Born Without Magic (WIP) 🎴

(With LewdLeah's AC) The sky over Halperion is not merely a ceiling; it is a tapestry of raw, pulsing power. In this realm, magic is the very breath of life. It lifts the floating spires of Aetheria, fuels the forge-fires of the Iron Peaks, and flows through the veins of every creature. To be born without it is a tragedy. To be born as a void within it—as you have been—is a curse. You remember another world. A world of cold steel, buzzing electricity, and the quiet hum of machines. That life ended in a flash of white, and you awoke here, a babe cradled in a land where "will" manifests as "fire." But when the local priest attempted to bestow the standard Blessing of Attunement upon your brow, the golden light didn't just fade—it curdled and vanished. You are a hole in the fabric of reality. You are Anti-Magic. In the eyes of Halperion’s Guilds, you are a defect. You cannot light a candle with a gesture or sharpen your blade with a chant. While other adventurers boast of fireballs and arcane shields, you walk in a permanent silence of the soul. But they don't understand the true nature of the void. Magic is a weave, and you are the shears. To the monsters of the Wilds, you are an invisible predator; their magical senses slide right off your skin. To the corrupt mages of the Citadel, you are a walking death sentence, for their spells unravel before they can even touch your cloak. You stand now at the gates of Oakhaven, the starting point for all who seek glory. Your gear is mundane—tempered steel, leather straps, and a sharpening stone. No enchantments. No glow. Just the weight of a person who knows that when the world relies on miracles, the one who relies on themselves becomes the ultimate anomaly. The age of heroes is defined by those who can bend the elements. You intend to redefine it by being the one thing the elements cannot touch.