The Morning After the Cloaked Stranger
Dawn crept slowly over Hougwe. A thin, silvery mist still hung low above the thatched rooftops, as if reluctant to release the village from its cold embrace. When Edward opened his eyes, the faint light of early morning was just beginning to seep through the cracks in his bedroom window.
Yet, in truth, he had not really slept at all that night. He had only closed his eyes, lying still upon his bed, trying to let his body rest. Trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind. Trying to erase everything that had happened on the hill the evening before. And he had failed completely.
One word kept turning over and over in his head, like an echo that refused to fade or leave:
"The Heir."
The cloaked man had spoken it in a voice heavy with meaning. The figure with red eyes that often haunted his thoughts had said something similar. Even the faint voices that called out to him in his strange dreams seemed to point toward the very same thing.
Edward sat up slowly on the edge of his bed, his gaze falling to the floor. Sunlight finally began to stream through the gaps in the wooden planks, spilling warm golden light across the ground. Yet that warmth could not reach his heart, nor chase away the chill that had settled deep in his chest since the night before.
He reached up and touched the sword-shaped pendant hanging around his neck. He examined it closely. It looked ordinary—just an old trinket, neither glowing nor radiating warmth, showing no sign of any power at all. Yet it was precisely this plainness that made the frustration building inside him grow stronger.
"What exactly are you?" he whispered so softly his words were almost carried away by the wind.
He closed his fingers tightly around the pendant, as if trying to force it to speak.
"Why does everyone seem to know something great about me… except me?"
There was no answer. Only the soft rustle of the morning wind through the window, carrying the scent of damp earth and leaves.
From outside the room, the low hum of activity gradually grew louder. The bright laughter of the children from the orphanage drifted clearly through the air. There was Alice, speaking with great enthusiasm, followed by Thomas, responding in a teasing tone, and Alex, arguing about something or other. These sounds usually always brought Edward a sense of peace, making him feel safe and at home. But this morning, that warmth felt distant.
For the first time in his life, Edward felt as though he were standing behind a veil. Everyone else seemed to hold a piece of this puzzle. Altheon, Silvia, the mysterious cloaked man, even the Kingdom whose name he had heard spoken, and the strange figures that appeared in his dreams—all of them seemed to know far more than they let on. While he… stood in the dark, knowing nothing at all.
And that feeling of helplessness, of being left behind, was far more painful than the suspicious or fearful glances he had grown used to from the villagers.
After finishing a simple breakfast that tasted like ash in his mouth, Edward stepped out of the orphanage and walked toward the backyard. He went looking for Silvia, and found her busy training beneath the shade of an ancient banyan tree.
Her movements were fluid and graceful, yet beneath that gentleness lay a sharp, deadly strength. She practiced swinging a training sword while regulating the flow of mana throughout her body. Sweat glistened on her fair skin, trickling down her neck and shoulders. As she released her stored magical energy, her long dark brown hair gradually turned completely to a dazzling silver—a distinctive trait of warriors who kept their mana reserves stored within their hair. The darker their natural hair, the greater the power they could hold. Now her silver locks flowed freely, stirred by the cool morning breeze.
Her face held its usual calm expression, her eyes focused intently on every motion she made. But Edward knew her well enough to realize that her mind was far away. Perhaps she was thinking of the mysterious cloaked man, or the red-and-blue symbol that had appeared again, or perhaps even of him.
Edward stopped a few paces away from the training ground.
"Silvia."
Silvia lifted her head, pausing her movements for a moment.
"You are up very early."
"I couldn't sleep at all last night," Edward replied honestly.
Silvia nodded slightly, as if she had expected as much. She showed no surprise whatsoever.
"Neither could I."
They fell silent for a moment, listening only to the soft whisper of the wind and the sway of the leaves. Then Edward drew a long breath, steadying his racing heart. The decision he had carefully considered throughout the night finally left his lips, spoken with firm resolve.
"I want to grow stronger."
Silvia froze for just a second—so brief it was hardly noticeable, yet Edward, watching closely, caught the change. She set her practice axe down on the ground, then looked straight into his eyes.
"What?"
"I do not want to be protected forever," Edward continued. His voice remained calm, yet carried an unshakable determination. "I do not want to always be the one who needs saving."
Silvia did not reply immediately, letting his words hang in the air for a moment. Edward went on to explain.
"It seems everyone is acting and making plans because of me. Altheon, you, the mages, even the Kingdom—who knows what their intentions are. I am tired of just standing still, waiting for something to happen to me."
Silvia looked at him for a long time, studying him closely as if seeing a different person from the Edward she had always known. Until now, Edward had always asked questions, always seeking answers about what was happening to him. But today, he was no longer just asking—he wanted to find his own path.
"I want to learn how to fight. I want to learn how to use mana properly," Edward said firmly.
Silvia slowly lowered her head, letting her silver hair fall over part of her face. Her expression was complex, a mixture of emotions difficult to untangle. There was pride she could not hide, deep concern, and something faint yet unmistakable—a hidden fear, as if she knew that the path Edward had chosen would lead to great hardship in the future.
"Edward."
Her voice sounded different than usual. Not sharp with command, nor cold with warning. Just soft, like wind drifting gently through the branches of old trees.
"Do you know why I have never been willing to teach you how to fight until now?"
