《A Magician’s Path Through Magica》


 Where Adventure Begins

    I think every child dreams of a summer like this. A festival where the air is thick with the scent of roasted almonds and honey cakes, where mages dazzle with their tricks beneath swaying lanterns, knights march proudly in shining armor, and magical creatures weave through the crowds. A place where adventure hums in every whispered story, and the world feels endless, as if anything could happen. Now¡­ close your eyes and try to picture it. Wonderful, isn¡¯t it?


    Imagine being there¡ªperched high on your father¡¯s shoulders, sticky with cotton candy, your little fingers gripping tightly as laughter and music swirl around you. The colors are brighter than any dream, the sounds pulse like the heartbeat of a living, breathing tale. That¡¯s how it was in Mirnia that evening.


    The festival was alive, and so was I¡ªjust a boy with wide eyes and boundless wonder, wandering a town made for heroes and dreamers. Lanterns bobbed on invisible currents, their soft golden glow blending with the deep purples of the twilight sky. Somewhere, a lute played a melody that felt like home, and the murmur of voices carried the weight of ancient stories on its tide.


    As we drew closer to the center of town, the music grew louder, the fireworks brighter, and the scent of sweets so thick I could hardly breathe. Paradise on earth.


    When we reached the central plaza of Mirnia, my mother spotted her friends and, with a casual smile, said, "Why don¡¯t you two spend a bit of time together?" My father stared after her, confused, his brow furrowing as she walked off, as clumsy as a newborn taking its first steps. He was in distress. He wasn¡¯t used to crowded places, let alone the responsibility of watching over me in the middle of all this chaos.


    My dad was an average farmer, someone who¡¯d spent most of his life tending to grain fields. His name was Marvin¡­ Marvin Silvertale. He had black hair with silver tips, dark eyes, and a lean physique¡ªactually, perfect for an adventurer. My mother, though, was something else. Her name was Leila. She had long red hair, striking blue eyes, and a tiny upturned nose. I never quite understood how my dad had managed to win her over. I must have inherited the best of both¡ªhis black hair with silver streaks and her beautiful blue eyes.


    One of my dad¡¯s friends approached us and invited him for a beer. As we made our way to the bar, my father gently set me down. ¡°Don¡¯t go anywhere, Arthur. I know it¡¯s only your second time at the summer festival, but you shouldn¡¯t wander off. Remember, even if this town seems like pure fun, there¡¯s always something lurking in the shadows,¡± he said with a tone of proud warning, as though he were some sort of veteran passing down wisdom.


    Maybe this was something he inherited from his father¡ªmy grandpa, or better yet, Gramp Sensei. His name was Ethenol. The pride of the Silvertale family. In his golden age, or better said, in his prime, he was a famous adventurer known across the western regions of the continent. He¡¯d slay giant werewolves as if they were mere puppies. He¡¯d roamed the entire middle continent with his party, fighting monsters, uncovering treasures, and earning a legendary reputation. He was never defeated in a one-on-one duel throughout his entire adventuring career. That¡¯s why I look up to him. He¡¯s my role model. I want to be just like him one day.


    And of course, he was married. My grandmother¡¯s name is Claudia. She¡¯s small, her back slightly hunched from years of hard work, and not a single strand of her once-blonde hair remains. But I love her dearly. She¡¯s the heart of our family and the best cook in all of Mirnia. When she was young¡ªlong before she met Ethenol¡ªshe ran a renowned restaurant by the coast. People would travel miles just to taste her seafood stew or honey-glazed pastries.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    But enough with introductions! Let¡¯s get back to what happened that day.


    After my father sat me on a chair and firmly told me to stay put, I looked around with my big blue eyes, taking in the bustling scene. I lasted about five minutes¡­ okay, maybe four¡­ or three. Fine, you got me¡ªit was probably closer to two. I couldn¡¯t help myself. The excitement was too much to bear. Without a second thought, I hopped down from the chair and set off on my own little adventure.


    Walking wasn¡¯t exactly my strength, so you can probably imagine how clumsy my running was¡ªor maybe it¡¯s better if you don¡¯t. But hey, I was only four years old, so I think I deserved some slack. Still, I gave it my best shot, darting through the bustling crowd as if I knew exactly where I was going.


    After wandering around for a while and stopping at every street food stall that caught my eye, I somehow made it out of the crowd. I ended up in a quieter part of the town¡ªsomewhere I definitely wasn¡¯t supposed to be. The streets became emptier, the voices fainter, and the vibrant glow of the festival seemed far away now. At first, I didn¡¯t even notice how isolated it was.


    And the people? Well, what were they thinking when they saw a little toddler like me wandering around alone? Wouldn¡¯t you ask yourself where his parents were? Sure, most of them were probably too drunk to care, but come on! A four-year-old, out on his own? Someone should¡¯ve noticed.


    After wandering aimlessly, I finally realized I was lost. I didn¡¯t know how to find my way back. The tall buildings around me loomed like silent guardians, blocking my view, while the old, flickering light bulbs cast weak, unreliable glows that barely lit the cobblestone streets.


    A heavy sadness crept over me, tightening in my chest. I regretted my decision not to listen to my father. Deep down, I knew he only wanted to keep me safe. This was his rare moment to relax¡ªjust a little break after a long year of hard work in the fields and the challenges of raising a son who had just turned four. And here I was, ruining it all.


    I started crying, my voice breaking with each sob as I called out, ¡°Mama! Mama! Mamaaa! W-Where¡­ where are you?¡± My little body trembled, and my words wavered between desperation and fear.


    Then I felt it¡ªa presence lurking in the shadows, just beyond the edge of the hill beneath me. My father¡¯s words echoed in my mind, warning me of dangers hiding in the darkness. Fear gripped me like an iron vice, cold and unrelenting. It was as if two invisible hands were closing in: one silencing my cries, the other tightening around my throat, squeezing out every ounce of courage I had left.


    I couldn¡¯t scream. My throat locked tight, and I stood there like a statue, frozen in place.


    The moment my eyes met the creature¡¯s, everything else faded into the shadows. Its gaze was piercing¡ªsharp, intelligent, and unyielding. Its irises gleamed like molten gold, glowing faintly in the dim light. For more than thirty seconds, we stared at one another, locked in a silent standoff.


    Then it moved, cautiously at first, its movements calculated and deliberate. As it stepped closer, its silhouette began to take shape. My wide, tear-streaked eyes drank in the details: a massive creature with jagged teeth, claws that looked like they could rend stone, and wings as wide as two houses laid side by side. The leathery appendages shimmered faintly in the moonlight, their crimson hue almost glowing.


    It had four powerful legs, a long, sinewy neck, and a pointed snout that ended in a pair of flared nostrils. At first, I thought it was some sort of giant turtle or a titanic salamander from the wild stories my grandpa told. But no. This was something else¡ªsomething I had only ever read about in the pages of old storybooks.


    I always loved tales about these creatures, but deep down, I never truly believed they could exist. And yet, there it was before me: a dragon

 A Night of Fire and Wonder

    In that moment, my fear was swallowed by something else¡ªwonder. The stories were true. Dragons were real.


    And not just any dragon. Though I didn¡¯t know it at the time, it was a giant red dragon¡ªa beast of legend and awe.


    That moment was surreal¡ªthe emotions I felt were the exact opposite of the fear that had consumed me just seconds before. It wasn¡¯t a normal reaction to seeing a dragon. I was stunned, as though I had witnessed something that defied every rule of power and majesty.


    Instead of terror, I felt excitement. Even though the creature before me could easily burn entire villages¡ªmaybe even a town like Mirnia¡ªin mere minutes, but it didn¡¯t match the fearsome image from the tales my parents read to me before bed.


    This dragon was different. Its movements were measured, almost gentle, its gaze curious and intelligent. And in its eyes, I saw no malice, no frustration¡ªonly wisdom and a deep, unexpected kindness.


    In that instant, all I could think about was how amazing it would be if the dragon became my pet. I imagined soaring through the skies, seeing the world from above, traveling across the continent, and befriending other dragons. Of course, I knew such a dream was nearly impossible¡ªdragons were almost extinct. Major sightings only occurred once every two or three years across the entire world.


    That fleeting moment of dreaming, standing face-to-face with a dragon, was about to end. The creature likely came here out of curiosity, drawn by the noise and commotion. Surely, it didn¡¯t have the time to humor a toddler staring up at it, lost in childish fantasies. It probably had more pressing dragon matters to attend to¡ªlike sleeping, hunting, or terrifying people lucky enough to catch a glimpse of its majestic form.


    As the major fireworks began, their loud explosions filling the night sky, the dragon spread its enormous wings and took off in a rush. It disappeared into the darkness, leaving me awestruck, its departure as sudden as its arrival.


    After staring, confused, in the direction where the dragon had flown, I began to hear voices in the distance. They grew louder and closer with each passing second until I recognized a familiar voice calling my name.


    ¡°Arthur! Arthur! Where are you? Oh, my poor child!¡± It was my mother, her voice trembling with despair as she tried to hold back tears.


    At first, I didn¡¯t react, still dazed by the events of the night. But then it hit me¡ªhow worried my parents must be. Guilt and fear bubbled up inside me as I tried to follow the sound of her voice. ¡°Mom! Mom! It¡¯s dark here!¡± I cried, tears now streaming down my face.


    As I moved toward her voice, I began to hear my father too. He was shouting¡ªa tone I had never heard from him before. They both sounded frantic, no doubt overwhelmed by stress and blaming themselves for losing me. But deep down, I knew it wasn¡¯t their fault.


    Moments later, my mother appeared from around a corner, and just behind her was my father. The instant they saw me, they ran toward me like two professional sprinters. I always knew my parents were strong and fit, but I never expected them to be that fast.


    I felt a surge of relief. In that moment, I was grateful it was them¡ªmy parents¡ªwho found me, and not some random strangers or vagrants.


    When they reached me, my mother immediately pulled me into her arms. The warmth of her hug was overwhelming, a comfort I never wanted to take for granted.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Arthur. I shouldn¡¯t have left you alone,¡± she whispered, her voice trembling.


    My father, standing beside us, wiped his eyes and said, ¡°It¡¯s my fault. I was too arrogant. Can you forgive me?¡± His voice cracked with emotion as tears streamed down his face.


