The morning light streamed into the classroom, casting a soft glow on the wooden desks lined in neat rows, reflecting off the window near his carved wooden desk.
The faint scent of old, musty wood lingered in the sparse room. Only a handful of desks were arranged side-by-side, just enough for the small number of students present. Among them, a young boy with tousled black hair seemed to be asleep, his head resting on his arms as he slouched over the desk.
A thin line of drool lazily trailed from his slightly parted lips.
"Rayliar… Rayliar… Rayliar!" whispered a voice beside him.
"Mmm… what is it, Morlowe?" muttered the boy, lifting his head groggily from the desk.
"You can't sleep through every lesson. Pay attention, please… last time, I ended up with a book smacked on my head because of you," Morlowe said with a sigh, his tone half-exasperated, half-amused.
"Not my fault Professor Norton has terrible aim," Rayliar retorted, smirking slightly.
His amber-colored eyes gleamed as sunlight filtered in, giving them a warm glow.
"Fine, fine. I'll pay attention… just for you, okay?" he joked, flashing a mischievous grin at his seatmate.
Though honestly… this stuff doesn't interest me all that much, especially considering that in less than a month, the Choosing will take place…
Professor Norton's voice boomed across the classroom, his tone stern and unyielding.
A short, slightly rotund man, he paced back and forth in front of the large ebony desk. His face was plain, the only distinctive feature being his long, hooked nose, which protruded rather prominently. Perched on his nose was a pair of tiny round glasses, almost comically small, emphasizing the sharp curve of his nose even more.
"As you all know, it's been one hundred and fifty years since the event now known as the Great Cataclysm. The world, as it was once known, was wiped out in a matter of hours. New races began to inhabit these lands, and today, most of them live in harmony."
The professor paused, stopping behind the desk and resting both hands on its surface as he scanned the room.
"In a few days, all of you will face the Choosing of your roles. Who can tell me what distinguishes our world today from one hundred and fifty years ago?"
A young girl with fiery red hair raised her hand.
"Go ahead, Silvia."
"After the second generation, every human child at the age of twelve has the opportunity to choose their role. However, as the years have gone by, the number of available roles has drastically declined, making it nearly impossible to receive a desirable role."
"Excellent!" the professor praised her, nodding approvingly.
*Ding-Dong*
*Ding-Dong*
"It seems our time together has come to an end… I'll see you all tomorrow. Professor Glasgow is waiting for you in the gymnasium. Have a good day, everyone."
And so, the small group of students filed out of the classroom.
Finally, something fun!
Rayliar thought, leaving the classroom behind with a hint of excitement in his steps.
_________________________________
To call it a "gymnasium" would be overly generous, though it served its purpose.
The space was a large, rectangular room, framed by walls made of rough-hewn wood. The floor was a patchwork of sawdust and planks, giving it a gritty, unfinished look.
Above, a crude wooden roof was held up by thick, square beams. During the colder months, the rain and snow often found their way inside through small cracks and gaps.
In one corner of the room stood a long rack laden with wooden weapons. Positioned at the center of the space was a towering man, almost two meters tall, standing perfectly still, arms crossed.
He had short, black hair that fell over his high forehead, and a long scar ran across his face, starting above one eye and ending near his cheek. His broad shoulders and the steely set of his jaw spoke of years spent in rigid training and the harsh discipline that had shaped him.
"Everyone, take a wooden sword and stand by the rack," his deep voice resonated, carrying authority with every word.
"Yes, sir, Professor Glasgow!" the students replied in unison.
"Crownsville may be a peaceful village, but you must be strong enough to protect yourselves in case of an attack or a monster horde…" Glasgow's gaze shifted. "Rayliar, Morlowe… step to the center. You two will go first."
For the past two years, the students had been following an intense training regimen.
Though it wasn't immediately apparent, Glasgow had once been one of the king's knights before retiring to Crownsville.
Over the past two years, he had taken on the role of training the village youth, employing the same methods he once used with the royal guards. He was astounded by the talent some of these youngsters exhibited, surpassing the abilities of most of the kingdom's soldiers.
"You're all aware that after the Great Cataclysm, those who held the title of A King in a Lawless World fought for dominion, ultimately claiming control over much of the New World. And I assume many of you know that an envoy from the king will be present on the day of the Choosing… if you manage to catch his interest… who knows, you might even find yourself on a path to the capital."
"T-The capital?!"
"Wow!" a wave of murmurs rippled through the students.
"Silence!"
Like a clap of thunder, Glasgow's voice instantly quelled the chatter.
"Get into position, you two!"
Slowly, Rayliar and Morlowe walked over to the rack, each selecting a weapon before taking their stances.
"You're always the same, Rayliar…" Morlowe commented, glancing at the heavy sword his brother had chosen.
"Hmph… remind me again, how many times have you beaten me?"
"We're ten to nine, if I remember right," Morlowe replied, smirking.
"In your dreams! It's the other way around, and you know it!"
They bickered back and forth.
Throughout their training, the two boys had shown the greatest potential.
If they were to receive good roles… they might very well alter the course of history on this continent! Glasgow mused to himself.
Despite their immense talent, the two were polar opposites. Morlowe's movements were swift and precise, almost like a dancer's. Rayliar, on the other hand, possessed strength far beyond what was typical, rivaling even that of a troll.
Physically, no one would ever have guessed that the two were twins.
Morlowe's short, silver hair fell messily over his face, which was more delicate, almost feminine. His slender frame was on the verge of being too thin, and among the class, he was one of the shortest.
Rayliar, in stark contrast, was the very image of ruggedness. Thick, dark hair crowned his head, wild and untamed. His yellow eyes held a primal, almost beast-like glint. His body, well-toned for his age, was tall and muscular, giving him the appearance of a natural-born fighter, more reliant on instinct than technique.
The two stood facing each other in the center of the gymnasium.
The tension in the air was thick, almost tangible.
Rayliar lifted his heavy wooden sword, resting it on his shoulder as he lowered his center of gravity, preparing to strike.
Across from him, Morlowe held his slender wooden sword close, its tip pointed directly at his brother.
"Ready… Fight!"
The former knight's voice echoed through the room as he swung his arm to signal the beginning of their duel.