The story begins many years ago in Joe’s village. Unlike the usual days when the villagers were busy talking, walking, and going about their tasks, today was eerily quiet. Every house had its windows shut tight.

In Gostave’s house, Joe sat crying in his room, dirt smudged on him as if he'd been playing earlier before his tears came. Outside, his mother wept too, sitting on the doorstep, her eyes red and swollen from crying so much that she looked ready to collapse. Jeffrey, standing before her, kept his gaze fixed on the ground, afraid to meet her eyes.

In a heavy voice, Jeffrey said, "The kingdom of Arguand has declared war on us. I have to go."

Beatrice, gathering her strength, slowly stood up. Jeffrey tried to help her, but she waved him off. Determined, she went to the bath, splashed a bucket of water over her face, and without a word, headed to the small kitchen to cook with whatever meager ingredients she had left.

Jeffrey knew his wife well. Beatrice had always been a strong woman, having endured hardship, the loss of her mother, and surviving on her father’s limited means. Her father had treated Jeffrey like a son. And while Jeffrey admired Beatrice’s strength, he had never seen her this way before.

With a heavy heart, he went to Joe’s room. Dirt was scattered across the floor, a reminder of when Joe had run inside, crying, after hearing Jeffrey’s grim news.

He opened the door and saw the window slightly open, but Joe was gone. Sighing, he muttered, “I hope he understands.”

The next morning, the sound of carriages filled the village, the rattle of wooden wheels and the rhythmic clopping of horses breaking the silence. The villagers, who had spent a sleepless night, were now stirring. Each family sat together, exchanging last words with the men before parting ways.

Accompanied by Beatrice, Jeffrey stepped out of their home, carrying clothes and provisions, his face solemn with the weight of his departure. He paused and turned back, extending his arms toward Beatrice. She smiled and embraced him tightly. “Stay alive, Jeffrey,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Even if you lose a hand, a leg, or even a nose—just come back alive.”

Jeffrey smiled warmly. “It’s good to hear your voice again.”

Stepping back, Beatrice urged, “Come back to me. Let’s be together again.”

With a soft smile, Jeffrey promised, “I will. No matter what, we’ll be together again.”

Suddenly, Joe burst through the gate, running toward them. “Father!” he shouted.

Jeffrey turned just in time to catch Joe as he jumped into his arms. Tearfully, Joe clung to him, saying, “I love you, Dad. Please be safe. If you’re scared, just run.”

A tear slipped down Jeffrey’s cheek as he replied, “I will, son.”

Soon after, Jeffrey and his friend Edmund boarded the carriage with a dozen of their fellow miners. They laughed together, trying to push away their fear, offering encouragement to their families. The young men and boys climbed aboard, leaving behind the women, children, and the elderly, who could not fight.

Tears flowed as the families said their goodbyes, but the men smiled and waved, trying to lift everyone’s spirits, knowing these moments might be their last. They made the most of the time they had left, holding onto every second.

As the knights surveyed the village, their attention turned to a lone figure emerging from a house slightly set apart from the others. It was Kaelen, the village’s herbalist—a dark elf known for his brooding demeanour and reclusive nature. His face bore the usual expression of anger, a trait seemingly etched into his kind. Without a word, Kaelen glanced disdainfully at the departing carriages, knights, and miners, before striding purposefully toward the village gate.

One of the knights turned to his captain and asked, "Sir, shouldn’t we consider taking him along? He looks young enough."

The captain shook his head and replied, "Elves, ghouls, and dwarves born here are bound to fight for the kingdom. But those who’ve only lived here, even for centuries, aren’t obligated. Of course, volunteers are always welcome."

As Kaelen, the dark elf, approached the gate, Edmund called out, "Kaelen! Keep our village safe while we’re at war! And don’t forget to feed my horse! Hahahaha!"

Laughter spread through the crowd, cutting through the sombre mood. Jeffrey joined in with a grin, shouting, "And don’t slack off in the mines, Kaelen! Maybe you’ll strike gold, you lucky goat!"

More laughter followed, but Kaelen remained unfazed. His expression soured as he shot an annoyed glance at the group, then continued on his way, heading off to gather herbs.

The knights then turned to the gathered families and, in unison, said, "Thank you for your cooperation! Together, we will be victorious!"

This gesture was part of an ancient tradition in the Renolva kingdom. When war threatened, unity was emphasized, and the knights’ gratitude toward the families symbolized that bond. The families were the backbone of the kingdom’s strength, representing its future. It was ironic, though, how the struggles of the common folk were often ignored until war called for their sacrifice. Their poverty and hardships went unnoticed, except for moments like this when kingdoms offered fleeting words of thanks as they sent their loved ones to fight.

