The sound of a spoon falling to the floor echoed through the small kitchen, followed by a soft clatter as it came to rest. Lenea sighed and shook her head, bending down to pick it up. "Oh, Elyon, you made me drop it," she murmured, lifting the spoon back into her hand.
Elyon, seated in his highchair at the dining table, gazed up at his mother with wide, innocent eyes. His small face wrinkled slightly as he struggled to understand the situation. At just six months old, he couldn't yet grasp the complexities of language, but his sharp baby senses were keen to the world around him. He watched as Lenea gently wiped her hands on a napkin, her movements careful but tired. His little hands were still too uncoordinated to reach for anything, but his curiosity was piqued by the rhythm of life happening around him.
Sitting beside Lenea at the table, Richard gazed at the pork that was sizzling on the stove, its aroma filling the air. His thoughts briefly wandered as his eyes flicked to the sizzling meat and the smell of spices before returning to his son. There was a quiet understanding in Richard's eyes as he caught Lenea's glance, a silent acknowledgment of the hectic routine of parenthood. The weight of responsibility was there, but it was accompanied by a gentle smile as he watched Elyon, who was just beginning to grasp the world in fragments.
Lenea, still holding the spoon in her hand, turned her attention back to Elyon. She smiled softly at him and said, "Say 'ahh.'"
Elyon, not fully understanding but always obedient to his mother's voice, opened his mouth wide. His eyes remained locked on her face, trying to decipher the intent behind her warm smile and gentle command. With a steady hand, Lenea dipped the spoon into the baby food and moved it toward his mouth, gently guiding it in. The soft, squishy texture was unfamiliar to Elyon, but he obediently accepted it, wrinkling his nose slightly at the taste.
"Good job," Lenea said cheerfully, her voice light and encouraging. She smiled at Elyon, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she praised him. The warmth of her affection filled the small room, and Elyon couldn't help but offer a small, shy smile in return, the corners of his mouth curving upward as his mother praised him.
Richard, his gaze momentarily distracted by the conversation Lenea and Elyon were having, turned his attention back to the kitchen counter. He could hear the sizzling of the meat from the stove, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Lenea resumed feeding Elyon, her focus now divided between keeping her son entertained and the steady rhythm of daily life.
"Have you heard about the dragon activities near Westwood Forest?" Richard asked, his voice taking on a more serious tone.
Lenea's face shifted at the mention of dragons. Her smile faltered just slightly, and her brows furrowed in concern. "Why are they increasing?" she asked, her voice laced with worry. "Haven't the hunters taken care of it?"
Richard leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful as he replied. "No. It's become harder to keep up with them. They're banding together in groups, making it more difficult for the hunters to track them down."
Lenea's face grew even more serious as she took in his words. She placed the spoon back into Elyon's bowl, pausing to consider the implications. "Is there going to be any threat to the village because of this?"
Richard let out a sigh, his eyes narrowing slightly. "We're not sure yet. There's no direct threat to the village at the moment, but there could be shifts in the wildlife. If the dragons keep gathering, the balance of the ecosystem might change. It could affect hunting or even farming in the area."
Lenea nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Oh, well… who knows what could happen?" she said quietly, her voice trailing off as she returned her focus to Elyon. She gently wiped his mouth, brushing away a small spot of food that had escaped.
Richard gave a nod of agreement, his gaze drifting off to the side for a moment as if contemplating something deeper. The conversation seemed to fade into the background as he looked around the room, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders once again.
Elyon, still listening intently to the conversation despite not fully understanding, couldn't help but ponder the words he'd overheard. Dragons are not the kind of creatures anyone should take lightly, he thought to himself, his tiny mind working to process the information. But the way his parents spoke about the dragons made it seem almost casual, as if it was something that happened often. Elyon furrowed his brow and tried to focus more on his immediate surroundings, but his curiosity gnawed at him.
