Since the dawn of time, the world has been rife with continental conflicts. Some ended in fragile peace treaties, others had their causes obscured over the centuries… But one conflict has smoldered like fire beneath the ashes: Racal and Eltha.
People tell varying stories—stolen lands, unforgiven blood, or perhaps something deeper… But no one knows the whole truth.
"What is this stupid book?"
A childish, grumbling voice broke the stillness of the afternoon. The little boy sat leaning against a tree trunk in front of a simple wooden house.
His features reflected the innocence of a child despite the frown on his face, and his silver eyes—as clear as the sky—starred boredly at the pages of an old book.
He says they know the cause of the war, then says no one knows! What kind of nonsense is this?
Before he could continue his discussion with the paper, a warm voice came from the direction of the house:
"Kyle… Where are you? It's time for lunch."
"Yes, Mom!" He shouted as he slammed the book shut with some violence, then jumped up and started toward the house.
His mother, a rather beautiful woman with soft brown hair and silver eyes, was preparing dishes at a small wooden table. She looked at him with a smile and said,
"Kyle, you little slacker... go call your father, before he burns himself in the workshop."
"Yes!" he said, running toward the workshop next to the house.
The sound of the hammer echoed in a monotonous rhythm, accompanied by the clinking of the red-hot iron.
"Dad! Come on in, it's lunchtime!"
No answer. Just the constant hammering.
"Dad!!" he shouted again, impatiently.
Suddenly, a booming voice answered from inside:
"You little rascal, can't you just shut up for a moment?! I need to concentrate!"
Kyle smiled childishly and said in a low voice, "Oh... sorry, I didn't know the hammer didn't work without you yelling."
A moment later, a burly man with black hair and brown eyes emerged, his face sharp but his features filled with paternal warmth.
He grabbed Kyle and lifted him up like a feather, laughing loudly.
"You brat... always bothering me at my most important moments! Okay, okay, I know if I'm late, your mom will kill me."
"Exactly!" Kyle replied with a wide smile. "I'm just trying to save you, Dad."
The two of them laughed together, then went back into the house.
"Elena," their mother, greeted them with eyes half angry, half loving. She muttered, "How many times have I told you not to be late? Food doesn't like to get cold."
The three of them sat at the simple wooden table, like a small, perfect world, lacking nothing.
After they finished eating, Elena stood up, picking up the plates to wash them in the weathered wooden sink. As Iran and his son, Kyle, sat alone at the table, exchanging silent glances, their faces fixed on the grimace of a seemingly unwinnable battle.
A few moments of silence passed, then Iran said, his tone calm but heavy with seriousness:
"So... you want to be a fighter, when you show your strength?"
Kyle quickly replied, a sparkle in his eyes that hadn't yet been extinguished:
"Yes!"
The father continued, raising an eyebrow:
"And you want to have money... and buy lots of food, other than the fish we eat every day?"
Kyle nodded enthusiastically.
"Yes!"
The father smiled faintly.
"And you want to not hurt anyone... or kill anyone... and help people, right?"
Kyle jumped out of his seat, excited as if he were repeating his dreams to the whole world:
"Yes!"
Iran was silent for a few seconds, then leaned slightly toward his son and said in a low voice, "Son... are you an idiot?"
Kyle's face immediately darkened, and he said incredulously, "What? Why?"
His father looked at him with a look that combined sadness and bitterness, the look of a man who had lived much and lost even more:
"Kyle... we're a poor family. No one cares about people like us. The nobles... see us as dust on the road, even if you're special.
And on top of that, there's no guarantee you'll ever gain power. Yes, we've had it, but some people are never born with it."
His face fell silent, and an angry expression began to appear on Kyle's face. He clenched his fists and said angrily, "So... just because I'm poor, I can't achieve my dreams?! That's ridiculous!!"
He leaped out of his seat and shouted with all the rage of a child who doesn't understand why the world insists on breaking him:
"I hate you!!"
He ran to the door and left, slamming it behind him, leaving the echo of his words hanging in the air.
Eran remained seated, staring at the closed door with sad eyes.
Elena approached from behind him, gently placed her hand on his shoulder, and said in a low voice, "Don't be sad... He's still a child, full of big dreams. He'll soon forget what he said."
Eran closed his eyes, sighed deeply, and said, "Thank you, Elena... but... if we weren't poor, if this weren't our lives... Kyle would have been something great.
Do you know how talented he is?"
Silence fell, only their broken faces remaining, and a small window that allowed the sunset light to filter in... as if silently comforting them.
Anger simmered in Kyle's chest as he walked through the narrow village streets, encountering the stares of passersby without even looking back. He muttered sharply, kicking a stone in front of him. "No one will stand in my way... I will become the strongest... and I will crush all those arrogant nobles!"
But before he could continue his outburst, he heard a familiar voice calling him from one of the side alleys:
"Hey, Kyle! Wait!"
He turned slowly, revealing a little girl with ruby eyes and chestnut hair tied back in a knot.
It was Sophia, his childhood friend whom he had known since learning to walk.
"Oh... hello, Sophie," he said softly, pretending to be calm.
She looked up at him with worried eyes and asked, "You had a fight with your family... again?"
He frowned and replied dryly, "What's it to you? Don't meddle in matters that don't concern you."
Her eyes widened in surprise, then her expression turned to genuine anger, as she said loudly, "This is all because of your stupid dream! It won't come true no matter how hard you try!"
Then she turned and quickly left, leaving her friend in a whirl of conflicting emotions.
"Damn it...!" he said, gritting his teeth.
He sighed and added to himself, "I have to go to my hiding place... maybe I'll calm down there."
He continued walking away from the heart of the village until he reached the edge of the small forest, where a huge tree stood tall, as if guarding his secret.
At its trunk, there was a primitive wooden ladder leading up to a small house built among its branches. The tree house. His secret haven. His own world.
He climbed lightly, entered through the small window, and sat down among the scattered piles of books.Despite his young age, Kyle loved reading. He didn't understand everything he read, but he was fascinated by the words power, destiny, and distant kingdoms.
He grabbed an old leather book and opened it to a specific chapter he had marked.
He began reading in a low voice:
"The primary power in this world is mana. Its form, its purity, and the way it is controlled… all depend on the user's innate qualities.
Among users, there are distinct classes: healer, mage, augmenter… some possess very rare qualities.
The journey to power begins with the formation of the soul core, located in the center of the chest, and typically begins to form around the age of ten.
The stages of power are divided into five, each containing five sublevels.
With each advancement, the body's ability to contain and direct mana increases, gradually approaching the level of higher beings."
He finished the page and slowly closed the book.
He looked at his small hand and whispered,
"Ten years old, huh… Only two years left. I'll be ready."
Then he leaned against the wooden wall, staring at the ceiling, dreaming of a world where a person was not measured by wealth or blood, but by will alone.