As the morning sun arched across the sky, marking the fields and cobblestone roads with an array of colors. That suggested that the day was not just an ordinary day. Kahel is sitting on the roof of his home. Paused to let the scenery marinate in time. He could feel the promise in the air and couldn't help the grin tugging at the corner of his lips. Hopping off the roof, he thinks to himself. This day would be different. He sprinted down the hill, the familiar thud of his worn boots pounding the dirt path. Today wasn't just any day—today, he and Elion were heading to the old ruins, a place they'd whispered about for months.

"Kahel! Why are you late every single time?" Elion's voice broke through the stillness, laughter in his tone. He stood by the edge of the village, arms folded across his chest, the teasing grin never far from his face. Kahel slowed as he approached, breathless but already smiling. Elion was older by a year and at least a head taller, with that easy confidence Kahel admired—and maybe envied a little. It wasn't that Elion was fearless; it was that he made it seem so natural, like no challenge could rattle him.

"Only because I'm already picturing just how I'll beat you today!" Kahel shot back, panting as he finally managed to catch up. "Now, are you ready?"

Elion smirked, eyes agleam with playful mischief. "Oh really? Last one to the ruins carries the other's sword for a week."

Kahel's competitive streak flared. "You're on!"

Without another word, they took off running, the silence of the night shattered as they laughed while racing closer to the woods.

The world around them was virgin, and the trees, swaying gently in the morning breeze, were uninformed about their urgency. The village was all about simply living: training under the sun, playing with friends, and therefore dreaming of a future with milestones of adventure. Kahel felt untouchable in moments like these, when the possibilities ahead seemed endless and Elion was right beside him, as always.

At last, when they arrived at the ruins, Kahel collapsed onto the grass, chest heaving but grinning wide. Indeed, Elion had won.

"You really need to work on your stamina," Elion said breathlessly, tugging out his wooden practice sword and gave it a lazy twirl. "How are you planning on keeping up when we're real warriors?"

Kahel snorted, his eyes rolling as he caught his breath. One day, I'll outrun you. Just wait. Before them stretched a ruin: a collage of ancient stones, overgrown with ivy vines and moss, weathered by time but still housing whispers of tales long past. To Kahel, the place lived, steeped in mystery, a secret waiting to be unravelled. To Elion, it was yet another test-a spot to try their skills-a playground for youthful energy.

"Let's spar," Elion said, flipping Kahel his wooden sword. "You have been improving, but let's just see if you can get a hit this time."

Kahel flashed a grin, the competitor within him alive once more. "You're going down."

For the next hour, echoing through the clearing was the clashing of wood and bursts of hilarity. Elion was moving almost effortlessly with every strike quick and precise.

Still, Kahel persisted. His eyes met Elion's movements; he learned swiftly-though he could hardly keep pace with his friend's unbelievable speed-and there was something within the manner Elion fought, a natural flair, almost as if born to it. Other than proficiency, it was deeper, almost magical.

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When the sun began to disappear behind the trees, they fell onto the grass, looking up at the darkening sky.

"One day, we will be strong enough to defend the village," Kahel said in a low tone, a glimmer of hope elevating his voice.

Elion chuckled this time, a tease-free event. "We are already strong, Kahel. You just have to trust yourself more.

He let the thought settle, the image forming in his mind of the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder, defending their home from whatever dangers the future might bring. For now, the world seemed full of promise.

But with swords slung over their shoulders and heads held high as they began their walk back to the village, calm cut short as in the distance, low and heavy, far too close was the sound of thunder.

Did you hear that?" Kahel asked, freezing mid-step.

Elion's face clouded over. "Yeah. that's not good. They quickened their pace, hastening back toward the village. The closer they got, the more that serene evening was shredded by visions of dancing flames and the cacophony of desperate shouts. Their village, peaceful just that morning, was under attack. "Kahel, stay close!" Elion shouted, the playfulness gone and replaced by urgency Kahel had never heard from him before. Kahel's heart raged in his chest. It wasn't a game.

They ran toward the mayhem, clutching their wooden swords as if they were real weapons, but the weight of the moment made them like toys in their hands. When they reached the village square, the scene before them was a nightmare: Dark figures, twisted and unnatural, moved through the smoke, tearing through everything in their path-the Durkari.

Kahel froze, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. But Elion did not hesitate. He grabbed Kahel's arm, pulling him ahead. "We have to help!" They waded into the fray, and in very little time it became clear just how outmatched they were. Elion fought as he always did-fluid, his strikes sharp and sure-but there was no laughter now.

Every movement carried weight. Kahel swung his sword at anything that came close to him, fear clouding his head and weighing him down. He was not ready for this-neither of them was.

In the turmoil of it all, one of the Durkari cast its eyes in their direction, and Kahel was shocked: this was no ordinary creature but something large and monstrous with eyes glowing of a light of its own, and its claws shone bright in the light from the piece on fire. Elion stepped in front of Kahel and raised his sword.

"Get back!" Elion shouted.

It lunged before Kahel could even react. Elion moved faster than any man, yet it was not fast enough. A swiping claw cut through the air and sent him down in that one vicious motion.

In that instant, Kahel's world unraveled. Everything appeared to crawl, the sounds of the battle growing dim while he knelt beside his friend as if in a dream, Elion's blood staining the ground beneath.

"Elion... no..." Kahel whispered, shaking.

Elion hacked, his breath catching. He reached out, clutching Kahel's hand.

In an instant, he was staring down at a little girl with his hands clamped on a wound, blood oozing between his fingers. He was not inside his own body. The girl—Lira. Her name swam to the surface of his mind, and Kahel reeled from how he knew that. Lira's breathing was short, her skin white as she stared up at him, eyes wide with terror.

"Elion... I'm sorry," she whispered.

"No. You'll be fine," he lied, knowing better. Minutes later, she lay unmoving, her eyes closed to the world forever.

Everything around him vanished. He had failed her, he had not been able to save her. The pain of it was overwhelming; he shoved it deep inside and vowed never again will he let someone he cared about to die in-front of him again.

Kahel jerked back as he realized that he was living Elion's memory. More and more tumbled in, one after another. Even the use of his skill by Elion seemed to have found their mark in Kahel's mind—an eternity compressed in the span of a single blink.

With a wave of emotion he snapped back to reality.

Still clutching Elion, Kahel shook his head, tears streaming down. "I.. I'am sorry"

But as Elion's hand slackened, some strange tide of energy was fed into Kahel and the air around him seemed to hiss with power. A strange unnatural ability passed down from his partner—the swiftness that always pleasantly surprised Kahel—increasing in Kahel a sense of strength and hollowness he had never felt before.

The Durkari loomed over them, but something was different inside Kahel now. Fueled on his grief and his newfound power, he rose to his feet, his eyes fixed with cold determination on the creature. He was quicker now, instinctive—he struck the creature to the ground where it had stood, before a second blow could fall.

But this victory was hollow. The price was too high.