"Enough chatter. Take your seats," the teacher's voice boomed, deep and unwavering.
"Today, we delve into history."
A thick silence settled over the room, broken only by the collective sigh of the class.
The teacher's gaze cut through them, sharp and unyielding. "But do not mistake this for a mere lesson," he warned, his voice growing more solemn. He paused, letting the weight of his words hang in the air. "This is the tale of our world—Edomar—and the ancient forces that shaped it. The very fabric of our existence."
The teacher adjusted his glasses, then casually wiped a hand across his robes. With a slow, deliberate movement, he crossed his hands behind his back and stood still, watching the class with quiet intensity. He cleared his throat.
"In the beginning, at the very forefront of time, there was nothing. A vast, endless void. Only the presence of It, the unseen force. Darkness—infinitesimal, all-encompassing—stretched across the empty expanse."
The teacher's voice deepened, reverberating like the rumblings of the earth itself. His words seemed to echo off the walls, wrapping the students in the weight of ancient knowledge. The room grew still, save for the faint sound of breath, as each student felt the gravity of what was being said.
"But from this endless silence… came the birth of light. It spoke, in the stillness of nothingness: 'Let there be light.'"
A shiver passed through the room. The teacher paused, letting the weight of his words hang in the air like the echo of a distant storm. His eyes swept the class, lingering on their faces, before he continued.
"And so…"
A child's voice cut through the silence.
"What or who is It?" The child's voice was small, yet carried an undeniable curiosity.
The teacher's eyes flickered for a moment, and he paused, as though considering the question for the first time.
"It is the creator of our world. That is all you need to know for now," he replied, his tone somber yet patient. "As I was saying…"
"And so, it was. The light spread, casting away the darkness and revealing the endless possibilities of life. It gazed upon the world, untouched and empty, and saw that it was barren."
A faint tremor of anticipation ran through the students. The teacher's gaze grew distant, as though he was no longer speaking to them, but to something far older, far more ancient.
"And so, It created life. First, the earth—rich with the breath of the divine. From the dust, It shaped mountains, rivers, and seas, their forms perfect in Its image. Then, It breathed life into them, and the world stirred with movement and purpose."
The teacher's voice softened, near a whisper. The words felt sacred, as if spoken in reverence for something too immense to truly grasp.
"But the land—this world—was still incomplete. It needed a heart. A place where the forces of life and death could collide, where the light and the dark could find balance."
A pause. A pregnant silence filled the room, heavy with something that the students could not yet understand.
The teacher exhaled deeply, as if preparing to speak a name older than time itself.
"Edomar."
The word hung in the air. The students sat motionless, as though the very name carried a weight that pressed against their hearts.
"It was here, in this land, that It placed the seeds of all things. The creatures, the plants, the stones… and the people who would one day walk upon it. And through Edomar, Its divine will flowed—creating, shaping, destroying—ever-changing, ever-present."
The teacher's breath slowed, his voice growing quieter. The energy in the room shifted, as if the very air were thick with ancient knowledge.
"Edomar… the world made in Its image. And in Its image... we, too, are born."
"S-so, was that how the world was created?" a child asked eagerly, their voice trembling with excitement.
"If you believe it," the teacher replied, his tone unyielding, but with a hint of quiet mystery.
The students woahed, their eyes wide with curiosity, as the weight of the story sank in. A sense of wonder filled the room, and for a moment, the world beyond the classroom seemed far away.
But before any further questions could be asked, the sharp clang of the school bell sliced through the air.
The old, rickety bell—weathered by years of use and perched atop the town's ancient church—rang out with a deafening echo that reverberated through the school and beyond, carrying through the streets of the town like the tolling of a distant death knell.
The spell was broken. The students blinked, returning to reality as the bell's sound faded into the background, reminding them of the passing hours and the world outside.
"You are dismissed!" The teacher yelled.
"Quickly! Hurry up!" shouted a small boy. "Come on, let's go! The Holy Knights are coming!"
The streets of Lunaris buzzed with excitement, a tapestry of life woven from color and sound, the crowd surging with anticipation. What had sparked such fervor in an otherwise unremarkable city? It was the Heavenly Festival, a three-day celebration honoring the Holy Knights—the protectors of Altia, the kingdom held in awe by all who dwelt within its reach.
Vendors lined the streets, hawking their wares of food and trinkets, their voices rising above the sound of dancers and performers. The air was thick with the solemnity of ceremonies, yet beneath it all, there pulsed a deeper rhythm: the promise of battle.
It was the Holy Skirmish, held on the third and final day, that captured the hearts of the people. To some, it may have seemed a mere contest—a brutal clash of wills—but it was more than that. It was an opportunity, a trial. For those brave enough to step into the fray, it was a chance to impress the Holy Knights themselves, to prove their worth and perhaps earn the right to join their ranks. For many, it was the greatest honor one could achieve in Lunaris.