Edward shook his head slowly. His eyes rested on the face of the woman who had been both his protector and a mystery to him for so long.
Silvia smiled—a faint, distant smile that felt heavy with sorrow. Beneath the curve of her lips lay the shadow of a grief long held within, never spoken aloud, carried alone for years.
"Because this world is cruel, Edward."
She turned her gaze away, looking toward the sky beginning to change color as evening drew near. It was as if there, beyond the clouds, she could see something no one else could.
"Once you step into the world of battle," she said softly, her voice carried away by the breeze, "it is very hard to leave it behind. Like a shadow that follows you forever, never to be outrun."
Edward remained silent. He waited, sensing there was a long story hidden deep within her heart.
"I used to believe that strength could solve everything," Silvia said again, her eyes still gazing far into the distance, as if looking across time and space. "I thought if I were strong enough, I could protect anyone, guard anything precious. But that is not how it is. There are many things that even the greatest power in the world cannot touch. Lives are lost, bonds are broken, wounds remain unhealed—even if you were the strongest person on earth."
Her gaze grew distant for a moment, as if she were watching events long buried in the past. A past kept tightly sealed, never spoken of to anyone, not even Edward.
Yet in the face of this confession, Edward did not back down. He lifted his chin, his voice steady and sure:
"I still want to learn."
Silvia turned back to look directly into his eyes. "Are you certain?"
Edward nodded firmly. "I am afraid," he admitted openly, without hesitation. "But it is precisely because I am afraid that I want to become stronger. So that fear no longer leaves me standing still and powerless."
That simple answer left Silvia quiet for a long moment. Then, for the first time since their conversation began, and for the first time all morning, a genuine smile touched her face—a warm smile that revealed a rare glimpse of peace.
"You have truly changed, Edward."
Edward blinked, slightly confused. "Is that a bad thing?"
"No," Silvia replied simply, then stood up straight and brushed the grass from the hem of her clothing. "But there is one condition you must hold fast to, no matter what happens."
"What is it?"
Silvia pointed directly to Edward's chest, over his heart.
"You will learn to protect. Not to take revenge. Not to prove you are better than others. And certainly not to cause harm to any living being. There is only one purpose: to protect what and who is precious to you. That is all."
Edward nodded quickly, his heart feeling lighter yet also filled with a new sense of responsibility. "I promise."
Silvia let out a long breath, as if releasing a small burden that had weighed on her mind. She looked at the young man before her with a gaze that was now different.
"Then listen closely. Starting today, I will train you."
Behind the village of Hougwe lay a hill often avoided by the villagers because of its quiet solitude. It seemed as though time had passed it by. Wild grass grew knee-high, swaying softly in the breeze. Large boulders were scattered everywhere, forming a sturdy, natural landscape. From the summit, the entire village, the surrounding fields, and a winding stream could all be seen clearly stretching out below.
Silvia walked ahead with light, sure steps, as if the ground beneath her feet were part of her very being. Edward followed behind, looking around curiously.
"So… we will start by learning the basics of magic, right?" Edward asked hopefully. He imagined he would soon see glowing light or hand gestures that summoned the power of nature.
Silvia laughed softly—a sound that was light, yet carried a hint of amusement. "Not yet."
"Huh?"
"You cannot even run continuously for an hour without gasping as if your soul is about to leave your body," she said plainly.
Edward immediately pouted, feeling it was unfair. "That doesn't make sense—it's not fair."
"It is an undeniable fact," Silvia replied calmly.
Edward rolled his eyes, but still obeyed when Silvia pointed to a large fallen log lying across the ground.
"Stand on top of it."
Edward did as he was told, stepping carefully. But barely five seconds after his feet touched the wood, his body swayed.
THUD!
He fell onto the soft grass below.
Silvia shook her head gently. "Very weak."
"I only just tried!" Edward protested, rubbing his slightly sore elbow.
"And in that short time, you already fell," Silvia said without sympathy.
Edward stood up again and tried once more. Fell. Stood up again. Fell again. This repeated over and over for an entire hour. Silvia had not launched a single attack—gravity and Edward's own lack of balance had already proven to be his greatest enemy.
The training continued as time passed. They learned how to regulate breathing to remain steady even when exhausted. How to maintain balance on uneven ground. How to sense and read the direction and strength of the wind. How to hear even the quietest footsteps in the undergrowth. And most difficult of all: how to move the body as efficiently as possible, not wasting energy on unnecessary movements.
All of it felt tedious, far removed from the heroic tales he often read. But Silvia never softened her commands.
"Remember this, Edward," she said at one point, her voice firm yet meaningful. "A true battle begins long before a sword is drawn or magic is unleashed. It begins with the condition of your body. If your body cannot keep up with the speed and commands of your mind, then you have already lost before the fight has even truly begun."
Edward nodded in understanding, though he did not yet fully grasp the full meaning of her words. Sweat soaked his entire body, making his clothes feel heavy and damp. His legs felt stiff as if filled with stone, and every breath felt heavy in his lungs. Yet not once did he ask to stop.
As the afternoon drew near and the sun began to lower, painting the sky with golden light, Edward finally reached the limit of his endurance. He collapsed, sitting weakly on the grass, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His hands shook so badly he could barely close them into fists.