    ¡°It¡¯s not your fault, Dad,¡± I replied, my small voice heavy with guilt and regret.


    After a moment, my mother pulled back slightly and examined me from head to toe. Once she was sure I was unharmed, we all took a breath, and the tears finally stopped. She picked me up, holding me close as she began walking.


    ¡°Where have you been all this time?¡± she asked, her tone gentle but worried. ¡°You had us so scared.¡±


    ¡°I wanted to see the town,¡± I explained, my voice still shaky. ¡°And I even saw a big red dragon!¡±


    My parents exchanged a glance before letting out soft chuckles.


    ¡°He must be exhausted,¡± my mother said with a knowing smile.


    ¡°Kids and their wild imaginations,¡± my father added, shaking his head.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°I did see a dragon!¡± I insisted, leaning back to look at them. ¡°It was huge and red, with golden eyes¡ªjust like in the tales you and Grandpa told me!¡±


    My mother raised an eyebrow and teased, ¡°Well, if you don¡¯t rest soon, maybe that dragon will come back tonight to gobble you up!¡± She added a spooky tone to her voice, making me giggle despite myself.


    On the way home, my parents continued to tease me, cracking jokes about the ¡°dragon¡± I had supposedly seen. Their laughter was infectious, and soon I was laughing too.


    But deep inside, I knew what I saw. There was no doubt in my mind. I wasn¡¯t dreaming, hallucinating, or imagining things. That creature I had stood face-to-face with wasn¡¯t a fantasy. It was real¡ªa dragon of flesh, bone, and fire.


    Two years passed. I was six years old then. My parents and I visited my grandparents'' house at least twice a week. Their home was on the northern side of town, near the outskirts, close to the main path that led to the Silvermire Ruins.


    One day, while exploring out of curiosity, I ventured into the attic. Among the dusty old boxes my grandfather had left behind, I discovered an assortment of peculiar items from his days as an adventurer. There were rusty swords, shattered bows made from some strange wood unlike anything I''d seen before, expired potions that looked like a mixture of mud and baby puke, and even some tattered books.


    In my mind, I had always imagined "Gramp Sensei" as having a hidden arsenal beneath the house¡ªa treasure trove of gleaming armor crafted from gold and rare metals. What I found instead looked more like the rejects of an antiquities shop that wouldn''t even qualify for a low-tier museum.


    After rummaging through boxes of books for several minutes, I was ready to give up on finding anything interesting. Doubts began to creep in. Was Gramps really a famous adventurer? Could it all have been lies? No, that couldn¡¯t be true... right?


    My suspicions vanished the moment I stumbled upon a peculiar book. At first glance, it seemed like another mundane tome about herbs or biology, but something about it felt different. The book emanated a distinct aura¡ªan energy I could sense even as a child. It was a spiritual sensation, the kind of feeling you get from objects brimming with Mana. This book was radiating it.


    I opened the cover carefully, and to my amazement, it was a grimoire. Its pages were filled with spells and techniques designed to increase mana and harness magical energy.


    I was completely absorbed in its contents for a couple of minutes when I suddenly heard a creak. The sound came from the trapdoor leading to the second floor. Panicked, I quickly placed the book down and turned toward the entrance of the attic.


    As I cautiously moved toward the trapdoor, it swung open on its own. Startled, I let out a scream, but my fear vanished the moment I saw who it was. My grandfather stood there, grinning.


    ¡°Looking for equipment to use on your adventures, little man?¡± he asked, his tone a mix of sarcasm and wisdom.


    ¡°Yes, Gramps,¡± I replied, though my voice carried a hint of disappointment. ¡°But I thought you had shining armor.¡±


    He let out a hearty laugh. ¡°I¡¯m sorry if it¡¯s not what you expected, Arthur. The last time I used any of that equipment was over thirty years ago. I was a famous adventurer, but only for a short while.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked, tilting my head in confusion.


    ¡°Well,¡± he began, his voice softening, ¡°there are other things in life besides slaying monsters. Once the thrill fades, and the exhaustion sets in, you realize that hunting beasts, fighting bandits, and searching for treasures in far-off lands isn¡¯t the only way to live. Everyone has their own passions. I stopped because I found mine.¡±


    He paused, his eyes twinkling as he spoke. ¡°I met her¡ªthe one. Out of all the millions of womens in the world, she was the only one who mattered. For me, she was everything.¡±


    I stared at him, utterly confused. What could possibly be better than fighting monsters and exploring the world?


    He chuckled, seeing the look on my face. ¡°You¡¯ll understand one day,¡± he said with pride. ¡°And when that day comes, I hope you¡¯ll follow your heart, not just your head, when you make your choices.¡±


    I looked at him, stunned and deeply moved by his words.


    ¡°I see you¡¯ve found my old grimoire,¡± Grandpa said, his voice tinged with nostalgia as he picked it up. He held it carefully, as though afraid it might crumble.


    ¡°This was my first grimoire¡­¡± he murmured, his gaze fixed on its worn cover. For a moment, it seemed like he was reliving those long-gone days. ¡°My brot¡ªehm, I mean, an old friend gave it to me as a gift. It¡¯s very precious to me.¡±


    He turned his gaze back to me, studying my expression. Then, with a small smile, he asked, ¡°Do you like magic, Arthur?¡±


    ¡°Of course I like magic!¡± I exclaimed, my voice bursting with excitement.


    Grandpa¡¯s eyes softened, a mixture of pride and nostalgia flickering in his expression. ¡°Do you want to learn magic? To become the strongest magician in the world?¡± he asked, his voice brimming with energy.


    My heart skipped a beat. ¡°You mean you¡¯ll teach me magic?¡±


    He nodded, and I could hardly contain myself. ¡°Yes! Yes, yes, yes!¡± I cheered, jumping with excitement. This was the second most thrilling moment of my life¡ªnothing could top my encounter with the dragon.


    Grandpa chuckled but quickly became serious. He put the grimoire back down and looked at me intently. ¡°You know it won¡¯t be easy, right? I won¡¯t go easy on you. You¡¯ll pass out from exhaustion, suffer through pain, and face immense pressure. Magic demands discipline and resilience.¡±


    I nodded, my expression firm. ¡°I understand,¡± I said, my voice steady.


    He studied me for a moment longer, and then I saw it¡ªthe flicker of realization in his eyes. This wasn¡¯t just a child¡¯s fanciful dream. He could see it in me: determination, the will to strive for greatness.


    ¡°Alright, then,¡± he said with a small grin. ¡°It¡¯s decided. I¡¯ll train you.¡±


    A surge of joy filled me. It was official: my grandfather was going to teach me magic.

 A Brother and an Apprentice

    ¡°Well then!¡± Grandpa said, clapping his hands together. ¡°But before we start, there¡¯s something important we need to do.¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡± I asked, tilting my head in curiosity.


    ¡°We need to ask your mom for permission. She¡¯s the real boss of this house,¡± he said with a mischievous wink.


    I froze for a moment, imagining her reaction. But then I smiled. If Gramps believed in me, I was sure she would too.


    I nodded eagerly. ¡°Let¡¯s go ask her!¡±


    And with that, we descended from the attic, a new chapter of my life beginning. Little did I know, this was the start of a journey that would shape my destiny forever.


    My mother started to scream in anger, her voice echoing through the room. My father and grandpa tried their best to calm her down, but she wasn¡¯t having it. Grandpa made several attempts to reason with her, but nothing seemed to work.


    In this world, every living being¡ªand even certain objects, like Grandpa¡¯s grimoire¡ªcontained Mana. Some were naturally more gifted than others, but with training, even those with less Mana could surpass the naturally talented. Mana was the lifeblood of magic, and while almost everyone understood its basics, mastery was another story. Farmers and villagers, mostly from the lower class, usually knew just a handful of simple spells. The middle and upper classes, who resided in the larger cities and towns, were far more proficient.


    To my mother, the idea of teaching magic to a six-year-old child was utterly absurd. Traditionally, children began learning magic at a school around the age of seven or eight, even those from humble backgrounds. By the time they turned 14, most students had the chance to attend a prestigious magic academy.


    There were only 12 major academies across the world, each located in a distant corner of the map. The nearest one to us was the Elder Academy of Magic in Elderfort. The thought of me moving away to attend an academy at 14 filled my mother with fear and worry.


    As my mother continued to vehemently reject Grandpa¡¯s offer, my grandmother, who had been quiet until now, stepped forward. Her voice was calm and firm as she said, ¡°I know how you feel, Leila¡­ trust me, I do. But trying to hold your son back from his dreams will only make him resentful as he grows older. And one day, you¡¯ll regret not letting him pursue what he loves.¡±


    My mother¡¯s defiance faltered. She hesitated, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. ¡°I just¡­ I don¡¯t want him to leave us,¡± she whispered, her voice trembling. ¡°But I know you¡¯re right.¡±


    My grandmother smiled gently, as if communicating something unspoken¡ªa kind of motherly telepathy that passed between them.


    Finally, my mother let out a shaky sigh and said, ¡°Alright¡­ but on two conditions. First, I don¡¯t want him to go too far from home during his training. And second, we need to have a serious discussion about sending Arthur to a magic school. If you¡¯re going to train him, I expect him to be more than qualified by the time he¡¯s ready to attend.¡±


    Grandpa¡¯s face softened, a mix of confidence and emotion lighting up his features. ¡°You have my word,¡± he said solemnly.


    With that, my mother¡¯s resolve crumbled, and she let the tears she had been holding back flow freely. My father and grandmother moved to comfort her, their quiet reassurances filling the room.


    Though the tension had eased, I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that this moment was a turning point for all of us. My journey into magic was about to begin, but it wasn¡¯t just my story that was changing¡ªmy family¡¯s world was shifting with it.


    Some time later, I discovered that my mother was pregnant. She had been carrying the baby for months, and my parents were overjoyed. Their happiness was infectious, and I felt it too. I promised myself that I would be a good brother when the time came.


    But that wasn¡¯t the only big change in my life. Around the same time, I began my training with Grandpa. It started with the fundamentals: understanding the structure of spells, learning how Mana worked, and discovering how to increase my reserves and channel them effectively.


    The first few months were grueling. Even though my family often praised me for being bright for my age, it was still a struggle to grasp how magic truly worked. Magic wasn¡¯t just about waving your hands or saying a few words¡ªit was a deeply intricate system, almost like a language.