As the sun descended, its golden light gilding the edges of the sky, a feeling of destiny hung heavy in the air. Who among the many would rise and seize their moment?
I knew, with certainty, it would not be me.
My mother and I lived on the outskirts of the city, in a place known only as "The Nook." It was a humble refuge, nestled in the shadow of Lunaris, where the walls whispered stories of survival and endurance. I often recall the nights when my mother would speak of the Holy Knights, their armor shining under the sun, their courage a thing of legend. "They protect us," she would say, her voice both filled with pride and a touch of longing. Her eyes, full of hope and dreams she had long abandoned, would flicker with the flame of valor. "They are the hope of Lunaris."
Yet, as I listened, perched on the edge of our meager hearth, I felt like a shadow in the flickering firelight. A ghost on the edges of a world I could scarcely touch. Each tale painted a life I could not know—a life of courage, honor, and noble deeds. But for us, the weight of survival loomed far greater. The struggles of the everyday were our battles, our skirmishes.
Still, the yearning gnawed at me. What if I could simply slip into the crowd for a moment? What if I could glimpse the Holy Knights, feel the pulse of the festival?
I hesitated, torn between my duty to my mother and the call of the unknown.
"Mom," I asked quietly, hoping my voice wouldn't betray the conflict inside me. She looked up from her mending, her face etched with the lines of a thousand burdens, yet still soft with warmth. Her hands, calloused and steady, worked tirelessly at the fabric, even as her gaze lingered on the distant sounds of laughter that came from the heart of the city.
"Wouldn't it be nice to see the festival up close?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Her gaze turned toward the noise in the distance. For a fleeting moment, I saw something in her eyes—a quiet longing, a reflection of dreams long buried.
"It would," she said softly, the weight of her unspoken desires lingering in her tone. "But we have our battles to fight here." Her voice was gentle, yet firm, a quiet resignation in her words.
The ache within me grew. I could feel it, a restlessness, as though something just beyond my reach was calling to me.
"Can't we... just once?" I asked, my voice trembling with the weight of my hope.
She shook her head, slow and deliberate, as if she already knew the answer before I even asked.
"But why not?" I pressed, my frustration building. "Why can't we go? All the other children do, why are we left behind?"
She turned toward me, her expression soft, understanding—but touched with sorrow.
"Ren," she began, her voice a quiet lull, "I know how you feel. Truly, I do. But the festival is not for people like us. It's safer for us to watch from afar."
Her words struck me like a blow. Hot tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision. The weight of her reasoning, so simple and final, crushed my chest.
"I—I hate you!" I cried, the words sharp, bitter. I didn't see the hurt in her eyes as I turned and fled, my feet pounding the earth beneath me. The anger, the frustration—it overwhelmed me, and I ran from the warmth of home, unable to contain the storm inside me.
I knew it was selfish. I knew it was unfair. My mother worked tirelessly for both of us, carried burdens that bent her back and exhausted her soul. But in that moment, all I could feel was the sharp sting of dreams denied, the bitter taste of a world that was always just out of reach.
I stayed away until dusk, and when I returned, I hurried to my room, burying my face in my pillow, hoping to drown the storm of emotions that still raged within me.
I was seven that year.
Two years had passed, and I was nine now. The festival, once a distant hope, had become a cruel mockery. Every year, I watched from the edges of The Nook, the sounds of celebration drifting through the air like the scent of something forbidden. The Holy Knights paraded through the streets, their armour gleaming like stars, while I remained hidden in the shadows.
With each passing year, the bitterness grew. What had once been a longing became a quiet rage, an ember that burned deep within me. I trained each day with the wooden sword I had received on my fifth birthday.
"Hmph!" I grunted with each swing, the weapon cutting through the air, a mockery of the true sword I could never have.
"Just five more," I muttered to myself, pushing through the pain, building strength from the weight of my desire.
One day, as I returned home from practice, I spotted a small, odd-shaped bundle wrapped in newspaper. My heart quickened. I knew what it was before I even touched it.
When I unwrapped it, I found a wooden sword—dull and worn, but still a sword, not the mockery of my training.
"Thank you, Mom," I said, the words tumbling from my lips as I swung it through the air, imagining myself in the heart of battle, standing shoulder to shoulder with the knights I had so long admired.
The night before the festival, I could hardly sleep. I had promised myself that this time, I would see it. I would stand among the crowd and witness the knights, the heroes I had only seen in stories. I clutched the old book I had found—How to Become a Knight—its pages dog-eared and well-worn from countless readings. The book told tales of valor, of noble deeds and battles fought for a righteous cause. I devoured it, feeling my blood stir with every word. By morning, I had memorized it all.
When the sun rose the next day, I felt its warmth like fire in my veins. I grabbed my sword, my wooden scone in hand, and ran out the door, leaving behind the quiet comfort of home.
"Good morning, Mom!" I called, planting a quick kiss on her cheek before dashing off.