The families nodded in response as the carriages began to roll forward. Jeffrey and the other miners exchanged a quiet glance with Urien, the village’s guardian. Their eyes conveyed respect and understanding. Urien nodded back, saying, "I’ll protect them. You have my word, friends."

With the departure of the men, life in the village gradually returned to its routine. Though sadness and fear lingered in the hearts of those left behind, they pushed forward with their daily tasks. The kingdom provided a small stipend to each family every two months for sending a member to fight. The amount was modest, but Beatrice reassured her friend Lyra, saying, "It’s better than nothing. We’ve survived worse; we’ll survive this."

Then Safle, Beatrice’s neighbour, cut in with a sharp tone, “And the cowardly noble of this region? He fled with his family to avoid the fighting!”

Beatrice nodded in agreement as Lyra added, “They never cared about us anyway. The Goldenleafbrook family was nothing but a group of pompous nobles, clinging to a barely legitimate title!”

Beatrice chuckled. “Well, at least they’re gone. That’s one good thing.”

Safle sneered, her expression like a cat ready to pounce. “But just wait, another rich family will come to replace them. We’ll never be as prosperous as other villages. Look at the Blackthorn region next door! We used to mock them for being near the demon kingdom, making jokes about devils trading there. And now? Their biggest city, Daekrahm, is flourishing—even though they’re right next to the ghoul kingdom!”

Beatrice placed a comforting hand on Safle’s back, trying to soothe her frustration. Lyra grinned and said, “Safle, you always know how to stir things up, and I’ll never get tired of it!”

Safle, still fuming, sighed dramatically. “Beatrice, could you get me some water? I’m about to faint.”

Beatrice headed inside to fetch it, while Lyra stayed by Safle’s side, helping her calm down.

Meanwhile, in the blacksmith’s workshop, Joe stood beside the elderly craftsman, Cox, who was wiping his hands clean, preparing to pick up the tools he hadn’t used in years. His son, Tyka, had taken over the blacksmithing, but now Tyka had joined Jeffrey and the others on their journey to the front lines.

With a reassuring smile, Cox said, “I can still manage. It’s only been a few years—I haven’t forgotten the trade.”

Joe nodded enthusiastically, eager to help. “I’ll assist however I can.”

Cox nodded firmly, gripping the iron hammer. He closed his eyes and swung the hammer in slow, rhythmic strokes, as though shaping a sword. “I need to reconnect with every tool,” he said. “And you, Joe, will help me with this.”

Joe nodded, ready to contribute. Cox explained, “You’ll fetch the tools as I call for them. We’ll start slow, get a feel for it, and once we’re in sync, we’ll pick up speed. It’s a craft that takes time. It might take months, but I believe we’ll make a strong team. What do you say?”

Joe grinned. “I’m ready!”

With a determined nod, Joe and Cox set to work, familiarizing themselves with each tool, the elder blacksmith guiding his eager apprentice as they learned the craft together.

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Meanwhile, within the abandoned Goldenleafbrook castle, which the family had fled at the outbreak of war, Zok the Third, the patriarch, was in a fury, his voice echoing through the empty halls. "Why have we come back? Do you want us captured?"

Zafa, his son, remained calm, his smile unshaken. "No, Father, but no one expects us to return. That’s exactly why we’re here. They’ll assume we’re long gone."

Zok’s anger softened slightly as he eyed his son. "And what’s your plan? Surely, you wouldn’t risk this without a reason."

Zafa’s grin widened. "While the kingdom’s attention is fixed on the north, fighting Arguand, they’ve forgotten about this region. They stripped this castle bare when we fled, planning to place a new noble here. But they won’t get the chance if we seize what’s left and disappear—with every ounce of wealth and gold we can find."

Zok still looked sceptical. "We took most of the valuables when we left, and the knights claimed what was left behind. What’s worth coming back for, risking capture?"

Zafa’s eyes gleamed as he leaned in. "Remember the iron cave near Goven village?"

Zok’s brows furrowed in thought. "Yeah, a small place, but it brought in steady profits. What about it?"

Zafa’s smile grew wicked. "They’ve discovered diamonds in it. Not a fortune, but enough to buy us that second island, Father."

Zok’s eyes gleamed with greed as understanding dawned. "And your plan?"

Zafa’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone. "Bandits, Father. Lots of them. Let Renolva burn for all I care."

Zok’s scowl turned into a calculating nod. "Not yet. We wait until the war fully erupts. Then we make our move and slip away with the bandits. But trust them? Never."

Three months later, Cox, now fully settled back into his role as a blacksmith, began teaching Joe the art of swordcraft. With a plentiful supply of iron ore from the nearby mine, they embarked on the detailed process of forging a sword. First, they heated the furnace until the metal glowed like molten lava. Swiftly and precisely, Cox poured the liquid metal into a sword-shaped mould, letting it cool and harden into the weapon’s core.

