The night had long since passed its midpoint. Time seemed to slow, wrapping the entire village in a silence so deep it felt almost tangible. Briar Orphanage lay slumbering in peaceful stillness, as if all its inhabitants had drifted away into sweet dreams. The oil lamps in every corner of the building had been extinguished, replaced by the faint glow of moonlight seeping through cracks in the walls. The windows were shut tight, keeping out the night's chill, and the only sounds that could be heard were the occasional chirp of crickets from behind the bushes and grass damp with dew.
But not everyone could close their eyes and rest that night.
In the orphanage's backyard, right beneath an ancient banyan tree that had stood tall and strong for decades—even before the orphanage itself was built—Edward stood alone. This tree had long been a silent witness to many things; it had been his favorite place since childhood, where he would go to be alone, to think, or simply to escape the noise and laughter of the other children.
The night wind blew gently, brushing against his cool skin and making the leaves above sway softly against one another. Usually, the rustling of the foliage felt so calming, like a gentle lullaby. But tonight, the sound felt strange, almost like indistinct whispers that carried no clear meaning. There was nothing soothing about it. Not at all.
Edward gazed up at the vast sky, strewn with countless twinkling stars. Yet his eyes were empty. His mind was far from the beauty of the night sky. All his attention, all his thoughts, remained trapped in the single event he had experienced just hours earlier.
A voice.
A voice that was unfamiliar, yet had sounded strangely close. A voice that had called his name clearly. A voice that had no form, no face, and no origin he could trace.
Edward ran a hand over his cold face. He looked utterly exhausted—not just physically, but deep within his soul. For several nights now, he had been unable to sleep well. Every time he closed his eyes, strange dreams would come to haunt him: visions of a symbol in red and blue, throbbing with bright light; words repeating over and over, calling him "the heir"; the figure of a man in dark robes whose gaze pierced straight to his very core; and now, this mysterious voice that seemed to come from nowhere at all.
Everything was coming at him one after another, leaving him no time to catch his breath, no moment to understand what was truly happening to him.
"Am I truly beginning to lose my mind…?" Edward murmured softly, his voice nearly swallowed by the wind.
He tried a small laugh, attempting to convince himself that this was nothing more than exhaustion or an overactive imagination. But the laugh felt hollow and empty, carrying no real conviction. Not even he believed the words he had just spoken.
If this were merely a hallucination, why did it all feel so real? Why did every event he had experienced seem to connect to one another, forming a vast puzzle that only grew more complex? And why did every secret, every great question, always lead back to him?
Edward clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. His heart was still beating faster than usual, pounding steadily in his chest. This was no ordinary fear. It was different from the fear he had felt when facing wild beasts in the forest, or when he had felt the suspicious stares of the villagers. This fear ran far deeper, touching the most private parts of his being.
For the first time in his life, he realized something terrifying: the enemy he might one day have to face was not out there, in the darkness of the woods or behind stone walls. It might very well be inside himself.
The wind picked up again, making the leaves of the old tree rustle in a long, soft whisper. Edward swallowed hard, his throat feeling dry. Slowly, he lifted his head and stared into the darkness that filled the yard.
"If you truly exist…" he whispered, his voice trembling slightly yet trying to remain firm. His eyes scanned every corner of the grounds, searching every shadow. "…show yourself."
There was no answer. Only the night remained silent, and the stars continued to shine high above. Yet for some reason, his instinct told him otherwise. His senses warned him that something was watching him, observing his every move from the shadows. And that feeling sent a chill down his spine, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
Scene 2 — Who Are You?
Edward took a deep breath, trying to steady his rapid heartbeat. He gathered every ounce of courage he could find within himself, straightened his shoulders, and spoke again.
"Who are you?"
His voice came out quieter and more uncertain than he intended, but at last, the question had left his lips. He waited, his gaze sharp and watchful as he looked around.
One second passed. Two seconds. Five seconds. Time seemed to drag on endlessly. But there was nothing. No sound, no reply—only the constant rustle of leaves and the familiar sounds of the night.
Edward let out a long breath, feeling the tension in his body slowly ease. His shoulders slumped. Perhaps it was true, what he had always told himself. Perhaps this was all just his imagination running wild.
The pressure he had felt over the past few weeks might have simply become too heavy for a boy his age to bear. The mysterious Awakening, the terrifying name Destrover that was constantly mentioned, the strange symbol that had appeared on his body, and all the great secrets Altheon and Silvia were hiding—all of it might have weighed so heavily on his mind that it had conjured things that were not really there.
He was just about to turn around, intending to head back inside and force himself to sleep, when suddenly a voice spoke.
It was very soft, yet perfectly clear—as if it were whispering right beside his ear. Too clear to be mistaken for the wind or mere fancy. It was the voice of a man—calm, deep, and strangely, faintly amused.
"I knew you would ask that."
Edward froze completely. Every muscle in his body tensed instantly. His eyes went wide with disbelief, and his breath caught in his throat. He turned his head quickly, looking left, right, behind him, and ahead—but there was no one to be seen. No figure stood beneath the tree, no one hid behind the wooden fence, no one lurked among the bushes.
Yet the voice was real. So real he could almost feel its vibration.
"W-who is there?!" he cried out, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and alertness.
There was no direct answer. Only a soft, quiet laugh—gentle, yet unmistakable. It was as if someone was amused, enjoying the reaction Edward was showing. And for the first time since the night began, Edward was absolutely certain, without a single doubt: he was not imagining things. There was something—or someone—speaking to him.
