Elberath was a village bathed in simple magic, a peaceful speck on the vast continent of Asterin. Its people called it "The Edge of Light," not for its isolated location, but for the way Virelya's twin suns greeted it each morning. The first sun, Aethel, rose with a gentle golden light, awakening the wheat fields and warming the wooden roofs. An hour later, Solara followed, whiter and sharper, painting long, dancing shadows until dusk. Under the twin gaze of the heavens, life in Elberath flowed in a calm, undisturbed rhythm.
In this village, Rael Valenhardt had spent seventeen years of his life. That morning, he wasn't admiring the sun. He was sprawled lazily on the branch of a giant oak tree at the village edge, one hand behind his head, a blade of grass between his lips. From here, he could see all of Elberath: the farmers beginning their work in the fields, the smoke curling from the blacksmith's shop, and children running in the dirt roads, mimicking tales of heroism.
Rael had dark silver hair that shimmered like liquid metal in Aethel's light, contrasting with his violet eyes that held a glint of mischief. A faint, dark birthmark hidden on his chest was rarely seen by others. He was slender but wiry, the result of relentless training with his father. Today was a rest day, and Rael was making the most of it by doing absolutely nothing.
"If you stay up there any longer, roots will grow out of your backside," a familiar voice called from below.
Rael glanced down. Selie Ardent was looking up at him, hands on her hips, a basket of berries slung over her arm. As a half-elf, Selie's ears were slightly pointier than a human's, and her eyes were as green as spring leaves. They had been friends since childhood, their bond forged through silly adventures and shared secrets.
"That's the plan," Rael replied with a smirk, one of his signature traits that made the village girls blush. "I'll be the first male dryad in Elberath. They'll worship me."
Selie rolled her eyes. "You're more likely to be struck by lightning than worshipped. Get down, you lazybones. I brought breakfast."
With a movement too agile for someone claiming to be lazy, Rael leaped down, landing silently on the ground. He took a berry from Selie's basket, deliberately lingering his fingers on hers a little longer than necessary. "Just for me? You're too kind, Sel."
Selie's cheeks flushed slightly, but she quickly hid it with a scoff. "It's for your father. I just pitied you, possibly starving up a tree."
"Father's gone," Rael said, his voice softening slightly. "His morning meditation. You know, merging with the Aether or whatever."
Rael's father's name was Velkarion, a name spoken with reverence throughout Elberath, and perhaps most of Asterin. He was a legendary hero, a figure whose strength was only matched by his wisdom. The village elders never tired of recounting his tales: how he'd once saved the village from a plague, or how he single-handedly faced nine Gravemanes—horned, cursed wolves that emerged from burial grounds—unarmed, and won. Gravemanes were considered harbingers of death in Elberath, and Velkarion's victory over them had elevated his status from hero to a near-saint in the eyes of the villagers.
To Rael, Velkarion was simply his father. The man who taught him how to wield a sword, read the stars, and respect life. His mother had died long ago, a hazy memory leaving only the scent of lilies and a soft lullaby in Rael's mind. Velkarion filled that void with deep love and strict discipline.
"He's an extraordinary man," Selie whispered, as if reading Rael's thoughts. "We all owe him our lives."
"He's just my dad," Rael replied lightly, though there was undeniable pride in his tone. He gazed towards the path leading into the woods, where his father usually meditated.
Just then, the man they were talking about emerged from the trees. Velkarion walked with a soundless grace, his presence so strong that the air around him seemed denser. He looked to be in his forties, with a physique sculpted as if by a divine artist. But his eyes were the most striking feature: a pair of golden orbs burning with an inner light, radiating both warmth and immeasurable power. There was one imperfection—a thin scar above his left eyebrow that, strangely, never seemed to fully heal.
"Father," Rael greeted, his smile widening.
Velkarion smiled gently, the light in his eyes softening. It was a loving smile, reserved only for his son. "I smell berries and laziness," he said, his voice deep and calming. He nodded to Selie. "Good morning, Miss Ardent."
"G-good morning, Master Velkarion," Selie stammered, suddenly feeling like a child again.
"Selie brought it for you," Rael said, offering the basket.
Velkarion took a berry, eating it slowly. "Thank you. Small kindnesses like these are what make a place a home."
His words were simple, but spoken with profound sincerity. He then turned to Rael, his gaze sharpening. "Your training. You haven't forgotten, have you?"
Rael straightened. "Of course not. Half an hour from now, in the training grounds as usual."
"Good," Velkarion said. He placed a hand on Rael's shoulder, a familiar and comforting gesture. "Strength without discipline is a storm without direction. Remember that."
After Velkarion continued his walk towards their home at the edge of the village, Selie breathed a sigh of relief. "Every time I'm near him, I feel like I'm standing before a mountain."
"That's my father," Rael chuckled. "Now, give me those berries before I actually turn into a tree."
Half an hour later, in the dusty training grounds behind their house, the atmosphere had completely changed. Rael was no longer the lazy young man teasing his friend; he was a focused warrior, his wooden sword gripped tightly. Across from him, Velkarion stood relaxed, armed only with a thin twig.
"Ready?" Velkarion asked.
Rael nodded, assuming a fighting stance.
What followed was a dance that was both deadly and beautiful. Rael attacked with speed and power that would impress any soldier. His wooden sword whistled through the air, slashing, thrusting, and spinning in a series of attacks designed to overwhelm.
But it was all for naught.
Velkarion moved like the wind. He didn't retreat, only shifting slightly to the left or right, letting Rael's attacks pass within inches of his body. The thin twig in his hand danced, deflecting each blow with seemingly effortless taps, yet enough to redirect the momentum of Rael's wooden sword. He seemed to float, his feet barely touching the ground, his movements lightning-fast.
"Your focus is scattered, Rael," Velkarion said calmly, easily deflecting a thrust aimed at his chest. "You're thinking of the outcome, not the present moment. Defeat me here," he tapped his temple with the twig, "before you can touch me here." He pointed to his chest.
Frustration began to burn in Rael. He let out a shout and launched his strongest attack yet, a diagonal slash aimed at breaking his father's twig.
TAP.
The twig met the wooden sword, and for a moment, both paused. Then, with an almost imperceptible flick of Velkarion's wrist, Rael's wooden sword flew from his grasp, sailing through the air, and landing with a thud several feet away.
Rael stood panting, staring at his empty hand in disbelief.
Velkarion walked closer, his gentle smile returning. "You're improving. Your speed is increasing." He patted his son's shoulder. "But true strength doesn't come from muscles, but from resolve. From your core."
Rael looked into his father's golden eyes. "I'll never be as strong as you."
"Not in my way," Velkarion replied. "You must find your own path. Your strength is unique, Rael. Remember that." He handed back the wooden sword. "That's enough for today. Go bathe. You smell like a horse."
As Rael walked back towards the house, he pondered his father's words. Your strength is unique. He had always felt different, but he attributed it to being Velkarion's son. He didn't know how true those words were, or how much greater and more terrifying the destiny awaiting him was than simply being a village hero.
That night, after a quiet dinner, Rael sat on his roof, gazing at the sky. Both suns had long since set, and now it was Ishkar, the cracked moon, that held sway in the heavens. Its pale light illuminated the fissures on its surface, making it look like a beautiful, broken piece of porcelain.
Below, the village of Elberath slept soundly, enveloped in peace. Rael breathed in the cool night air. His life was perfect. He had a father he adored, friends who cared for him, and a future that seemed bright and simple. He was Rael of Elberath, the son of a legend, and he wanted for nothing.
He didn't know that that peace, like the moon above him, was already cracked and fragile, waiting for the right moment to shatter into a million pieces.