The streets of London were cold and unfiving, shadows stretg across cobblestones slick with rain. A young boy darted between the crowds, his ragged clothes ging to his thin frame as he clutched a stolen loaf of bread. His stomach growled, a reminder of his hunger, but he didn't have time to eat. Shouts echoed behind him—angry voices, heavy footsteps.

  "There he is! Get him!"

  The boy's heart raced as he turned sharply down an alley, only to find a dead end. Panic surged through him as the burly men who had chased him rouhe er, blog his escape. They were strong, faces twisted with anger. One man cracked his knuckles, stepping closer.

  "Think you steal from us, you little rat?" he snarled, reag out to grab the boy by his colr.

  "Yonna pay for that."

  Before the boy could even struggle, a voiterrupted, calm and posed.

  "Now, now, gentleme's not be too hasty."

  From the shadows emerged an old man, his posture rexed as he approached. He wore a long coat that looked too fine for these parts of the city, and atop his head was a tall top hat, slightly tilted. His eyes were sharp, gleaming with a mischievous light. Without hesitation, the old man tossed a few s to the burly men.

  "sider this payment for the bread," he said, his voice warm yet anding. The men exged gnces before scooping up the moheir expressions softening. One of them grunted, shooting the boy a gre before they turned and walked away.As the alley grew quiet, the boy's stomach growled loudly, breaking the silence. Embarrassed, he clutched his stomach, his eyes widening as the old man ughed—a deep, hearty ugh that seemed to warm the cold air around them.

  "Well, it seems you were in quite the predit," the man chuckled. He reached up to his top hat, giving it a tap. To the boy's astonishment, a warm, freshly baked loaf of bread appeared from the hat's brim, as if by magic. The old man ha to him with a gentle smile.

  "Here. This one's on me."

  The boy's eyes widened as he took the bread, its warmth seeping into his cold hands.

  "H-how did you do that?" he stammered, staring at the hat ihe old man's smile grew wider.

  "Ah, just a little triine. I'm a magi, you see. But it's all just illusion and sleight of hand. Nothing more," he said, his tone pyful.

  "Tell me, boy, why did you steal that bread?"

  The boy looked down, his voice small. "I was hungry..."

  The old man nodded, his gaze softening.

  "I see... Hunger makes us do desperate things." He paused, looking at the boy thoughtfully. "You have potential, you know. I saw something in you back there—something that could ge the world. But it's also dangerous if left unchecked."

  The boy looked up, fusion written on his face. "What do you mean?"

  The old man's eyes sparkled with intrigue.

  "You have a power within you—a power to turn lies into truth. But it only works if no one believes your lies. It's not awake, but it could be, with the right training. How about it? Would you like to e with me and learn the ways of magid illusion?"

  The boy hesitated, his gaze log with the old man's. There was something sincere in those eyes, a kihat felt genuine. He didn't have a home, didn't even have a name. But this man... he seemed different.Finally, the boy nodded.

  "Yes... I'll go with you."The old man ughed, a joyful sound that echoed off the alley walls. He took off his coat, ing it around the boy's frail shoulders.

  "Do You had a he boy shake his head.

  "Good! Then from now on, you're Mirage Carl. My apprentid assistant."

  Mirage Carl. The name felt strange, but also... right. The boy looked up at his new mentor, a spark of hope igniting within him. Together, they walked out of the alley, the old man's coat draped over him like a cloak of warmth and possibility.As they disappeared into the bustling streets, the old man's voice drifted back, carrying a whisper of mystery and magibsp;

  "e along, Mirage Carl. Our first lesson awaits..."