Guto wandered through the idyllic village, bathed in the soft evening light that painted a scene of serenity and joy. The village, nestled amidst rolling hills and lush greenery, exuded an irresistible charm. Children frolicked in the cobblestone streets, their laughter forming a sweet, melodious backdrop.
As Guto's gaze wandered over the training ground, he fixed his attention on a boy who stood apart from the others. This lad was of shorter stature and appeared to be somewhat of an outlier among the villagers. While all the children diligently practiced their martial skills with large, weighty weapons, the boy emulated their efforts, even though his diminutive frame hindered his speed with these substantial armaments.
"Excuse me!" Guto called out, all the while aware of the persistent observer trailing him.
The boy turned to look at Guto, his countenance a blend of curiosity and caution. "What do you want?"
Guto regarded the boy with a compassionate expression. "I noticed you here, training with those hefty weapons. It's evident they're a bit unwieldy for someone your size. Have you ever considered trying something different?"
"These are honorable weapons. Plus what would a boy so young like you would know about weapons?" the boy replied, his voice tinged with reluctance.
"May I inquire about your name?"
"I'm Erik." he responded.
Guto smiled, aiming to put Erik at ease. "Tell me, Erik, how often do you practice here each week?"
Without hesitation, Erik answered, "Every day. I need to become stronger."
"And what motivates you to come here every day?" Guto inquired, his curiosity genuine.
Erik's voice quivered slightly as he confessed, "I want to avenge my family. A man from this village harmed them, and I won't rest until I've made him answer for it."
Guto nodded thoughtfully. "Is it fair to say that revenge is your aspiration, Erik?"
Erik hesitated briefly, his eyes revealing a mélange of emotions. "Yes, it is. I want justice for my family."
Leaning in closer, Guto lowered his voice. "And do you think there might be times when we have to sacrifice certain things, like honor, to pursue our dreams?"
Erik's brow furrowed as he contemplated Guto's words. "I... I'm not sure. Honor is important."
Guto offered Erik a comforting pat on the shoulder. "Come on, Erik. I'll teach you some things I've learned, things that might aid you in achieving your dream. How does that sound?"
Erik regarded Guto with a glint of hope in his eyes. "You'd do that for me?"
Guto nodded with a warm grin. "Absolutely, and besides, I've got nothing better to do at the moment."
For the next hour, Guto patiently imparted the art of dagger fighting to Erik, demonstrating how to move with agility and strike with precision. As Erik absorbed this newfound knowledge, his eyes shimmered with excitement. Despite his smaller stature, his movements exuded swiftness and precision, and the daggers felt like extensions of his own body.
Guto understood that in certain situations, victory wasn't solely a product of skill and honor. He leaned in closer, murmuring softly to Erik, "Sometimes, you need to get your hands dirty. It's not about honor, it's about survival." With that, Guto proceeded to teach Erik a crafty tactic, throwing sand into an opponent's eyes. This maneuver would momentarily blind them, creating an opening for a strategic strike.
Erik diligently practiced this maneuver, comprehending that in a world fraught with danger, one had to be resourceful. He expressed his gratitude to Guto, a newfound confidence now gleaming in his eyes.
As the sun descended below the horizon, casting eerie shadows across the training field, a tall and stern, looking man approached Guto. He was cloaked in a dark robe that swayed in the cold breeze, and his eyes held a sharp glint, sending a chill down Guto's spine.
"What weapons do you require?" the man inquired, his voice low and raspy.
"What?" Guto questioned, his confusion apparent.
"Are you not Édmir? Dastan sent me, he believed you'd need weapons for the task."
Without hesitation, Guto responded, "I'll take two daggers." his voice unwavering.
The man silently retreated into the obscurity and soon returned with two exquisitely crafted daggers. They gleamed under the pale moonlight, their blades razor-sharp, and their hilts adorned with intricate designs. Guto graciously accepted them.
"You're fortunate, as nobody here uses daggers, I had a few already prepared."
"These look remarkable, thank you."
With the daggers now securely at his side, Guto embarked on a solemn journey to visit the one person with whom he felt the most at ease, Frøya.
The path to her modest cottage was filled with a heavy sense of melancholy, the fog now denser than ever. Guto clutched a delicate flower he'd picked on his way, a single white rose with petals as pure as freshly fallen snow. He hoped this small gesture would bring some solace to Frøya.
Frøya's cottage stood at the village's edge, a place where time seemed to pause. The air within was still and laden, as if the very walls held their breath, yearning for a miracle to break the silence.
Guto approached her bedside, his heart burdened by sorrow. Frøya lay still, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that felt too slow and too fragile. He gently placed the white rose on her nightstand, whispering words of solace and hope into the room's eerie stillness.
"I don't know if you can hear me, Frøya." Guto began, his voice scarcely above a whisper, "but I hope you awaken soon."
With these words, Guto left the cottage and made his way to his own, knowing that tomorrow marked his final day before heading to the mines.