The sun dipped low over Eryndale, casting the cottage in hues of gold and amber. Sander sat on the rough-hewn bench outside the house, a small pile of split firewood stacked neatly beside him. His arms ached from the effort, but the sight of the finished work filled him with a quiet pride.
The faint clinking of pots and pans came from inside the cottage, where Isolde was preparing their meager dinner. The scent of stewed vegetables and herbs wafted through the open window, mingling with the crisp evening air.
Sander leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. The routine of the past week—training, working, and repeating—had taken its toll, but it had also brought a sense of order to his days.
A sharp clatter inside broke his reverie.
"Mother?" Sander called, rising from the bench and stepping into the cottage.
Isolde was crouched near the hearth, her hands steadying the lid of the pot she had just dropped. She looked up at him, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the fire.
"Just a little slip," she said with a faint smile. "Dinner will be ready soon."
Sander frowned, stepping closer. "You've been doing too much," he said quietly. "Let me finish this. You should rest."
Isolde laughed softly, shaking her head. "You've taken on enough already, Sander. I don't need my son doing all the work."
He met her gaze, his expression steady. "I'm not a child anymore."
Her smile faltered, her blue eyes softening as she studied him. "No," she murmured, "I suppose you're not."
She straightened, brushing her hands on her apron. "Your father will be back tomorrow," she said, her voice lighter now. "I'm sure he'll be pleased to see how much you've grown."
That night, the family sat around the small wooden table, the flickering light of the hearth casting warm shadows across their faces. Theo chattered excitedly about his day, his golden hair bouncing as he gestured wildly with his hands.
"I saw the biggest rabbit today!" he exclaimed, his voice high with excitement. "It was this big!" He spread his arms wide, nearly knocking over his bowl of soup.
"Careful, Theo," Isolde said with a laugh, steadying the bowl before it could tip over.
Sander smiled faintly, watching his younger brother's animated storytelling. The boy's boundless energy was a stark contrast to the quiet, steady rhythm of the household, a reminder of the joy that still existed even in their struggles.
As Theo continued to talk, Sander's gaze drifted to the deflated basketball resting near the hearth.
"You've been spending a lot of time with that ball," Isolde said suddenly, drawing his attention back to her.
Sander nodded. "It's a reminder," he said simply.
"Of what?"
"Of what I need to become," he replied, his voice steady.
Theo tilted his head, his eyes wide with curiosity. "You mean a player?"
Sander confused of the word player,
"What do your mean player?"
"They're the ones who play the game of basketball, but i think your father can explain it more. "
Isolde explained.
Sander a little bit focused, then nodded. "Yeah I guess, Something like that."
"Do you think you'll play in the tournament someday?" Theo asked, his voice filled with awe.
The question hung in the air, and for a moment, Sander didn't know how to answer.
"Yeah I will, I promise." he said, his tone beaming with confidence.
That night, as the family settled into their beds, the weight of anticipation pressed against Sander's chest. The questions that had burned in his mind for days—the court, the ball, the place of basketball in this strange world—might finally have a chance to be answered.
He stared at the ceiling, the faint glow of the hearthlight casting shifting patterns across the wooden beams.
The morning air was cool and sharp, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth from the evening's dew. Sander stood near the edge of the dirt path leading to their cottage, his arms crossed as he gazed into the distance. The road to Carna twisted beyond the fields and woods, its uneven trail shrouded by a light mist.
He'd been awake since dawn, his restless energy pulling him from the small comfort of his bed. Despite the ache in his muscles from days of training, he felt the weight of anticipation far more keenly.
The sound of footsteps broke the quiet.
Sander straightened, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon until a familiar figure emerged from the mist. Elias walked with a slow, deliberate gait, the weight of his pack pulling at his shoulders. His silver hair, streaked with gray, caught the morning light, and his face bore the weary lines of a man who had worked far too long for far too little.
"Father," Sander called, his voice steady but loud enough to carry.
Elias looked up, his expression softening at the sight of his son. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he raised a hand in greeting.
"Sander," he replied, his tone warm but tired.
By the time Elias reached the cottage, Isolde and Theo were already waiting at the door. Isolde stepped forward first, her hands reaching for the pack slung over Elias's shoulder.