Edward stepped back slowly, putting distance between himself and the surrounding darkness. His eyes darted quickly over every corner of the yard—scanning the thick trees, the shadowed roof of the orphanage, the dense bushes, and even the dark gaps in the weathered wooden fence. But still, nothing seemed out of place.
"Show yourself! Do not hide!" he shouted again, trying to sound braver even as his heart hammered against his ribs.
No reply.
"Who are you really? What do you want from me?!"
Still silence. It was as if the voice had vanished just as suddenly as it had appeared. But just as Edward began to feel confused and considered searching elsewhere, the voice returned. This time, it sounded closer, clearer, and more tangible than before.
"There is no need to look for me."
Edward spun all the way around, his eyes searching frantically for the source. "Show yourself this instant!"
"You will not find me."
"What do you mean? Where are you?!"
There was a brief pause, before the voice spoke again—softer now, yet heavy with meaning.
"I am closer than you think."
The words struck Edward like a splash of icy water over his entire body. Closer than you think. The phrase echoed over and over in his mind, repeating endlessly.
The more he thought about it, the paler his face became. Slowly, a terrifying possibility began to form in his thoughts. If the voice did not come from outside, if no one was hiding nearby, if there was no visible source… then where could it be coming from?
Could it be… coming from inside him?
Edward shook his head vigorously, trying to dismiss the thought. "No… that is impossible," he whispered, his voice shaking. He took another step back, moving away from where he stood as if distancing himself from something dangerous.
But deep down, in the most honest part of his heart, he realized that this was the most logical explanation. And that realization only made his fear grow stronger.
Silence fell over the yard once more—but now it felt different. It was no longer the peaceful silence of the night, but rather a heavy, suffocating quiet that made the air feel difficult to breathe. Edward took a deep breath, trying to steady his breathing. He had to know; no matter what happened, he had to find answers.
"What do you want from me?" he asked again, his voice firmer yet still wary.
No answer.
"Are you my enemy?"
Silence. Several seconds passed before the voice spoke again, accompanied by that same soft laugh—not a cruel laugh filled with hatred, nor one that sounded friendly or welcoming. It was more like the amusement of someone who knew a great secret others did not, and found it slightly amusing.
"Your enemy?"
Edward waited, holding his breath.
"If I wanted to harm you…"
The voice paused briefly, creating a long, tense silence.
"…I would have done so long ago."
Edward felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Logically, those words should have brought him some relief, meaning the voice had no intention of hurting him. But in truth, it had the opposite effect. There was a certainty in the way it spoke, as if it were stating an undeniable truth. As if it truly possessed the power and opportunity to harm Edward whenever it wished, but had chosen not to.
What troubled Edward even more was that he did not know whether this was a good sign or a bad one. Did it mean he could trust this voice? Or was this merely a far more dangerous trap?
Edward's thoughts immediately turned to the name that had haunted him lately—a name that filled anyone who heard it with dread: Destrover. The ancient entity that legend said had nearly destroyed the world, the being believed to have been sealed away for centuries, and whom Altheon had hinted might be connected to him.
His hand slowly curled into a fist. He swallowed hard, hesitant to ask the question, but his curiosity outweighed his doubt.
"Are you…" his voice dropped to almost a whisper, "…are you Destrover?"
The silence that followed seemed to stretch on endlessly, so long that Edward could hear the sound of his own heartbeat thudding in his ears. Then, the voice replied only with that same soft laugh. It neither confirmed nor denied—and that uncertainty was far more unsettling than a simple "yes" or "no" could ever be.
The night wind blew once more, brushing against the leaves of the old tree and making them sway gently. Edward remained standing perfectly still, his body tense and his mind in turmoil. He did not know what to do. Should he run back inside and call for Altheon or Silvia? Or should he stay and keep speaking, hoping to uncover even a small piece of the truth?
Before he could decide what action to take, the voice returned. This time its tone was softer, yet somehow more serious and profound.
"I know you, Edward Briar."
Instantly, Edward froze. It had spoken his full name—not just "Edward," not "the orphan boy," not "the boy who underwent the Awakening," but his full name, which few people ever used. The way it said it felt strange, as if the name held far greater meaning and importance than he had ever realized.
Edward swallowed hard, his throat dry. "How do you know my name?" he asked, his voice trembling.
No answer.
"Who are you really? Tell me!"
Still silence.
"Say something!" he cried out, growing frustrated by being ignored.
Yet the voice remained calm, completely unaffected by Edward's anger or confusion. It was far too calm, as if the emotions the boy showed meant nothing to it. And that realization only made Edward more uneasy—for he was beginning to understand something: the longer he spoke, the clearer it became that this voice did not belong to any ordinary human being.
Some time passed, filled only by the sound of the wind and Edward's racing heart. Then, at last, the voice spoke again. Its words were slow and clear, each syllable carrying a heavy weight.
"I know you…"
Edward held his breath, waiting anxiously.
"…even before you were born."
For a moment, the world around him seemed to stop turning. Edward did not move an inch, did not blink, and almost forgot to breathe. The sentence echoed over and over in his mind, cutting through his chaotic thoughts. Before you were born.
"That…" his voice was barely audible, shaking violently. "That is impossible."
He shook his head repeatedly, trying to reject the truth he had just heard. It could not be. No one could know anything about him before he even existed. Not even he himself knew his own past. He had never seen his father's face, never been held by his mother, and had no idea where he came from. The only family he knew were the people in this orphanage, Altheon, and Silvia. That was all.
So how could this voice speak as if it knew his family, knew his history—even before he had come into the world?
"I do not believe you," he said firmly, though doubt lingered in his heart.
The voice did not sound angry, nor did it take offense, nor did it try to force him to believe. It simply replied in its usual calm, steady tone.