    Spells were constructed from magic codes, sequences of elements and symbols that had to be assembled perfectly to create a desired effect. Tiny adjustments in the sequence, elements, or even the flow of Mana could dramatically alter the spell¡¯s outcome. Over the centuries, mages had developed abbreviations¡ªcompressed codes, as they were called¡ªthat could streamline the process and reduce the Mana cost of a spell. Mastering these shortcuts was a game changer.


    Once I had a basic understanding, the real work began. Practice. And by practice, I mean training six to eight hours a day. It wasn¡¯t exactly normal for a six-year-old to endure such intense routines, but I was determined.


    Around this time, I began exploring the neighborhood on my own. I never wandered too far¡ªmy mother would have had my head if I did¡ªbut it felt freeing to have a little independence.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    My neighborhood was full of kids my age, and I made a lot of new friends. But one stood out: Oliver. He had long brown hair, sharp brown eyes, and was unusually tall for his age. He always had a funny yet serious expression that made him seem older than he was.


    Oliver quickly became my best friend. Unlike the other kids, he didn¡¯t laugh at me when I talked about my dreams of becoming one of the strongest magicians in the world. Most of the others rolled their eyes or outright mocked me, calling my aspirations foolish or impossible. But not Oliver.


    He believed in me, just as much as I believed in myself. And it turned out, he shared the same dream. Like me, he wanted to be a magician, and together, we dreamed of becoming adventurers when we grew up. Those shared ambitions cemented our bond.


    Time passed, and the days flew by like butterflies on a fresh spring morning. My grandpa didn¡¯t just teach me magic¡ªhe taught me so much more.


    We would meditate by the waterfall, the sound of rushing water helping me focus as I worked to expand my Mana reserves and improve my Mana flow. On other days, we would hunt in the nearby hills, sharpening my stealth and perception. Gathering herbs became a regular activity too, as he taught me to identify their properties, healing benefits, and how to use them correctly to make potions.


    In quieter moments, Grandpa would tell me tales of the world¡ªstories steeped in myth, occult mysteries, and ancient legends. And then there was swordsmanship. We sparred in his backyard almost daily, and it quickly became one of my favorite parts of training. I didn¡¯t just enjoy it¡ªI was good at it. Gramps, or ¡°Gramp Sensei¡±, noticed my talent and began teaching me even techniques he hadn¡¯t completely mastered himself. He didn¡¯t just prepare me to wield magic but gave me a foundation for survival and self-reliance.


    But Grandpa wasn¡¯t my only teacher. My parents took on the role of preparing me for the practicalities of the world. They explained how the system worked, how the economy functioned, and taught me essential skills like math. Those lessons were often boring, but I knew they were important. My parents also included me in their daily work, taking me to the grain fields or teaching me how to pick fruit from the trees.


    Grandma, on the other hand, taught me the art of cooking. She shared countless recipes, teaching me how to prepare meat, pastries, and pasta dishes that could make anyone¡¯s mouth water. She was, without a doubt, the best grandma ever.


    In March, everything changed. The time had come¡ªmy mother gave birth to a healthy baby girl. She had dark hair, two big blue eyes, and a tiny upturned nose that made her look just like our mom. My parents named her Reina, which means ¡°queen¡± in my mother¡¯s native tongue.


    I was overjoyed. With Reina¡¯s arrival, I finally had the chance to step into the role of a big brother, and I promised myself that I¡¯d do my best to protect and guide her.


    My training continued, and by the time I was eight years old, I had mastered my first spells. I could conjure fire, even throw a flame at will. I learned to manipulate small amounts of water and move rocks, lifting and shifting objects with ease. I was also able to cast a Mana barrier, offering protection from minor attacks. But my favorite spell, the one that thrilled me the most, was the Phantom Step.


    The Phantom Step was a type of fleeting teleportation¡ªa spell that allowed me to move a greater distance in an instant, almost as if I were an apparition. It wasn¡¯t true teleportation, but it mimicked the effect by making it appear as though I had jumped or stepped a far distance in a flash. It became my signature move during sparring sessions. Grandpa found it difficult to track my movements, especially since it wasn¡¯t easy for him to perceive a child, even one with strong Mana like mine. I had become good at hiding my Mana during battles, using it to my advantage.


    Grandpa often praised my progress, telling me that he was impressed by how quickly I had picked up magic and combat. He admitted that, at my age, he had not been nearly as talented. But with a serious tone, he reminded me to stay humble. ¡°Don¡¯t overestimate yourself,¡± he warned. ¡°There are still many weaknesses you need to overcome.¡±


    During that time, I would often go out with Oliver and the others, hanging out around town and experimenting with magic spells.


    One day, after a morning of intense training, I headed out. The sun was shining brightly, and the sky was a spotless blue. A cool breeze swept through the streets, carrying with it the scent of freshly baked bread. I had an appointment to meet Oliver near the Cilba Bakery.


    When I arrived, he was nowhere to be seen. Assuming he was running late, I waited outside, watching as people bustled in and out of the bakery. The warm, delicious smell made my mouth water. Minutes passed, and I began to grow restless.


    Deciding to take a walk, I wandered through the town, soaking in the lively atmosphere. As I turned a corner, I heard faint noises coming from an alley. Curious, I followed the sound. Near the entrance of the alley, I spotted Oliver. He stood there, his attention fixed on something ahead. He was so focused that he didn¡¯t notice me approach.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I asked.


    Oliver jumped, startled as though he¡¯d seen a ghost.


    ¡°Psssshhhh!¡± he hissed, holding a finger to his lips to signal for silence.


    He leaned closer and whispered, ¡°Do you see those older kids over there? The ones pushing that poor little elf?¡±


    I squinted into the alley. ¡°Uh¡­ yeah,¡± I replied cautiously.


    ¡°I saw them earlier near the bakery,¡± Oliver explained, his voice low and tense. ¡°They were following the elf and making fun of him. So, I decided to follow them. I didn¡¯t think it would escalate like this. I want to help him¡ªI really do¡ªbut¡­¡± He hesitated, glancing down. ¡°They¡¯re older than me. I wouldn¡¯t stand a chance. They probably know spells from school that would totally kick my ass.¡±


    His voice grew softer, laced with shame. ¡°But maybe you could take them. You¡¯ve been training with your grandpa, after all.¡±


    ¡°Wait¡­ me?!¡± I blurted out, my eyes widening in shock.


    Oliver looked at me, hope flickering in his eyes, but I hesitated. Could I really handle this? My mind raced as I thought about the hours of sparring with my grandpa, the magic spells I had practiced, the hunting trips that had sharpened my instincts. Surely, I was more capable than I gave myself credit for.


    I took a deep breath, steadying myself. ¡°Alright,¡± I said, my voice firmer now. ¡°I¡¯ll help the elf, even if I walk away with a few bruises.¡±


    Oliver¡¯s face lit up with relief as I added, ¡°It¡¯s time to put my training to the test.

 When Words Fail

    As I started walking toward them, my mind raced with different scenarios. Should I attack immediately with a spell? Maybe land a good kick to their faces? Or¡­ should I try talking to them first?


    Mom always said that violence wasn¡¯t the answer¡ªthat problems could often be solved with words. But I couldn¡¯t help but wonder, Does that rule really apply to people like them? To me, those bullies were nothing more than brute beasts, preying on the weak, picking fights with kids who couldn¡¯t change who they were.


    The sound of my footsteps echoed against the narrow alley walls, growing louder with every step. The buildings on either side loomed higher than I remembered, like silent spectators to what was about to unfold. My heart raced, and a thin sheen of sweat began to form on my brow. The weight of facing older kids¡ªalone¡ªpressed down on me like an invisible force.


    But they¡¯re weaker than me, right? I tried to reassure myself. I had spent years training with Grandpa, sparring almost daily. I had learned spells, honed my instincts, and developed skills far beyond the average kid my age. But then a seed of doubt crept into my mind.


    While they go to magic school¡­ I don¡¯t.


    A cold pit formed in my stomach as I questioned myself. What if they had learned advanced spells? What if my training wasn¡¯t enough? What if I overestimated myself?


    I stopped for a moment, my fists clenched. The doubt was like a parasite, feeding off my confidence. But then I took a deep breath, forcing the thoughts aside. I couldn¡¯t back down¡ªnot when someone needed help. No matter what, I had to see this through.


    I stepped forward, my resolve firm. As I approached, they noticed me. It was clear at a glance that these weren¡¯t just rowdy kids¡ªthey were bullies through and through, their demeanor as crude as their behavior.


    There were four of them. One was tall and massive, built like a bear. Two others were lanky but still taller than me, their eyes glinting with mischief. The last one, clearly the leader, was short and stocky, his face twisted into a smug grin that only made him look more unpleasant.


    One thing was certain¡ªthey were all bigger than me.


    ¡°Can you guys let him go?¡± I asked, my voice steady and my expression serious.


    The leader turned to me, his tone dripping with arrogance. ¡°What do you want? You want to get beaten up too?¡±


    Before I could answer, the massive one grinned and slammed his fist into the elf¡¯s gut. The poor kid groaned and doubled over as the others burst into cruel laughter.


    ¡°Yeah, I don¡¯t think you want to taste my fists,¡± the big one sneered.


    My blood boiled. My face flushed red, and the fear that had gripped me earlier dissolved into a white-hot fury. All I could think about was wiping those smug looks off their faces.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to repeat myself,¡± I said, my voice low and dangerous. ¡°Let him go, or else¡ª¡±


    I was cut off by the sound of their laughter, loud and mocking.


    ¡°Or else what?¡± the leader, or better said the fatty, jeered, taking a step closer. ¡°You gonna get on your knees and beg? Maybe lick my shoe to spare this useless elf?¡±


    The others howled with laughter, emboldened by their leader¡¯s taunts.


    ¡°Well,¡± I said, tightening my fists, ¡°I warned you.¡±The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Before the words had even left my mouth, I chanted the Phantom Step. In an instant, I reappeared right in front of the fatty, catching him off guard. Before he could react, I drove my foot into his face with all the force I could muster.


    He tumbled backward like a bowling ball, crashing into a garbage can with a satisfying clang.


    As they saw their leader crumpled on the ground from my kick, the bullies turned their attention to me. Their faces twisted into a mix of anger and fear, and for a moment, none of them dared to move. They hesitated, realizing I wasn¡¯t just some ordinary eight-year-old. They could see it in my eyes¡ªthe burning flame of justice that wouldn¡¯t back down.


