Aelar's heart pounded in his chest as he sprinted through the hills, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The apparent realization washed over him: he had no idea where he was going. The twisted pathways across the foothills of the Toika Mountains had led him deeper, far from the safety of well-trodden trails.
Finally, his stamina gave out, and he stopped, leaning against a boulder, and noticed a warm wetness trickling down his right forearm. His eyes widened at blood oozing from a gash he hadn't felt in his adrenaline-fueled flight. Panicked but resourceful, he rummaged through his pouch and pulled out a dried, twig-like herb. With hurried movements, he crushed it into a paste and applied it to his wound. The bleeding stopped almost instantly, much to his relief.
Aelar looked around, realizing the gravity of his situation. His fear had propelled him heedlessly into the depths of the mountains, and now he was lost. Determined not to let fear rule him again, he began exploring his immediate surroundings. The foliage was dense, and the air buzzed with the calls of unknown animals.
He heard a series of quick growls as he moved through the underbrush. Before he could react, a ferocious beast lunged at him from the shadows. It was the size of a duck but had the aggressive demeanor of a predator, many times its size. The creature, known locally as a "Fenlu," had brown scales with patches of fur and sharp, needle-like fangs. Aelar's mind raced—he had no weapon now, and channeling a defensive spell would take precious seconds he didn't have.
Aelar scrambled up a nearby tree in a split-second decision, narrowly escaping the Fenlu's snapping jaws. Finding a sturdy branch, he settled in for an uncomfortable night. As darkness enveloped him, his eyes caught the flickering of distant flames about a kilometer away.
His thoughts swirled in the dark void of the night. Could it be a camp of tribals who knew the hills well? Or perhaps another group of bandits, even more dangerous than the ones he'd escaped? He weighed the risks, his mind teetering on the edge of dark possibilities. But the allure of potential safety and human interaction was too much to resist. He made up his mind; he would investigate at first light.
As dawn broke, Aelar descended from his refuge high up in the trees, his muscles stiff from the cold. He approached the source of the flames he'd spotted last night. As he came near, he saw it was a mini-village neatly tucked away amidst towering trees. About 40 to 50 people were outside their huts, their attire neither that of tribals nor bandits.
With caution giving way to curiosity, Aelar walked directly into the village.
There were no guards; the villagers never expected anyone to stumble upon their secluded world. He had barely taken a few steps when he was spotted by a man practicing swordplay. The sword man ceased his movements, his eyes narrowing as he approached Aelar.
"Who are you, and how did you find this place?" the man asked, his voice laced with suspicion but tinged with intrigue.
Aelar took a deep breath. How he answered could very well determine his fate in this unexpected sanctuary. Summoning a humble tone, Aelar explained, "I was being pursued by bandits and, in my haste to escape, I ran deeper into the hills. I lost my way and didn't mean to intrude."
The swordsman, easing his stance, introduced himself. "I am Swen. We are a group from Physa who abandoned the kingdom of warriors. The life of endless battles grew tiresome, and many here shared that sentiment. That's how we ended up in this haven, hidden within the foothills of Toika Mountains."
The swordsman eased his stance and introduced himself. "I am Swen. We are a group of mercenaries who have taken refuge here."
Swen sheathed his sword and gestured toward the village. "You need not worry, Aelar. Once I've finished my practice, I'll guide you back to safer grounds."
With a nod of thanks, Aelar watched Swen return to his swordplay. The sword was unlike any Aelar had ever seen. Its blade had a unique green sheen, almost as if it had been forged from emerald. The hilt was wrapped in intricately braided leather, and the pommel bore the insignia of a mythical creature—half-dragon, half-phoenix. It was an exquisite masterpiece that spoke volumes of its owner's skill and taste.
Swen transitioned through various forms—Kendo, Arnis, Escrima—each movement fluid and precise. His style's diversity was astounding, resulting from years spent mastering the art of swordsmanship. But what truly caught Aelar's attention was Swen's speed. He moved with a velocity that seemed to transcend human limits, his blade a green streak of light cutting through the air.
The practice session ended, and Swen approached Aelar. "It's time. I'll lead you out of here now."
Aelar's eyes followed Swen as he sheathed his emerald-green blade. "Your swordsmanship is truly remarkable, Swen. I was actually meant to go on an adventure before joining the Academy, to gather experiences and skills. Watching you, I realized how unprepared I am. Not just against bandits but even against the local fauna, like that little beast Fenlu I encountered."
Swen raised an eyebrow, intrigued yet skeptical. "An adventure, you say? Swordsmanship takes years to master. It's not a skill you pick up in a few days."
"I understand that," Aelar persisted, his voice tinged with a quiet desperation. "But I still have over a month before I need to return. I could stay here, learn the basics at least. In return, I could offer my knowledge of herbs and medicines. I also possess a modicum of magical skills that could be useful."
Swen looked at Aelar, his eyes searching for any hint of insincerity. Finding none, he sighed. "Very well. It's against my better judgment, but I'll take you on as an informal student. But remember, swordsmanship isn't just about wielding a blade; it's about discipline, focus, and a deep understanding of your weapon and yourself."
"Thank you, Swen. I understand, and I promise to honor it," Aelar responded, his relief palpable.
Nodding, Swen gestured for Aelar to follow him. "Come, let me introduce you to the community."
As they strolled through the village, Aelar was introduced to a motley crew of individuals. Some were warriors like Swen, their eyes carrying tales of battles and hardships. Others were families of these fighters—spouses, children, and elders who had chosen a life of relative peace over the perpetual conflict of their homeland.
It was a diverse but tight-knit community, bound by a shared history and a collective desire for a different life. And for the next month, it would be Aelar's home—a place to learn, grow, and perhaps find a new facet of himself that had long remained hidden.