"I know."
Edward clenched his fists until his nails nearly dug into his palms. "Then prove it! Show me something that will make me believe!"
There was a brief pause, before the voice spoke again—very softly, yet clearly enough to make the blood in Edward's veins run cold.
"There is a reason you always dream of a city in flames."
Edward's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat.
"There is a reason you feel you recognize places you have never visited or seen before."
Edward's chest felt tight, his breathing becoming rapid and uneven.
"And there is a reason they fear you."
"They?" Edward asked, his voice hoarse. "Who do you mean?"
"The ones who have hidden the truth from you."
Edward stepped back until his back nearly touched the trunk of the old tree behind him. His mind was spinning, overwhelmed by everything he had just heard.
The night deepened, and the cold air slowly seeped into Edward's bones. The wind rustled through the leaves of the ancient tree, sounding like soft whispers—as if the universe itself was exchanging secrets meant only for those who dared to listen.
Beneath the tree's thick, shadowy canopy, Edward stood frozen. His gaze stared blankly ahead, but his mind was in turmoil, turning over and over again the single sentence that had just been spoken—something that sounded utterly impossible, yet was delivered with unshakable certainty.
"I know you… even before you were born."
"That can't be true."
Edward snapped the words back, louder than he intended, as if shouting could erase them from his thoughts. It was less a challenge to the mysterious voice and more an attempt to convince himself.
"It's impossible," he repeated, shaking his head rapidly. "No one could have known me before I was born. No one at all."
The voice remained silent, letting the stillness creep slowly between them. Edward pressed on, his breathing growing faster as his emotions rose to the surface.
"I don't even know who my parents are! I've never known them, never seen their faces, never heard their voices!" His hands clenched tight at his sides, and a familiar mix of frustration and old sorrow welled up inside him. "I have no one except the people here at the orphanage."
The night wind blew gently once more, carrying with it the soft, calming rustle of leaves. Then, at last, the voice spoke. Its tone remained steady and flat—no anger, no offense, no surprise. It sounded as though it had expected this reaction all along.
"I knew you would not believe me."
Edward gritted his teeth, irritation rising in his chest. "Of course I don't believe you! How could I?" He glanced left and right, searching the surrounding darkness, even though he knew full well that trying to find where the voice came from was pointless. "Mrs. Selner, who runs the orphanage, has never told me anything about my family. Not a single word."
Silence followed his words.
"Silvia, who has trained me all this time, knows nothing either," he continued. "Even Altheon—the one who seems to know so much—has never told me who I truly am or where I come from."
Edward swallowed hard, his throat feeling dry. His voice softened, touching upon the most honest part of his heart.
"For my whole life… I have been nothing but an orphan who knows nothing of his origins."
The words were heavy to speak, but they were the truth he had always held fast to. It was a truth that sometimes hurt, but it was also the only solid, unchanging thing in a life filled with uncertainty.
So why now? Why would a strange voice suddenly appear, speaking as if it knew everything about him—even things no one else knew?
Without thinking, Edward lifted his hand and touched the sword-shaped pendant hanging around his neck. The old metal felt cold and rough against his palm. For some reason, holding it brought him a little sense of calm, as if it anchored him amid all this chaos. Yet at the same time, his chest felt tighter than ever. For the first time, he felt afraid—afraid of hearing the real answers, afraid that the truth might change everything he knew.
The silence hung in the night air for a long while. It felt as though the voice was waiting for the right moment, or perhaps choosing its words carefully. Then it spoke again—softer this time, more gentle, as if recalling a distant memory long buried beneath the passage of time.
"Then let me remind you."
Edward frowned, curiosity warring with caution in his mind. "Remind me of what?"
Instead of answering directly, the voice began to speak slowly, each word clear and deliberate, as if turning the pages of an old, dust-covered book.
"It was summer. You were six years old. The sky was bright and cloudless, but the grass along the riverbank was still damp from dew and the previous night's rain."
Instantly, Edward froze. His heart beat a little faster, and a strange feeling crept over him. The voice continued without pause.
"You slipped away from the orphanage grounds not long after lunch. You carried a long wooden stick that you imagined was a magical sword, and you walked all the way to the river behind the village."
Edward's eyes slowly widened. He felt something unfamiliar yet familiar stir inside him. No. It couldn't be.
"You played there alone until you climbed onto a large boulder that jutted out over the water—one made slippery by thick, green moss."
Edward's breath caught in his throat. He remembered. He remembered that day so clearly. But no one else knew those details. No one. Not even Mrs. Selner, who knew the children's habits better than anyone, had ever known exactly what happened that day. No one had been watching.
"You lost your footing. Your right foot slipped, and you fell into the river."
Edward swallowed hard. The voice grew clearer, more vivid, as if the event had happened only yesterday.
"The current was strong that day, carrying debris from upstream. You couldn't swim well back then. You tried to grab the bank, to hold onto tree roots or stones, but you couldn't. The water pulled you further away, and you began to sink."
A chill ran down his spine and spread through his entire body. He could still recall the overwhelming panic of that moment—water rushing into his mouth and nose, his eyes stinging from the murky river water, his chest burning as if on fire. He had truly believed he was going to die.
"You were wearing a dark blue shirt. With a white patch sewn onto the right sleeve."
Edward's eyes went wide with disbelief. "That… that's impossible…" he whispered, his voice catching. Even he had almost forgotten that small detail. The patch had been made from leftover bed linen, carefully stitched by Mrs. Selner.
"Then Mrs. Selner came running, having heard your faint cries. Without a moment's hesitation, she leaped into the cold water and pulled you free from the strong current."
