soul‑bound. Empty threat.]
He burst into a small clearing, chest rising and falling, sweat already dampening his shirt. The sky opened above him—a patch of blue framed by leaves.
The falcon shrieked again and dove.
It came down like an arrow, all talon and beak and killing intent, air hissing around its wings. Ikarus's eyes sharpened. Battle Aura stirred around him, invisible but real, pulling his scattered senses into a single fine line.
Line from its beak to my throat, he thought calmly. Too obvious.
He stepped sideways along an angle burned into his muscles, the Three‑Line Step guiding his feet. The falcon's shadow slipped past him. His stick snapped up, not to kill, just to tap its side and feel the speed.
Wood met feather with a muted thud. The bird screeched in surprise, pulled up, and climbed again.
[Practice your combat, not just your showing off,] the system reminded him. [Angles, timing, follow‑ups.]
"I know," he replied, shifting his grip. "No brainless zapping."
The falcon wheeled once, twice, then came down again, faster, angrier.
Ikarus inhaled.
A thin thread of electricity stirred in his chest. He guided it down his arm, past elbow and wrist, into his fingers. The stick in his hand hummed faintly as a pale blue sheen crawled along the wood.
The bird dropped, talons forward, gleaming like curved knives.
"Come on," he whispered.
At the last moment, he stepped in, not back. The stick flicked up and clipped the falcon's talons.
The world flashed white‑blue.
A sharp crackle split the air. The smell of singed feather and hot metal flooded his nose. The falcon spasmed mid‑flight, wings flaring awkwardly as the jolt ran up its legs and into its body.
It didn't fall immediately. Talented prey never did.
The stunned bird flapped wildly, trying to regain balance, another desperate shriek ripping from its throat as it swung its head toward him for one last lunge.
Ikarus moved before it could finish.
Footwork carried him under the arc of its beak. He drove the end of the humming stick into the muscles at the base of its neck, releasing a heavier burst of electricity.
The falcon convulsed, eyes rolling. This time, it crashed to the ground, body twitching once, twice, and then going still.
Silence reclaimed the clearing.
Ikarus lowered his stick, breathing hard, heart thudding with adrenaline and satisfaction.
"That," he said inwardly, looking down at the fallen bird, "is what you get for dive‑bombing a future god."
[Future corpse if you miss once,] the system replied. [Electricity usage: flashy, but decent control.]
"Thank you for the professional review."
He crouched, checked that the falcon was properly dead and not just faking it, then slung it over his shoulder. Combined with the rabbits he'd already stashed near the edge of the forest, it would make for a very good meal.
He started back toward the orphanage, stick tapping lightly against his shoulder, a faint smile on his lips.
"Hey, Lina," he called as he stepped into the yard, lifting the falcon by its claws. "I brought a bird."
The yard exploded.
Lina nearly fell off the overturned crate she was sitting on. Miya looked up from hanging laundry. The younger kids abandoned their games and swarmed closer.
"You hunted a falcon?" Arun gasped. "By yourself?"
Rian's stuffed toy flopped to the ground in shock.
Lina scrambled over, eyes wide. "Sweet, bro," she said, recovering her swagger. "Now submit your life to me as tribute."
Ikarus blinked. "My life is not a side dish."
Miya snorted softly, hands still busy with a damp sheet. "Small troublemaker, you're going to make the city hunters cry if they see this."
Ikarus leaned on his stick with exaggerated weariness. "I'm sorry," he said, voice solemn. "My beauty is too much for this world. The animals see my face and fall from the sky."
The younger kids nodded like this made perfect sense.
Lina stared at him, then at the falcon, then back at him. "That ego," she muttered. "But—"
She squinted.
"—annoyingly, he does look kind of dashing."
Mei, peeking from behind her, whispered, "Like a hero from a storybook."
Rian hugged his stuffed toy to his chest again. "Big brother Ikarus is so cool."
He tried not to let his mouth twitch.