    Seeing their fear, I smirked and said with a mischievous grin, ¡°Who¡¯s laughing now? Scum like you shouldn¡¯t be allowed to roam free.¡±


    The massive one clenched his fists, his pride stung by my words. With a growl, he muttered a spell, and a thin sheet of ice coated his fists. They shimmered in the light, looking like they could crush bones.


    ¡°You¡¯ll regret this!¡± he roared, charging at me with heavy steps, his fists raised like battering rams.


    ¡°Make me regret it!¡± I taunted, my voice full of defiance.


    As he barreled toward me, his movements were wild and uncoordinated. His brute strength was obvious, but his strategy¡ªor lack of it¡ªwas laughable. He was all fists and no brain, like an empty chair where his father¡¯s guidance should have been.


    The ground shook slightly with each of his steps, the distance between us closing rapidly. At the last moment, I raised my hand and cast a spell to summon sharp stones from the earth. With a flick of my wrist, I launched them at his forehead.


    The rocks shot through the air, slamming into his target with pinpoint precision. He stumbled, his massive frame collapsing like a felled bear, groaning as red marks blossomed across his forehead.


    For a moment, I stood there, catching my breath, watching him writhe. But as I looked down at him, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a dark satisfaction. Seeing their arrogance crumble and giving them a taste of their own medicine¡ªit was intoxicating.


    The other two bullies, seeing their companions defeated, exchanged a glance of panic before turning and bolting down the alley.


    ¡°Cowards,¡± I muttered under my breath.


    Before they could get far, I used the Phantom Step again. In an instant, I appeared right in front of them, cutting off their escape. Their faces barely had time to register shock before I swung my fists. With one swift motion, I knocked them both out cold, sending them sprawling to the ground.


    As I stood over them, victorious, I took a deep breath. The rush of magic still coursed through me, but the alley was quiet now. Justice had been served, and for the first time, I understood just how satisfying it could be.


    After basking in my victory for a few seconds, the rush of the fight faded, and I felt myself return to normal. The lust for battle that had flared inside me was gone, replaced by a more grounded feeling. I turned to check on the elf. Thankfully, he seemed mostly fine¡ªhis hair was a mess, and his clothes were dirty, but there were no visible injuries.


    ¡°Th-tha-thanks!¡± he stammered, his voice embarrassed and trembling. ¡°I should go now. M-my mom is probably waiting for me at home.¡±


    Before I could even ask his name, he bolted, rushing away as if I were some kind of ghostbuster and he the ghost. Within moments, he disappeared down the alley, his presence as fleeting as a shadow in the sunlight.


    When I turned back, I saw Oliver standing there, his face practically glowing with pride.


    ¡°I knew you were strong, but this strong!¡± he exclaimed, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me in excitement. His eyes sparkled as he looked at me, like I was some kind of hero from a storybook.


    His praises didn¡¯t stop even as we left the alley and made our way back to our neighborhood. The moment we arrived, Oliver wasted no time gathering the other kids to share what had happened.


    ¡°You should¡¯ve seen him!¡± he told them, gesturing wildly. ¡°He beat them like it was nothing!¡±


    The kids¡¯ reactions varied. Some bombarded me with questions about how I did it, their curiosity shining brightly. Others simply stared at me in awe, unable to find the words. A few, however, narrowed their eyes, skeptical and doubting Oliver¡¯s tale.


    I didn¡¯t care much whether they believed it or not. In fact, I might have preferred if they didn¡¯t. The last thing I wanted was for this story to spread any further than it already had.


    As the evening settled in and the sky darkened, I returned home for dinner. Everything felt normal again, and for a while, I let myself enjoy the peace.


    But when night came, and I lay in bed staring at the flickering orange flame of the honey-wax candle, my thoughts began to creep in.


    Was that the right thing to do?


    The question gnawed at me, and no matter how I tried to dismiss it, my mind wouldn¡¯t let it go. I replayed the events over and over, the satisfaction of victory now tangled with uncertainty.


    The flame wavered, casting restless shadows on the walls, as my doubts grew stronger in the quiet of the night.

 A Symbol of Gratitude

    Months had passed since that encounter in the alley. Life in the neighborhood had returned to normal. I was no longer the main topic of conversation among the kids, and the bullies had disappeared as if swallowed by the earth. It was as if they¡¯d never existed.


    My training with Grandpa carried on, and I could feel myself growing stronger with each session. That day, we sparred in his backyard as usual. I held a short wooden sword, its surface polished smooth from constant use, while Grandpa wielded his trusty long wooden staff.


    The sparring was intense. Sweat trickled down my face as I darted around, trying to find an opening. Every time I thought I¡¯d outmaneuvered him, he would see through my attack at the last second, dodging with a smirk or deflecting with uncanny precision.


    ¡°You¡¯re getting faster,¡± he said with a proud grin, blocking another strike. ¡°But speed isn¡¯t enough without control, Arthur.¡±


    Even when I managed to surprise him a few times, it was clear that Grandpa¡ªGramps Sensei, as I liked to call him in my head¡ªwas on a whole different level.


    After the session, I headed to my parents'' grain field to help with the harvest. My little sister came along, toddling behind our mother. She was only three, and her curious eyes darted everywhere, especially at the insects flitting above the tall golden stalks.


    She laughed as a butterfly landed on her tiny hand, her wonder contagious. I couldn¡¯t help but smile. She was smart, maybe even smarter than me, and just as curious about the world.


    The day was peaceful, filled with the chirping of birds, the rustle of the wind through the fields, and the occasional calls of neighboring farmers. It all blended together into a kind of melody that accompanied our work.


    When evening fell, we returned home for dinner. Tonight, it was steak and potatoes, marinated with rosemary, garlic, and chilies¡ªGrandma¡¯s special recipe. By the time I finished eating, my stomach was full, and I was ready to collapse.


    In my room, I sat on the edge of my bed, letting my mind wander. I dreamed about my future¡ªbecoming an adventurer, climbing to the top as the world¡¯s strongest magician, and even having a dragon as a pet. I imagined soaring through the skies on its back, the wind whipping through my hair as the world stretched out below.


    But amid all those dreams, one thought lingered: I wouldn¡¯t have come this far without Grandpa. His training and guidance had shaped me. I wanted to show my gratitude, to give him something meaningful. But what could I possibly give him?


    An old book of forgotten spells? A new couch for his afternoon naps? Or maybe some glasses so he could actually read the signs in the marketplace?


    The more I thought about it, the more the ideas piled up, until I eventually drifted off to sleep, worn out from the day¡¯s work.


    The next morning, sunlight spilled through my window, warming my face as I stirred awake. I stretched and rubbed my eyes, glancing outside at the familiar view of the fields and the distant mountains.


    And then, it hit me¡ªa perfect idea for Grandpa¡¯s gift.


    I went to the kitchen where my mom was playing with my sister. My dad, on the other hand, was still fast asleep like a bear in hibernation. That lazy old man.


    I quickly prepared breakfast for myself and the rest of the family. The aroma of sizzling omelette and wild boar meat filled the kitchen. I ate my portion as fast as I could, savoring the hearty flavors but wasting no time. Afterward, I got dressed in a rush, brushing my teeth so quickly and efficiently that it felt like a personal record.


    ¡°Bye, Mom!¡± I shouted as I dashed out of the house, barely giving her time to respond.


    I knew exactly what I needed to do and what I would give Grandpa.


    He once told me a story, one that left an impression on me. He spoke of a wolf hunt, one he undertook when he was much younger. A child had been kidnapped by a wolf in a remote village, and Grandpa had been called upon to track the beast.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    His voice grew somber and nostalgic as he recounted the long, grueling chase through the wilderness. After hours of pursuit, he finally found the wolf and defeated it, rescuing the child. The relief and gratitude of the child¡¯s parents had been overwhelming. He spoke of their tears and praises with a mix of pride and humility, but there was a weight to his words¡ªa sadness that hinted at the toll of such hunts.


    It was a story that had stuck with me.


    And now, I had an idea for a gift worthy of him.


    I would hunt down a wolf, just as he had, and bring him its head as proof of what he had taught me. It would be a symbol of my strength and gratitude¡ªa way to show him that his lessons had not been in vain.


    After nearly an hour of walking, I finally saw the wild forest of Mirnia in the distance. Sunlight pierced through the canopy of tall green trees, creating shimmering patterns on the forest floor. Birds burst from the dense woods, their wings scattering leaves as they soared into the sky. My heart started racing¡ªfast and relentless, like a gryphon diving to catch its prey.


    Standing at the forest¡¯s edge, I paused. My mother¡¯s words from three years ago echoed sharply in my mind: ¡°I don¡¯t want him going too far from home during his training.¡± It was like her voice had come back to haunt me, turning my moment of courage into a nagging headache.


    For a minute, I debated going back, imagining her fiery anger if she found out where I¡¯d gone. But I was already here. Turning back now would be as disappointing as failing outright. I clenched my fists and took a deep breath.


    With my resolve renewed, I stepped into the forest. The dirt path ahead quickly began to vanish under the cover of dense trees. Shadows danced between the trunks, and the air grew heavier. I reminded myself why I was here.


    I began searching for wolf tracks, but it was harder than I¡¯d expected. These woods were famous for their wolves¡ªpeople whispered that they lurked behind every tree¡ªyet finding a sign of them felt impossible. Hours passed, and I knew my family must¡¯ve already sat down for lunch. That thought stung.


    Hunger gnawed at my stomach, but I wouldn¡¯t let that stop me. I pressed on, determined. Finally, near the entrance of a dark cave, I found something promising: a deer carcass. Its legs had been ripped apart by savage bites. This wasn¡¯t the work of scavengers; it was fresh¡ªdone less than an hour ago. Wolves.


    Excitement surged through me as I examined the scene more closely. Sure enough, tufts of wolf fur clung to the torn body. I knew they had to be nearby.


    It didn¡¯t take long to find them.


    A group of eight wolves lounged near a puddle in a small clearing, their dark shapes blending into the dim forest. I crouched behind a bush, watching them, and quickly formed a plan.


    I returned to the deer carcass and sliced off small pieces of meat, stuffing them into my pockets. These wolves might not be hungry anymore, but the scent could still pique their curiosity.