Silence fell once more over the yard. Edward's knees suddenly felt weak, as if all his strength had been drained away.
"How…" he murmured softly.
The voice chuckled lightly—not mocking or condescending, but sounding like someone watching a child make a foolish yet understandable mistake.
"You have always been clumsy, Edward."
Edward could not reply. He stood in silence, his mind racing as he tried to process everything he had just heard. And for the first time that night, the certainty he had always held began to waver—slowly, but surely.
Edward looked down at the dry grass beneath his feet. His mind spun, searching for a logical explanation that made sense. No. This was impossible. No one else knew about that day. No one but me.
"Who are you?" he asked again, his voice trembling slightly.
The voice remained silent.
"Answer me! Who are you really?"
Still no reply—only the cold silence that greeted his question.
Edward clenched his fists tightly, frustration rising to fill his heart. "If you know things that I have never told anyone, then tell me! Who are you?!"
A long silence followed. Then the voice spoke again—but this time, its tone changed. It became softer, deeper, and seemed to draw closer than before.
"I remember that night too."
Edward froze on the spot. His heart raced, and a sudden sense of dread settled in his chest. "What night?"
"The night you learned that you were an orphan—that no parents would ever come to take you away."
For a moment, it felt as though the blood in Edward's veins had stopped flowing. He lifted his head sharply, his eyes wide. No. Not that. Anything but that memory.
"All the children in the orphanage were fast asleep. The oil lamps had been put out, and only faint moonlight filtered through the cracks in the windows. But you could not close your eyes. You felt restless, sad, and confused."
Edward's eyes began to burn, as that long-buried memory suddenly resurfaced with startling clarity.
"You slipped out of your room quietly, walked down the dark corridor, and stepped out into the backyard. You came all the way to this very tree. And you cried. You cried silently, so no one would hear you."
Edward squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to hold back the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He remembered it perfectly. He had been about seven years old, sitting curled up on the tree's massive roots, tears streaming down his face until he had none left. That was the night he had truly understood: no parents were coming to claim him, no family was searching for him, and he had no one but himself.
Then the voice spoke the very words that made Edward's entire body go rigid.
"Why didn't anyone want me?"
Edward's face turned deathly pale. Those… those were the exact words he had spoken that night. Spoken only in a quiet whisper, meant for no one but the night wind. He had never told anyone. Not Mrs. Selner. Not Silvia. No one in the whole world knew.
So how could this voice know?
Edward bit his lip until it stung, trying to hold back the tears welling in the corners of his eyes. And for the first time, the fear he felt mixed with the old, deep sorrow he had kept hidden for so long.
Some time passed, and both—Edward and the voice—fell silent. Or at least, Edward did, lost in a storm of conflicting feelings. He no longer knew what to say. All the logic and certainty he had built up over the years was crumbling slowly, as if struck by an unstoppable wave.
At last, he found the courage to ask again, his voice weak and quiet.
"Who are you really?"
Still, the voice did not answer.
Edward let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Why do you keep avoiding my question? Why won't you tell me who you are?"
The silence continued. But then the voice spoke again, changing the subject as if it were far more important.
"I am far more interested in your dreams."
Edward tensed immediately. "My dreams?"
"The city burning in flames. The sky turning the color of blood. A giant sword glowing with brilliant light. And a tall figure standing alone in the middle of a sea of fire that consumes everything."
Edward's heart thundered so loudly he could hear it himself. His breathing quickened, and his hands clenched into fists once more. "How do you know about that?"
The voice remained calm—far too calm for something that should have existed only in his subconscious.
"Because I have seen them too."
Edward stepped back, his gaze sharp with suspicion. "They are just ordinary dreams. They mean nothing."
"Are they?"
Edward did not reply. He knew he was lying.
"If they are only ordinary dreams… why do you keep seeing the same place over and over? Why can you remember every detail so clearly, as if you have truly been there before? And why did these dreams begin long before the Awakening ever happened?"
Each question felt like a hammer striking hard against his mind. Because they were all true. The dreams had been there since he was very small—appearing suddenly, repeating again and again, long before he had learned about magic, long before he had heard the name Destrover, and long before the red-and-blue symbol had appeared on his skin.
Then the voice spoke softly but firmly.
"They are not ordinary dreams, Edward."
A cold chill spread through Edward's body, raising the hair on the back of his neck.
"If you know everything…" Edward took a step forward, gathering the last of his courage. "If you know my past, then tell me! Who are my parents? Where do I come from?"
Silence settled over the yard. For the first time throughout their conversation, the voice did not answer immediately. One second passed. Two seconds. Three seconds. Time seemed to drag on endlessly.
At last, the voice spoke—so quiet it was almost a whisper, as if revealing the greatest secret in the world.
"Because you are the son of—"
CRACK!
Suddenly, a strange, sharp sound rang out. It did not come from the tree, or the ground, or anywhere around them. It sounded as though it had come from inside Edward's own head.
Edward grabbed his head with both hands, his face tightening against the sudden pain. "Ah!"
The voice cut off instantly. It was as if someone had suddenly silenced it, or as if a powerful force was preventing it from continuing. The air around them trembled faintly, and the pendant around Edward's neck began to throb softly.
"Tch…"
For the first time, the voice lost its composure. A faint note of annoyance and disappointment could be heard.
"Damn it…"
Edward lifted his head, looking confused and still in slight pain. "What happened? Why did you stop?" he asked hurriedly. "Who stopped you? What does all this mean?"
There was no answer—only silence returning once more.
"Answer me! What do you know?" he called out again, but still there was no reply. And that only made Edward feel more frustrated. For the truth he had sought for so long felt so close, almost within his reach—only to be snatched away at the very last moment.