"Mom," he called, turning his head toward the doorway. "They're bullying me."
Marta stepped out, drying her hands on her apron, strands of hair escaping her bun. Her eyes landed on the falcon, widened briefly, then softened as they moved to his face.
"Stop it," she told Lina and Miya without much force. "Kids are here. And who told you to pick fights with birds bigger than your head?"
"Self‑improvement," Ikarus replied.
She gave him a long look that mixed exasperation with pride. "Self‑improvement still needs to be able to walk home on its own two legs. Don't push until you fall over, understood?"
"Understood," he said.
To the other kids, she added, "Don't copy him. Eat your vegetables first. Then maybe in five years you can chase something that flies."
They groaned, but their eyes never left Ikarus.
To them, he wasn't just another orphan anymore.
He was the cool big brother who brought back meat, told the best late‑night stories, and disappeared into the forest at night with nothing but a stick and came back with scratches and a smile.
A hero, in their small world.
He only hoped he could live up to that title when it really mattered.
On a distant hill above the treeline, two figures watched.
One leaned casually against a tree, arms folded. The other sat on a rock, gaze fixed on the boy below as he crossed the open ground toward the orphanage.
"So?" Argo asked quietly. "What do you think?"
Toji's eyes followed Ikarus's every step, lingering on the easy way he carried the dead falcon, the relaxed yet sharp placement of his feet. There was no wasted motion, no childish flailing. Every shift of weight seemed chosen, not accidental.
"That boy is awakened," Toji said. "Too sharp for his age."
"He's been coming here almost every day for years," Argo replied. "Alone. Rain or sun."
Toji's mouth curved. "Interesting."
Argo didn't miss the faint glint in his eye.
"That's your 'I found something fun' look," Argo said. "Don't break him."
"No promises."
Time did what it always did—move.
Hunts blurred into one another. Nights in the mental dojo stacked on top of real battles. Molecule games with mana, tiny lightning threads in his muscles, stick drills until his arms refused to rise—all of it piled up, layer over layer.
Before Ikarus quite realized it, he was eight years old.
At the lunch table, Lina was talking with her mouth full again.
"In four days" she said around a bite of bread, "it'll be our awakening ceremony. Miya, imagine—we stand in a big circle, light glows, and then whoosh—superpowers."
Miya chewed more neatly. "That's not exactly how it works," she said. "But yes. If we have talent."
"We will," Lina declared. "I'll get something that lets me punch bandits into the sun. Then I can help Ikarus when he walks into trouble."
"Can we start with bandits and corrupt officials before random neighbors?" Miya asked.
Lina pointed her bread at her. "We can multitask."
Ikarus swallowed his food, then set his bowl down.
"Lina. Miya."
They both looked at him.
"I love you both as sisters," he said simply.
Lina blinked, thrown off by the sudden seriousness. Miya's eyes softened.
"But," he continued, "I want you to focus on your goals too. Don't live just to 'help me.' I want you to be independent. To think big for yourselves. Don't make me your whole sky."
Lina stared at him for a long moment.
"You're not my whole sky," she said at last. "Just… half."
Miya smiled faintly. "We can do both," she said. "Grow strong for ourselves and still worry about you. We're not that fragile."
Marta, sitting at the end of the table, pretended not to listen. Her hands trembled just a little as she lifted her cup.
Inside, the system chimed.
[New data processed. Recommend status review.]
Fine, Ikarus thought.
A panel opened behind his eyes.