    Moving carefully behind the thick underbrush, I crept closer. My heart pounded in my chest, so loud it felt like the wolves might hear it. Finally, one wolf stood, sniffing the air cautiously. It was smaller than the others, with sleek black fur that gleamed in the fading sunlight.


    ¡°Perfect,¡± I whispered under my breath.


    I slowly began to lead the wolf away from the pack, trailing bits of meat as I moved further into the trees. Every few steps, I glanced back to make sure it was still following me. It was.


    After about a hundred meters, I climbed a low tree, positioning myself carefully on a sturdy branch. I clutched the pocket knife my mother had given me¡ªa gift she said I¡¯d need for "any situation."


    ¡°Come on,¡± I whispered, almost impatiently, as the wolf sniffed the ground below.


    This was it. My chance.


    I steadied my breathing, clenching the knife tighter. Don¡¯t think. Just act.


    ¡®This is for Grandpa,¡¯ I thought. ¡®I can¡¯t let him down.¡¯


    The wolf made its mistake, lowering its guard as it sniffed the trail of meat. That was my moment.


    I leapt from the branch, knife in hand, and struck. The blade cut deep into its throat. Blood spurted out as the wolf howled, a haunting, pitiful sound that echoed through the forest like a warning cry.


    Panic set in. I knew the others would hear the howl and come running. There wasn¡¯t much time.


    Working as fast as I could, I cut off the wolf¡¯s head, gripping it tightly by its thick fur. Blood dripped down my arm, but I didn¡¯t care. I had what I came for.


    I sprinted back toward the path, clutching the head as if my life depended on it. The shadows of the forest seemed to close in behind me, and every sound made my heart race.


    As I burst out of the woods, I noticed the sky beginning to change. The sun was setting, its orange rays streaking through the trees, casting a golden light over the fields beyond. My dark hair glimmered in the fading sunlight as I ran, breathless but triumphant.

 The Heart of a Warrior

    The momentary thrill of my victory began to fade as I made my way home. The sky deepened into a dark indigo, and the first stars emerged, faint yet steady. In the distance, the lights of Mirnia flickered to life, their soft glow cutting through the encroaching darkness.


    My chest tightened with anxiety. What had seemed like a bold adventure earlier now weighed heavily on my mind. My parents and grandparents were surely worried sick, and I hadn¡¯t even told them where I was going. Shame crept over me like a shadow, and I quickened my pace, hoping to ease their fears.


    As I neared the edge of town, I spotted a familiar figure wandering the dim path. It was my grandpa, his weathered face etched with worry as he scanned the darkness. He carried a lantern that swung gently in his hand, casting flickering light across the road. The sight of him searching for me tugged at my heart.


    ¡°Grandpa!¡± I called out softly, guilt lacing my voice.


    His head snapped toward me, and as the town''s glow illuminated my figure, relief washed over his features. He hurried toward me, his pace brisk but unsteady, his concern evident in every step.


    ¡°Where have you been all day?¡± he demanded, his voice firm but laced with worry. ¡°Your parents, your grandma, and I were out of our minds with worry! You should¡¯ve told someone before going off like that.¡± He exhaled sharply, his words coming quicker. ¡°Your mother was ready to strangle me. Do you know how dangerous it is to be out in the woods at this hour? The monsters¡ªthis is the time they wake to hunt. You don¡¯t want to end up as prey, do you? And¡­¡± His gaze fell to my hands. ¡°What is that?¡±


    I hesitated, then held up the wolf¡¯s severed head, its lifeless eyes now a dull gray. Blood still dripped from its fur, staining my hands and tunic. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Grandpa,¡± I said, my voice cracking slightly. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to worry anyone. I just¡­¡± I swallowed hard, choosing my words carefully. ¡°I wanted to thank you. For everything. For training me, for teaching me how to fight, for believing in me. I wanted to prove to you how strong I¡¯ve become because of you.¡±


    His expression shifted from confusion to a mix of pride and exasperation as I continued. ¡°I remembered the story you told me about the child who was taken by a wolf, and¡­ I thought I¡¯d bring you this. To show you what I¡¯ve learned. To thank you.¡± I held out the wolf¡¯s head. ¡°This is for you.¡±


    Grandpa stared at me, his eyes glinting in the lantern¡¯s light. He shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. ¡°You didn¡¯t need to kill a wolf to prove yourself to me. I already know you¡¯re strong.¡± His voice softened. ¡°You¡¯re my grandson, after all.¡±


    Tears welled in my eyes, and I broke into a run, throwing myself toward him in an attempt to hug him. But just as my arms reached out, a sharp rustling sound came from the bushes behind us.


    Grandpa froze, his lantern swinging as he turned toward the noise. My heart skipped a beat. Something¡ªor someone¡ªwas there.


    As I turned my head toward the bushes, I caught the gleam of light reflecting off two enormous, glowing yellow eyes staring at us. My breath hitched. Before I could react, the creature emerged, muscles tensed and claws ready¡ªit was prepared to attack.


    The beast lunged straight at me, its claws slicing through the air. I froze, the moment stretching into an eternity, but just before it could reach me, my grandpa moved. He used a spell¡ªsomething like Phantom Step, but far more advanced. In a blur of motion, he grabbed me and pulled me to safety, narrowly avoiding the beast¡¯s strike. While the wolf''s head flew clean off, severed in the chaos.


    As he let go of me, we both turned to face the monster, dread settling like a weight in the pit of my stomach. It was a warg¡ªa colossal wolf-like creature with razor-sharp claws, a mouth bristling with jagged teeth, and eyes that burned with ferocity. Such monsters were only known to roam the Whispering Highlands.


    ¡°A beast like that shouldn¡¯t be here,¡± Grandpa said, his voice sharp with both worry and urgency. His eyes never left the warg. ¡°Arthur, go home. Now! Find your father and tell him to call for reinforcements from the Adventurers¡¯ Guild. I¡¯ll hold it off while you run!¡±


    I tried to move¡ªtried to obey¡ªbut my feet felt rooted to the ground. My heart raced as the thought of leaving Grandpa alone gnawed at me, flooding me with doubt and fear. He was strong, but he wasn¡¯t in his prime anymore, and the Guild was still five kilometers away. Reinforcements wouldn¡¯t come in time.


    I clenched my fists. How could I leave him? My thoughts spiraled into chaos. How can I possibly help him? I¡¯m no match for a beast like this. I¡¯d only get in the way. My eyes darted to the warg, its attention fixed solely on Grandpa, and a new wave of fear surged through me.


    ¡°Come on, Arthur! It¡¯s not the time to space out!¡± Grandpa shouted, his voice breaking through my turmoil. ¡°You need to move¡ªnow! Don¡¯t worry about me, just run!¡±


    ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m so-rry, Grandpa¡­ I just can¡¯t leave you alone here,¡± I stammered, my voice trembling.


    Grandpa¡¯s gaze softened for the briefest moment. ¡°I know you¡¯re afraid, Arthur, but you have to trust me. I won¡¯t go down so easily!¡±


    The warg snarled and charged at Grandpa, its massive frame a blur of dark fur and fury. In response, Grandpa conjured a whirlwind of flames, the fire wrapping around him like a blazing tornado. The warg struck over and over, each blow deflected by barriers of shimmering light or shields of flickering flame. Sparks flew, illuminating the grim scene as Grandpa stood his ground.


    But I could see it¡ªthe slight steps backward, the sweat on his brow. He was holding the beast off, but the relentless onslaught was wearing him down. And still, I stood there, paralyzed by the battle raging not just before me, but within me.


    What should I do? I thought. Should I act? Should I stay? Will Grandpa lose if I don¡¯t help? What if he gets hurt¡ªor worse? What if¡­ I die?If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    The questions clawed at me as fiercely as the warg clawed at Grandpa¡¯s magic shields. My mind became a battlefield, fear warring with the small flicker of courage buried deep inside me.


    Then I noticed something¡ªthe warg wasn¡¯t even looking at me. Its predatory gaze never left Grandpa, as though I wasn¡¯t even worth its attention. Just like the bullies, I thought bitterly.


    A memory flickered to life¡ªthe day I fought back against those older boys who had underestimated me. The same fear had gripped me then, but I had overcome it. I had shown them what I could do.


    My fear began to crumble, replaced by something new¡ªdetermination. This warg thinks I¡¯m no threat, I thought, my confidence stirring like a fire rekindled. But it¡¯s wrong.


    I clenched my fists, my pulse steadying. I beat those bullies. I can face this, too. I just need to show this monster not to underestimate me.


    As the flames reflected in my eyes, my resolve solidified. The fear was still there, lingering like a shadow, but now something stronger had taken its place¡ªmy will to fight.


    I stepped forward, charging a fireball in my hands. My grandpa noticed me out of the corner of his eye as he skillfully parried the warg¡¯s relentless attacks. With a swift motion, I hurled the fireball at the warg¡¯s head. It struck perfectly, flames erupting on impact. The warg snarled in rage, its eyes snapping toward me, now recognizing me as a threat.


    I began to move, circling the creature while keeping a cautious distance. My grandpa took the opportunity to attack as well, unleashing a barrage of spells: Firewave, Burning Meteor, and his most awe-inspiring ability¡ªGod¡¯s Strike. This devastating spell called forth a bolt of lightning from the heavens to smite its target with divine fury. The warg tried to evade with its lightning-fast reflexes, but the spells were too quick and precise.


    Frustrated and cornered, the warg unleashed one of its natural abilities. Unlike spells that required learning and mastery, this was an innate skill¡ªan inherited power unique to its species and refined over generations. It activated Shadow Hide, an ability that allowed it to meld with the shadows around it. The warg vanished into the darkness, its form dissolving into the shadows as if it were never there.


    Shadow Hide was an exceptionally dangerous skill. It didn¡¯t just conceal the warg; it let it travel within the shadows and emerge from any dark spot it chose. Worse still, it was nighttime¡ªshadows were everywhere, making the creature¡¯s next move unpredictable. My breath quickened as I scanned the darkness, knowing the warg could strike from anywhere.


    I glanced around frantically, panic tightening its grip on my chest. The fear that the warg might attack me from behind was overwhelming¡ªso intense it felt like my mind was spiraling into madness.