Without warning, the sword-shaped pendant around Edward's neck began to glow. A soft but bright golden light poured from the old metal, illuminating his face and the front of his body.
Edward stared at it in disbelief. "What is this?"
It was the first time the light had lasted this long. Before, if it had ever glowed, it was only for a brief moment before fading away. But now, it shone steadily, radiating a comforting warmth—as if it were protecting him from something dangerous or unknown.
Strangest of all, the moment the light appeared, the mysterious voice fell completely silent. It said nothing, laughed no more, offered no taunts—only stillness.
Edward noticed the change immediately. "Are you still there?" he asked cautiously.
No answer.
"Are you afraid of this pendant?"
After a short pause, the voice finally spoke again—but this time, its tone had shifted completely. It was deeper, more serious, and heavy with meaning.
"It is not yet time."
"What do you mean, not yet time?" Edward asked, confused.
"You are not ready."
"Ready for what?!" he snapped, growing frustrated. "I have been ready for a long time! I have a right to know the truth about myself!"
A long silence followed. Then the voice began to fade, growing fainter and more distant, as if slowly sinking back into the darkness.
"One day…"
"…you will remember everything."
"What will I remember? Tell me!" Edward shouted, trying to hold onto the fading sound.
But there was no reply—only the voice growing weaker and weaker.
"And when that day comes…"
It was almost gone now, nothing more than a whisper barely carried away by the wind.
"…you will wish you had remained in ignorance."
The golden light from the pendant slowly dimmed, returning to its usual state as cold, dark metal. The night wind blew gently once more, leaves rustling against each other, and the chirping of crickets filled the yard again.
And Edward was alone once more. Standing beneath the ancient tree that had witnessed so many secrets, gazing up at the vast, star-filled night sky. But this time, the weight in his chest felt far heavier than before.
One thing was certain now: the voice was real. It knew his past, and secrets that even he did not know. And for some reason, it was waiting—waiting for the day when Edward would remember something lost, something that might hold the key to unlocking every great mystery of his life.
Night still hung heavy over Briar Orphanage. The sky was deep and dark, lit only by a pale moon that peeked low through thin breaks in the clouds, casting long shadows across the cold ground.
Beneath the great, sprawling old tree at the back of the grounds, Edward sat in silence. It was the same tree—the silent witness to so much of his life. Here he had cried alone when he first understood what it meant to be an orphan. Here he had hidden whenever the world felt too heavy for a boy his age. And tonight, once more, the tree watched; it saw the turmoil churning in the young man's heart.
Edward bowed his head, his fingers tightening around the sword-shaped pendant resting against his chest. The old metal felt cold in his palms, just as cold as the ache filling his chest right now. That mysterious voice had fallen silent some time ago, yet its words still echoed over and over in his mind, refusing to fade.
"I knew you even before you were born."
Edward ground his teeth softly, trying to push the words away—but he could not. "How is that even possible…" he whispered, his voice nearly swallowed by the night breeze.
Wind rustled through the leaves, creating a soft, whispering sound. For a moment he glanced around, eyes scanning the darkness, hoping the voice would return and explain itself. But there was no one. Only silence surrounded him, and he sat trapped in a sea of unanswered questions.
Then the second thing the voice had said came back to him clearly.
"You are not yet ready to know the truth."
Edward clenched his fists until his nails nearly dug into his skin. Frustration, anger, and confusion swirled together, settling like a heavy weight in his chest.
"Everyone always says that…" he muttered, his voice growing stronger. "Not yet. You're not ready. You don't need to know."
He lifted his face, staring into the dark earth. "If this is my life, why does everyone keep hiding everything from me? Why can't I know who I truly am?"
No answer came. Only the quiet of the night replied.
Edward drew a long breath, trying to steady himself. Slowly, his mind drifted back to all that had happened in the past few weeks. The terrifying name Destrover; the concept of world balance called Equilibris; the red-and-blue eye symbol that had appeared on his skin; the mysterious pendant he had worn since infancy; the figure in robes who had stared at him with piercing eyes; the heavy title of "Heir"; and the memory of an unknown woman leaving him at the door of this orphanage so many years ago.
His head felt full—far too full, as if it might burst. It was as if all the secrets of the world had suddenly been dropped onto the shoulders of a child who did not even understand what they meant.
"I'm only ten years old…" he murmured, his voice small and sad.
It was a bitter but honest truth. He was no great hero from a fairy tale. No sorcerer wielding incredible power. No legendary warrior who could defeat enemies with a single strike. He was just an orphan living in an orphanage, a boy who did not even know his parents or where he came from.
Yet the world around him kept moving, forcing him to carry a burden he did not even understand.
Edward looked down at his own hands. They still looked small, marked with tiny scars from all the practice he did—ordinary hands, nothing special. But slowly, his expression changed. The emptiness and doubt were slowly replaced by a growing determination.
He pictured the faces of those who had always been by his side: Silvia, firm but caring; Altheon, wise yet often hiding so much; Alice, innocent and bright; Alex and Thomas, who bickered constantly but remained loyal; and Mrs. Selner, full of kindness. All the people who had protected and raised him.
If this threat really did come. If one day great kingdoms began to hunt him. If that ancient being called Destrover truly rose again. Then what could he do? Would he hide forever? Wait for someone else to save him?
No.
Edward shook his head gently, pushing those thoughts aside. For the first time since everything had begun, an answer rose clearly from within his own heart.
"I must become stronger."
He spoke the words slowly, yet they carried great weight and resolve. It was no passing wish, but a decision—a conscious choice that might change the entire course of his life forever.
