A golden light began to break through the darkness of the night, tinting the clouds a light gray. The soft glow bathed the potholed and winding alleys of the village. The houses, made of wood and stone with thatched roofs, began to reflect the light of dawn, while the windows let the interiors illuminate the dawning morning.
"Come on, Arthur! Try one more time. Remember: it's not strength that counts, it's technique," Kael Grimm said, his hoarse, thick voice echoing across the training ground.
Kael's appearance was as imposing as his posture. His gray hair and beard blended with the white hair on his muscular body. He stood firm, his chest puffed out and his shoulders back, exuding authority. His every word seemed like an unquestionable order.
Arthur, in contrast, was a child with fragile features. His thin arms and malnourished body betrayed the hardships of his life, but there was something intriguing about him. His brown hair was soft and silky, and his black eyes seemed to contain an unusual depth for someone his age. Despite his frail appearance, he was above average height for a boy of only ten.
"Arrrgh!" shouted Arthur, raising his wooden sword with both hands and striking downward.
His body followed the movement flawlessly. Lying sideways, his knees slightly bent, his feet shoulder-width apart, he put all his weight into the downward movement. The blow was quick and precise, almost flawless. For someone his age, his strength and speed were impressive, putting him ahead of many other boys.
Kael watched closely, his eyes assessing the boy's every move. He remained silent for a moment, before stepping forward and raising his own wooden sword, heavy and scarred from use.
"Good strike, Arthur. But you're still putting too much force in the beginning. If the enemy dodges, he'll be off balance for the next move."
Arthur was breathing heavily, his sweaty hands gripping the hilt of his sword. He didn't complain, just nodded and assumed his fighting stance again.
Kael nodded, satisfied. "Again."
And so the morning went on. The sound of wooden swords echoed across the training ground, accompanied by Arthur's cries of exertion and Kael's firm instructions. All around, the first signs of the village began to manifest themselves: the smell of fresh bread coming from the bakery, the sound of children running and laughing in the distance, and the clanking of tools in the smithy.
After a series of blows, Arthur fell to his knees, exhausted.
"That's enough for today," Kael declared, lowering his sword and extending a hand to the boy. "You've made good progress, but there's no point in training until you collapse. A warrior needs a balance of mind and body."
Arthur took his master's hand, rising with difficulty. "But... I want to improve quickly. I want to be strong, like you."
Kael let out a short, rough laugh. "Strong like me? Boy, you don't know what you're asking for. Strength comes at a price, and you still have time to decide whether you're willing to pay it."
The two began walking back to the village, passing by villagers who greeted them with warm smiles. Arthur watched everything closely: the blacksmith, sweaty and smiling, hammering a piece of metal; the children playing tag among the trees; the elderly lady who always offered sweet apples to anyone passing by her house.
But even with the peace surrounding him, a shadow lingered in the boy's thoughts. He looked at Kael and hesitantly asked:
"Do you think the wars will come here, master?"
Kael paused for a moment, his gaze lost on the horizon. When he spoke, his voice was heavy. "I hope not, Arthur. But this is a cruel world. Peace never lasts as long as we'd like."
Arthur lowered his eyes, reflecting on Kael's words. He didn't know exactly what the future held, but deep down, he felt that this moment of tranquility wouldn't last forever.
The village they lived in was located between the Kingdom of Acadia, the capital of the continent of Laycyty, and the Empire of Ezryn, their historic rivals. These two nations were perpetually at war.
Acadia was the heart of a culture centered on discipline and self-improvement. Renowned as the greatest magical and military power, it was home to the prestigious Celestial Academy. This institution not only taught advanced techniques in magic and swordsmanship but also fostered the building of relationships and alliances.
Ezryn, on the other hand, was a blot of chaos and cruelty on the map of Laycity. Ruled by a king whose reputation was synonymous with terror, the empire was a living hell. His soldiers, trained from childhood, were forged in pain and suffering. To feed their ranks, they invaded villages, slaughtered the adults, and captured children between six and fifteen, stripping them of their innocence and transforming them into living weapons.
The king of Ezryn was more than a cruel ruler; he was the embodiment of madness. He not only eliminated his brothers to secure his ascension but made a spectacle of it.
In one of the most gruesome episodes of his rise to the throne, he gathered his relatives for a banquet, promising reconciliation after years of family disputes.
But when night fell, the wine was replaced with poison, and those who resisted the drink were attacked by pre-positioned assassins. The hall was transformed into a bloodbath, and the king, without batting an eye, used the heads of his own brothers as trophies, impaling them on spears around his throne.
His father, the old king, suffered an even more brutal fate. Betrayed by his own son, he was dragged through the streets to the central square of Ezryn where he was hanged. But the spectacle did not end there. The king's body was cut from throat to abdomen, and the organs, removed one by one, were thrown into a basket at the foot of the gallows. His blood flowed down the stones of the square as the new king watched with a grim smile, proclaiming:
"Let it be known to all: In Ezryn, weakness is punishment. And no one, not even the blood of a king, will escape the consequences."
These acts were not merely demonstrations of power but messages. Anyone who dared cross the path of the mad king would suffer the consequences and pay an unthinkable price. His reputation not only terrified neighboring kingdoms but created a climate of paranoia and absolute submission within his own lands.
While returning, Arthur gripped his sword tightly, an unusual determination gleaming in his eyes. He raised it toward the moon and spoke the following words:
"I will no longer allow the Mad King to bring fear to good people. I swear in my parents' name that one day I will end the war and become a strong king capable of inspiring hope and victory."