As Lenea finished feeding Elyon, she gently lifted him from his highchair. She cradled him in her arms, her soft movements a reflection of years of practice. She carried him to the cradle in the corner of the room and laid him down carefully. Elyon, his stomach full and content, let out a tiny sigh of relief.
"Well, nothing is better than a good nap after eating," Elyon thought drowsily, his eyelids growing heavy. The warmth of the room, combined with the soft lull of the conversation and the familiar sounds of his parents' movements, created the perfect environment for sleep. As his body relaxed and his mind drifted off, Elyon couldn't help but let the world fade into the comfort of a well-needed nap.
Richard stepped outside, his boots crunching lightly against the gravel path that led through the village. The morning sun hung high in the sky, casting a soft golden light over the buildings. Villagers moved about their daily routines, the clatter of work and chatter filling the air. A gentle breeze swept through, rustling the leaves of the trees, and the peacefulness of the village seemed at odds with the weight of the news he had just discussed with Lenea.
Richard's thoughts were occupied as he made his way to the Adventurer's Guild. The building stood at the center of the village, its wooden beams and stone walls holding up against time. Inside, the hustle and bustle of the guild was in full swing, adventurers coming and going, their conversations a blend of excitement and caution. Richard could hear the clattering of weapons being polished, the hum of voices discussing various quests and missions.
Richard spotted a man standing near the front of the quest board, arms crossed, his brow furrowed in concentration as he scanned the list of jobs posted. As Richard approached, the man looked up and flashed a grin, his serious expression softening slightly. "Ah, Richard. How have you been?"
"Never better, Colan," Richard replied, offering a brief but genuine smile.
"Well, that's nice to hear," Colan said, his voice friendly. He uncrossed his arms and leaned against the wall, his eyes scanning Richard's face as if gauging his mood. "You look like you've got something on your mind. What's going on?"
Richard's expression shifted, his smile fading as he grew more serious. "So, how's the situation with the hunters?"
Colan's demeanor changed almost immediately, his face growing more solemn. "Steady. But I won't say it's great. There's been an increase in dragon activity. The group near Westwood Forest… they're heading north. We're not sure how many there are yet."
Richard nodded, his hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his side as he considered the news. "It seems like we're not facing a direct threat, yet."
Colan met his gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Yes, for now, at least. But with the group moving north, we might see more issues down the line. We just need to be prepared."
Richard gave a quiet nod of agreement, his thoughts turning back to the peaceful village life he had fought to protect. Dragons were a danger that no one could ignore, but for now, the village was safe. The question was, for how long?
As he stood there, exchanging a few more words with Colan, Richard's thoughts turned back to Elyon. His son was too young to understand the weight of the world they were living in, but one day, he would. For now, Richard would do everything in his power to protect him and keep the village safe from the dangers lurking beyond.
And with that thought, Richard turned and left the guild, his eyes scanning the horizon as he made his way back home. The peaceful village life was something to hold on to, but the world was changing, and he had to be ready for whatever came next.
Two years laters
The sound of wooden swords clashing echoed through the air, sharp and rhythmic like the beating of a war drum. Elyon, a young boy of now two years, stumbled back from the force of the strike. His small frame, still developing strength and coordination, couldn't withstand the full force of the blow. He fell hard onto the grass, the air knocked from his lungs. His chest rose and fell rapidly, gasping for breath, the dust of the training ground swirling around him.
From across the yard, Richard, stood with a smile on his face, his broad frame casting a shadow over his son. Richard's face was weathered, the lines of a man who had seen both battle and the quiet strength of fatherhood, but his eyes were kind and full of energy. His voice rang out, loud and warm, almost playful as he called, "Come on, boy! You can't tell me you're tired already! We barely started!"
Elyon, struggling to catch his breath, squinted up at his father through the dust and the haze. His heart was pounding, and every muscle in his small body ached, but he wasn't about to admit defeat. Not to his father. "No, of course not!" Elyon managed to say, though his voice came out raspy.