Slowly but surely, the sky began to shift. Streaks of orange and gold appeared along the eastern horizon, signaling the end of night and the coming of dawn. But Edward did not return to his room to sleep. Instead, he stood tall in the small yard at the back of the orphanage, holding a long wooden practice staff in his hands.
He swung it forward.
Swish!
His movements were stiff and uncoordinated, his balance unsteady. He nearly struck his own foot with the end of the staff.
Edward winced, dissatisfied. "Ugh…"
He tried again, adjusting his breathing and stance.
Swish!
This time it was even worse. He twisted too far and almost lost his balance, nearly falling to the ground.
From a short distance away, someone watched quietly. It was Silvia. The young woman had just finished washing her face and was about to start her day when she spotted Edward practicing alone in the yard.
At first she simply observed, curious why he was awake so early. But the longer she watched, the more her curiosity grew. Finally, she walked closer until she stood near enough to be seen.
"You know…" Silvia spoke suddenly, making Edward jump and nearly drop his staff. "…if there were a contest for randomly swinging at thin air, you'd probably win first place."
Edward started, turning to her with cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "Miss Silvia! You startled me."
Silvia laughed softly, her tone light and warm. "Since when have you started training this early?"
Edward scratched the back of his neck, feeling awkward. "Just… just starting today."
"Hmm." Silvia crossed her arms, looking at him with sharp but gentle eyes. "Any particular reason?"
Edward fell silent for a moment, wondering if he should tell her everything. Finally, he decided to be honest. "I want to become stronger."
Silvia did not answer right away. The morning breeze stirred her silver hair, and she studied his face closely as if trying to read what lay hidden in his heart. With her sharp intuition, she quickly understood. Beneath that determined gaze was fear. Fear of what the future might bring, fear of the great secrets sleeping inside him, and most clearly of all—fear of losing the people he loved.
Silvia smiled faintly, though a touch of sadness lingered in her expression. "You're still thinking about what happened last night, aren't you?"
Edward nodded slowly. "All the time."
Silvia glanced briefly toward the brightening sky, then looked back at him and spoke in a soft but meaningful tone. "Fear isn't always a bad thing, Edward."
Edward lifted his head, confused. "What do you mean?"
"Fear can make a person run and hide," Silvia explained with a gentle smile. "But it can also give someone the strongest reason to keep going and become better."
Edward thought carefully about her words, trying to understand their meaning. And for the first time in days, the heavy weight pressing on his chest felt a little lighter. He felt calmer.
Silvia walked over to a stack of wooden poles leaning against the fence and picked up two staffs of a perfect length. She tossed one gently toward Edward.
Catch!
Edward barely managed to grab it, his hands moving a little slowly before finally closing around the handle.
Seeing this, Silvia shook her head slightly. "All right then—let's start with the basics."
"The basics?" Edward asked, puzzled.
"The most important basics." Silvia twirled her staff casually in her hand, showing the easy fluidity that came from years of practice. "If your foundation is weak and unsteady, no matter how advanced your techniques become, they will be useless and easily broken."
Edward nodded seriously, understanding what she meant.
The next hour was filled with exercises that seemed simple, even boring to a beginner like Edward. But when he tried them himself, he realized they were far harder than they looked.
Silvia taught him how to stand properly for good balance, how to distribute his weight so he would not easily fall, how to maintain a safe distance, and how to stay alert to everything around him.
"No, that stance is wrong," Silvia corrected, tapping his knee gently with the tip of her staff. "Your legs are too stiff. That will only slow you down."
Edward quickly adjusted his posture.
"Your arms are too tense. Relax them a little—but not too loose."
He tried to loosen his shoulders.
"Your back is hunched. Straighten it—but don't be as rigid as a board."
Edward sighed, feeling overwhelmed. "Is there any part of me that's in the right position right now?"
Silvia pretended to think hard, scratching her chin with a serious expression. "Hmm… let me see. There is one part that looks quite good."
Edward looked at her hopefully, expecting praise.
Silvia grinned playfully. "Your ears, perhaps."
"Miss Silvia!" Edward exclaimed, half annoyed but unable to stop himself from smiling.
Silvia's laughter rang through the morning air, making the yard feel brighter and warmer. And for the first time since that frightening Awakening, Edward laughed freely too, letting go of some of the weight he had carried for so long.
After practicing for several hours, Silvia decided to try something slightly more advanced, yet still simple.
"All right," she said, raising her staff into a ready position. "Now try to dodge my attacks."
Edward swallowed nervously. "Please… go easy on me, okay?"
Silvia smiled faintly. "No promises."
Whoosh!
Silvia's staff swept quickly toward Edward's right shoulder. He stepped back hastily and managed to avoid it just in time.
A second strike came faster, aiming for his left side. Edward barely got out of the way, jumping back just enough.
Then, without warning, Silvia struck low from the right—an angle difficult for a beginner to see or avoid. It was an attack Edward should never have been able to anticipate.
But just as the staff was about to touch his shirt, something strange happened.
The world around him seemed to slow down. The sound of the wind and his own heartbeat became clearer. Without thinking, his body moved on its own. One quick step to the left, followed by a precise small turn, and he slipped completely out of the way.
Silvia stared in disbelief. "What—?"
Edward himself was even more shocked. "What… what just happened?"
Before he could even process what he had done, his hand moved automatically. His wooden staff shot forward smoothly and precisely, stopping just inches from Silvia's throat. It was a perfect stance, as if he had already won the fight.
Silvia froze. The yard fell silent; even the birds seemed to stop singing.
Edward immediately pulled his staff back quickly, his face pale with panic. "I didn't mean to! I really didn't mean to do that!"
