Dreams die with time.

When you were young, you dreamt of being a Sorcerer King, like those of stories from before the Collapse. Of wielding power akin to that of the gods themselves, living forever, and ruling wisely.

Over time, these dreams matured. By the time of your mid-adolescence, many of your peers were already working in family business or taking higher courses, provided they were blessed with intellect or wealth. <span class="mu-i">You</span> were preparing to enter the Academy, study magic and eventually help people like the responsible adult that you were expected to be.

Yet these aspirations were not to last. Optimism quickly turned to confusion, then to despair. The sheer amount of work and talent required to succeed once you passed the entrance exams was astounding. The meditation techniques were hard to get a grasp of, and your focus wavered often. Maybe you had taken a place intended for someone else, because you witnessed how others bore a much lesser burden of practice and theory required to advance.

Well, it didn't matter anyway. The expulsion letter ended your possibilities of a career as a licensed mage.

You kept studying still, working menial jobs and spending your free time reading whatever magic tomes were available in the library. It wasn't much. You learned to meditate properly, little by little, and taught yourself some cheap tricks like lighting a fire without flint or creating a mote of light instead of a lantern. But the publicly available knowledge was little, and soon you had to look for a proper job when your mother wouldn't support you anymore.

And when it dawned upon you that you would be stuck in the same place for the rest of your life like the rest of your peers if you didn't do something, you went away, leaving your family: your more competent and serious elder brother and your mother - to fend for themselves.

The tricks you learned in the libraries were a bit useful. Some down on their luck adventurers hired you as cheap magical support for their expeditions. It wasn't much, but it was honest work, and you learned bit by bit again, picking locks, evading tough enemies and besting weak ones with your dagger.

Soon, you were exploring ruins on your own. Maybe luck had finally turned towards you, or you were experienced enough to succeed, but you made ends meet with trinkets you looted from old, less dangerous and hence less popular ruins. Sometimes you would still dungeon-dive as part of a group if you needed some more spare coin.

You restarted the regimen the Academy provided you with as well. The endurance training that some first-years (namely, you) were going through strengthened your body and the meditation cleared your mind.

Yet all the same, the remnants of dreams from your expulsion slowly died within you, replaced with a simple, unsophisticated will to live.