With an effort, Elyon pushed himself to his feet. He could feel the weight of the wooden sword in his hand, though it felt a bit too heavy for his small grip. He readied himself, positioning his feet just like his father had shown him. His stance was far from perfect, but the determination on his face was clear.
Richard didn't budge. His face remained bright, an unspoken challenge in his grin as he casually placed his sword over his shoulder. "Come at me, son," he said, a warm lilt in his voice.
Elyon's eyes narrowed, focused. He charged forward, his little legs pumping with all the speed he could muster, and his wooden sword swinging with all his might. But Richard, as calm and unbothered as ever, dodged each strike with ease. He danced out of the way, the sword almost a part of him as he moved with graceful precision, barely breaking a sweat.
Elyon didn't falter. He dashed, jumping into the air with all his strength, aiming to strike from above. For a split second, it looked like it might land. But Richard, in a fluid motion, blocked the strike with his own sword, the impact sending a sharp vibration through Elyon's body. Before Elyon could recover, Richard gently, almost playfully, tapped his sword against Elyon's side.
The impact, though light, was enough to send Elyon flying backward. He hit the ground with a soft thud, rolling to a stop a few feet away. Elyon lay there for a moment, staring up at the sky, his breath still ragged. His chest rose and fell with the effort of trying to recover. The world felt heavy, the air thick in his lungs. Yet, despite the pain, there was something else. The feeling of defeat wasn't overwhelming. It was a spark, a flicker of something deeper.
Elyon slowly tried to push himself back to his feet, determination gleaming in his eyes. But Richard's voice cut through the stillness, firm but not unkind. "Stop."
Elyon froze in place, his small body hovering just above the ground. He blinked and looked up at his father, the weight of those words sinking in. Richard's face softened, his eyes full of understanding. He lowered his sword and sat down in the grass, patting the ground beside him.
"Take five minutes, son. Catch your breath," Richard said, his voice now full of warmth and care.
Elyon's energy drained from him all at once. He lay back on the grass, staring up at the sky, his small chest rising and falling with each deep breath. The cool breeze of the late morning gently ruffled his hair, and for a brief moment, Elyon let his thoughts drift. His father had been patient, but there was still a small pang of frustration. Elyon was tired, yes, but he wasn't ready to give up. He never would be.
Richard sat beside him, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he crossed his arms behind his head and gazed up at the clouds. "Don't feel bad," he said, his voice full of quiet encouragement. "You'll learn as time goes on. You've got potential, son. Just keep at it."
Elyon turned his head slightly to look at his father. Richard's face was relaxed, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips, though his eyes were serious, as though he saw something in his son that Elyon couldn't yet understand.
Richard continued, his tone shifting from playful to more instructive. "That move you just tried was good. The idea was solid, but you need to put more force behind it. You've got the form, but now you need to back it up with power. Strength and control—those are the keys."
Elyon's mind turned over his father's words, each one sinking into him like a seed. He nodded slowly, thinking about how his body had felt as he jumped toward his father, the weight of his sword, and the way his father had reacted so effortlessly. Force, Elyon thought. Power. He didn't quite understand it all yet, but he would. He always did.
Just then, the sound of a voice calling from the house interrupted his thoughts.
"Elyon! Richard! Lunch is ready!" Lenea, Elyon's mother, called from the doorway. Her voice was gentle but carried a warmth that only a mother's could.
Richard's expression brightened. "Guess that's our cue," he said with a grin, getting to his feet. He offered Elyon a hand, helping him back up.
Elyon, still a little sore, took his father's hand and pulled himself up. "I'm starving," he mumbled, a playful tone in his voice.
The two walked back toward the house, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the training yard. The scent of food wafted in the air, mixing with the smell of fresh grass and the faint musk of sweat. As they approached the house, Lenea stood in the doorway, smiling warmly at them. She was holding a large bowl, the rich, savory aroma of the meal filling the air.
