The village of Montclair had always been a peaceful place. Nestled between the towering peaks of the Verdant Mountains and the wide, rolling plains of Francillion, it was a place untouched by the horrors of the world's conflicts. The people there lived simple lives, farming the fertile soil, raising livestock, and exchanging goods with the neighboring villages. It was a place where laughter echoed through the streets, where children played in the sunlight, and where the gentle hum of daily life carried on without fear or worry.
Marcus Fontaine's earliest memories were of that quiet village,a place that felt like home. His parents, Lucien and Emilia Fontaine, were hardworking and kind. His father, a blacksmith, forged tools and weapons with hands calloused by years of labor, while his mother cared for the house and their small cabbage garden. They were simple people, but their love for each other and for Marcus was unending, and their world seemed perfect.
The nights were peaceful too. Marcus would often sit on his mother's lap by the fire, her warm embrace a comfort as she braided his unruly dark hair and told him stories of the past, of the lands beyond their village, of the wars and kings that had shaped the world. He listened in wonder, imagining a world full of adventure, of heroic warriors and powerful soldiers, of the great nations that surrounded them. But for Marcus, all that mattered was the peace of Montclair, the love of his parents, and the hope that his future would be as bright as the stars that glittered above.
But that peace was shattered one fateful evening.
That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with shades of orange and purple, the tranquility of Montclair was shattered. Marcus, then just two years old, was playing outside with the other children, chasing after the glow of fireflies in the cool evening air. His parents had just finished dinner, and Emilia had called him inside, but he was distracted, lost in the beauty of the night. His and the laughters of many other children echoed across the village, oblivious to the looming danger.
Suddenly, the sharp sound of horns shattered the calm. It was the unmistakable signal of an approaching army. At first, Marcus didn't understand. The adults in the village stopped what they were doing, looking toward the horizon, their faces paling in fear. Within moments, the streets were filled with hurried movements,mothers pulling their children into their homes, men scrambling to gather weapons, and merchants rushing to secure their goods.
"Take cover!" Lucien shouted, his voice breaking through the chaos as he grabbed Marcus from his play. The calm certainty that usually filled his father's voice had been replaced by a sense of urgency. Emilia screamed for Marcus to come inside, and as the family rushed toward their small cottage, the ground began to tremble beneath their feet.
It was too late.
A storm of fire and steel descended upon Montclair. Germanian forces, brutal and relentless, stormed through the village gates with the speed of a wildfire, their armored soldiers cutting down anyone who dared to resist. The once serene streets of Montclair, where laughter had once reigned, were now filled with the screams of the dying, the clashing of swords, and the harsh shouts of invading soldiers.
Lucien pushed Emilia and Marcus into the small, dimly lit house, barricading the door with whatever he could find. "Stay here. Don't make a sound," he whispered urgently to his wife and son.
But it was futile.
A loud crash echoed from the front door, followed by the unmistakable sound of heavy boots as they approached. The door splintered under the force of a well-placed blow. As the door swung open, a tall, armored soldier stood in the doorway, his blade gleaming in the dim light.
Without a word, the soldier advanced, his steps heavy, as if each one carried the weight of death itself. Lucien stood firm, his face a mask of determination, though his hands trembled with fear. "Get away from them," he growled, drawing his sword.
The soldier sneered, unfazed by the challenge. With a swift motion, he struck. The sound of steel cutting through flesh filled the air. Lucien's body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, before he even had a chance to defend himself.
Emilia screamed, her voice a broken sob. "Please… please don't hurt him!" she begged, falling to her knees beside her fallen husband. "Take him,take our son! Please, just… just spare him!"
The soldier paused, his cold emerald eyes flickering with a rare moment of hesitation. He looked down at the young lad, who had been cowering behind his mother, his small face filled with confusion and fear.
The soldier's gaze softened for a brief moment, but the weight of his orders quickly resurfaced. He could not afford to show mercy, not in a war as brutal as this one. Yet, something about the desperation in Emilia's eyes stirred something within him.
"I… I can't do this," he muttered to himself, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. The battle between duty and pity raged within him, but in the end, it was the latter that won out.
With a swift motion, the soldier sheathed his bloody sword, kneeling beside Emilia. "I'll take him," he said quietly, his voice rough with regret. "I'll raise him as my own. But you must know,this child is not safe here. I cannot leave him with you."
Emilia's sobs filled the room as she clutched her son close, whispering a final prayer for his safety. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Please… don't let him become like the rest of us."
The soldier nodded grimly, then lifted Marcus in his arms. As he exited the house, he looked back once, his heart heavy with the weight of his decision. He couldn't help but wonder if this was the right thing to do. But as the flames of Montclair flickered in the distance, he knew there was no turning back.
---
The soldier, who would later be known as Wilhelm Krieger, stepped down from his position in the Germanian military shortly after the raid. He couldn't bear the thought of continuing his life as a soldier after what had happened. He took Marcus, hidden away in the folds of his cloak, and fled to a small, quiet village deep within the borders of Germanica,far from the eyes of his comrades and the reach of those who would seek to uncover the child's origins.