In the days that followed, Cox and Joe worked tirelessly to shape the sword. With each swing of the hammer, they honed its edges, sharpening it to a fine, lethal point. Cox’s hands were steady and strong, guiding Joe with each step.

Afterwards, Cox held a small scroll and unfurled it, softly uttering, "Möhür."

A faint inscription materialized on the blade, marking Cox’s signature—proof of his craftsmanship. Both Joe and Cox took a step back, cloaked in dust and fatigue, and admired their creation. Though their hands were sore and bodies weary, a deep sense of satisfaction filled them. This sword was just the first of many, and despite the long hours ahead, they found joy in what they had accomplished.

Joe glanced at Cox, curious. "Is that the scroll you mentioned?"

Cox nodded. "Yes, it’s enchanted, just enough to etch my signature onto the blade. Now it’s official—Cox the blacksmith is back!"

Joe clapped his hands together in excitement, but winced, noticing the numerous cuts and abrasions on his fingers. Dust clung to his skin, and only now did the aches and pains of hard work catch up to him.

Cox noticed and gave a small smile. "Take an hour’s rest. Then we’ll get back to work. Go see your mother, Joe."

Joe nodded, ready to dash off when Cox stopped him again. "Joe, thank you. My grandchildren are either too young or too lazy to help me. But you’ve been my companion these past three months. I couldn’t have done it without you."

Joe gave a humble bow before sprinting toward his house. On his way, he passed Kaelen, the dark elf, walking silently as usual. At first, Joe intended to keep running, but something made him stop. He greeted Kaelen with a bright, "Good day, Kaelen!"

Kaelen gave him a sharp glance, his usual annoyed expression firmly in place, before continuing his silent stride, paying Joe no further attention. Undeterred, Joe smiled and resumed his run home.

At the herbalist’s shop, Lyra, sitting in Kaelen's workspace, coughed harshly, her voice strained. "I feel like (cough) my throat’s on fire!"

Kaelen remained silent, scanning the shelves filled with bottles of various shapes and colours, each neatly labelled. After a moment, he selected one from a shelf marked with yellow hues, uncorked it, and sniffed its contents. "Drink this," he instructed. "It might take a day or two, but it should soothe your throat."

Lyra gratefully took the bottle in her left hand. As Kaelen watched, he noticed five silver coins clutched in her other hand. With a furrowed brow, he asked, "Didn’t the knights send you money? They usually send four gold coins, but you’re holding silver."

With a smile, Lyra replied, "They haven't sent anything to me yet, nor to Beatrice or several other families. I suspect the knights might have taken it for themselves, or maybe the kingdom is struggling financially because of the war."

Kaelen nodded, leaning back in his chair. He waved her off dismissively. "You can go. Pay me later," he said.

Lyra hesitated, standing awkwardly. "I do have money," she offered, her voice uncertain. "I can pay you now, and I’m sure they’ll send the money soon. Maybe tomorrow or the day after. But I’m fine waiting."

Kaelen looked at her sternly and replied, "They’ll never send the money."

Lyra blinked, taken aback. She was about to speak, but Kaelen continued. "The kingdom's already struggling, and it’s just the beginning of the war. They can’t afford to send anything. You have a child to take care of—better keep your money until your husband comes back with spoils from the war. He can settle the debt then."

A shadow of sadness crossed Lyra’s face. Her thoughts drifted to her husband, Edmund, and their daughter, Ebe. With a heavy heart, she turned to leave, but Kaelen stopped her with a serious tone.

"We’re all part of Goven village, whether we like it or not," he said. "We know each other too well, and in times like these, we help one another. I’ve been here for 150 years, back when this village was just two houses. I may not care for most of you, but there’s a trust. You all come to me instead of the healers in the city. It’s annoying—but also... comforting. So, until this cursed war ends, everything in this shop is free. But I’m keeping a record. You’ll repay your debts when you can. Fair enough?"

Lyra paused, offering Kaelen a respectful bow before leaving in silence. Though she felt a tinge of embarrassment for not being able to pay, her mind was fixated on her daughter’s well-being. She would do whatever it took to protect her.

Later that afternoon, Kaelen hammered a sign onto his door. It read in bold letters: *EVERYTHING IS FREE UNTIL THE END OF WAR, JUST DON'T GET TOO COMFORTABLE!*

With a sigh, Kaelen stepped back inside his shop and sat down. Pulling out his old, worn diary, he began writing, just as he always did. But this time, as he picked up his quill, the words of Edmund echoed in his mind: *Protect our village, Kaelen!*

Pausing in his writing, Kaelen let out a prolonged and irritated sigh. He muttered under his breath, "Yeah, yeah, just leave me alone."