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I'll be waiting for the day you become a king and end the wars, Arthur," Kael said, laughing and patting Arthur on the back.
The house was dark. Its stone walls, damp with age, exuded the scent of earth and mold. The faint midday light filtered through the single window, casting a subtle glow inside. Spacious and rustic, the house had a simple porch with a wooden bench where Arthur often sat to observe the calm bustle of the village. Despite its simplicity, the house was a haven of peace, maintained with the effort and love of its inhabitants.
That day, Arthur arrived home accompanied by his master, Kael, right after their morning training. They walked slowly, appreciating the simplicity of the village after hours of physical exertion. Arthur's house was sustained by the dedication and love of his parents, Rowan and Elara, whose presence was as solid and comforting as the stone walls that sheltered them.
Rowan Greyson, the village carpenter, was a robust man with calloused hands and broad shoulders, marked by years of hard work. His brown hair was beginning to show streaks of gray, and his deep brown eyes reflected kindness and concern. Though a man of few words, his actions spoke of care and generosity. Rowan was known for his integrity and was always ready to help his neighbors.
Elara Greyson, the village healer, was the embodiment of grace and strength. Her long black hair was often tied in a simple bun, and her bright green eyes seemed to capture the light, radiating hope. She cared for the sick with skill and knowledge of medicinal herbs, always with a warm smile. Her soft voice turned firm when it came to protecting and teaching Arthur.
Together, Rowan and Elara had built a home where love and discipline intertwined. Despite the challenges of a simple life, they cultivated moments of joy and unity, especially on cold nights when they gathered around the fireplace to share stories and memories.
That afternoon, as Kael said goodbye on the porch, Arthur entered the house and was greeted by the familiar aroma of stew prepared by his mother. Elara stirred the pot with a wooden spoon, humming a gentle melody. Rowan sat at the table, sharpening an old knife with a serene expression.
"How was training today, Arthur?" Elara asked, casting him a warm smile.
"It went well, Mom," Arthur replied, a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction in his tone. "Master Kael said I've improved my balance."
Rowan raised his eyes and smiled slightly. "Good job, boy. But remember, true strength lies not just in the arms but in the heart."
Arthur nodded with a smile, absorbing his father's words. The atmosphere at home was one of warmth and contentment.
---
Arthur's Routine
Arthur woke up before dawn, at five in the morning, to begin training with Kael. The mornings were filled with intense sword practice, endurance exercises, and combat techniques. Kael was demanding, but Arthur pushed himself to exceed his limits.
By noon, after training, Arthur would return home, welcomed by the comforting aroma of food prepared by Elara. During lunch, the family talked about their day, sharing stories and laughter.
After lunch, Arthur helped Rowan in the workshop or accompanied Elara as she gathered herbs in the garden. These moments, though brief, were precious to him.
In the afternoon, Arthur dedicated himself to his studies. Elara taught him geography, language, and history, believing that one day he would need more than physical strength to face the world. Though he preferred practical activities, Arthur valued these lessons and his mother's efforts.
As the sun began to set, Arthur met with his friends: Keila, Marcos, Luiz, Carlos, Maria, and especially Kayan, his best friend. Together, they played, ran around the village, and dreamed of grand adventures.
Arthur deeply cherished his time with his friends. They were the heart of the village, a small community of children who shared dreams and adventures under the open sky. After training and studying, Arthur would run to the village square, where his group was always waiting for him.
Keila, an agile and fearless girl, was known for leading the riskiest games. With her messy red hair and infectious laughter, she constantly challenged Arthur to races, which he rarely managed to win.
Marcos and Luiz, inseparable brothers, brought energy to the group. Marcos, the elder, was calm and observant, while Luiz, the younger, was loud and always had wild ideas for new games. Despite occasional arguments, they worked together as an unbeatable duo in any challenge.
Carlos, the group's strategist, loved planning fictional missions. He had a knack for turning any game into a grand adventure. Holding a stick in his hand and with a determined look, he often said, "Today, we are knights of the realm. Who will join me to face the dragon?"
Maria, the most creative, was the heart of the group. She loved inventing stories and singing songs she learned from her grandmother. Her gentle voice and sweet demeanor made her a comforting presence, especially when the games became more intense.
Finally, there was Kayan, Arthur's best friend. Kayan was a tall, slender boy with brown hair and lively eyes full of curiosity. He was the most loyal companion Arthur could have, always by his side in any situation. They shared secrets, dreams, and even the same ambitions: to explore the world beyond the village and, perhaps, one day, change the course of destiny.
Arthur and his friends spent their afternoons exploring every corner of the village. They loved playing hide-and-seek in the wheat fields, where the height of the plants made the game more challenging. Kayan, being the most strategic, always found the best hiding spots, but Arthur was persistent and did everything he could to find him.
On hot days, they went to the stream near the village. There, they played at crossing the water by jumping over the stones, and Arthur, despite his trained physique, was often outpaced by Keila's agility.
As night began to fall, Carlos suggested knight-and-monster stories, and the group acted out the battles with makeshift swords and shields. Arthur was naturally chosen as the group leader, while Kayan always took on the role of strategist. Together, they formed an "invincible army" that defeated any imaginary threat.
These moments were marked by laughter, healthy competition, and above all, camaraderie. For Arthur, his friends were not just part of his routine but an extension of his family. They were the foundation of his joy, a reminder of simpler times that he would carry with him even on the darkest days.
However, deep in his mind, Arthur could not shake the feeling that these precious days would soon become nothing more than a distant memory.