    In stark contrast, Grandpa stood calm as ever. He closed his eyes, his breathing steady. Was he meditating? Sensing the warg¡¯s mana? Or maybe he was simply sharpening his focus, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.


    Seconds stretched into eternity as we waited, every muscle in my body coiled with tension. Then it happened¡ªthe very thing I dreaded most. The warg burst from the shadows right behind me, its jaws wide open, aiming to maul me.


    Time seemed to freeze. I could feel death creeping toward me, it''s cold breath on my neck. For a moment, I was certain it was the end.


    But Grandpa wouldn¡¯t let that happen.


    In a flash, he threw himself between me and the beast. Just before its fangs could sink into my flesh, Grandpa shielded me with his own body.


    I spun around, my heart pounding in my ears. Relief surged through me when I realized I was unharmed¡ªbut that relief vanished as quickly as it came.


    Blood poured from Grandpa¡¯s right arm and chest where the warg¡¯s teeth had sunk deep. The sight of the crimson flow made my stomach churn, and tears welled up in my eyes. Guilt hit me like a tidal wave. This was my fault. He was hurt because I couldn¡¯t protect myself.


    But Grandpa wasn¡¯t one to falter. Even with blood soaking his clothes, he stood firm, locking eyes with the warg. His sheer willpower and strength made the beast hesitate, its movements faltering as tremors ran through its body.


    Grandpa wasted no time. Chanting a spell, he conjured a short black sword in his left hand. With a swift, precise motion, he slashed the blade across the warg¡¯s throat.


    The beast didn¡¯t even have a chance to react. Its body slumped to the ground, lifeless, its teeth still embedded in Grandpa¡¯s flesh.


    At that moment, I wanted to cheer¡ªbut I couldn¡¯t. Grandpa was gravely injured.


    He collapsed to the ground, his legs unable to support him any longer. I rushed to his side, kneeling down to check on him. Gently, I lifted his head onto my knees, hoping to offer him some comfort. His face was etched with pain, but when he saw the tears welling in my eyes, a faint light flickered in his expression.


    Blood poured from his arms and torso¡ªmore blood than I¡¯d ever seen in my life. It painted his clothes and the ground beneath him in deep crimson.


    He opened his mouth to speak but grimaced, struggling to form words. After several agonizing seconds, he finally whispered, ¡°Are you okay, Arthur?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I managed to reply, my voice breaking as tears streamed down my face.


    ¡°Good,¡± he said softly, pausing for a moment.


    ¡°Arthur¡­¡±


    I nodded, my throat tight, the taste of salty tears on my lips as they fell like waterfalls.


    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m proud of you,¡± he said, his voice trembling with pain yet laced with pride. ¡°I never thought¡­ you¡¯d become this strong. You fought like a true warrior, Arthur.¡±


    His words hit me harder than any blow could.


    ¡°Even if I will not be here anymore,¡± he continued, his voice weaker but still resolute, ¡°you need to keep training. Work hard to achieve what you want, no matter what. You don¡¯t need me anymore¡­ Arthur. You¡¯re stronger than me. Trust me.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± I cried, shaking my head as I wiped my tears on my sleeve. ¡°Please, don¡¯t leave me! How can I become the strongest mage without you?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need me, Arthur,¡± he said, his breathing shallow. ¡°You only need to believe in yourself. That¡¯s all it takes. True strength¡­ it comes from the heart of those willing to fight for it.¡±


    His words felt like a dagger to my chest. I couldn¡¯t stop the torrent of emotions¡ªfear, regret, despair¡ªall crashing over me. My body trembled uncontrollably, my heart pounding as fast as a galloping horse.


    Grandpa looked at me one last time. With the faintest smile and a hint of irony in his voice, he whispered, ¡°What a crazy day, huh, Arthur? Come on¡­ smile¡ª¡±


    He couldn¡¯t finish the sentence.


    His eyes went still, the light fading from them. His body grew cold and pale in my arms.


    That evening changed everything. My life turned upside down.


    I stayed there, clutching his hand, tears streaming endlessly. The silence of the dark sky was broken only by the flickering light of lanterns drawing closer, their glow piercing through the night.

 The Grave of a Hero, the Making of Another

    Now I¡¯m here, sitting in front of Grandpa¡¯s headstone, at the Mirnian cemetery. The rain falls steadily, and the thick gray clouds don¡¯t let a single ray of sunlight break through. Tears stream down my face as I think about the beautiful moments we shared, each memory like a fragment of sunlight in this gloomy storm.


    I still can¡¯t believe it¡¯s been two weeks since Grandpa passed away.


    Just a week ago, we held his funeral.


    My parents cried a lot in those first days and barely spoke. My little sister didn¡¯t really understand where Grandpa had gone or what had happened to him. It was like she couldn¡¯t accept it at first, but eventually, she cried too. She misses him, just like the rest of us. And Grandma¡­ she¡¯s been the hardest hit. She cried the most, and for days afterward, it was as if she had lost a part of herself. Her cooking, once so vibrant and filled with care, hasn¡¯t been the same. For a while, she barely spoke or interacted with anyone, as if a part of her had died with him. We¡¯re all struggling in our own way.


    About 50 people came to his funeral, a turnout none of us expected. Many were friends from Mirnia, but a few were old acquaintances of his¡ªmostly adventurers who had been in his party years ago.


    One man, in particular, stood out. He was slightly taller than Grandpa, with a similar sturdy build. He wore an old robe with a hood pulled low over his head, casting his face into shadow. There was something mysterious about him, like he didn¡¯t quite belong here¡ªor maybe it was just the way he lingered at the edge of the gathering, watching silently.


    Since the funeral, I come here every day, just to stare at Grandpa¡¯s headstone. Ever since he passed away, I haven¡¯t been able to train¡ªnot even once. Training without him feels like running a race with no finish line in sight. I just can¡¯t bring myself to do it. If he could see me now, he wouldn¡¯t be proud of me anymore.


    I¡¯m useless. I¡¯m nothing. Grandpa wouldn¡¯t be proud of me. He wouldn¡¯t even look at me. I¡¯m a disgrace¡ªa weakling who can¡¯t even push himself to train now that Grandpa¡¯s gone, I think, the words cutting deeper with every repetition.


    ¡°Why can¡¯t I just be braver? Or at least try harder?¡± I say aloud, my voice trembling as tears stream down my face, some slipping into my mouth and making it hard to speak.


    I stand up, wiping at my cheeks even though it¡¯s useless, and salute Grandpa¡¯s headstone. With a heavy heart and a face wet with tears, I leave the cemetery, walking past rows of other headstones, each one a silent monument to someone who was loved and lost.


    I¡¯m not the only one who¡¯s lost someone important, I remind myself, but the thought does little to ease the ache in my chest.


    I step out of the cemetery, heading in the direction of home, but I barely take three steps before realizing something is wrong. Three boys are standing under the shadow of a nearby building, their eyes fixed on me. They¡¯re older¡ªno doubt about that.


    One of them stands out the most. Unlike the others, he doesn¡¯t wear a hood. His long blonde-silver hair catches the faint light, and his piercing blue eyes seem to size me up from a distance. He¡¯s at least a head and a half taller than me, likely somewhere between 12 and 14 years old. The other two, though slightly younger than him, still look much older than I am.


    They start moving toward me in a menacing way, their intent clear in their slow, deliberate steps.


    Before I can react, others begin to emerge. From the corners of nearby alleys, behind crates, and even from behind me, older boys appear one by one. My stomach twists as I count them¡ªnine in total. I¡¯m surrounded.


    My heart races, each beat pounding louder in my ears. My palms grow clammy, and sweat drips down my forehead. My entire body trembles as fear courses through me. Yet, I force my face into a strained mix of anger and determination, hoping to look just a little intimidating.


    ¡°Who are you? What do you want?¡± I demand, though my voice betrays me, trembling with nervousness.


    The oldest says ¡°Who are we? Just some guys. What do we want? Revenge.¡± His voice drips with malice, his mischievous tone only amplifying the tension. ¡°Surely, you remember that time you embarrassed three of my friends, while defending a dirty elf.¡±


    They move closer, boxing me in completely, cutting off any chance of escape. From behind the leader, four boys I recognize step forward¡ªthe same ones I fought months ago in that alley. Now they¡¯re part of this mob, bringing the total to thirteen. Their eyes burn with disgust and anger, their faces twisted with hatred.


    ¡°Is he the one who beat you?¡± the oldest boy¡ªtheir leader¡ªasks the four, his voice sharp and mocking.


    They hesitate, glancing at each other in shame. The silence is heavy until the fattest one blurts out, ¡°Yes... it¡¯s him!¡± His tone is laced with humiliation and anger.


    The boss laughs, a cruel sound that echoes through the rain. ¡°You¡¯re pathetic! How did you lose to this weakling? Even my little brother could¡¯ve taken him down!¡±


    The four remain silent, their faces red with embarrassment, as the rest of the group bursts into loud, mocking laughter. The boss raises a hand, and the laughter stops immediately. The silence that follows is almost more unsettling than their taunts.


    ¡®Wow, he must be really strong for them to respect him so much,¡¯ I think, my eyes scanning their movements with caution. My body tenses, readying itself to fight or flee, though both options seem hopeless.


    The boss steps closer, his intense gaze locking onto mine. I stare back, refusing to show fear.


    With a sudden flick of his hand, he conjures a lace of light¡ªa spell that creates glowing bands of mana. The shimmering threads shoot toward me, wrapping tightly around my arms and torso before I can react. I fall to my knees with a groan of frustration, the muddy ground soaking into my trousers.


    ¡°You bastard! Set me free!¡± I snap, my voice trembling with both rage and desperation.


    ¡°Or what?¡± he retorts, his sarcastic tone paired with an evil smirk.


    I grit my teeth, staying silent as he strides forward, towering over me.


    ¡°I heard some things about you,¡± he continues, his tone shifting to one of mock curiosity. ¡°Your friend Oliver told me all about it.¡±Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    The mention of Oliver leaves me stunned. My mind races. ¡®Oliver?! Did he really talk about me to him? That can¡¯t be!¡¯


    The boss watches my reaction with satisfaction, then adds, ¡°He told me your grandpa died two weeks ago. Killed by a warg, wasn¡¯t it? But wasn¡¯t he an adventurer? How does a professional adventurer get taken down by a little wolf?¡±


    His words sting, and then he laughs¡ªa sharp, cruel sound. The others join in, their jeering faces twisted with mockery.