But soon after, another voice echoed in his mind, this time from a memory: "Your name’s Kaelen? No family name? Works for me! I’m Fur Hukjar! A pleasure to meet you, Kaelen the dark elf!"

Kaelen vividly recalled that initial encounter with Fur Hukjar, the man who had been one of the first settlers in Goven village. At the time, only two houses stood, and Fur had been hard to miss—a burly figure, slightly overweight but strong, Without his tall frame, he could have easily been mistaken for a dwarf. Fur had firmly grasped Kaelen’s hand in greeting, offering a hearty welcome. "Friend, welcome to our modest yet promising village!"

Kaelen had merely nodded in response, allowing Fur to guide him as they strolled through the sparse village. When they reached a small house, Fur declared with a laugh, "Every village needs a herbalist, a blacksmith, and, of course, people! Lots of people if we want this place to grow!"

Kaelen had raised an eyebrow and asked, "Why here, of all places? You can't even grow vegetables in this soil."

Fur had laughed even louder, his booming voice filling the empty village. "Ah, my friend, the nobles here wanted every scrap of land to be developed! We've got a small mountain nearby. Who knows? Maybe we’ll strike gold or iron! Valuable stuff. As for me, I guess I’m the chief of this place, though no one’s made it official."

Kaelen had sighed, unimpressed. "No sane person would choose to live here. There are wealthier, more vibrant villages elsewhere. You don’t even have a doctor."

Fur’s smile never faltered as he replied, "That’s where you’re wrong. This village will thrive. Sure, the letters I sent to doctors and healers didn’t get answered, but your response? That’s a start. One step at a time, my friend!"

Kaelen had met Fur’s gaze back then, the man’s unwavering optimism and wide grin irritating yet strangely infectious. "And your kind lives for a long time, don’t they?" Fur had said with a wink. "You’ll be around to see it all happen!"

Snapping back to the present, Kaelen closed his diary, his mind drifting from those early memories. He realized it was dusk, the fading light casting shadows across the room. Rising from his chair, he stretched and made his way to the bathroom, ready to wash off the day’s dust before settling down for dinner.

As Kaelen gazed into the mirror, the tear finally slipped down his cheek, unbidden but not unwelcome. "You were a good man, Fur," he murmured softly, "and so were the people who built this village."

Elsewhere, in Joe’s house, he finished his solitary dinner in the quiet kitchen. Clearing his plate quickly, he hurried outside, heading towards the village gate where women and children gathered in anticipation.

Joe joined his mother, Beatrice, in a warm embrace. She smiled but soon turned her gaze anxiously toward the road. As night descended, the crowd waited in growing tension until a young man, dressed in light armor, approached. Bowing respectfully, he delivered the awaited message: “The monthly report: there were no casualties among the fighters from Goven village! Once again, there were no casualties from your village!"

The relief was palpable. Beatrice, Joe, Lyra, and the others sighed collectively, grateful that their loved ones were still safe. Yet, the reprieve was fleeting. A month stretched ahead, full of uncertainty, and some of the women already voiced the growing dread of waiting for another report. The idea of searching for their husbands themselves crossed their minds, though they knew the danger.

Walking home, Beatrice’s face darkened with worry. This was not the carefree mother Joe usually knew. Sensing her unease, he asked gently, "Mother?"

Without much thought, Beatrice confessed, "This wait... it’s unbearable, Joe. And I can’t even be sure these reports are accurate. I’m terrified... you're all I have right now, my only ray of hope."

Joe walked beside her in silence, struggling to find words to ease her fear, but nothing came. They simply continued on toward their home, the weight of her confession settling on him.

Meanwhile, near the edge of a dense forest, Zok and Zafa stood waiting. A scout appeared, breathless from running, and Zafa turned to him sharply, "What’s the situation?"

The scout, still catching his breath, replied, "The knights are guarding the cave, sir, and there’s a group of hired dwarves mining there."

Zok grunted, "They’ve found the diamonds. What do we do next?"

Zafa calmly sheathed his sword, a wicked grin creeping across his face. "Nothing changes. We’ll split our forces—half will remain near the cave, while the other half, led by me, will attack Goven village. We’ll burn it to the ground, drawing the knights’ attention away. Once they split their forces, we’ll regroup and hit the cave hard, taking all the diamonds we can carry."

Dan, the leader of the bandits, stroked his long brown beard and nodded. His two large axes rested on his back, gleaming in the dim light. "I’ll go with you. The noble can stay behind with my men."

Zok nodded curtly. Zafa, with a calm yet resolute tone, added, "If we don’t return, carry on without us."

Dan turned to his men and, in a low voice, commanded, "Together, brothers." The bandits tightened their grip on their weapons in unspoken agreement.

Zok clasped his son’s hand firmly, and with one final glance, Zafa declared, "We begin at nightfall."