"This is far harder than I imagined," he murmured quietly, his breath still coming in gasps.
Silvia approached and sat beside him calmly. "That is because you imagine strength as it appears in stories—sudden, glorious, and full of victory. In truth, the path to strength is built from sweat, exhaustion, and repeated failure."
Edward laughed softly—a tired but honest sound. "Perhaps you are right."
He looked up at the sky above. Clouds drifted slowly, a peaceful and calm sight. It stood in sharp contrast to the chaos in his mind and the ache spreading through every muscle.
"I still feel afraid," he said suddenly.
Silvia did not laugh at his admission. Instead, she replied with great seriousness. "Of course you are afraid. That is only natural."
Edward turned to look at her in surprise. "You have felt fear too?"
Silvia smiled faintly, plucking a blade of grass nearby. "Every time I stand in the face of danger, every time I know a life could be lost, I feel afraid. That feeling never simply disappears."
Edward's eyes widened, as if hearing something impossible. "But you are so strong."
"Strength does not make fear vanish, Edward." Silvia held the blade of grass between her fingers. "True strength is simply the ability to keep moving forward, even when fear still grips your heart."
That simple yet profound thought left Edward silent for a long time. He reflected, trying to understand its meaning. Slowly, even though every movement felt painful and his muscles screamed for rest, he forced himself to stand straight once more. His legs still trembled, his breath was still unsteady, but he remained standing.
"What comes next in the training?" he asked.
Silvia raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised yet with a glint of admiration in her eyes. "You wish to continue?"
Edward nodded firmly. "I am not finished yet."
Silvia looked at him deeply for several seconds, then a faint smile of pride—one rarely seen on her face—touched her lips.
"Very well. Look at that large boulder over there. Stand on top of it."
Edward looked at the stone, which reached about waist height. "What for?"
"You will stand there, moving as little as possible, until the sun has fully set and the sky turns dark. And one more thing: do not fall."
"What?! That is torture!" Edward exclaimed in disbelief.
"That is part of training to master yourself," Silvia replied evenly.
Edward let out a long sigh, then walked with unsteady steps toward the rock and began climbing carefully.
Silvia watched him from a distance, quiet and saying little. In her heart, for the first time since the events that awakened the strange power within Edward, she felt a spark of hope. This hope did not come from the power that might lie hidden within the young man, nor from the mystery surrounding his origins. It grew from his resolve. From the fact that this young man had chosen to keep moving forward, even when he had every reason to stop and give up.
Deep in her heart, Silvia began to believe. Whatever entity dwelled within Edward, whatever dangers awaited him in the future, he would not face them as a frightened, helpless boy. He would stand firm on his own two feet.
Yet neither of them was aware of one important thing. As the sunlight began to fade and shadows lengthened, deep within the most hidden recesses of Edward's consciousness, in a place of darkness and silence, something was watching. Something that had slept for thousands of years, its existence almost forgotten. And for the first time… it began to stir and wake.
"Interesting…"
A faint voice echoed in the emptiness of his mind, so soft it was almost impossible to hear.
"You have chosen the path to become stronger…"
Silence fell again for a moment, before the voice returned—this time a little closer, a little clearer, carrying a vibration that could not be explained.
"Very well… let us see. How long will you remain yourself, before that power consumes you entirely?"
Suddenly, Edward felt a cold chill run down his back and settle deep into his bones. He turned quickly to look around. There was no one there. Only the evening wind blowing gently through the rocks and grass. Yet somehow, the feeling of being watched remained sharp and would not fade.
Evening began to settle slowly over the hill behind Hougwe. The sky, which had shone bright blue all day, gradually shifted hue, glowing with a warm golden-orange light that was slowly fading. A soft breeze swept across the tall wild grass, making it sway as if dancing to the rhythm of nature. From within the thickets, the faint chirping of insects began to rise, signaling that the day was drawing to a close.
The first day of training was finally paused—not because Silvia believed Edward had made enough progress, but quite the opposite. She could clearly see that he had already reached the limit of his endurance. His body, unaccustomed to such physical strain, was begging for rest.
Edward sat atop a large, relatively flat boulder, looking out toward the village, which was clearly visible in the distance. His breathing remained heavy and ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His entire tunic was soaked through with sweat, and his arms ached terribly, as if they were still weighed down by some heavy burden. He was certain that when the sun rose the next morning, every muscle in his body would feel stiff and sore, making even simple movement difficult.
Yet beneath the bone-deep weariness, there arose a strange feeling. Little by little, he found himself growing calmer. At least while he was training—while his mind had to focus on balance, breath, and the movement of his body—those heavy questions had vanished, if only for a little while.
Questions about the Vessel.
About Destrover.
About Equilibris.
And about that one word that kept turning over and over in his mind without end: "The Heir."
The training had served as a brief respite, clearing his head just enough. Not completely, but enough to let him breathe a little easier.
Edward gazed steadily at the village below. Thin plumes of smoke began to rise from the chimneys, a sign that mothers were preparing dinner for their families. Villagers could be seen walking home, while children still ran laughing along the streets. Life there went on as usual—quiet and simple.
But his own life… it no longer felt ordinary at all.
Edward let out a long sigh, letting the evening air fill his lungs.
"I only want to know who I truly am," he murmured so softly it was almost just a whisper meant only for himself.
But the moment the words left his lips, another sound reached his ears.
Very faint.
Barely audible.
Almost indistinguishable from the rustle of wind through the leaves.
"Weak…"
Edward instantly straightened up. His heart raced, its beating loud and clear in his ears. He quickly turned to his right—there was no one there, only bushes and rocks. He turned to his left—still nothing, just grass swaying in the breeze.
Without thinking, he stood up too quickly, his legs still so weak that he nearly lost his balance and fell back down.
"Who is there?" he called out, his voice trembling slightly as he tried to sound firm.
There was no answer—only the sound of birds taking flight from a distant tree.
Edward frowned, his eyes scanning every corner of the hill. Perhaps he had imagined it. Yes, that must be it. He was far too tired, had been thinking far too much about things that unsettled him, and had barely slept the night before. There could be no one else in such a lonely place.
More than that, the voice had felt strange—unlike that of someone standing nearby. It did not seem to come from in front, behind, or beside him. Instead, it sounded as though it had arisen right behind his own ear, entering directly into his mind.
At that thought, the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end, and a faint chill ran through him. Yet after a few moments passed without any further sound or movement, his sense of unease slowly began to fade.
"I really must be too tired," he whispered again, trying to convince himself.
He sat back down on the rock, trying to push the strange feeling aside. But deep within him, in that quiet place hard to ignore, a seed of discomfort had begun to grow, leaving a lingering sense of wariness that refused to fully disappear.
Training resumed. Silvia stood several paces in front of Edward, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her gaze remained sharp, observing even the smallest movement, as if nothing could escape her notice.
"Focus," she commanded firmly.
"I am focused," Edward replied, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.
"Are you?" Silvia raised an eyebrow slightly. "Just now, you stared at that bird flying overhead for a full thirty seconds."
Edward let out a long breath, feeling a little embarrassed.
"That is not the kind of focus I mean," Silvia continued, her voice calm but unyielding. "In the middle of a real battle, your enemy will not stop and wait for you to finish daydreaming or looking around. They will strike the moment your mind wanders."
Edward did not argue. He tightened his grip on the wooden practice sword. It felt far heavier than it should have—though judging by its size and material, it ought to have been light. But Edward knew well enough that the fault was not with the weapon. It was his own body. Every muscle felt stiff, aching, as if burning from the exhaustion that had built up since morning.
"Repeat the first movement," Silvia ordered again.
Edward nodded. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his still-racing heart. Slowly lifting the sword, he swung it horizontally with all the strength he could muster.
His form was not perfect—still a little stiff, not as smooth as it should be. Yet compared to his first attempts, it was already much better.
"Again," Silvia said.
Edward repeated the motion.
"Again."
He swung once more. Sweat began to stream down his forehead, dripping onto his cheeks and neck.
"Again."
And he continued, over and over, until at last Silvia gave a small nod.
"Better," she said simply.
A faint smile touched Edward's lips. A spark of pride stirred in his chest, even though the praise was so brief and understated. But coming from Silvia, it was as rare as rain in the middle of a long drought. He knew that if she said better, it meant he truly was improving.
He lifted the sword once more, trying to recall every instruction she had given him: how to stand firm yet remain flexible; where to place his feet so he would not slip; how to keep his balance even when exerting force; and most importantly, how to regulate his breathing so that his strength would not be wasted.
Little by little, slowly but surely, he began to understand something important. A fight was not about how hard or how powerfully one could swing a weapon. It was not about who possessed the greatest physical strength. True combat was about self-control—mastering one's body, one's mind, and one's own power.
And for that brief moment, Edward managed to forget the faint voice he had heard earlier—or at least, he tried his hardest to dismiss it as nothing more than the product of his own weariness.
The sun sank slowly toward the western horizon, casting a golden light that gradually dimmed. The shadows of the trees around the training ground lengthened, stretching across the dry grass that was beginning to take on a silvery hue.
Edward gripped his practice sword once more, lifting it carefully. He attempted the new stance Silvia had just taught him: left foot forward as his main support, right foot placed slightly back to maintain balance. He relaxed his shoulders, keeping them from tensing, and regulated his breathing so it remained steady, flowing gently in and out of his lungs.
Then…
The voice returned.
This time it was no longer faint or carried away by the wind. It was far clearer, more real, and impossible to deny.
"Your grip on the sword is wrong."
As if struck by lightning, Edward froze instantly. All the strength drained from his hands, and the wooden sword slipped from his grasp, falling onto the grass with a thud that seemed to echo in his own ears.
For a heartbeat, his heart seemed to stop beating entirely, before racing twice as fast as before. He had heard it clearly—this was not just the whisper of wind rustling through branches, nor a figment of his tired imagination. The voice had truly spoken, delivering its words with exactness and purpose.
And what sent chills down his spine was that it sounded as though it had come directly beside his ear—so close it felt as if someone were standing only inches from his face.
With a startled jerk, Edward spun around in every direction. But there was no one there. The clearing was empty, save for himself and Silvia. She was still standing some distance away, her back turned as she reached for a water bottle resting near the trunk of a large tree. It could not possibly have been her. It was simply impossible.
His hands began to tremble violently—not from the lingering fatigue of training, but from fear: a cold dread that slowly crept from his fingertips up his arms, spreading through his entire body until his skin felt cold and stiff.
"Edward?"
Silvia's voice cut through the evening stillness, sounding from near the large tree. "Is something wrong?"
Edward turned around quickly, his heart pounding. "Nothing is wrong!"
His answer came too fast, too loud—as if he were trying to hide something. Silvia frowned, her eyes studying him with suspicion, but she chose not to press further.
Edward bent down to pick up the fallen sword, brushing it off quickly while forcing his face to appear calm and normal. Yet inside his head, everything was spinning wildly, as if caught in a gale.
He took a long breath, trying to steady himself and think logically. Perhaps someone was using long-range communication magic. Perhaps a mage was watching him from the shadows. Perhaps…
"Poor reasoning."
Edward nearly jumped and dropped the sword a second time. The voice was back—closer, clearer, and far more tangible, as if whispering directly inside his ear.
"If you continue holding the sword like that, you will die in your very first battle."
Edward's entire body went rigid. Cold sweat began to seep slowly down his back, making his tunic feel damp and heavy.
"Are you listening to me?"
He bit the inside of his cheek. No—he must not answer. If he spoke to empty air, Silvia would surely notice something was wrong. If she noticed, she would ask questions. And what could he possibly say? That there was a mysterious voice speaking inside his head? That the legendary Destrover might not be fully sealed after all? Or worse… that he might slowly be losing his mind?
Edward clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. He held his breath for a moment, struggling to control the panic that threatened to rise up and overwhelm him.
"Interesting."
The voice came again—calm, yet piercing.
"At least you did not immediately scream in fear."
Edward swallowed hard, his throat feeling dry and raw. Whoever or whatever the source of this voice was, one thing was certain: he did not like it—not in the slightest.
Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the voice vanished. Without warning, without a final word, without a threat. It was simply gone—leaving behind a silence that felt far heavier than before.
Edward stood rooted to the spot. Several seconds passed, then a minute, then two. Still, there was nothing—no whisper, no sound, nothing at all. Only the soft evening breeze brushing the leaves, the calls of birds returning to their nests, and the sound of Silvia's footsteps as she slowly approached.
"You look terribly pale," she said, her voice laced with concern.
Edward forced a faint smile. "I am fine."
"That is a very obvious lie," Silvia replied firmly, though her tone remained gentle.
Edward tried to laugh softly, but the sound came out stiff and hollow, unable to hide the turmoil within him.
Silvia studied him for a moment, then held out the water bottle she carried. "Do not push yourself so hard that you forget your own limits."
Edward accepted it with slightly shaking hands. "Thank you."
He unscrewed the cap and drank slowly, trying to soothe his parched throat and calm his still-unsteady heartbeat. Yet even though the strange voice had faded, the sense of unease and wariness remained.
For now, he knew one thing for certain: he was not imagining it. The voice was real—truly real. And that realization was far more terrifying than any mere hallucination.
Night fell.
The sky above Hougwe stretched wide and clear, filled with thousands of stars twinkling like carefully scattered diamonds. Inside the orphanage, the air was once again filled with the laughter and chatter of the children—sounds that had long since come to feel like home to everyone who lived there.
Alice sat in the corner, eyes shining with excitement as she held a thick book. "Listen to this—the main character can speak to birds! Even better, he can find his way through the forest just by smelling the earth!" she told them enthusiastically.
Before anyone else could reply, a sharp voice cut through the conversation. "It wasn't me! Alex must have taken the last piece!" Thomas shouted, pointing an accusing finger at his friend.
Alex immediately flushed and shot back, "Don't go making accusations! I saw your hand dart toward the bread plate just a moment ago!"
"Enough, both of you!" Serly scolded, though her tone was not truly angry. "The bread is meant to be shared fairly. If it is all gone, we can make more tomorrow—there is no need to shout so loud the whole house can hear."
Suddenly, seven-year-old Rian piped up with a serious expression, turning all eyes toward him. "Then tomorrow we should make bread that can't be eaten. That way no one will fight over it!"
Everyone fell silent for a moment, then burst into laughter.
Thomas ruffled Rian's hair. "That doesn't make any sense, little one. If you can't eat it, what is the point of making it?"
Rian shrugged innocently. "So there will be peace. You only fight because you want to eat it. If it can't be eaten, everyone will be safe."
The laughter grew louder. Amidst all this warmth, everything seemed completely normal—just as it had always been, peaceful and comforting.
But Edward was not truly listening to their conversation. His eyes stared blankly ahead while his mind wandered far away—back to the hill, to the evening wind, and most of all, to that voice and the words that still echoed clearly in his memory: "Your grip on the sword is wrong."
The voice knew about combat. It knew about technique. It knew things that should only be known by those who had once held a weapon and fought in earnest. It was watching him. And most terrifying of all… it sounded like an ordinary human voice—not the roar of a monster, not the hiss of a beast, not the howl of some raging entity. Just someone speaking in a flat, matter-of-fact tone, as if commenting on the weather.
That was exactly what made his skin crawl. There was consciousness behind that voice—someone, or something, alive and aware, and standing very close. Perhaps too close.
Silvia, sitting across the table, watched him with a sharp yet gentle gaze. "You are very quiet today," she said softly.
Edward jumped slightly, as if waking from a long daydream. "Huh?"
"Your mind is wandering far away. You are thinking about something, are you not?"
Edward forced a faint smile. "No. I am just a little tired."
Silvia raised one eyebrow, her gaze unwavering. "That is the second lie you have told today. You know I can read your face, do you not?"
Edward gave a small laugh, though it sounded stiff and empty. He fell silent. How could he possibly tell her? He was afraid—afraid that the voice truly belonged to Destrover, the being that had nearly destroyed the world long ago. Afraid that all of Altheon's warnings and fears were true—that the creature had never been fully sealed away. And most frightening of all… what if the voice was not trying to break free from somewhere hidden? What if it came from within himself?
The night grew deeper. One by one, the lamps were extinguished, and the sound of laughter slowly faded into the soft, steady breathing of the orphanage's inhabitants. Yet in his small room, Edward remained awake. He stared up at the ceiling, faintly illuminated by moonlight filtering through the cracks in the window. His eyes stayed wide open. He waited, afraid, yet half-hoping, listening closely to every sound outside.
But the voice did not return.
And it was precisely this silence that left him feeling even more uneasy. He understood, even if he did not want to admit it: sooner or later, the voice would come again. And when it did… he was not sure he would be ready to hear what it had to say next.
Several days later.
The morning air around the hill was cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and wild flowers growing between the cracks in the rocks. In the same place as always, Edward trained under Silvia's watchful eye.
His movements had grown more steady and controlled, yet his gaze still wandered from time to time, as if something lingered in the back of his mind—the voice from that evening, the words that echoed endlessly within him.
He had not been swinging his wooden sword for long when heavy footsteps approached. Altheon stood at the edge of the training ground, watching them with a calm yet sharp gaze.
He did not speak immediately, simply observing every motion Edward made and every instruction Silvia gave.
Silvia paused for a moment, turning toward the old man. "You have arrived earlier than promised," she said quietly, without surprise—just a simple statement of fact.
Altheon gave a small nod. "I felt it necessary to see for myself. Not just how he trains or how he wields his weapon, but what lies in his mind as he moves."
Edward lowered his sword, breathing slightly heavily. He looked toward Altheon, unable to hide the nervousness in his eyes. "You… wish to watch me train?" he asked uncertainly.
"Not merely watch," Altheon replied, stepping closer. "I wish to know whether your movements come from a genuine desire to learn, or if something else is influencing them."
Silvia glanced briefly at Edward, then back at Altheon. "He tries very hard. But lately… his mind often seems elsewhere. As if he carries some burden he will not speak of."
Altheon looked deeply into Edward's eyes. "Is that so? Are you hiding something, young man?"
Edward lowered his gaze for a moment, gripping the hilt of his sword more tightly. "No… I am just tired. That is all."
Altheon smiled faintly—a smile full of understanding, yet also of caution. "You may keep it to yourself for now. But remember—whether in battle or in life—a secret carried for too long can become a heavy weight that slows your steps. And that weight can cause you harm, even from the very weapon you seek to master."
Silvia added in a tone that was gentle yet firm: "Training is not only about building muscle. It is about finding peace within. If your mind is in turmoil, your sword will never strike true."
Edward nodded slowly, though in his heart he knew that such peace had become increasingly difficult to find ever since that voice had first spoken in the silence.
The morning breeze continued to drift softly across the training ground, covered in dry grass. Altheon stood perfectly still, as if he were nothing more than a shadow blending into the surroundings.
His gaze settled directly upon Edward, who still held the wooden sword firmly in both hands.
"I have seen enough," Altheon said, his voice quiet but clear. "Now—attack me. Use everything you possess—both the skill of your sword, and the magic that has begun to flow within you. Do not hold anything back."
Edward swallowed hard. His heart raced—not from fear, but from the doubt that had long lingered within him. "Master Altheon… is this truly wise?" he asked hesitantly. "Magic against my sword? I have barely begun to understand how to control it."
"That is precisely why we practice," Altheon replied. "Do not think of rules. Let what lies within you speak for itself."
Silvia stood nearby, watching without interrupting. Edward drew a long breath, focusing all his attention. He felt a warm energy begin to thrum in his palms, flowing steadily until it merged with the hilt of his sword.
Without further hesitation, he stepped forward quickly and swung the weapon, releasing a burst of magic that glowed with silvery light as it shot forward.
Yet the moment the blade came within inches of Altheon's robes, the old man seemed to dissolve into thin mist. In the blink of an eye, he had reappeared several paces to the side, without appearing to have moved at all.
"Too hasty," Altheon's voice came from beside him. "Your power surges forth, but it lacks direction. Try again."
Edward gritted his teeth. He spun around and launched a second attack—this one more measured, combining the swing of his sword with a flow of magic that wrapped around the wooden blade.
The light flared brightly, but once again, just before it could make contact, Altheon raised only one hand.
A faint shield of energy appeared before him, and in an instant Edward's attack was halted, sending him stumbling back several steps from the gentle but firm counterforce.
"Once more," Altheon invited, a faint smile still playing upon his lips.
Edward did not give up. He attacked from the left, then from the right, and even tried to break his opponent's focus with a rapid series of strikes interspersed with small bursts of magic.
Yet the result was always the same. Either Altheon moved too swiftly for Edward's eyes to follow, or he deflected the blow with a force that left Edward staggering. He could not even graze the hem of Altheon's robes.
Five times he tried, and five times he was defeated with ease. His breathing grew ragged, sweat beaded on his forehead, and a deep sense of confusion took root in his heart.
"Why?" he murmured softly, yet loud enough to be heard. "I have focused all my strength, I have followed everything Silvia has taught me… but why can I not even touch you? Is my magic too weak? Am I truly lacking in talent?"
He lowered his head, his gaze falling upon the sword in his hand. But before despair could take hold, he heard a soft yet warm laugh from before him. He looked up to see Altheon smiling—not a smile of mockery, but one filled with understanding and hope.
"You ask why you fail again and again?" Altheon said gently. "Look at yourself. You have stumbled, you have wavered, and you have nearly fallen, yet see—every time you rise, you still hold fast to your sword. You do not cease trying even when your body is weary and your mind is filled with doubt. That is what makes me smile. Not because of the strength you possess today, but because I see something far more valuable within your efforts."
Altheon stepped forward slightly, his gaze growing deeper and more sincere. He no longer seemed like the opponent who had just defeated him, but rather a teacher sharing wisdom gained over a lifetime.
"Listen closely, Edward," he said slowly, each word spoken with weight and meaning. "Many are mistaken in believing that strength is measured by how powerful one's magic can be, how hard one can swing a sword, or how great a name one holds."
He paused for a moment, ensuring his words settled deep within the young man's heart.
"But believe me," he continued, his voice firmer yet still gentle. "True strength does not come from what is great. It is not born from earth-shattering explosions or light that blinds the eyes."
Edward listened intently, setting aside his weariness and confusion for a moment. He looked into Altheon's eyes, striving to understand the meaning hidden within his words.
"Then… where does it come from, Master?" Edward asked softly.
Altheon smiled faintly, then replied with certainty: "It comes from a will that refuses to break. True strength is born from a heart that remains steadfast even after falling many times, from a resolve that does not waver no matter how doubt may assail it, and from the courage to rise again even when one feels incapable. That is the root of all true power. Remember these words well, Edward. One day, they will become the principle that guides your steps—far clearer and brighter than any magic could ever be."
Those words echoed within Edward, sinking deep into the very core of his being. He did not fully grasp their full meaning at that moment, yet he felt something shift within him—a seed of belief that began to grow slowly.
The sun began to climb higher, casting light over part of the training ground. The small trial came to an end for the moment. Edward lowered his sword, trying to steady his still-rapid breathing. His body felt heavy with fatigue, yet his heart felt lighter than it had in days.
As he raised a hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead, he suddenly felt something strange against his chest. Beneath his clothing, the pendant hanging from the chain—the one shaped like a sword, fixed to the hilt of his weapon and always carried close—suddenly grew warm.
The warmth was not painful; rather, it felt soft and comforting, like the gentle touch of morning sunlight. He touched it through his tunic, feeling the warmth spread slowly, though it lasted only a few seconds. There was no blinding flash of light, no strange sound, and no visible change in its form. Only that brief warmth, before it gradually returned to its usual coolness.
Yet the sensation was clear and distinct enough for Edward to take notice. He frowned, pulling the pendant out slightly to look at it. It appeared exactly as it always had—unchanged.
"What is this?" he murmured softly, staring at it in confusion. "It felt so warm just now… is it because of the training?"
Altheon and Silvia, noticing his movements, turned toward him.
"Is something wrong with your pendant?" Silvia asked curiously.
Edward held it up slightly. "Just now… it grew warm. Only for a moment, no light or anything else. But I am certain I felt it."
Altheon studied the pendant with a sharper gaze, as if trying to read something hidden beneath its plain surface. Yet he asked no further questions, merely nodding slowly.
"Perhaps it is reacting to the flow of energy you have just used," he said simply. "Or perhaps there is something else waiting for you to discover in time. Hold onto that feeling. Sometimes, the smallest, most unexpected things hold the greatest clues."
Edward tucked the pendant back beneath his clothes, feeling his heart beat a little faster. For some reason, even though the incident had been simple and brief, he felt as though something was beginning to connect—between himself, the power he was learning, and the small object he always carried.
The night air in the orphanage courtyard was cool, drifting gently through the leaves of the old trees. In the darkest corner, far from the dim glow of the garden lamps, Edward sat cross-legged upon a weathered wooden bench. His back rested against the trunk of a massive banyan tree, his eyes fixed upon the vast sky above.
The night sky was beautiful, strewn with countless twinkling stars. Yet to Edward, that beauty felt distant and heavy. His mind was filled with the words he had recently heard, secrets that had been placed upon his shoulders as if he were already fully grown.
Destrover… Guardian… The Heir… The Pendant… The Kingdom…
These words circled endlessly, echoing in his thoughts. They were far too large, far too distant from the world he had always known—the simple life of the orphanage, filled with laughter, tears, and the daily struggle to get by. How could an orphan like himself suddenly be bound to things that sounded like ancient legends? It all felt impossible, suffocating, and made him feel incredibly small and alone beneath the vastness of the heavens.
He did not notice the soft footsteps approaching.