But Silvia did not reply. She only looked at him with wide eyes, full of amazement and caution. She knew very well that what he had just done was impossible for someone who had only just picked up a staff. It was unnatural—far too unnatural.
"Do it again."
Silvia spoke in a serious, firm tone.
Edward blinked, confused. "Huh?"
"Repeat that movement."
"But Miss Silvia, I don't even know exactly what I did," Edward answered honestly. "It just happened on its own."
"That is exactly what I want to see."
Silvia returned to her ready stance, but this time her gaze was sharper and more alert.
Whoosh!
The first strike came. Edward dodged normally.
Whoosh!
The second came faster. He stepped back smoothly.
But when the third attack came from a difficult angle, the same thing happened again. Footwork that should have been impossible for a boy his age, followed by a perfectly efficient turn, ending in a flawless attacking stance. There was no wasted motion at all. It was as if his body had memorized these techniques through thousands of repetitions—even though he had never held a staff for training before this day.
Suddenly, a faint flash of images appeared in Edward's mind—brief, but vivid and real. The shadow of a massive black sword, skies turning blood-red, a vast and dusty battlefield, the screams of thousands of soldiers echoing through the air, and the figure of a lone warrior standing amidst a sea of countless bodies.
Edward's eyes went wide, and he gasped for breath. The vision vanished as quickly as it had come, yet its effect lingered. His legs felt weak, and he nearly collapsed.
"Huff… huff…"
"I'm… I'm all right…" he whispered, trying to reassure himself, though his face was pale and cold sweat dotted his forehead.
Silvia quickly stepped forward and supported him so he would not fall. Her concern deepened. As someone well-versed in the arts of combat, she knew for certain that what she had seen was no coincidence. Something was driving him—perhaps someone, or something buried deep within Edward himself.
The sun had climbed high in the sky, spreading warm light over the entire orphanage grounds. The morning training finally came to an end. Edward and Silvia walked side by side toward the main building for breakfast, speaking in quiet tones.
Neither of them realized they were being watched.
Standing silently atop the shadowed roof of an old, rarely visited building was a lone figure. A long black cloak covered every inch of his body, fluttering gently in the breeze; his face was completely hidden beneath its hood. But his sharp eyes never left Edward, and in particular, never strayed from the sword-shaped pendant around the boy's neck.
The man pulled a small object from beneath his cloak—a badge or symbol made of ancient, faded metal. It showed a circle, a drawn sword, and an eye in the center—the mark of the secret organization known as The Hidden Order. He turned it slowly between his fingers, his gaze growing sharper and more calculating.
"So it is true…" he murmured in a voice so soft it was almost inaudible. "That sword style still exists after all this time."
He recalled exactly what he had just seen Edward do—a fighting style mentioned only in ancient texts kept hidden for centuries, a style thought to have vanished forever more than a thousand years ago.
The man smiled faintly, his expression unreadable. "So the last Heir still lives."
The wind picked up, making his black cloak billow wider. A moment later, the figure slowly faded, blending perfectly into the shadows as if he had never been there at all.
The sunlight had long since vanished, replaced by the darkness of night slowly settling over Briar Orphanage. After training hard with Silvia since early morning, Edward's body felt utterly exhausted. Every muscle ached as if he had been struck repeatedly, and his eyelids grew heavy with weariness. Yet strangely, even as his body cried out for rest, his mind raced endlessly, refusing to slow down.
He remained trapped in the sequence of events that had unfolded throughout the day: the strange, automatic way his body had moved during practice; the fleeting flashes of a vast, terrifying battlefield; the sword-shaped pendant that suddenly glowed and filled him with a sense of safety; the shadowy figure in black watching him from afar without his knowledge—and most haunting of all, that mysterious voice that seemed to know everything about him.
Edward lay flat on his simple bed. Around him, the atmosphere felt calm and peaceful. Alex and Thomas were already fast asleep, shifting slightly in their slumber. Alice lay curled up, clutching her beloved rabbit doll tightly. Meanwhile, Serly still sat in the corner of the room, reading by the faint, flickering light of a candle.
Yet this peace could not reach Edward's heart. He stared up at the dark ceiling, his mind swirling with countless unanswered questions.
"Who am I, really…?"
The question echoed endlessly in his head, stirring a restlessness that slowly grew into deep curiosity. He knew the answers might come sooner than he expected, and he would have to be ready to face whatever lay hidden behind these great secrets.
Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room shifted subtly but distinctly. The sound of his own heartbeat, the breathing of his friends, and even the wind rustling outside the window seemed to vanish completely. The room fell silent—unnaturally silent—as if every sound in the world had been muted.
Edward instantly recognized this strange sensation. His heart began to beat faster, and a sharp sense of alertness washed over him. Sure enough, the voice that had haunted him for so long spoke once more, clearer and more tangible than ever before.
"You are asking again."
Edward sat bolt upright in bed, glancing quickly toward his friends, who remained fast asleep. Not one of them stirred or showed any sign of hearing anything. That meant only he could hear this voice.
He clenched his fists atop the blanket, forcing himself to stay calm. "What is it you truly want from me?" he asked, his voice quiet but firm.
A long silence followed, before the voice replied in a tone that was difficult to read—neither entirely friendly, nor openly threatening.
"I want you to survive."
The voice continued, explaining things that made Edward's heart grow heavy with unease. It told him that the incident at the Hall of Awakening some time ago was only the beginning, not the end of all danger.
Great kingdoms far beyond these lands were beginning to stir, gathering information. Long-hidden secret organizations were also opening their eyes. And more than that, those who had hunted the Red-and-Blue Eye symbol etched into Edward's skin for generations were waking up and drawing closer.
