The first thing Luck registered was warmth.
It clung to the air like a soft blanket, pushing back the usual bite of Lowspire's damp mornings. His fingers twitched beneath worn sheets, rough but familiar. He pushed off the streets and stretched slowly, muscles stiff from sleep.
The cot beneath him creaked with the movement, and the scent of warm bread drifted through the cracks in the old floorboards.
He sat up.
Then paused.
"…Wait. Bread?"
There was a beat of silence, then the faint thump of someone dropping a pan.
"Rook," Luck called flatly. "Are you burning breakfast again?"
A muffled curse echoed through the hideout. "It's not burnt, it's just uh, extra crispy! Adds texture!"
Luck chuckled, dragging a hand through his mess of hair. His fingers traced the smooth, reinforced frame of the bed he now called his own. Not a pile of rags. Not a broken crate in an alley. A bed. His bed.
Two years ago, this rooftop shack had been nothing but a skeleton of warped planks and rusted nails. Now? It had furniture bought from the money the saved up, a ceiling that hardly ever leaked, a door that doesn't creak AND best of all, a working toliet and shower.
It wasn't a home. Not really.
But it was theirs.
Luck swung his legs over the edge and stood, stretching again. His cane leaned against the bedpost—refinished with a proper grip, sanded smooth, and weighted just the way he liked it. The wisp floated silently near the rafters, glowing a dim blue. It was calm this morning, almost content.
He had grown rather fond of the wisp, and had even given it a name based on a game he used to play back when he was a thief in his old world.
"Morning Will'O"
Will'O bobbed up and down in response and then settled in a position slightly in front of his shoulder.
"Is it that day already?" he asked aloud.
Rook's voice called back, "Damn right it is. Today's your birthday, kid!"
"It's not actually my birthday."
"It is now. Two years since you pulled your first job. You were scrawny, blind, and so young." Rook let out a fake sigh as if reminicing about those days.
Luck smirked. "Still blind. Still young."
"Yeah, but at least your not so scrawny anymore. If someone from Trestor where to look at you they probably think you were one of them! Just uh a little less clean."
Luck followed the smell of food toward the small cooking nook they'd pieced together from stolen bricks, broken tiles, and a cast-off iron skillet. He could navigate the hideout now without the cane if he wanted but he had grown accustomed to this sorry excuse of a walking stick.
He felt the heat from the fire pit and heard Rook's movements. He took slow, heavy steps, while humming off-key. A beat later he placed 2 plates on the table, both smelled like they had eggs and bread on them.
"Happy birthday," Rook said.
Luck sniffed it. "It's edible. I'm shocked."
"Hey, rude," Rook muttered, but there was no bite to it.
They ate in silence for a moment, only the soft crackle of fire and the distant hum of Lowspire's morning noise filling the space.
Luck broke the quiet. "You remember that first job?"
"You kidding? You crashed into the stall and caused a whole scene." Rook said teasingly.
Luck retorted. "Hey, that was on purpose and you know it- Wait weren't you the one who came up with the plan I swore I could've remembered-"
Rook snorted. "You kidding? You crashed into a stall and made a whole damn scene."
Luck scoffed. "That was on purpose, and you know it—wait, weren't you the one who came up with the plan? I swear I remember—"
Rook cut in, grinning. "I gave you options. You picked the most dramatic one and ran with it."
Luck leaned back, chewing slowly. "So technically, I was improvising. Like a genius."
"Like a lunatic," Rook corrected.
"Same difference."
"Pft, yeah sure." Rook snorted, letting a small laugh slip out.
Luck chuckled too and then paused for a second as if remembering something.
"Hey Rook."
"Hm?"
"Do you think I could attend the Trestor Magic Academy when I'm twelve?"
"Hey, Rook."
"Hm?"
"…Do you think I could attend the Trestor Magic Academy when I'm twelve?"
Rook stopped chewing.
For a moment, the only sound was the fire crackling and the soft clink of Luck's fork tapping against his plate.
"You mean that Trestor Academy?" Rook asked slowly. "The one that trains noble mages and battle sorcerers? The one that charges tuition in gold, not copper?"
Luck nodded once. "Yeah. That one."
Rook exhaled through his nose. "Kid… you know they don't take just anyone. Especially not people like us. Especially...not someone like you, who won't even be able to use magic until two years from now."
Luck's voice was calm. "But what if I got good enough? I mean… smart enough. Fast enough. Strong enough."
Rook looked at him—really looked, even though Luck couldn't see it.
"You don't have magic, Luck. That school is built for people who have mana in their veins. People with lineage. With power."
"I know," Luck said. "But what if I went anyway?"
Normally, Luck wouldn't press like this. He rarely asked for things—rarely dreamed out loud. But this wasn't a whim. It had been growing in him quietly, like a fire he didn't know how to put out.
Training with Rook had gotten him far. Farther than anyone expected from a blind, cursed kid pulled off the streets. But lately... it wasn't enough. Their sparring sessions ended in stalemates. Their strategies overlapped. His instincts were sharper. His movement cleaner. Even his cons were starting to rival Rook's.
And that scared him.
Because if he caught up to Rook, then what?
Lowspire was never going to be safe. He didn't want to survive by scraping and clawing forever. Not again. Not like his last life, where survival was the only goal, the only option. Where hope was a joke and rest was a luxury.
This time, he wanted to live.
He wanted to grow into something real. Someone who could take care of himself—and maybe, one day, take care of others. Someone who could build enough good karma to cash in on another life that didn't end on a blood-soaked street corner.
Or, maybe... just maybe, if he worked hard enough—this life would be the one where he finally rested easy.
Rook must've felt the shift in the air. He didn't speak for a long while.
Then, softly: "You're serious."
Luck nodded. "I want more than this."
"You know it'll be near impossible."
Luck smiled faintly. "So was surviving Lowspire blind. I'm on a streak."
"Alright then..." Rook let out a slow breath, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "We got three years before you can enroll officially and we have two years before all your curses start to change."
Rook continued. "Last time I checked my grading for agility and strength was D-, since you can almost keep up with me lets just assume your E+, which I believe should be more than enough for enrollment in the physical exam. Meaning for two years we will study theory so that you can pass the theory test with flying colours or whatever is needed to pass. We can use the one year gap between the second and third for you to shrink the gap between you and the other mages, meaning when that time comes we are going to need a tutor..."
Luck tilted his head. "Can't you teach me magic? I'm pretty sure you used fire magic to cook breakfast last time."
Rook shot him a deadpan look. "Oh sure. Because torching toast is exactly the kind of spell they're looking for at the most elite academy in Trestor. Listen flipping eggs and burning toast isn't going to get you in. You need something that will help you match the others and pure strength alone isn't going to cut it."
Rook sighed and the continued. "If I could teach you these things I would, but the only thing that I can help with is building a good foundation for your physique and making sure that you don't adopt bad habits in the way you act but I've already taught you all of them, the most I can do for you right now is help you with studying..."
Luck then thought about it. He had spent majority of his new life with Rook. Two years to be exact. Two years of early mornings, bruises, blisters, and silent meals. Two years of drills until his limbs ached, of running until his lungs burned, of sparring matches where he rarely won. And yet, he kept showing up. Because Rook expected him to. Because he wanted to. Because for the first time in both of his lives, someone had actually invested in him.
At first, he thought Rook was just using him for free labor—someone to fetch firewood or carry supplies. But then the corrections started. A nudge here to fix his stance. A raised eyebrow when he slouched. A sharp bark when he hesitated during training.
He was stronger now. Faster. Smarter in ways that couldn't be measured in numbers or grades. Rook had taken his twitchy, feral street-rat instinct of his and sanded it down into something useful. Something stable.
But now, hearing Rook say it—"the most I can do for you right now is help you with studying"—hit harder than Luck expected.
He had started relying on him.
Not just for food or shelter. Not even for the training. But for direction. Rook had become his compass, his fallback, the one person who didn't pity him or treat him like a broken thing...like a dog.
Rook was like an older brother he never had.
If Rook was saying he couldn't do more, that meant the training wheels were off. That meant Luck had to start making his own decisions again—real ones. Ones that didn't end with him bleeding in a gutter or drifting through another wasted life.
"Right well, we shall get started tomorrow for now finish your breakfast and then lets make some cake." Rook said having already finished his plate pulling Luck out of his thoughts.
'He finished so fast...he must've given me the bigger portion of food again...'
"Rook, why do you always give me the bigger portion of food instead of halving it whenever we eat?" Luck asked while placing an egg on his bread, bring it the his mouth.
"Hm? Oh, well how else are you going to grow big and strong?" He leaned back with a grin. "At the rate your growing, we might even get a proposal from one of those fancy noble girls up in Trestor especially with your face starting to shape up too. Haha!"
"Mph—!" Luck choked nearly inhaling his egg in response to that statement. "Cough—cough—!"
"Didn't think the idea of marrying rich was that offensive." Rook said, passing him a cup of water with a smile tugging at his lips.
Luck took the cup and gulped it down, his face flushed—not just from choking. He wiped his mouth and shot Rook a glare, eyes narrowed.
"I'm nine you idiot."
Luck shivered at the thought of some nine year old proposing to him. He had been 14 when he died so mentally he was a 14 year old, if he excluded the two years that he had been here, so 9 year olds were DEFINITELY off the table.
Rook just laughed. "Exactly! Perfect time to start a relationship!"