Elyon sat down at the table, still feeling the ache in his limbs but also a sense of accomplishment. He had trained hard today, even if he hadn't quite won. And that was enough for now. Lenea placed a steaming dish in front of him, and Elyon's eyes widened as he looked down at the bowl.
It was something he had never seen before. The dish was a golden curry, rich with color, flecks of spice visible in the sauce. Elyon's stomach growled, the hunger overwhelming him as he reached for his fork. "Mom, what is this?" he asked, his voice filled with curiosity.
Lenea's smile deepened, her eyes full of affection. "It's a special curry made with lakara meat. A dish passed down through generations. I'm glad you're excited to try it."
Elyon, always the adventurous eater, eagerly took a bite, his eyes lighting up immediately. The flavors exploded in his mouth—spicy, savory, and so deliciously rich. "This is... really tasty!" he exclaimed, his voice full of surprise and delight.
Richard, chuckling at Elyon's enthusiasm, raised an eyebrow. "You sure know how to flatter your mother, son. Now she'll never stop making it."
Elyon grinned sheepishly, taking another bite. "It's just the truth, dad."
Lenea laughed softly, shaking her head in amusement. But then, her expression shifted slightly, becoming more serious. "Richard," she said, her voice taking on a gentle but firm tone, "we need to talk about Elyon's future. He's getting older. Training with the sword is important, but he can't do that forever. He needs to learn more—things beyond what we teach him here. He needs a balance."
Richard paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. He glanced at his wife, the weight of her words settling on him. "I know. I've been thinking about it. He has a lot of promise with the sword, but you're right. He needs more. He can't train every day of his life."
Elyon, who had been listening quietly," he asked, looking between his parents. "I like training with you'
Lenea smiled softly, reaching across the table to ruffle his hair. "School isn't boring, Elyon. It's a place where you can learn everything—history, alchemy the world beyond what we see here. You'll make friends too, and you might even learn things that'll help you become a better swordsman."
Richard nodded, his tone thoughtful. "A warrior isn't just strong with their sword. They also need to be wise. The world is much bigger than we see here, and you'll need to know it if you want to protect it."
Elyon didn't respond at first. He didn't like the idea of leaving his father's training behind, of stepping into a world that felt unknown and strange. "I'll think about it," Elyon said reluctantly, the words tumbling out of his mouth. "But I'm not sure I'll be good at it."
Lenea's expression softened, and she placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You'll do great, Elyon. Just give it a chance."
The following morning, Elyon found himself walking with his mother toward the village school. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a warm, golden light over the village. Elyon's steps were slow, dragging slightly as he glanced at the familiar sights—the open fields, the training yard where he spent most of his days, and the distant hills where he and his father often wandered.
Lenea smiled down at him, sensing his hesitation. "You'll get used to it, Elyon. School is just another way to grow. Just like learning how to wield a sword."
Elyon didn't say anything at first. His mind was swirling with thoughts of his father's training, of the battles yet to come. But as they reached the school, he stopped. The building was small but solid, with a high stone wall surrounding the yard. The sounds of children laughing and talking echoed from inside.
Lenea knelt down to his level, her expression full of warmth and understanding. "You can always come back home after school," she said softly. "Your father will be waiting for you. But for now, just see what it's like. You'll meet new people, and who knows? You might even learn something that will make you a better swordsman."
Elyon hesitated for a moment. His heart raced, uncertainty filling him. But then he nodded, his face hardening with quiet determination. "Okay, mom. I'll give it a try."
Lenea smiled and gave him a gentle push toward the gate. "Go on, Elyon. I know you'll do well."
As Elyon stepped into the schoolyard, the door creaked closed behind him. The laughter of the children grew louder, and for the first time, Elyon felt nervous. But as he looked back at his mother one last time, standing just outside the gate, he felt a quiet sense of resolve settle in his chest.
This was just the beginning. The journey ahead of him would be one of discovery—of learning and growing. And with that thought, Elyon stepped forward, the future unfolding before him.