[Status]
Name: Ikarus
Age: 8
Level: 6
Magic: 24
Stamina: 60
Strength: 65
Will: 120
[Swordsmanship Interface]
Rank: Adept – Early (mental) / Novice – Peak (physical)
XP: 2300 / 3200
Perception: 95
Form & Technique: 65
Footwork: 70
Blade Control: 60
Killing Intent: 20
Traits:
– Mental Swordsman (High)
– Stubborn Will (Refined)
– Early Pattern Reader
– Battle Instinct (Mid)
– Battle Aura (Infinity Fragment)
– Battle Adaptation (Low–Mid)
[Magic Interface]
Mana Capacity: Medium–High (Child Peak)
Mana Density: Very Pure
Control: 32 / 100
Affinities:
– Electricity (True Core) – High Potential (Early Awakening)
– Space (True Core) – High Potential (Dormant – Sensing Only)
– Fire – Minor (Cover)
– Gravity – Minor (Cover)
Traits:
– Inner Sense (Mid)
– Ether Structuring (Basic)
– Nerve Tempering (Low)
Proto‑Techniques:
– Static Spark (Internal)
– Micro Pull/Push (Gravity Cover)
– Ember Ball (Fire Cover)
He let the numbers sink in.
Sword ahead of magic. Just how he wanted it.
For now.
[You really are a battle freak,] the system said. [Most kids your age are still eating mud.]
"Some of us still eat your insults," he replied. "We move on."
That afternoon, he went for a jog.
The sky was clear, the forest path familiar under his feet. Birds called in the distance, small creatures rustled in the grass, and somewhere far off, a river murmured.
He ran until his breathing settled into a comfortable rhythm, then slowed as a new sound reached him.
Hoofbeats.
Wheels.
Metal.
Through the trees, he saw it—a carriage, dark wood polished to a shine, pulled by two sturdy horses. On its side, half‑hidden under dust and branches, a sigil painted in deep blue and silver.
"Hey, System," he thought. "What's that symbol?"
[I'm not your Google,] the system replied. [Ask a heraldry book.]
"Is this how support systems talk?"
[Oh? I see you're hitting puberty. Asking about random girls in carriages now?]
"I think she's a child."
[You are a freaking child.]
Before he could fire back, the carriage slowed.
The horses tossed their heads, nervous. The driver pulled on the reins, frowning.
Ikarus slipped off the path and into the trees, moving quietly until he had a better angle.
Inside the carriage, he caught a glimpse through the window—a girl around ten or eleven, neat hair, fine clothes, big eyes. Not haughty, just… sheltered.
"Miss Alena, are you comfortable?" a man's voice asked from outside.
"Yes, Robert," she answered. "Thank you."
Robert. The bodyguard, then.
The carriage jolted as it came to a full stop.
Robert's hand went to the hilt of his sword even before the driver cursed under his breath.
Bandits stepped from the undergrowth.
Four of them. Rough armor, mismatched weapons, hungry eyes. Their leader, a scar across his cheek, grinned as he looked over the carriage.
"Well, well," he drawled. "Nice little wagon, nice little girl. Hand over everything, and maybe I let you keep your tongues."
Robert drew his sword in one smooth motion. His aura flared—a solid, seasoned Novice 6. He stepped between the carriage and the bandits.
"Miss Alena," he said without turning. "Stay inside."
She clutched the edge of the window, knuckles white.
The leader chuckled. "Brave. Stupid, but brave. Kill him."
They rushed in.
For a few moments, steel clashed, grunts and curses filling the air. Robert fought well—controlled blocks, precise counters—but four‑on‑one wasn't a fair game. A cut opened on his arm. Another nicked his leg.
One bandit feinted low, another aimed high. The leader circled, waiting for the perfect opening.
He found it.
Robert turned to parry a strike from the left. The leader stepped in from the right, blade angling toward his unprotected side.
Alena's breath caught.
The leader's sword never landed.
A stick cracked against his wrist from the side, the impact sharp and clean. His blade flew off course, slicing only air.
"What the—?"
The leader staggered back, clutching his arm.
A boy stepped calmly into view, stick in one hand, expression almost bored.
"You know," Ikarus said, "ambushing carriages is bad for your long‑term health."
All eyes snapped to him.
Small. Barefoot. Simple clothes. Dark‑blue eyes too calm for his age.
The leader bared his teeth. "You picked the wrong day to play hero, brat."
[Reminder,] the system said. [Don't show off too much. Remember you're 'just' Novice 4.]