"Goodbye, love you!" I shouted over my shoulder, my voice rising with the thrill of what lay ahead.
"I heard there's a hole in the fence to the north," one of the older boys said, his voice low and conspiratorial.
"Yeah, Daniel made it, but he got caught," another chimed in, his tone laced with mischief.
"But they never found the hole. Daniel was just unlucky."
They shared a knowing glance, excitement simmering between them.
"So, what do you say? Should we sneak in?" the first boy asked, a spark of adventure lighting up his eyes.
This was my chance. I tucked my sword behind a pile of discarded straw, took a deep breath, and stepped forward, my voice trembling but resolute.
"I want to come with you," I declared, stepping out from the shadows.
They turned, surprise etched on their faces.
"Hey! Who are you, kid?" the older boy demanded, brows furrowing.
"I'm Re—"
"Were you snooping on us?" interrupted another, suspicion flashing in his eyes.
"N-no! I just overheard you. I want to help! I-I can even be your scapegoat!" I stuttered, the words tumbling out in a rush.
[Now they're going to think I'm a coward.] The thought gnawed at me, tightening my stomach.
They chuckled, exchanging skeptical glances.
"I don't know, man. He looks like a crybaby," one whispered, a smirk creeping onto his face.
The sting of his words cut deep; I knew I was scrawny for my age. They continued to murmur among themselves until a girl stepped forward. Her name was Lily, and something fierce flickered in her eyes.
"Are you sure? It's not safe. If they catch us—"
"I don't care! I need to see it for myself!" I shot back, fire igniting in my chest. The fear was still there, but it was overshadowed by a growing determination.
Lily hesitated, studying me with a mix of concern and curiosity. "Alright, but you better keep up. If we get caught, it's not just on you; we all face the consequences."
With a nod of agreement, the group finally accepted me. We moved as one, skirting along the fence line, the thrill of adventure buzzing in the air.
As we crept forward, I felt a mix of fear and exhilaration. This was my moment—a chance to prove myself and step into a world beyond my training.
"Where the heck is that hole?" One of the boys asked.
After a minute of frantically searching another boy replied.
"I FOUND IT!"
"SHHH, SHUT UP YOU IDIOT! You gonna get us caught!" Lily whispered.
"Sorry..." He then replied in a hushed tone.
"I found it."
We all gathered at the hole in the fence, and I was the first to slip through.
"You said you'd be our scapegoat," one of the boys teased, crossing his arms with a grin.
"So why don't you test the waters?" he added, a mischievous glint in his eye.
Lily elbowed him in the stomach. "Ugh, what was that for?"
"Don't be mean! Look, Ren, you don't have to do that," she said, her tone softening.
"No! It's fine, I'll do it." Determination surged through me, pushing away my hesitation.
I eyed the opening once more, steeling myself against the urge to back down. With a deep breath, I slipped through.
As I stepped into the vibrant world of the festival, I was overwhelmed by the sights and sounds. Laughter filled the air, children darted by with sparklers, and the sweet aroma of roasted treats wafted around me. My eyes widened at the sight of knights in gleaming armor, their figures shining brightly under the moonlight, surrounded by awestruck admirers.
"You still alive, scapegoat?" The boy called, his voice laced with playful concern.
"Yeah… it's beautiful," I replied, my heart racing with excitement.
The rest of the group followed through, their laughter mingling with the festival's joyous chorus. I felt a rush of belonging as we stepped deeper into this enchanting world.
But just as the thrill of belonging washed over me, a guard emerged, scanning the crowd. Panic surged through me. I turned to run, but my foot caught on a stone, and I stumbled, crashing to the ground.
"Hey! You there!" the guard shouted, closing in on me.
I scrambled to my feet, adrenaline propelling me forward. I couldn't get caught; I had to escape. Just as I was about to dash away, a figure stepped in front of me.
"Let him go," Lily called out, standing tall beside me. "He's with us!"
The guard hesitated, and gratitude surged within me for my friends. But I knew I couldn't let them take the fall for me.
"I'm sorry," I blurted out, my voice trembling. "I shouldn't be here."
The guard narrowed his eyes. "You know this place isn't for folk like you."
My heart sank. I had longed to belong, yet now I felt even more isolated. Just then, a knight stepped forward, his presence commanding and radiant. "What's going on here?" he asked, embodying honor and glory.
The guard explained the situation, and the knight turned his attention to me. "Why are you out here?"
"I… I just wanted to see," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.
He regarded me for a long moment as if weighing my worth, before shifting his gaze to the rest of the group.
"What? You looking at something funny?" Lily snarked.
"Fierce." He replied before nodding. "Let the kids stay for a moment. We all have dreams, after all." He patted the guard's shoulder.
The guard relented, and as I stood there, surrounded by laughter and light, a flicker of hope ignited within me. Perhaps one day, I would no longer be on the outside looking in. Perhaps I would carve my own path.