"Let me take that," she said, her voice firm but kind.
Elias shook his head gently. "I've got it," he said, brushing past her to set the pack down inside the house. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though every step required effort.
Theo darted forward, wrapping his arms around Elias's waist. "You're back!" the boy exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement. "Did you bring anything? Did you see anything cool?"
Elias chuckled softly, ruffling Theo's hair. "Easy, Theo. Let me catch my breath first."
Sander stood near the door, watching the scene unfold. He noticed the way Elias's shoulders sagged slightly, the faint tremor in his hands as he patted Theo's head. The man's exhaustion was palpable, yet there was a quiet strength in the way he carried himself.
"Come inside," Isolde said, guiding Elias toward the table. "You must be starving."
The family gathered around the table, sharing a modest meal of bread, cheese, and a small pot of vegetable stew. Elias ate slowly, his movements deliberate as he savored each bite.
Theo chattered away, recounting every small adventure he'd had since Elias's last visit. Isolde listened with a soft smile, occasionally adding her own comments.
Sander, however, remained quiet, his gaze fixed on his father. The questions that had burned in his mind for days threatened to spill over, but he forced himself to wait.
Finally, as the meal wound down, Elias leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. "It's good to be home," he said, his voice low but warm.
Sander straightened slightly, seizing the moment. "Father," he began, his tone steady but firm.
Elias glanced at him, his tired eyes sharpening with interest. "Yes, Sander?"
"There's something I need to ask you," Sander said, his fingers curling slightly against the edge of the table. "It's about basketball."
The room grew quiet. Isolde glanced at Elias, her expression unreadable, while Theo tilted his head in curiosity.
Elias arched a brow, leaning forward slightly. "Basketball?" he repeated. "What about it?"
Sander hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. "I found a court near the woods. An old one. And… there's the ball in the house." He gestured toward the deflated basketball resting by the hearth. "I need to understand. How long has basketball been part of this world? Why is it here?"
Elias's expression darkened slightly, his brow furrowing. He glanced at Isolde, who gave him a faint nod.
"It's a part of our lives," Elias said carefully. "It always has been. But why are you asking about this now?"
"I want to be a player" Sander said, his voice firm. "I think that I have the talent for it."
He was reminiscing his past life, as he said this, and its more than enough reason to play basketball here he thought.
Elias studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighed and leaned back in his chair.
"Basketball is part of Aurionvale's culture," he said slowly. "It's more than a game—it's a way of life. Foundation upon which Aurionvale and other kingdoms and empire have built their societies. The kingdoms, the guilds, the academies… they all revolve around it. Conflicts are decided by it. Honor is earned through it."
Sander nodded, his chest tightening. "But where did it come from?"
"That's a question no one has been able to answer," Elias admitted. "The game has been here for as long as anyone can remember. Some say it was a gift from the gods, a way to settle disputes without bloodshed. Others say it's simply always been."
Sander frowned, the weight of the words pressing against him. "And the court near the woods?"
Elias's gaze grew distant, his voice quieter. "Courts like that are everywhere. Some are old, forgotten. Others are new, built by those who still believe in the game's purpose. The one you found… it's likely been there for generations."
The conversation fell into a heavy silence. Sander leaned back in his chair, his thoughts churning. The court, the game, the culture—it was all connected.
Elias reached across the table, placing a hand on Sander's shoulder. "You've been working hard," he said softly. "I can see it."
As he glance his eyes to Sanders bruised body.
"Whatever you're trying to achieve, Sander, don't lose sight of why you're doing it."
Sander met his father's gaze, the weight of his words settling deep in his chest. "I won't," he said quietly.
Elias nodded, his expression softening. "Good. Because this world doesn't make things easy. But if you're willing to fight for what you believe in, you'll find your way."
The air in the cottage grew still as Elias settled deeper into his chair, his silver hair catching the warm glow of the hearthlight. His hand remained on Sander's shoulder, a quiet gesture of connection, before he withdrew it and folded his arms across the table.
Sander sat up straighter, his hands tightening into fists in his lap. His mother and Theo, seated nearby, grew quiet, their attention now fully on Elias.