"Why are you sitting here all by yourself? It is cold," a young woman's voice broke the silence.
Edward turned quickly. Standing there was Serly—his friend and foster sister from the orphanage. For as long as they could remember, their relationship had been fiery. They often disagreed, teased one another, and seemed to see eye to eye on almost nothing. Edward frowned, ready to send her away as he usually would. But when he saw her eyes—free of their usual mockery, holding only quiet curiosity and concern—the sharp words died in his throat.
Serly did not wait to be invited. She stepped closer and sat at the far end of the bench, keeping a small distance so Edward would not feel crowded. She also looked up at the same sky, then glanced briefly at Edward's face, which looked weary and troubled.
"You look as though you are carrying a very heavy burden," Serly said, her voice softer than usual. "You are usually quiet like this only when you are thinking about things that do not make sense."
Edward fell silent for a moment. He wanted to reply sharply, to tell her it was none of her business. Yet the loneliness that had surrounded him just moments before suddenly felt a little lighter. For some reason, sitting before this girl he had always considered his "little rival," he felt safe enough to stop pretending to be strong.
"It is heavy," Edward finally said quietly, his gaze returning to the stars. "Too heavy to bear all alone."
Serly did not interrupt. She waited patiently—something she rarely did with Edward.
"There are so many things I have only just learned," Edward continued slowly, his voice filled with confusion. "Things that make me wonder… who I truly am. There are strange titles, a pendant, and even a kingdom. It sounds like a made-up story, yet it feels real. And I do not know what I am meant to do."
There was a brief pause. The night breeze stirred again, carrying the scent of damp earth and jasmine from the garden.
"It does sound complicated," Serly said gently. She turned to look at Edward's profile. "But for some reason, I believe you are not making it up. I have never seen you look this confused before."
Edward gave a short, bitter laugh, devoid of any joy. "Even if it is true, what good does it do? I am just an orphan. The world you speak of is so far away, so vast. I feel… as though I am not strong enough."
Serly shifted slightly, moving a little closer. Her tone was firm yet warm, stripped of the teasing she usually used.
"Who says you have to face it all right now? Or that you have to face it by yourself?" she said. "Whatever the titles are—Destrover, Guardian, Heir, or anything else—you are still Edward to me. The boy who can be annoying, but who is also brave enough to stand up for his friends here. A pendant or a kingdom does not change who you really are."
Edward turned fully to face her, looking at her with surprise. For the first time, they spoke without arguing, without cutting each other off. Just two young people sitting side by side beneath the night sky, sharing confusion and a strange, unexpected sense of calm.
"You… do not think I am going mad?" Edward asked uncertainly.
Serly smiled faintly—a rare expression that softened her features. "Perhaps a little strange, but not mad. And…" she paused before continuing, "even though we fight often… if the burden is too heavy, you do not have to carry it alone. We are family here, are we not?"
Edward fell silent. He felt something within his heart, long kept closed, begin to thaw. The weight that had felt so overwhelming just moments before seemed to grow a little lighter. He nodded slowly, letting out a long, relieved breath.
"Thank you, Serly," he whispered softly.
That night, beneath the blanket of stars, two people who had always been like cats and dogs finally sat together in peace. No more teasing, no more rivalry. Just a simple conversation that slowly marked the beginning of something new.
Silence once again settled over the courtyard after Serly decided to return to her room, broken only by the rustle of wind through the leaves of the banyan tree. Edward remained deep in thought; Serly's words had slowly calmed the storm within his chest—yet that calm did not last long.
Then.
The voice returned.
Before, he had only heard it faintly, like a whisper carried by the wind, as if coming from a great distance—or perhaps only a figment of his imagination. But this time was different. It sounded far clearer, more real, and echoed directly inside his mind. No longer a murmur that came and went, no longer a sound swept away by the night breeze. It was the voice of a man—deep, resonant, carrying a strange vibration as if it had waited for a very long time.
"At last…"
Edward reacted instantly. He stood up straight, his body tensing as he scanned his surroundings with sharp eyes. His heart raced, his breath catching in his throat. He looked left, then right, staring into the darkness between the trees—but there was no one there. Only faint shadows cast by the moonlight.
Serly, startled by the sudden change in his demeanor, stood up as well, frowning in confusion. "What is it? Is something wrong?" she asked quietly—but Edward did not answer. All his attention was fixed upon the voice he had just heard.
The voice then gave a soft laugh—not a friendly one, yet filled with meaning—a mixture of relief, long patience, and something difficult to name. Then it spoke again, slowly and clearly, as if addressing him face to face:
"It has been such a long time…"
There was a brief pause, before the voice continued in a tone that was more certain and precise:
"Edward."
For the first time, the voice spoke his name.
Edward froze in place. For a moment, it felt as though the blood in his veins had stopped flowing. His eyes widened in disbelief. He knew one thing for certain: this was no hallucination. It was not simply the result of overthinking or the weight he carried. Something—or someone—was truly speaking to him.
With a voice that came out rough and trembling, Edward finally spoke, challenging the darkness that seemed to surround him:
"Who are you?"
Silence fell instantly. Yet deep within his mind, amid the growing darkness, a single point of light slowly began to glow. It grew clearer until it took shape—a single eye of glowing red, which slowly opened wide and stared directly into Edward's consciousness.