    My anger boils inside me, rising with every laugh. I glare at them from where I sit, my fists clenched, powerless but fuming. The muddy ground beneath me feels cold, but the heat of my rage is all I can focus on.


    I try to respond, but my mind is clouded with doubt and anger. Even if I did manage to speak, what good would it do? He¡¯s clearly stronger than me¡ªif he can cast such an advanced spell to trap me, I wouldn¡¯t stand a chance. My thoughts haven¡¯t been the same since Grandpa¡¯s death. I feel so pathetic.


    ¡°Your grandpa was no adventurer,¡± the leader sneers, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ¡°He was just some random farmer who happened to look like a famous mage.¡± His words are met with uproarious laughter from his lackeys.


    ¡°He was probably just as pathetic as you. But hey,¡± he continues with mockery etched across his face, ¡°at least now he can go adventuring on the other side. He can¡¯t die again, can he?¡± The laughter swells as he looks at me, his gaze full of malice and amusement.


    I keep staring at the mud beneath me. The anger and hatred burning inside me moments ago are draining away. All that¡¯s left is a deep sadness¡ªand shame. I¡¯m nothing but a coward, I think bitterly.


    ¡°He told me you wanted to be an adventurer too,¡± the leader taunts, his smirk cruel and condescending. ¡°But a loser like you, tainted with the blood of a weak farmer? You¡¯ll never make it. Never.¡± His words hit harder than any spell could, his sneering expression cutting deeper than a blade.


    How dare he insult my grandpa like that. My chest tightens as anger bubbles back to the surface. With a voice steadied by a sudden surge of pride and defiance, I say, ¡°What do you know about adventuring?!¡±


    His mocking grin falters, confusion flickering across his face. He¡¯s no longer amused¡ªno longer sure of his dominance. I see it in his eyes. He¡¯s wondering why I¡¯m standing up for myself, why I¡¯m not breaking under his words.


    ¡°What did you just say?!¡± he growls, his tone sharp and menacing. But to me, he no longer looks so threatening. He insulted my grandpa, the man who meant the world to me. I couldn¡¯t stay silent any longer.


    His lackeys stare at me, stunned. They don¡¯t see the weakling they mocked just seconds ago. Now, they see something else¡ªdetermination burning in my eyes, courage I didn¡¯t know I had.


    ¡°You¡¯re just an arrogant little boy,¡± I spit back at him, my voice unwavering. ¡°You¡¯ve only gotten this far because of your daddy¡¯s money.¡±


    My words hit him like a thunderclap, and I see the sting of them in his expression. For the first time, his confidence falters. His smirk twists into a scowl.


    ¡°Shut up!¡± he roars, his voice trembling with fury. He glares at me like a wild beast, unhinged and dangerous.


    He hurls a bolt of lightning at me with a frustrated scream. I try to dodge it, even though I¡¯m trapped, but it grazes my cheek, leaving a stinging wound.


    Before I can react, he charges at me, his anger boiling over. His foot connects with my forehead, sending a jolt of pain through my skull. I collapse onto my back, dazed and hurting.


    I try to scramble to my feet, but he grabs my shirt and slams my head into the muddy ground. He presses his filthy boot down on my head, pinning me in place. Mud clogs my nose and mouth; I can barely breathe.


    ¡°You little shit!¡± he snarls, his voice venomous. ¡°You¡¯re worth nothing! How dare you disrespect me?! I¡¯ll kill you and send you to your grandpa!¡±


    He pushes harder, forcing my face deeper into the mud. My lungs burn as I struggle for air, his words ringing in my ears. But even in the suffocating darkness, I feel something stir within me¡ªa spark that refuses to die.


    The leader continues to force my head into the mud, kicking me aggressively without a moment''s hesitation. His insults rain down as relentlessly as his blows.


    ¡°Die, you low-class filth! You worthless dog! Just eat mud¡ªthat¡¯s all you¡¯re good for! You blood-sucking maggot!¡± he snarls, his voice filled with hatred, his words cutting deeper than the physical pain.


    As I endure the beating, one of Grandpa¡¯s last words echoes in my mind: ¡®True strength... it comes from the heart of those willing to fight for it.¡¯


    A fire ignites within me, small but unyielding. I can¡¯t let this end here. I have to stand up. I have to fight. For my dreams. For my family. And most of all¡ªfor Grandpa!


    ¡°It¡¯s not like that!¡± I scream, my voice breaking through the sound of his jeering. ¡°My grandpa was no simple farmer! He was one of the strongest adventurers the western region has ever known!¡±


    The earth beneath us begins to tremble. Small pebbles leap into the air, and the wind grows wild and violent. Blue flames flicker to life, circling me and the leader. To me, they feel like the warm embrace of a mother cradling her newborn¡ªgentle, protective, and filled with purpose.


    The boys around us freeze, panic flashing in their eyes. Fear and confusion etch across their faces as they witness the unnatural phenomena. The leader falters, his barrage of insults halting as he stares at the flames, bewildered and unnerved.


    ¡°And I will become the strongest!¡± I roar, my voice echoing with unshakable determination. ¡°The strongest in the WORLD!¡±


    I rise to my feet, mana surging through me. The binding that held me fall away as though it was no more than a fragile thread. The boys gape at me in stunned silence, their leader among them.


    ¡°Shut u¡ª¡± the leader starts, but he can¡¯t even finish. A sudden burst of mana explodes from me, hurling him and his lackeys into the air like ragdolls. They crash to the ground¡ªor into the walls of nearby buildings¡ªlanding over twenty meters away.


    The chaos subsides as the trembling ground and swirling winds calm. My body steadies, and I take a shaky breath. I don¡¯t know how I did it¡ªor even if I did it¡ªbut one thing is clear: I¡¯m saved.


    I glance at the boys sprawled around, most of them unconscious or groaning in pain. Without sparing them another thought, I turn and run. I run as fast as my legs can carry me, ignoring the burning in my lungs.


    Mud clings to my face and clothes, drying and cracking like a second skin. A faint trickle of blood runs down my temple, warm and sticky against the cool evening air.


    The familiar streets of Mirnia blur as my head throbs with every step. The houses seem to grow impossibly tall, looming over me like giants. The once-narrow roads stretch endlessly, twisting into paths I can¡¯t recognize.


    I can¡¯t go any further. My body gives out, and I collapse onto the side of the street, gasping for air. My vision blurs, my head spinning from the blows I¡¯ve taken. Darkness begins to creep in at the edges of my sight, and my mind empties, leaving behind only a strange clarity.


    Just as I¡¯m about to lose consciousness, I hear steps and a figure appears before me. The fading light of dusk makes it hard to see clearly at first, but as the figure draws closer, I make out the shape of an old man.


    His white hair glows faintly in the dim light, and his dark eyes seem to hold a depth I can¡¯t comprehend. His milk-white skin and gentle expression remind me of Grandpa. He¡¯s about the same height, too.


    The old man looks down at me, curiosity and kindness in his gaze. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect to meet you here, Arthur,¡± he says, his voice calm and soothing.


    I stare at him, bewildered and trying to process his words.


    ¡°Your parents must be worried,¡± he continues, stretching out a hand toward me. ¡°Come on, Arthur. Let me take you home.¡±


    I hesitate for a moment, unsure of whether to trust him. But something in his presence feels safe¡ªcomforting. I take his hand, and he helps me to my feet.


    ¡°Nice to meet you, Arthur,¡± he says with a small smile, shaking my hand firmly. ¡°I knew your grandpa. I¡¯m sorry for what happened to him.¡±


    He pauses, a shadow of sorrow crossing his face before his smile returns. ¡°My name is Mercurius Athernal, but you can call me Mercur.¡±

 Broken, Not Defeated

    ¡°Bullies?¡± he asks in a curious tone.


    I stay silent for a few seconds before finally replying, ¡°Well¡­ yeah. They wanted to beat me out of revenge.¡±


    ¡°That explains the bruises and the dirty clothes. You need to be more careful about who you mess with. If you¡¯re dealing with someone stronger than you, don¡¯t hesitate to seek help. Even those who seem useless can be of assistance,¡± he says with a gentle but wise tone. Then, with a knowing smile, he adds, ¡°But I¡¯m guessing you were stronger than them, am I right?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say I¡¯m stronger than them, but I definitely have more will. I didn¡¯t want to die. And I couldn¡¯t let them insult grand¡ª¡± I cut myself off, unwilling to reveal everything.


    We turn onto the street where I live. Evening has already fallen, and the lights in my house are glowing warmly through the windows. Mercurius walks confidently toward the door, saying he¡¯d like to meet my parents.


    It¡¯s strange. I¡¯ve never trusted a stranger this much before. But there¡¯s something about him¡ªhis aura¡ªthat makes me feel at ease.


    Thankfully, I don¡¯t feel dizzy anymore, and my vision has cleared. My bruises and dirty clothes, however, are still obvious. I know my mother will be both worried and furious when she sees me like this.


    I follow behind Mercurius, ready to knock on the door. Inside, I can hear the muffled sounds of my parents chatting. Mercurius knocks first, and the door creaks open. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for my mother¡¯s inevitable interrogation.


    When my mother opens the door, her eyes land on Mercurius. She studies his face for a moment before her expression shifts in recognition. ¡°Wait¡­ Mercurius?¡± she asks, her voice laced with disbelief.


    ¡°Do I look that different? Did it really take you this long to recognize me, Leila?¡± Mercurius teases, laughing lightly.


    My mother laughs in return and replies with mock sarcasm, ¡°Yes.¡±


    Hearing her, my father steps up behind her. ¡°Who¡¯s at the door, honey?¡± he asks.


    He looks at Mercurius with the same puzzled expression my mother had, then his face lights up in realization. ¡°Mercurius? Is that you? Why are you here? And why are you dressed like that?¡±


    Now that I focus, I realize how elegantly Mercurius is dressed. His grey suit is impeccably tailored, matched with grey trousers and a beautiful hat adorned with golden ornaments. His leather shoes gleam as if freshly polished. He must be someone important, I think. A noble? A merchant? Or maybe even a renowned adventurer?


    My musings are interrupted when my mother¡¯s gaze shifts to me. Her eyes widen, taking in the bruises and dirt-streaked clothes.