"When we were nobles," Elias began, his voice tinged with both pride and bitterness, "the Visione family had a unique role in the world of basketball. We weren't players, at least not most of us. We were organizers, financiers, and promoters. Our house had the connections, the resources, and the influence to turn local games into spectacles that drew crowds from across the kingdom."
Sander frowned, leaning forward. "You mean… tournaments? Events?"
Elias nodded. "Exactly. Basketball was already ingrained in the culture long before we came into power, but it was disorganized. Fragmented. The nobles would sponsor players from their lands to compete against one another, but there were no standards, no structure. It was chaos. We changed that."
He gestured toward Isolde, who smiled faintly but said nothing. "Your mother was brilliant when it came to negotiations. And I handled the finances—drafting contracts, securing sponsorships, ensuring that every event was profitable for all parties involved."
"But it wasn't just about money," Isolde added, her voice soft but firm. "We elevated the game. We made it into something that brought people together. It became more than competition; it became an art, a form of diplomacy, a way to build alliances and settle disputes."
Elias's expression darkened, his fingers tapping absently against the edge of the table. "But with power comes risk. Our success drew envy from others—rivals who wanted control of the events, of the influence we wielded. They saw an opportunity to strip us of everything, and we were too blind to see it coming."
"They used the very contracts we had drafted against us," Isolde said quietly, her blue eyes clouded with old pain. "Forged documents. False witnesses. By the time we realized the extent of the scheme, the courts had ruled against us, and we were left with nothing."
Theo, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke up. "So… basketball ruined us?"
"No," Elias said firmly, his gaze sharpening. "Basketball didn't ruin us. People did. Greedy, deceitful people who twisted the game for their own ends."
He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "But the game itself… it's still pure. It's still a way for people to prove themselves, no matter their station."
Sander tilted his head, his curiosity deepening. "You said most of our family weren't players. Why not? And what does it mean to be a player?"
Elias leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "To be a player isn't just about wanting to play. It's about aptitude. Some people are born with a natural connection to the game—a gift, if you will. It's not about gender, status, or even physical strength. It's about something deeper, something… innate."
Sander frowned, the weight of his father's words settling over him. "Aptitude?"
"Yes," Elias said, nodding. "It's a kind of potential, one that can't be measured easily. Players with aptitude are able to connect with the ball, the court, the very rhythm of the game in ways others can't. They have instincts, reflexes, and a passion that can't be taught."
He gestured toward himself with a faint smile. "I never had it. I tried when I was younger, of course, like every child does. But no matter how much I practiced, no matter how hard I worked, I couldn't reach the level of a true player. And I wasn't alone—most people don't have the aptitude. That's why players are so revered. They're rare."
"But anyone can play, right?" Sander asked, his voice tinged with hope.
Elias nodded. "Of course. The game doesn't care about who you are. Nobles, commoners, men, women—it doesn't matter. If you have the aptitude, you can rise. That's part of what makes basketball so important in this world. It's one of the only ways for someone to truly change their station in life."
"Change their station?" Theo piped up, his eyes wide.
Elias smiled faintly. "Yes. If a player is talented enough, they can be drafted into a guild—what we used to call teams in the old days. Guilds are more than just groups of players; they're institutions, with influence rivaling that of noble houses. A commoner who joins a powerful guild can gain wealth, status, and respect that would be impossible to achieve otherwise."
Isolde added, "And for nobles, it's a way to prove their worth. Bloodlines and titles only go so far in this world. A noble who can compete as a player earns the loyalty of their people, the respect of their peers, and the favor of their king."
Sander sat back, his mind spinning with the weight of his father's words. The game he had once known so intimately in his past life was more than a sport here. It was a culture, a system, a path to something greater.
Sander clenched his fists beneath the table, his resolve hardening.
Isolde reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "Whatever path you choose," she said softly, "we'll be here to support you."
Theo grinned, his youthful excitement breaking the tension. "Maybe you'll be the best player ever!"
Elias chuckled, ruffling Theo's hair. "One step at a time, Theo."
But as the family shared a quiet laugh, Sander's mind was already racing ahead, filled with thoughts of the court, the game, and the burning desire to prove himself in a world that seemed built for players to rise—or fall.