The autumn wind blew cold in the village of Malvos, slipping between the nearly collapsing wooden huts and over fields that were starting to dry up. Malvos was a small, hidden village in the northern part of Alazak, one of the kingdoms within the Holy Light Faction. The village was surrounded by dense forests and tall mountains, their peaks appearing gray in the dim morning light. For its people, life here was like living on the edge of the world—far from the bustling cities, but also far from true peace, as the war between the two great factions threatened to swallow every corner of this land.
Inside an old wooden hut, a young man sat on a worn-out bench, staring at his rough, cracked hands. His name was Slava, an orphan who lived alone in his landlord's hut. Since childhood, Slava's life had been simple and quiet. His days were spent working in the fields, toiling just to eat. He wasn't a warrior, nor a sorcerer—just a young farmer trying to survive in a world growing harsher and more dangerous.
Slava lifted his gaze toward the small, dirty window. A thick fog still blanketed the village, limiting his view. He knew that beyond that fog lay the fields where he worked, fields now overgrown with weeds and losing their fertility. But to him, it was home, and he had no other choice. Before the sun fully rose, he needed to be in the field, for Tronos, his landlord, didn't like waiting.
Slowly, Slava rose, grabbed his thin, worn cloak, and stepped out of his hut. The ground beneath his feet was cold, and the dewy grass made his steps slippery as he made his way toward the fields. Along the path, he passed a few villagers who were also starting their day. Some faces looked weary, perhaps tired from working endlessly just to survive these tough times.
As Slava passed through the village gate, his eyes caught sight of a group of Holy Light soldiers on guard. They wore armor adorned with the symbol of a winged star, representing the freedom they claimed to uphold. To Slava, their presence was just a reminder that the war between the Holy Light and the Red Sun was not merely a rumor. That war was real, and one day, it might reach his village.
The Holy Light Faction, backed by the four major kingdoms—Asgardia, Kroska, Scriptonia, and Alazak—believed that magical beings deserved to live as equals with humans. In contrast, the Red Sun, led by the Navarra Empire and the Higaria Theocracy, saw these beings as tools or slaves, useful only if they could be exploited. This disagreement sparked the great war, claiming thousands of lives and destroying countless lands.
But to Slava, none of that mattered. War and politics were just a thick fog in the distance. What was more real to him was life in the field, with the endless tasks waiting, and Tronos's impatient, booming voice.
"Slava! Are you dreaming? Get over here!" shouted Tronos from afar, prompting Slava to hurry towards him. Tronos was a middle-aged, plump man with a permanently angry face and eyes that scrutinized everything suspiciously. To Tronos, Slava was just a cheap laborer, someone he could treat however he pleased. There was no kindness in the man's gaze.
That day, like every other, Slava worked tirelessly in the field. The hard, dusty earth required extra strength to till. Each swing of his hoe felt heavy, and the cold morning air made it harder to breathe. Yet, he never complained. In this world, work was the only thing that ensured his survival.
As noon approached, Slava paused to wipe the sweat from his brow. He stood up and looked toward the mountains framing the village. Beyond those mountains lay a world he had never seen, a world he only heard of from the stories of wandering travelers who occasionally passed through the village. Slava often wondered if his life would always be like this—quiet, isolated, and aimless. Was he destined to remain a simple farmer in a nearly forgotten village?
But that day, in the silence of midday, footsteps echoed from the direction of the forest. Slava turned and saw a stranger in a dark cloak, walking towards him. The man looked weary, his face covered in dust and his hands marked with wounds. Behind him, tied by a rope, a small creature staggered along, dragging its feet over the ground. Slava recognized it as a sylph, a small magical being usually dwelling in remote forests.
The stranger looked at Slava briefly before averting his gaze. "You know, boy," he said in a raspy voice, "creatures like this only hinder our lives. There's a reason why the Red Sun Faction wants them as slaves."
Slava didn't know how to respond to those words. He had little knowledge of war or politics; to him, both the Holy Light and the Red Sun were just distant entities. But seeing that small, helpless creature trailing behind the stranger stirred an uneasy feeling in his heart, like a faint anger.
Unconsciously, Slava stepped closer, observing the sylph that looked so powerless. But before he could think further, the stranger glared at him sharply. "Don't get too close, boy. They may look weak, but they can be very dangerous if they feel threatened."
Slava nodded slowly and backed away. His heart was filled with feelings he couldn't explain. Were these creatures truly dangerous? Or were they the ones threatened in a world that showed no mercy to them?
That day passed, leaving a different impression in Slava's heart. As night fell and he returned to his hut, the image of the stranger and the weak sylph lingered in his mind. The night felt quieter than usual, and he sensed that something had changed within him. As if that day marked the beginning of something far greater than his simple life.