"I'll try to only traumatize them a little," Ikarus answered.
The leader lunged.
Ikarus met him halfway.
His stick moved like a lazy line at first, but each tap and deflection landed exactly where it needed to. He turned the man's heavy swings aside, letting the force bleed into the ground through his footwork.
One of the other bandits peeled off from Robert, rushing Ikarus from the side.
He felt the man before he saw him—Battle Aura tugging at his awareness, Battle Adaptation already reading the rhythm of their steps.
He dropped his center, shifted along an inner line, and brought the stick up in a sharp arc.
Wood collided with wrist. Lightning snapped.
The bandit screamed as his fingers clamped involuntarily, sword dropping from numb hands.
"That's one," Ikarus murmured.
Another tried to flank him.
He stepped back, dragged a sliver of electricity into his legs, and moved.
For a heartbeat, his body felt light, the world around him slightly slower. He slipped through the gap between two strikes, the tip of a rusty blade grazing his shirt but not his skin.
The stick lashed out again. A sharp crack to the temple, a controlled burst of lightning. Second bandit down, twitching.
Robert, seeing his opening, roared and drove his sword through the bandit still fighting him.
Silence fell hard.
The leader, panting, glared at the boy in front of him. Sweat beaded on his brow.
"What are you?" he spat.
"Annoyed," Ikarus said. "Also, you're sloppy. For Novice 6, at least."
The leader cursed under his breath, then bolted into the trees.
Ikarus let him go.
Alena's face appeared fully in the carriage window, eyes wide.
She stepped out before Robert could stop her, dress brushing the step, boots touching dirt.
"Thank you for saving us," she said quietly.
Ikarus turned to her.
Up close, she looked even more like what she was: a noble girl, raised carefully, still trying to understand why someone her age moved like a veteran fighter.
He gave a small half‑smile.
"No problem," he said. "Friendly‑neighborhood hero discount."
She blinked, then smiled back, a little shy, a little dazzled.
"Where are you from?" she asked. "Which house?"
"That's personal," he replied. "And you're not my type, princess."
Her cheeks flushed. "I'm not a princess."
"Better," he said. "Less paperwork."
Robert walked over, wiping his blade, studying Ikarus as if he were some rare beast.
"How are you this strong at your age…?" he began, then stopped himself. "No. Never mind. You won't say, will you?"
Ikarus's eyes crinkled. "Looks like someone understands."
He turned as if to go, then glanced back.
"Let's get married," he said casually.
Alena and Robert both choked.
"E‑eh?!" Alena squeaked.
"I—what—" Robert sputtered.
Ikarus waved a hand. "Relax. Joke. You'd die from the rumors alone."
He lifted his stick in a lazy salute and walked away, back toward the trees.
Robert watched his back for a long moment.
"Alena," he said quietly.
"Hm?" she answered, still staring where Ikarus had vanished.
"I hope one day you can make friends with people like him."
She looked at him, confused. "Friends?"
Robert gave a small, sad smile.
"Between people like him and the rest of us," he said, "there's often a distance talent builds. But if you cross it, even once… your world changes."
Alena looked back at the forest, eyes thoughtful.
Ikarus didn't get far before the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
Someone was following him.
Not loud. Not clumsy. A presence like a quiet weight leaning on the world around him.
"System," he thought. "Who is that?"
[I don't know,] the system answered. [I can't read him. That alone should worry you.]
"Crap," he muttered inwardly. "Then asking questions is pointless."
He veered off the main path, leaping up into the lower branches of a tree. Bark scraped his palms as he climbed higher, moving from trunk to trunk with silent, practiced steps.
The presence moved with him.
Not closer. Not farther.
Watching.
He paused on a thick branch, reached down, and snapped off a straight length of wood.
"Fine," he thought. "Let's say hello."
He let his breath even out. Electricity hummed faintly under his skin, ready but leashed. A sliver of intent—something older, colder, borrowed from the Infinity fragment sleeping inside him—slid down into his hand.
He swung the branch once, then cut through the air.
"Divine Slash."
The stick blurred, the world thinning along its path. For an instant, it wasn't just wood; it was a line, a concept, a decision to cut, thrown at the shadow he could feel perched three trees ahead and slightly above.
The figure moved.
Gravity shifted.
The air around that branch thickened for a heartbeat, its path bending just enough. It missed the figure's throat and tore into the trunk behind him instead, burying itself deep.
"Interesting," a calm voice said. "With a stick, no less."
The man stepped fully into view.
Dark hair. Relaxed posture. Clothes that didn't look expensive but sat on his frame like they belonged there. Eyes too clear, too amused.
Toji.
Ikarus tightened his grip on his own stick, electricity crawling a little higher up his arm.
"You've been watching me," he said.
"Yes," Toji replied without a hint of shame. "You make good use of your nights. And your toys."
Ikarus slid one foot back, shoulders lowering, stick drifting into a loose guard.
"Going to keep stalking," he asked, "or are you finally going to say what you want?"
Toji smiled. "I wanted to see whether the rumors were exaggerated. They weren't."
The ground around Ikarus's feet grew slightly heavier.
Not much. Not enough to trap him.
Just enough to say: I can do more.
He exhaled.
"Let's see how much is rumor, then."
He moved.
Electricity flared through his legs in a quick pulse. The added force turned his first step into a blur, Three‑Line Footwork carrying him forward and to the side.
Toji's hand flicked.
Gravity twisted.
For a moment, Ikarus's body felt heavier, as if the earth had grabbed his ankles. His stick dropped lower than he intended, the angle of his cut thrown off.
So that's your trick, he thought.
Battle Adaptation snapped into place. He filed away the rhythm: light, heavy, normal. He watched how Toji's fingers twitched before each shift, how the leaves in the air bent.
He adjusted.
His next approach came on the tail of a lightening pulse, turning Toji's own gravity release into a boost. He leaped, stick crackling faintly as he brought it down.
Toji actually had to raise his arm, mana reinforcing his skin to meet the blow.
The impact rippled out, leaves trembling.
"You're this strong at eight?" Toji asked, eyebrows raised.
"Tell your gravity to fight fair," Ikarus shot back.
They traded a few more exchanges.
Toji barely moved from his branch, small shifts of weight and subtle gestures twisting the battlefield around Ikarus. The boy, in turn, danced through it—stumbling at first, then less, then hardly at all, reading the changing pull like another pattern to be memorized and broken.
In the end, raw difference won.
Toji stepped in at a speed that blurred his outline, let gravity spike just enough under Ikarus's feet to pin him for a heartbeat, and then pressed him down with one hand on his shoulder, gentle but immovable.
Ikarus landed on his back on the branch, breath leaving him in a soft grunt. Toji crouched over him, one knee beside his hip, hand still on his chest—not crushing, just… there.
"Who is your master?" Toji asked.
Ikarus stared up at him, chest heaving, electricity still tingling at his fingertips.
"No one," he said. "I'm too cool."
Toji blinked. "…What kind of answer is that?"
Ikarus didn't respond.
His left hand twitched.
Five small stones, gathered quietly during the exchange and held between his fingers, shot out—not directly at Toji, but past him. They pinged off bark, rock, and branch, little arcs of electricity connecting them.
Then, guided by tiny micro‑pulls and nudges of force, they curved back, tapping Toji on the back, shoulder, and neck in rapid succession with light zaps.
Toji flinched more from surprise than anything.
He looked down at the boy and laughed.
"Not bad," he said. "Coating them with mana. And such potent lightning, too… Hey, I like you, kid."
Ikarus smirked faintly. "I know I'm pretty," he said, "but never a man."
Toji sighed, releasing him and straightening up.
"Let's talk," he said.
Ikarus sat up slowly, rubbing his chest where the hand had held him down, eyes narrowed but curious.
"Fine," he said. "Talk."