The sun rose slowly over the misty hills of Morningveil, its golden light spilling across a quiet village that hadn't known peace in weeks. The dew on the grass glistened like scattered stars, and birdsong rang faint in the breeze — a deceptively tranquil morning for what was about to happen.
A screech shattered the silence.
From the sky, a black-scaled wyvern dove toward the heart of the village. Its wings tore at the clouds, and its eyes glowed with crimson hate — corrupted by something older than magic and darker than night.
Villagers screamed and ran for cover.
But in the center of the square, he stood — calm, radiant, and smiling.
"Come on," Bell Valenheart said with a soft chuckle, drawing his blade. "Let's not ruin such a nice morning."
With a single motion, he unsheathed his sword — a silver greatblade etched with runes that pulsed gold the moment the light hit its edge. The blade whispered through the air, humming as if it knew what was coming.
Behind him, his party scrambled to set up. Seria Velhart, robed in white and silver, chanted wards in hurried succession while casting anxious glances at the sky.
"I told you it would come back! This wyvern's cursed. You can't just injure it and expect it to give up!"
"I didn't expect it to give up," Bell replied, eyes on the incoming beast. "I expected it to chase us here so we could finish it on our terms. Villagers are all safe inside the warded buildings now, right?"
Seria huffed. "Yes, because I planned ahead. You're lucky I'm smarter than you are charming."
Bell flashed her a grin. "But I am charming."
"Shut up and don't die."
A third voice chimed in, casual and yawning. "Oi, no one ever tells me not to die. I feel left out."
Cid sat on a barrel near the tavern, lazily eating an apple as the wyvern roared. His armor looked secondhand and uneven, his brown hair was tousled like he hadn't brushed it in days, and a wooden dagger was strapped to his side more like decoration than weaponry.
"You're not the one who insists on fighting flying death-lizards shirtless," Seria snapped.
Bell wasn't actually shirtless — but his armor was white and gold, sleeveless, his cape fluttering dramatically in the wind. The sun caught in his hair like it had been waiting just for him to arrive.
Cid raised the apple. "To heroic overcompensation!"
The wyvern landed in a crash of smoke and shattered stone, snarling as its claws scraped furrows into the earth. Villagers watching from safehouses held their breath. Some clutched prayer beads. Others clutched their children.
Bell stepped forward, eyes bright.
"Now," he said softly. "Let's give them a reason to smile."
In an instant, he moved.
The fight was over in less than three minutes.
Bell darted beneath the beast's jaws, light gathering at his blade like threads of dawn spun from the air itself. One slash opened the wyvern's leg. Another lit the courtyard in a burst of gold. Seria cast a gravity seal midair, dragging the beast down. Bell struck upward.
The final hit rang like a bell.
A shockwave spread out from the impact, ruffling cloaks and scattering leaves. The wyvern howled one last time before crumbling to glowing ash.
Silence.
Then — cheers.
The village erupted. People poured from their homes, crying and laughing. Children ran to Bell, grabbing his arms, asking for autographs. An old man offered him a bottle of wine. A dog barked and licked his boots. Women blushed. Men clapped his shoulders.
"Thank you, Prince Bell!"
"Our savior!"
"Divine-born warrior!"
Bell laughed, waving bashfully. "I'm just happy everyone's safe."
Seria stood beside him, panting from the effort of maintaining her spells. "Remind me… why do we never take the easy quests again?"
Bell gave her a boyish grin. "Because the easy ones never need us."
A little girl tugged on Seria's robes and held up a handmade flower crown.
"For you, Lady Seria!"
Seria blinked, touched. "I… thank you."
Cid, meanwhile, sat on his barrel, half-asleep.
No one gave him flowers. Or thanks. Or even a second look.
He munched his apple and muttered under his breath.
"Yeah. It's always him. It's always Bell."
He tossed the apple core into a nearby bush, stood, and stretched.
Then he smiled and said it again, softly, like he was tasting the words.
"It's always Bell."
That night, the tavern was alive with celebration.
The Golden Hearth Inn had never been so full. Music played, mugs clinked, food was plentiful. Bell bought meals for the entire village — much to Seria's horror — and the party sat near the hearth in the place of honor.
"I'm just saying," Seria said, her voice slightly raised over the din, "you don't have to buy everyone three courses."
"They've had a hard year," Bell replied, sipping spiced tea. "And besides, I like seeing people happy."
Seria gave him a look. "You're impossible."
Cid, seated on the floor beside the table, piped up, "He's too good. It's unnatural. If he were a loaf of bread, he'd be the soft, overbaked center part. The one you feel guilty eating."
Bell grinned. "Then you must be the crust."
"Burnt crust," Seria added helpfully.
Cid looked wounded. "You wound me."
Bell laughed and leaned back in his chair. His hair shimmered in the firelight. He was always like that — glowing, charming, seemingly invincible. Even when relaxed, he looked like something out of a bard's song.
Seria tried not to stare. She always told herself she wasn't like the others. She wasn't a starry-eyed peasant girl with fantasies of marrying a prince.
She was better than that. Smarter than that.
Still…
"You're looking at him again," Cid said quietly.
She jumped.
Cid's voice was low, casual, but there was a sharpness under it. She turned to him, cheeks slightly pink.
"I wasn't."
"You were," he replied, taking a long drink of whatever vaguely alcoholic thing he'd scrounged from the bar. "It's fine. Everyone looks at Bell."
She glanced away. "I admire him. That's all."
Cid looked at her for a moment — really looked.
Then he smiled, slow and unreadable.
"You know," he said, "sometimes, the stars shine so brightly that you don't even notice the shadows they leave behind."
Seria frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Cid blinked. "Dunno. Thought it sounded poetic."
She didn't reply. The fire popped softly between them.
Bell returned shortly after, arms full of roasted turkey legs.
"Food delivery!" he announced.
"Finally," Seria muttered.
Cid said nothing, just smiled and took his share.
Later that night, long after the tavern had quieted and the others had gone to sleep, Cid sat alone by the dying fire, sharpening a blade no one had ever seen him use.
It wasn't wooden.
It was black, curved like a fang, and shimmered faintly with something that was not light.
He spoke to the blade softly.
"Everything's in motion now."
He turned, looked at the sleeping forms upstairs.
"Three months more," he whispered. "Sixty days, maybe less."
The blade pulsed.
Cid smiled.
"Let him shine a little longer."