    ¡°Arthur, what happened to you?!¡± she asks, her voice a mix of worry and anger.


    Before I can respond, Mercurius steps in smoothly, his tone tinged with sarcasm. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Leila. He just got into a little scuffle with some older kids.¡±


    I shoot Mercurius a confused look, silently wondering, Why did he have to say that?


    ¡°WHAT?!¡± my mother exclaims, her voice sharp with fury. ¡°Who did this to you? We¡¯re reporting them immediately! Tell me what they looked like,¡± she demands, her face flushed with anger.


    Mercurius tries to comfort my mother, saying things like, ¡°It¡¯s normal, Leila. I did things like this when I was his age. I bet your husband did too, right, Marvin?¡±


    My dad stammers, clearly nervous. ¡°Y-yeah, honey. Boys get into these kinds of things all the time.¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± my mother snaps at him, her voice sharp and frustrated.


    Then she turns back to me, her expression a mix of worry and exasperation. ¡°My God, Arthur!¡± she cries. ¡°Your clothes are soaked and covered in mud. Your face¡ªlook at all this dirt! And those bruises on your head?¡± Her voice trembles as she holds back tears.


    She wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug. I hug her back, trying to calm her down.


    ¡°I think we should go inside,¡± my father suggests, trying to ease the tension. ¡°It¡¯s getting dark. Come on, Mercurius. This is your second home, after all.¡±


    We head inside, my parents each placing a hand on my shoulder as they examine me for more bruises or injuries.


    In the living room, Mercurius takes a seat alongside my parents, while my younger sister, Reina, plays with her puppets on the carpet.


    ¡°What a beautiful little lady,¡± Mercurius says to Reina, his voice playful and warm.


    Reina looks up at him, her face lighting up with a shy but happy smile.


    Turning to my parents, Mercurius says with a somber tone, ¡°I heard what happened, and that¡¯s why I rushed from Elderfort to be here. My condolences to you¡ªfor Etheniol.¡±


    My parents nod quietly, their faces clouded with grief. ¡°Thank you,¡± my mother says softly.


    She sends me off to the bathroom to clean myself up.


    ¡°Still working as a teacher?¡± my father asks, breaking the silence.


    ¡°Not exactly,¡± Mercurius replies with a kind smile. ¡°I¡¯m too old to be a full-time teacher these days.¡±


    That explains his elegant attire. Teaching in a city like Elderfort must bring in a substantial income. Judging by his refined manners and poise, he¡¯s probably an exceptional teacher.


    In the bathroom, I begin washing off the dirt and blood from my face. As I rinse away the grime, I glance at my reflection in the mirror¡ªand notice something.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    The silver streaks in my hair have grown. They¡¯re no longer just at the tips; now, a larger section of my hair has turned silver.


    This started happening after Grandpa¡¯s death. I don¡¯t know why, but my parents don¡¯t seem particularly concerned about it. Maybe they¡¯ve simply come to accept it.


    After washing up and changing clothes, I noticed that most of my bruises and wounds were barely visible anymore. The only scar that would surely remain was the one on my cheek¡ªa bolt-shaped mark left by that rich bully. Strangely enough, I thought it looked cool. Tough, even.


    I walked into the living room and saw Mercurius and my dad deep in conversation. The rich aroma of my grandmother¡¯s cooking filled the air. I hadn¡¯t realized she was here. Judging by the smell of the food, Mercurius was likely staying for dinner.


    My mom and grandma brought the food to the table. The scent was mouthwatering¡ªa hearty meat broth with potatoes and carrots, followed by tender ossobuco that looked as soft as butter. It was the kind of dinner that warmed the soul. I caught Mercurius¡¯s expression; his mouth was already watering.


    We sat down and started eating.


    ¡°I¡¯m here not only to express my condolences,¡± Mercurius began, his voice commanding the room, ¡°but also to invite this young man to one of the finest magic academies the world has ever known¡ªElder Academy in Elderfort.¡±


    We all froze, stunned by his words. My mom turned to me, her face lighting up with a mix of joy and disbelief. My grandma mirrored her expression, while my dad, though happy, looked puzzled.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you need to take the entrance exam in June, when you¡¯re 13 or 14?¡± my dad asked.


    ¡°Well, technically, yes,¡± Mercurius replied with a mischievous smile. ¡°But I have... contacts. They¡¯ve helped me bypass that requirement. You know me, Marvin¡ªI like to take shortcuts when it benefits those I care about. And I believe this is the best path for Arthur. I already see his potential. He¡¯s going to be a great mage.¡±


    ¡°Thank you so much, Mercurius,¡± I said, my voice filled with gratitude.


    ¡°It¡¯s my pleasure, young man,¡± he said with a warm, wise expression. ¡°But remember, strength alone isn¡¯t enough. You must continue to train diligently.¡±


    ¡°Of course!¡± I exclaimed, my voice brimming with excitement. My eyes burned with determination as I clenched my right fist.


    My father stood up suddenly, placing both hands firmly on the table. ¡°Well then, this calls for a celebration!¡± he declared. He walked to the special cabinet in the kitchen, retrieving an old bottle of wine he only brought out on special occasions. With a flourish, he placed it on the table, his expression festive and full of pride.


    That evening, we dined, drank, and celebrated. Laughter and chatter filled the room, and for the first time in what felt like ages, everything seemed right.


    By the time the night wound down, it was late, and I could barely keep my eyes open. Mercurius would be sleeping on the couch in the living room.


    I slipped under my bed sheets, the warmth lulling me into a peaceful state. My mind wandered, imagining my life at Elder Academy¡ªlearning magic, making friends, dueling other students, battling monsters, and maybe... just maybe... finding love.


    Before I knew it, sleep claimed me, and my dreams carried me into the adventures ahead.


    A loud sound jolts me awake from my much-needed and well-earned sleep. I get up and look out the window. Outside, I see Mercurius practicing magic behind our house. He¡¯s launching spells at a mannequin with remarkable precision.


    I watch in awe as he unleashes advanced spells: Fire Arrow, Invisible Cut, Total Freezing, and Paralyzing Shock. Each spell is executed flawlessly. Suddenly, he conjures a sword, just like my grandfather used to. Unlike my grandfather¡¯s weapon, though, this sword is longer and radiates a bright yellow light. With a single slash, Mercurius obliterates the mannequin, scattering its pieces across the ground.


    Without even turning around, he calls out, ¡°Impressive, isn¡¯t it, Arthur?¡± His voice is steady but slightly breathless.


    ¡®How did he notice me?¡¯ I wonder, quickly opening the window.


    ¡°Hey, Arthur,¡± he says with a grin. ¡°Want to spar with me?¡±


    My eyes light up with excitement. ¡°It would be an honor!¡±


    I dress as quickly as I can, practically vibrating with anticipation. Without even greeting my family, I dash outside.


    I stand before him, determined, my face fearless.


    Mercurius tosses me a wooden sword. ¡°Here, use this,¡± he says casually.


    I catch the sword, holding it steady as I get into a fighting stance. ¡°What about you? Which sword are you going to use?¡± I ask, curious.


    ¡°None,¡± he replies, his tone serious yet playful.


    ¡°None?¡± I echo, confused.


    ¡°You¡¯re only nine years old,¡± he explains. ¡°Even if you¡¯re strong for your age and trained by Etheniol, you¡¯re no match for me.¡± His confidence is palpable.


    ¡®He¡¯s underestimating me,¡¯ I think. ¡®He assumes I¡¯m weak because he knows I was injured after my last fight, against some bullies slightly older than me.¡¯


    I smirk. ¡°Alright, but don¡¯t be mad if I injure you,¡± I say. Without hesitation, I activate The Phantom Step, covering 15 meters in an instant.


    I¡¯m now directly in front of him, within striking range. I slash my sword toward his stomach, but before I can land a hit, his body dissolves into mist. He¡¯s gone.


    I stare in astonishment at the dissipating fog where he had stood. Frantically, I look around for him. ¡®He really is one of the strongest mages in the western region,¡¯ I think. ¡®Using teleportation spells is something only elite mages can do.¡¯


    Suddenly, he appears behind me. I notice just in time and attempt another slash, but again, he transforms into fog and teleports away.


    This game of cat and mouse continues for half a minute. Finally, he stops teleporting and begins blocking my attacks instead.


    I can see it in his face¡ªhe¡¯s impressed. ¡°Not bad, young man,¡± he says, his tone proud and surprised.


    I step back, smiling confidently. Without warning, I conjure a medium-sized Fireball and hurl it directly at him.


    He easily blocks it with a protective spell, smirking as though he¡¯s won. But what he doesn¡¯t realize is that while he was focused on the Fireball, I used The Phantom Step again, covering a distance I¡¯ve never reached before. I reappear several meters behind him and immediately conjure Ice Thorns from the ground beneath his feet.


    Mercurius reacts quickly, leaping away just in time. ¡°That was close,¡± he says, clearly satisfied with the challenge.


    He chuckles and adds, ¡°I think that¡¯s enough for today.¡±


    Looking up at the sky, he checks his silver wristwatch and sighs. ¡°I should get going, Arthur.¡±


    ¡°What?! Already? You¡¯ve only been here for a day,¡± I protest, disappointment evident in my voice.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, young man,¡± he says with a hint of regret. ¡°But it takes me over two months to travel from Mirnia to Elderfort. I need to start the journey now.¡±


    I frown, but then his face brightens. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll be back to pick you up in four years. In the meantime, keep training like you always have. That¡¯s what your grandfather would have wanted for you.¡±


    He places a hand on my shoulder, his gaze firm and reassuring. I nod, filled with determination.


    We walk back inside the house together. My dad is sitting on the couch, my mom is playing with my sister, and my grandmother has come over from her house.


    Mercurius grabs his jacket and bids us farewell. We all say goodbye as he walks out the door.


    My mother wraps her arms around me, her eyes wet with emotion. ¡°I¡¯m so proud of you,¡± she says softly, pausing to wipe her tears. ¡°Now you know what you have to do.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I reply firmly, my voice filled with resolve.


    As my parents head back inside, I stand at the doorway, watching Mercurius¡¯s figure grow smaller and smaller until he disappears over the horizon.


    Now is the time to give it my all for the next four years. Even though Grandpa isn¡¯t here anymore, his love and legacy will continue to guide and protect me.