Something behind it

Adrien, better known by his alias Rei, squinted at the peeling wallpaper plastered with faded rock band posters. The room, once tolerable by his past standards, now reeked of neglect and despair. Memories – not his own, but of the teenager whose body he now inhabited - flooded his mind.

This was the life of Raven, the ostracized son of a powerful family . Whispers he had heard pointed to Raven as a cursed reminder, shunned due to the sins of his father. Rumors hinted at a dark organization and a mother, a prodigy destined to ascend to the coveted rank of 12-Star Mage. But upon Raven's birth, his father had attempted a monstrous act – the assassination of his own wife.

The assassination failed, but the damage was done. Whispers painted Raven's father as a long-term mole, meticulously studying the family's defenses for over a decade. "He played well," Adrien, residing in Raven's shell, thought with a chilling amusement. On the day Raven was born, the organization, led by his traitorous father, struck. The family, though weakened, held firm. His mother, however, emerged from the fight a changed woman. Exhausted from childbirth and fueled by a burning desire for revenge, she regressed from a 10-Star Mage to a 9-Star, retreating into a world of seclusion and relentless training.

Maybe she was consumed by grief and an insatiable thirst for revenge, so she retreated into seclusion, leaving Raven as a constant reminder of the betrayal.

Raven became the target of his family's displaced grief. He endured years of neglect, veiled insults, and even disguised abuse from his fiery redheaded sister who maybe felt the reason for her mother's new cold behavior came because of me and the rumours didn't help much either. The servants, mirroring their superiors, treated him with disdain. His mother remained a distant figure, her heart forever locked away.

Internally, Adrien, now Raven, scoffed. The blame game was pathetic. Yet, a nagging suspicion gnawed at him. Why hadn't they simply killed him? Was it fear of his powerful mother's wrath, even in her current reclusive state? Or was there something more?

Adding fuel to the fire was the question of Raven's potential. Labelled with a potential of a measly D-grade, it felt like a blatant lie. After all, the son of a genius and a presumably powerful traitor couldn't be so weak, could he? A chilling possibility presented itself – they'd tampered with him somehow. But how?

The answer, like the truth about his father, remained shrouded in secrecy. Whispers of the attack and his parents' past floated around, but concrete details were scarce. The bigger question, however, was why? Why go to such lengths to ostracize him, yet hesitate to kill him outright?

He had awoken in a shitty room, but the true depth of his predicament was far more unsettling. He was a pawn in a twisted game, and the pieces were far from clear. With his experience and Raven's memories as his guide, Adrien, or Raven as he was now known, to not be a pawn for someone else something that he would do or die trying. This wasn't just about survival; it was about reclaiming his life.

The harsh reality of his situation pressed down on Raven. Uncertainties swirled in his mind. He attempted to rise, to push himself off the thin mattress, but his muscles refused to cooperate. Weak and sluggish, they were a reminder of the previous owner's demise and the time it would take for his new body to adjust.

Two years. Two grueling years as a familiar cleaner in the bustling city of Silvencrest. He'd been the one who ensured the adventurers' precious companions remained pampered, while his own existence remained shrouded in filth and neglect. He remembered the menial tasks – grooming, cleaning, even the chore of waste disposal – that barely kept a roof over his head. A leaky roof, he recalled with a grimace, offering little protection from the city's harsh elements.

The meagerness of his earnings was a fresh wound. 1900 Bronze coins, an income that barely covered the exorbitant rent of 1500B for his cramped, squalid room. The remaining 400B went towards sustenance, or rather, the cheapest, most dubious scraps he could salvage from restaurants about to discard their leftovers. A wave of disgust washed over him at the thought, the image of someone else's discarded meal, possibly even had spit in it. He wouldn't – he couldn't – accept this existence any longer.

He had potential, an innate strength he could feel coursing through him. But potential was a sweet thought, as the ones with power don't want their power threatened cause if I was not with them I was against them and I would need to be removed.

He craved strength, not just physical prowess but the knowledge to wield it effectively. Mana control, combat techniques – these were the secrets held close by the privileged few, the very knowledge his own family, may have taught him poorly or just gave him something that would harm him.Still some memories were not adding up how did I end up in this city?

The previous owner, Raven, had contemplated the path of ending it all, maybe he succeed considering I'm here.

Begging on the streets had been his first desperate attempt, but in this world that thrived on power, weakness was a stench that repelled even the most meager forms of charity. So, he'd taken the only path available – servitude, cleaning up after those who possessed the very power he yearned for.

As he lay there, a new worry dawned on him – a teacher. Who would take a chance on him, a nameless nobody from the slums? The esteemed academies were out of reach, bastions for the privileged few who could afford the exorbitant fees and lineage to gain entry. Desperation threatened to drown him again, the weight of his situation pressing down with crushing force.

Then, a glimmer of recognition pierced through the fog of his memories. Silvencrest. The name of the city echoed through his thoughts, a familiar chime that sent a jolt through him. Could it be?

"...a world you may be familiar with..." He unconsciously muttered thise words and why he did it he didn't know why. After thinking about it for a while and decided to give up focussing on his situation.

A sliver of hope, began to bloom in his chest. Maybe all was not lost. A single thought, whispered on a thread of hope, cut through the suffocating darkness: maybe, just maybe, things were about to change.