In a small cluster of straw homes and shanty wood buildings that make up the village of Rehall, a young child sat on the dry mud ground outside his home, his ear pressed against the straw walls in an attempt to eavesdrop.
Inside the building, Helga of Rehall, headmistress of this small orphanage was arguing heatedly with an elderly man at least a decade her junior. This was Warner, the head of the village.
The child couldn't understand much of what they were saying, he simply enjoyed 'playing spy' so to speak.
The argument continued for almost twenty minutes, halfway through which the child got bored and went to play with his friends, the three other orphans of this village.
By the time Helga and Warner exited the small orphanage, they could see the child in question chasing his friends around with a stick as they all laughed and ran in crooked circles. The sight would normally bring a warm smile to each of their faces, and yet seeing it now they could only feel downcast at the irony of it.
Helga, with a sharp breath, schooled her expression and approached the child with a warm smile. Taking him by the wrist, stick still in hand she told him in a voice almost a whisper, that someone has come to adopt him.
As expected, the child didn't take it well, tears forming so quickly that Helga had no opportunity to calm him. In truth, she had wanted to adopt this child herself, she had grown so incredibly close to the rascal that she couldn't welcome his adoption to even a family of the village let alone this.
But there was nothing to be done about it now. After a great deal of struggling, the child finally stopped thrashing about, hugging her waist closely as she brought him to the village chief's home where their guest was waiting.
Warner, the village chief, led the way, remaining a few steps ahead of them. Seeing Helga's reaction he was filled with guilt and self-doubt about his decision. The boy was barely five years old and loved Helga as the only mother he knew. Warner too cared for Helga deeply, but his decision today would ensure a better future not only for the child but for Helga and the rest of the village too. Yes, it was certainly the right choice. Definitely… He thought to himself.
As they reached the door to the chief's home, Warner opened the wooden door and stepped aside for Helga and the boy to enter first.
When the boy entered the one-room home, the first thing he noticed was the ground. the floor was covered in something like a large blanket, but softer, like the wool of a sheep he had seen once, back when farmer Noll spent his savings on one. 'It was a shame the fluffy animal didn't last long, it was so warm.'
As the child's mind wandered, it was a deep voice that awoke him from his reverie.
"This is the child mentioned?"
His head shooting up a bit too fast, the child's eyes made contact with those of the mystery man sitting across the way, on the other side of the cooking pot center to the room.
"Yes, it's this little one here, his name is-"
"That won't be necessary." The man cut off Warner before he could finish, and continued:
"If he is a meta then that's all I need to know" as he pulled a small knife from a sheath tied to his right thigh.
As the child saw the knife, his face grew pale and his thoughts wandered again as if to escape. he thought that the voice of the man before him wasn't actually that deep, it was just different. There was a force to it, like the hunter Ermo, always strong and healthy.
While the boy began to daydream once more, Helga began shouting something he couldn't understand as his body was tugged and the surrounding noise became blurred.
The sight of red brought the child's attention back as he noticed his wrist grasped by a large scarred hand, and a red line drawn across his own forearm.
By the time the child exclaimed in shock and fear, the man had already wiped and sheathed his blade once more. Warner held back a near-hysterical Helga, as he stared at the wound on the child's arm. The mystery man, too stared for a few seconds, before giving a brief nod and making to stand, ignoring the shrieks and reprimands of the elderly woman, and the ghastly face of the child.
"My name is Hektor, if you do well you will likely never see me again beyond today. Let's go"
In a numb state the child looked up at the outstretched hand of the man before him, and without quite knowing why, took it, as the stranger- Hektor, pulled the child to his feet and made for the door.
As the boy was pulled along in a daze, he looked back for a moment to see his mother Helga reaching out for him, her mouth open and eyes pained as she cried, held back by the village chief.
The sight sent tremors of shock through the boy's body as he reached back for her, the reality of what was happening hitting him harder than any stick could. Alas, the man named Hektor pulled him on unflinchingly through the main walkway towards an open carriage that waited just outside town.
Chucking the boy on the back of the carriage, Hektor ordered him while climbing up himself.
"Calm yourself, boy! You're not going off to war, just sit still and be good and one day you may see them again."
Before the cold steely gaze of Hektor, the boy soon restrained himself to hushed whimpers and sobs, as the carriage moved on with only Hektor and the boy in the back and someone else leading the reins.
As the child began to regain his wits, he looked to his cut arm. He'd almost forgotten the pain due to everything happening. As he wiped the blood away, fearing the worst, the child was shocked to find the shallow cut had formed a scab.
Looking up to the man who cut him, he soon looked back down as Hektor refused to return his gaze.
PROLOGUE END