Edward's eyes widened as he listened. What the voice said sounded eerily similar to what Altheon had always feared—the things the old man often tried to hide, yet which were clearly written across his face.
"The world is coming for you," the voice said gravely. "And when they arrive… you will die."
Edward shook his head quickly, refusing to accept this harsh truth. "No. Grandmaster Altheon will protect me. And so will Silvia. They are strong—they can keep me safe."
The voice chuckled softly, a sound filled with knowledge and a hint of mockery.
"They will not always be by your side, Edward. One day, you will have to stand alone. And when that day comes, the strength you possess now will not be enough to save your life."
Having planted seeds of fear and uncertainty in Edward's mind, the voice finally revealed its true purpose.
"However, there is another way. I can make you strong."
Edward froze at the words. They were incredibly tempting, striking straight at the doubts he had long carried deep inside. In the quietest part of his heart, he was afraid—afraid of becoming a burden to those who cared for him, afraid that one day he would be unable to protect the people he loved, afraid of losing Silvia, Altheon, and his entire small family here at the orphanage.
The voice pressed on, emphasizing its offer.
"Strength that surpasses even the most powerful sorcerers. Strength greater than the speed and skill of the greatest knights. Strength that can destroy anyone who dares threaten you or those you hold dear."
For a moment, Edward fell silent. A silent battle raged within him. The offer sounded wonderful—almost perfect. Who would not want the power to protect the people they loved? Yet his instincts warned him that nothing in this world came truly free.
Edward took a deep breath, pushing the temptation aside for a moment. He knew that when something was offered without apparent cost, there was almost always a price to be paid.
"What would I have to give in return?" he asked carefully.
The voice laughed again, but this time its laugh sent a chill down Edward's spine, raising the hair on the back of his neck. There was something unnatural about it.
"Wise. You ask immediately about the price. That is a good trait."
The room fell quiet for a moment, before the voice spoke again—softer now, yet somehow sharper and more piercing.
"I ask for very little. Only your trust."
Instantly, Edward felt something was wrong. His instincts, which had always protected him, screamed in refusal. The words sounded far too simple, but a great danger lurked beneath them. To trust something of unknown origin, something with no form and no clear purpose, felt like stepping blindly into a dark abyss.
Edward's thoughts drifted back to the wise words Silvia had once spoken to him: "Power without control, without understanding, will only end up destroying you and everyone around you."
He also recalled the terrible events at the Hall of Awakening, when the power that had erupted within him caused great damage, leaving many sorcerers injured or even dead, and striking deep fear into the hearts of countless people. All of it had happened because he possessed power he did not fully understand.
Edward gritted his teeth, pushing away the temptation and holding fast to his principles. "No," he said firmly.
The voice fell silent.
Edward repeated himself, his voice stronger and clearer. "I will not accept any power from you. I do not know who you are, nor what hidden motives lie behind your offer."
For the first time since they had begun speaking, the voice's tone shifted slightly. A faint note of disappointment lingered in its words.
After several moments of silence, the voice spoke again, lower and heavier than before.
"Then continue living in your weakness."
Edward did not reply, letting it continue.
"But remember this most important truth. When the secrets of your family come to light, when your true identity is revealed to the world… your enemies will not give you time to grow and become strong slowly."
Edward's eyes widened sharply at the mention of his family. He spoke quickly, eager for answers. "You know something about my family? Who are they?"
A long silence followed his question, before the voice replied with great significance.
"I know them… even better than you do, though you have never met them."
Edward tried to draw out more information, his curiosity now overcoming his fear. "Then tell me who they are. Who is my father? Who is my mother?"
The voice remained silent for a long time, as if considering whether it was permitted to speak. Finally, a soft whisper drifted out—so quiet, yet clear enough to reach Edward's ears.
"Your father is—"
Suddenly, a brilliant yet gentle golden light once again poured from the sword-shaped pendant around Edward's neck. It flooded the entire room, banishing the darkness instantly. And at that exact moment, the voice cut off abruptly, as if someone had clamped a hand over its mouth.
Edward stared at the pendant in disbelief. This was the second time the object had reacted and silenced the mysterious voice. There was clearly a connection between the two, though he did not yet understand what it was.
Slowly but surely, the golden light from the pendant began to fade, returning to its original dark, cold form. But before the voice vanished completely, it managed to whisper one last time, leaving behind a riddle.
"They hid you… because they were afraid."
Edward immediately sat up straight in bed, searching the darkness for the source of the voice. "Who? Who hid me? Who was afraid?"
But no answer came. The voice had vanished entirely, leaving only the quiet of the night once more. All that could be heard was the steady breathing of his sleeping friends, as if nothing at all had occurred.
Edward sat back down, his mind in turmoil. His hand instinctively tightened around the pendant resting against his chest, feeling the cold metal beneath his fingers. His thoughts were filled with ever more questions, growing more complex by the moment.
Who were his parents? Why had they hidden him away and let him grow up alone in this orphanage? Who were they so afraid of that they had to protect him in such a way? And most troubling of all—who was this mysterious voice? Was it an enemy, or did it have some other purpose behind all its words? And why did this heirloom pendant seem to possess the power to silence it, as if the two were opposing forces?
Far away, in a place known to no one, within an ancient, shadowy chamber lined with rows of old swords driven deep into the stone floor, a pair of eyes slowly opened from the darkness. The hidden figure smiled faintly—a smile full of meaning and expectation.
"He has finally begun to hear them," it murmured, its voice deep and echoing through the empty room. "The time draws near. The Heir will not be able to hide forever."