There, Wilhelm raised Marcus in secret, away from the horrors of war. Though he had left behind his former life, the scars of his past lingered, and every day was a reminder of the tragedy that had shaped both his and Marcus's fate.
And yet, in the quiet corners of the village, under the gentle care of a father who had once been a soldier, Marcus began to grow. He learned to forge weapons like his father before him, to fight and survive, and to understand the strange power that seemed to pulse within him—the power of Jūren. But Wilhelm kept the truth of Marcus's heritage hidden, even from him. Marcus would never know of his true lineage, not yet. For the war, though distant, was always looming on the horizon, and the day when the truth would come to light was drawing near.
---
The small village of Hinterwald was a far cry from the chaos of Montclair. Nestled in the rolling hills of Germanica's countryside, it was a quiet place, where the sound of birdsong and the rustling of leaves in the wind were the loudest things that could be heard. Wilhelm Krieger, with Marcus by his side, lived a life far removed from the violence that had torn apart both their pasts. Yet, peace was always a fleeting thing.
As Marcus grew, he learned more than the ways of combat. He learned to repair weapons, to hunt, and to navigate the wild, as Wilhelm had done in his younger days. Despite the soldier's gruff exterior, he showed a gentler side when it came to Marcus. He taught the boy the value of patience, the importance of quiet strength, and how to trust one's instincts. In those rare moments of calm, when Wilhelm would sit by the fire and tell stories of his younger days, Marcus began to think of him as more than just his caretaker.
To Marcus, Wilhelm was a father in every sense of the word,though the man's past remained an enigma.
But as Marcus grew older, there were questions that remained unanswered. He had always felt an unsettling disconnect from the world around him. Though the villagers treated him kindly, there were moments when their eyes would linger on him too long, their whispers hushed when they thought he wasn't listening. The oddity of his presence in a village that had no place for someone like him never seemed to sit well with him. He was Germanian, but he wasn't. Not really.
He had a different look, different eyes. His hair, though dark, was slightly too wild to be a true reflection of his surroundings. The villagers never said it, but Marcus always sensed their unease when they spoke to him, as if his very existence reminded them of something better left forgotten.
In the nights when the stars shone brightly, and Wilhelm was lost in his thoughts, Marcus would sometimes venture into the woods near their home. There, in the stillness of the trees, he would let his mind wander. He'd ask himself questions that only seemed to grow the older he became.
Why was he brought here? Why had Wilhelm chosen to raise him? The answers always eluded him, but deep down, Marcus had the nagging feeling that the truth of his past was not something Wilhelm would ever share.
One evening, as the golden light of the setting sun bathed the village, a young man from a neighboring town arrived at the Krieger residence. He was a traveler, a wanderer, and the moment he stepped into the village, the quiet life that Wilhelm had so carefully crafted began to unravel.
The stranger had a sharpness to him, something in the way he looked at the world, as though he could see things others couldn't. His eyes were unsettlingly keen, and his presence stirred something deep inside Marcus. Wilhelm, ever the cautious one, greeted the stranger with a nod, but there was a wariness about him.
"Is there something you need?" Wilhelm asked, his voice more guarded than usual.
The stranger smiled, but it was not a friendly smile. "I'm just passing through," he said cryptically. "But I've heard whispers about this village. About a child raised by one of the Germanian soldiers. I'm curious to see if the stories are true."
Marcus felt a chill crawl up his spine as the stranger's gaze shifted to him. The man's eyes lingered for a moment, before he looked away, as if he had seen all he needed to.
Wilhelm, sensing the shift in the air, placed a firm hand on Marcus's shoulder. "We don't need to entertain rumors. This is a quiet place. If you have no business here, I suggest you move on."
But the traveler was persistent. "I'll be around," he said, before turning and walking away, his boots clattering against the stone road.
That night, Marcus lay awake in bed, his thoughts swirling. The stranger's words echoed in his mind. A child raised by a Germanian soldier. He had heard rumors in passing, whispered in hushed tones when the villagers thought he wasn't listening, but this was the first time someone had spoken it so openly. The feeling that he didn't belong here,the sense that something was wrong—had been with him his whole life.
In the quiet of the night, Marcus turned to Wilhelm, sitting at the window, his face shadowed by the dim light of the lantern.
"You know who I am, don't you?" Marcus asked, his voice soft, but filled with an undeniable force.
Wilhelm didn't turn to face him. "I've raised you as my own, Marcus. That's all that matters."
"No," Marcus replied, his voice trembling slightly. "That's not all that matters. I know I'm not like the others. I can't keep pretending I don't know something's wrong."
Wilhelm finally stood, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, the two of them stood in silence. Then, with a deep breath, Wilhelm spoke.
"You're right, Marcus. You deserve to know the truth."
With those words, Wilhelm finally began to unravel the tightly wound secrets of Marcus's past, revealing the connection that bound them together, and the fate that had brought them both to this moment.
The road ahead would not be easy, but Marcus could feel, deep within him, that this was the beginning of something far greater than he could have ever imagined.