In the eastern region of Eryndal, nestled within the bustling city of Gale, the streets were alive with activity. Gale was a hub of commerce and cultivation, home to many great clans and a stone’s throw away from the prestigious Second Career Society. Merchants hawked their wares, cultivators bartered for rare ingredients, and the air buzzed with the energy of ambition. Yet, amidst the lively crowd, one figure stood out like a sore thumb.

  A boy of about thirteen years old wandered aimlessly through the streets. His tattered clothing hung loosely on his lanky frame, and his muddled eyes seemed lost in thought. His hair was a messy mop, and his face was smudged with dirt, but his eyes—those striking, ruby-red eyes—caught the attention of anyone who glanced his way. They were like gemstones carved by the heavens themselves, glowing with an otherworldly light.

  Ren, as he was called, suddenly stopped in his tracks and let out a burst of laughter. The sound echoed through the street, drawing curious glances from passersby. His laughter wasn’t born of joy but of irony. Memories of his past life—a life on Earth—flashed through his mind. He had been alone then, too, working a dead end job and having no luck in anything in life and now, in this new world, nothing had changed. He was still an outsider, a servant in training at the Rayner household, a small clan that ran an alchemy store.

  As he stood there, lost in thought, a sharp thud interrupted his musings. A rock had somehow found its way to his head. “What the—?” Ren cursed, rubbing the sore spot. He glanced around, bewildered. The street was clean, so where had the rock come from? Shrugging it off, he approached a nearby merchant.

  The shopkeeper, a middle-aged man with a bushy mustache and a twinkle in his eye, was arranging jars of herbs on his stall. Ren cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice polite but tinged with impatience. “Do you know where I can find the library?”

  The shopkeeper looked up and grinned. “The library? What’s a lad like you need with books? Trying to learn how to take a bath?”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Ren rolled his eyes. “Very funny. Can you just point me in the right direction?”

  The shopkeeper chuckled and pointed down the road. “Just head straight, young one. You can’t miss it. But don’t blame me if the books bite back!”

  Ren muttered a quick insult about his mustache and walked off, ignoring the man’s laughter. He didn’t have time for jokes, especially bad ones.

  When he arrived at the library, however, his hopes were dashed. A sign on the door read: Closed for Repairs. From the whispers of the people nearby, he learned that the library had caught fire the night before. Ren sighed. Of course it had.

  Deciding there was nothing else to do, he turned back toward the Rayner clan’s courtyard. The courtyard was a serene oasis amidst the chaos of the city. A beautiful garden surrounded a grand statue of a domineering man—likely the clan’s ancestor. Ren paused to admire the sight, but just as he was taking it in, a loud splat broke the silence.

  A flying beast had chosen that exact moment to relieve itself, and its droppings landed squarely on the statue’s head. Ren couldn’t help it—he burst out laughing. The absurdity of the situation was too much. Even with his memories of Earth, where such things were rare, he found himself marveling at the sheer randomness of this world.

  But his laughter was short-lived. A haughty voice cut through the air. “You dirty servant! How dare you laugh at my ancestor?”

  Ren turned to see a boy about his age, dressed in fine robes and glaring at him with undisguised contempt. This was the young master of the Rayner clan, a spoiled and unruly child who had never been laughed at in his life. Without warning, the young master charged at Ren, his fist raised as if to strike him.

  But then, the unthinkable happened. The young master tripped—over nothing—and landed face-first in the dirt. The courtyard fell silent for a moment before erupting into laughter. Even the servants, who usually kept their heads down, couldn’t suppress their amusement. The young master scrambled to his feet, his face red with humiliation. He shot Ren a hateful glare, as if the entire incident were his fault.

  Ren, still stunned, could only shrug. “I didn’t do anything,” he muttered under his breath. But deep down, he knew better. This was just another day in the life of Ren, the boy cursed with the worst—and most chaotic—luck imaginable.