Chapter 2: Beginnings 1
A boy no older than ten years of age was rummaging through a dumpster in a dark alleyway.
(MC looks like this)
The boy despite his tattered clothing and dirty appearance was undeniably adorable. His blue cat ears were alert, ready for the first sign of danger, as his tail swung back and forth.
The boy's face was scrunched in concentration as he tossed trash out of the dumpster looking for a meal to feed his aching stomach.
Eventually, his search bore fruit in the form of a half-eaten moldy cheeseburger.
Such a thing to the average person would cause them to nearly vomit in repulsion at the thought of eating it.
But, to the boy, this was a rare delicacy. Up until now, he had only eaten rotten fruits and vegetables.
Letting out a wide smile at the find, his teeth still a pearly white despite living on the streets for all his life, the boy dug in greedily.
Unbeknownst to him, the act of eating rotten foods let alone this burger would have killed a less sturdy race long ago. However, it was due to his race adapting to harsh environments and eating the literal scraps of others that allowed him to gain the necessary nutrients to survive.
After Finishing his burger the boy quickly flipped out of the dumpster in a remarkable feat of athletic ability.
Looking around himself one last time with a wary glance the boy proceeded to exit the alleyway quickly.
What greeted him was not the bustling streets of an active city nor the aristocratic laughter of pompous nobles.
Rather what greeted him was broken down homes, poverty, suffering, and strife.
This was the slums and the Boy's home.
The only thing clean was a large mansion in the distance that overlooked the Slums.
But, the boy ignored this as he hurriedly walked to his home. Apparently, it took longer than he thought to find his food for today as it was already dusk.
An unfavorable position for sure. He had seen what those who stalk the night did to their prey. He had been a victim of it too.
The scar that stretched around his neck that rendered him practically mute was an unpleasant reminder of the fact.
Thankfully it didn't take him long to teach his residence if you could call it that.
His home was just a shack with some modifications such as a badly built chimney.
Although it was better built compared to some of the other buildings in the slums, it wasn't anything a normal person would be proud to call their home.
Still, for a ten-year-old who knew only the slums, to him, it was rather impressive.
Opening his door, which held no physical lock, the boy was met by a Spartan room devoid of anything but a bed made up of various soft materials he found during his scavenging for food.
After closing the door behind him a flash of purple light encased the door before dissipating.
That was the spell [Lock] the first and only
Magical spell the boy had learned during his ten years of life.
He had learned it from the man who had raised him till the age of five.
The man who he took to calling Grampa Max before his death as he sacrificed himself to save the boy from a child trafficking ring.
The spell itself did as the name suggests. It locked something to everyone but the caster.
It was an effective spell that allowed for the boy to be somewhat relaxed in his own dwelling.
Though it was not without its limits as someone with enough pure magical power or skill could easily break through it. Hence why the shack was so plain.
Laying down on his "bed" a content smile stretched across his face.
'Today was a good day!' he thought to himself as he closed his eyes.
Slowly the land of dreams enveloped him.
Unfortunately, his "fortunate" day would not repeat itself.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone