The sky is clear, unsullied by any clouds. The sun rises above the verdure of the forest, coating the land in its light once more. As the sun hits the earth, the people of a tiny village built against the edge of the forest begin to wake from their slumber. They walk through the grass, still wet from the rains of the past week, hurrying to their destination. The villagers all crowd into one building, the second largest house of the village, second only to the home of the long-standing protector that is the Elder.
The crowd of villagers enter unimpeded, greeted with the sight of the five people most beloved. The Elder, old and gray, stands a ways away, clutching his cane with a strength unbefitting his age and frame. He stands stoically, watching over the remaining four. Pressing his palm to his forehead and raising his chin in a mixture of exhaustion and relief is Father Cynde, the village priest. His black robes appear even heavier on his body than typical. Beside him, looking on in glee, is Cynde’s protege, Sister Fayre, a local girl and a ray of sunshine given form to the people of the village. She has only just been able to lower her steely expression, and her joy has already overflowed, tears streaking down her face. All three have their bodies pointed at the remaining pair, the focus of all the villagers’ attention. The first of the two is a tall and lanky man, kneeling down and supporting the other in his arms. He has short dark hair and darker eyes with haunting white rings within. Although he cannot help but to cry, his countenance reveals nothing. His eyes are blank and fathomless, like a dark abyss, and his mouth is drawn tightly. He is Tima, the wisest among the villagers. He was a traveler who appeared before them one day. His journey was aimless and his resources lacking. He sought supplies and a short refuge from the village. He was swiftly denied, for the village had little to give. However, one girl advocated on his behalf, asking the villagers to give to him now and allow him to repay them in due time. For several years he has been repaying her kindness, although the debt has long since been repaid. He holds up her head as she lay weakly in bed. She has light brown hair that stretches down to the bed. Her eyes are light hazel, worn out and tired. She is Stearra, the one most devoted to the village. She was born to two ordinary farmers, only to become orphaned as a child after a stray monster appeared in the village. Ever since that day, the entire village devoted themselves to her, and she has devoted herself to them and to the world. She has wholly devoted herself to the improvement of the village. So long as she lives, there will never be a want for food, nor water, nor clothes, nor homes. Never again will they fear the forest. Never again will they despair in hunger. Until the day of her death, she will forever remain unremitting in her destruction of that which hurts her people.
Cradled in her arms is an infant, crying loudly in its vagitus. The newborn has his father’s dark hair. Behind Tima’s stony expression is boundless joy, yet smothered deep within his joy is a fear and disdain towards the similarity. Tima is a Void Walker, a nomadic people cursed to forever roam the wastes they call home, scorned by all others. Tima had himself found a path to absolution for this cursed duty, but still could not escape the curse itself. His hair and his eyes were the proof of his curse. However, much to his relief, his son inherited only the color of his hair. His eyes were not a wretched marker, but an auspicious one. Rather than the inky pits of his father, the newborn has eyes of pure celeste, feeling as boundless as the sky itself. Around the pupil are shimmering gold rings that seem to pulsate with a divine power. Already in the tiny body of this child, there is a great power being fostered.
The crowding villagers look at the child held in Stearra’s arms with great excitement. His cries soon come to a momentary lapse as Stearra rocks him. In their excitement, the villagers begin talking over each other, each trying to be the first to ask the questions they all want to.
“Miss Stearra, was the birth fine?”
“How is he? Is everything fine?”
“Should we start celebrating?”
“What’s his name?” As the questions keep coming from the energetic group, Stearra smiles gently. Cradling the child close to her chest and wrapping her arm around him, she raises a finger to her lips to quiet the crowd. She speaks softly as she responds.
“We’re all fine, and if we have to celebrate, it should be after we’ve finished the work for today.” She shifts her arms around to point the newborn towards the villagers. “His name is Sion.”
Ten years have passed since Sion’s birth. After him, three more children were born that year. In his year of four boys, Sion is the oldest and notably larger than the others. The three that followed were all ordinary births to farmer families, yet the celebrations barely paled in comparison to Sion. Their names were Bule, Wesend, and Oure. In keeping with the teachings of his parents, Sion always looked after the three. Although he also helped look after all the children born after him, he gave them special attention. He cared for them greatly, and the four were inseparable. Although Sion never disobeyed the adults of the village alone, he was often swept along with the others in committing mischief or attempting entrance into the forest. Even when he had done nothing, he would let himself be scolded alongside them. Sion did not want to let his friends be unhappy, and did not want to leave them behind. He wanted to stand by their side.
Soon after the fall harvest concluded, a grand celebration was held. At this point, all four of them had reached ten years of age. At the climax of the festival, Father Cynde called the four children to a small stage. Gathered around the stage were their parents and several other adults, as well as all the children their junior. Cynde asked them to sit facing him in the order of their birth atop a soft blanket laid out on the stage. Excitedly, the four sat before the priest.
As Cynde begins to give his speech, his warm face grows sterner. He speaks slowly and in a confident and measured tone.
“The hero Gax was once delivered unto humanity in our most dire hour. His soul, ever devoted to good, ascended and joined the gods among the heavens. His love for us remains unchanged. His mission towards us remains unchanged. His heavenly duty is the same as his earthly duty, and it is through me that he performs it today.” Wesend begins to fidget in anticipation, his disposition spreading to Bule and Oure beside him. In their excitement, they begin to grow rowdy. As Sion attempts to stop them, Cynde’s voice comes down on them, mixed again with a hint of warmth. “Bule, Wesend, Oure. I know this is exciting, but please remain still for just a while longer.” When the trio calm down slightly, Cynde continues. “In today’s Rite of Bestowal, Gax, Heroic God of Pathfinding, shall peer into the souls of our four youths: Sion, Bule, Wesend, and Oure. He shall measure your virtue and your skill, your character and your body; he shall measure the whole of your person. And your minds shall be touched by his divine grace, a plenitude of possible choices laid bare before you. The rite shall conclude as you make your choice and accept the heavenly gift of your Class. As I call your name, step forward. Oure!” Oure excitedly stands, stepping forward as he does. Cynde places his hand atop Oure’s head and grips at the symbol of priesthood adorning his necklace with the other while Oure shuts his eyes. After several seconds, Cynde removes his hand and proudly proclaims Oure’s Class.
“Oure! From today onward you shall be known as a ‘Brawler!’ You have always loved getting your body moving.” Cynde pats Oure’s head before sending him to return to the blanket.
This process repeats twice more for Wesend and Bule, who were granted the Classes ‘Swordsman’ and ‘Spearman.’ Bule, Wesend, and Oure sit on the blanket, watching Sion. Sion stands gracefully as he is called, and walks to Father Cynde. Cynde again begins the rite.
As Cynde places his hand on Sion’s head, he senses something unknowable and impenetrably deep inside the child. The Rite of Bestowal is a process where a priest, priestess, or other individual with a connection to the heavens utilizes their body as a conduit for the divine power of Gax. As they perform the rite, a small amount of Gax’s limitless energy flows into the conduit and is then used as a medium for a miracle. The greater the strength of the receiver, the stronger the miracle must be, and more energy must flow to allow for that. Experienced priests who have performed the rite many times throughout their life can sense the slight variation in energy within their body and are able to gain an estimate of the receiver’s strength. Cynde has never before felt such a surge of holy power. The energy gathered in his body is so densely packed that it feels as though it may burst outward and destroy him. Yet the overflowing energy is also warm and comforting, giving a sense of reassurance. After an anomalously long period of gathering energy, yet still only a few seconds, the miracle occurs.
As Sion closes his eyes, he can feel the world shift and expand by Gax’s power. Although his body has not moved and nothing has changed, Sion’s soul and sight has been brought deep into the core of itself. He looks around at the neverending walls of black, searching for the Classes Gax found to suit him. Sion finds nothing and begins to panic. As he turns his head rapidly around the space, Sion’s eyes flicker with gold. Suddenly, a single word appears in front of him in the dark. It reads ‘Inheritor.’ As Sion reads the word, he opens his eyes and returns to the material world. Sion looks up at Father Cynde, awaiting the declaration of his Class. However, Cynde looks aghast. He never moves his hand and fails to find words to say. As he stutters, he glances down at Sion’s confused face. Cynde drops to one knee and grabs Sion tightly.
“Sion… I don’t know what this means. I’ve never seen someone not receive a class. I’ve never even read of it. I need to leave urgently and consult with the Bishop of Clea. But remember, this does not make you unworthy. You are still yourself. You are still kind and caring. Even without a class to show it.”
Father Cynde dashes away without saying another word. He leaves with due urgency, moving to borrow a fast horse without preparing anything for his travels or his time in Clea, however brief they may be. He leaves Sion and the three boys alone on the stage. He leaves the crowd in shock and confusion.
The four boys are confused by what has occurred but are seemingly unbothered. The three who still are seated have begun talking amongst themselves excitedly. Sion does not return to his spot on the blanket, but instead sits on the wood of the stage, facing the audience, to join the conversation. As he sits, Bule is speaking.
“Let’s go find something then! Then we can show off our Classes!” The three seem to have planned to play with their newfound gifts. As they look at Sion, Oure begins to talk with the utmost innocence.
“Sion, you can’t come because you don’t have a class!” Sion bristles without understanding as his three friends stand without him. From both indignance and despair, tears well up in Sion’s eyes. Before he even realizes, he is running. Without direction, he runs straight ahead, away from the crowd. It takes several moments for them to process what had occurred and begin panicking.
Tima is the first to act. He begins to bound forward, intending to cut past the rest of the group. He had stood near to the stage, but on the side Sion had sat on, the opposite side to the one he fled from. As he maneuvers around the stage, attempting not to alarm the other children, his flight is cut short. The mass of onlooking adults spill outward, still lost in what to do, preventing Tima from rounding the stage.
“Calm down and let me pass!” Tima’s face is a scowl as he attempts to command the others.
Meanwhile, Sion had made great distance between himself and the stage. The direction he fled in was the direction of the fields and of the forest, so there weren’t any people to stop him. Sion, without knowing why, continues to run with all his might. Although he was still small, he had inherited his father’s powerful body. He was many times faster than his peers. Although he had never shown his full ability, he could outrun even some adults. The adults had wildly misunderstood the urgency of his escape.
Sion soon nears the fence built to keep stray monsters from the forest out. It runs against the edge of the forest, but the only dangers lurk deep within. The fence was mostly built for peace of mind, not a truly imminent threat, so there are only daily checks on its status every morning and every night. Unbeknownst to anyone, a section of the fence had decayed and fallen apart. Sion leaps at this broken section, barely clearing its height. As Sion flees into the forest, Tima finally reaches the fence. He leaps onto the broken fence and stares out into the forest and around the village. Incapable of seeing his son, he kicks the fence, splintering it. With a much more panicked urgency to him, Tima rushes back to the village to find the hunters in their revelry.
The canopy of the trees is thick, blotting out much of the sunlight. The forest is dark and overgrown, and with few defining landmarks. Even for the hunters, it is dangerous if they lose their way. Yet Sion, who never once questioned why he could not enter the forest, continued walking. He did not know what to be afraid of, and so he had no fear. He walks on, carefully stepping over jutting roots and ducking beneath stray branches. As he walks and takes in the serenity of nature, Sion finds his heart begin to settle once more. He still does not understand why he had run. The wild energy that had possessed him to do so has already left his body, leaving him to wander. Sion turns around and begins to walk. As he walks, he begins to chastise himself, anticipating what the adults would soon say to him.
“Why did I run away? And I even went into the forest even though I know I’m not supposed to. I don’t understand. I don’t understand anything. Will Dad be mad at me? …But I’m supposed to be the oldest.”
As Sion walks, the night comes, and the dappled sunlight disappears. As the dusk settles in, the dark forest is overtaken by shadows. As Sion loses much of his sight, he becomes more aware than ever of the overflowing life of the forest. Surrounding him, just out of sight in the shadows, are beasts completely foreign to him. Sion misses the village. He misses his home. He misses his parents. He’s never been separated from them for so long, especially not at this hour. For the first time in his life, Sion feels truly alone. He wants to rush home, but after walking so much, he feels an intense fatigue. By this time of night, he should already be settling in to sleep. And even if he had the energy and will to run once more with all his might, as the forest turns dark, Sion realizes that he is lost.
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Sion moves frantically, searching for a hideaway tucked away from what lurks in the dark of the trees. By some great stroke of luck, he finds such a spot easily. In a nearby tree is a large hollow showing no signs of other creatures. The hollow is strange, being almost unnaturally uniform and pristine. However, Sion, being young and green, does not doubt his good fortune. He enters the hollow quickly, nestling himself within it. The hollow is just barely big enough to fit Sion entirely. He curls up, laying against the wall of the hollow, and closes his eyes.
Sion awakes to the filtered sunlight shining down on his resting place. As his mind fights off the fog of drowsiness, he realizes something. His stomach rumbles fiercely. Sion has not eaten for nearly a day, and only now, after his reprieve, has it caught up to him. Sion shambles out of the hollow in his hunger and scans his surroundings. He still does not know where his home is.
As Sion emerges from the hollow, he notices a mad yelping and whining nearby. The high-pitched cries are still soft, but Sion has been spurred to action. Carefully, Sion tries to find the direction of the noise and follow it. He moves nigh silently, skulking around the forest in search of the noise. He searches the underbrush diligently, scanning the ground obscured by the shrubs and bushes. He throws glances about the canopy, leaving no place unseen. The investigation distracts Sion from his stomach. So long as he continues to focus outward, he can ignore his own poor condition. In this way, Sion tracks down the noise.
Hidden away among the myriad plants is a fox kit curled snugly beneath its large tail. It’s large for a fox, around the same size as the adults of a more typical species, yet still it is just a kit. As Sion pushes away the leaves covering the whimpering creature, the sun hits its fur, illuminating the vibrant cerulean. Quickly, Sion finds the problem this kit is facing. A vine-like tendril is wrapped around one of the kit’s back legs, gripping it tightly and holding it close to the ground. Its two front paws have small cuts, as though it forced its way through a rose bush and cut itself on the thorns. Sion hesitantly reaches out a hand towards the kit’s head. He holds his hand above it for several seconds. Seeing no reaction from the kit, he places his hand on its head and pets it gently. The kit momentarily stops its cries as it unfurls itself. It stares up at Sion with big slit eyes. Sion continues to pet the kit as he moves closer to its hindleg. As Sion squats beside the kit, he removes his hand from the kit’s head. As the kit begins to whimper once more, Sion grabs the trapping tendril. As he attempts to undo the binds, the vine begins to writhe around. It suddenly extends further beyond the kit’s leg and wraps itself around Sion’s arm. As Sion’s arm is pulled to the ground, he recalls his father’s lessons. Both Sion and the kit have been caught in the trap of a carnivorous plant colony.
Sion begins to struggle fruitlessly. He tries to pull his arm from the ground and out of the vine, but it does not budge. He can feel the vine squeeze down on his arm. Sion has never been so close to death. If he cannot break free of the bindings on his arm, or if somebody who can break them free does not arrive, both he and the kit will be starved out and consumed by the earth beneath them. Sion moves his head as close to his wrist as he can and attempts to gnaw himself free. However, even that is useless. As Sion bites down on the vine, he can feel that his jaw is not moving and that his teeth have not penetrated the tendril. Even though he knows it’s futile, he continues to struggle against his captor. The kit beside him returns to yelping loudly out into the forest.
As Sion struggles, from deep within the forest, there is a sharp bark. In a flash of blue, the vine stretching deeper into the underbrush snaps. As the sap spews from the vine, Sion’s bindings loosen and fall slack. Sion removes his arm from the vine, then helps the kit out of its own bindings. As relief catches up to him, Sion realizes what stands before him.
A giant fox, larger than a horse, stands between him and the depths of the forest. Its fur has the same cerulean hue as the kit, but as the fur reaches past the front legs, it gives way to deep sea-green scales. Fur still covers the back of the fox, again spreading further as it approaches the tail, but much of the body is covered in scales, including the hind legs. Sion glances back at the kit as it stands weakly, noticing that hidden beneath its curled body were the indicative scales. The creature before him was not any average fox, but the most dangerous creature of all in the forest: the wise and powerful scalefox, a monster equal parts good fortune and terrible omen.
As the scalefox glares into the forest with a low growl, dozens more tendrils emerge. Each is shredded apart summarily, cut like butter by the claws and fangs of the powerful beast. The scalefox backs up, moving toward Sion and the kit, never allowing its gaze to leave the inner forest. As it enters the two into its reach, a blooming flower far bigger than a person appears from the underbrush. As it reveals itself, the scalefox pounces. It lingers in the air above the flower for several seconds, blotting out the sunlight striking the ruthless plant. Before even a single vine could be sent forward, the scalefox sinks its fangs into the flower. It moves its head sharply, ripping the blooming bud apart. Sap explodes outward and sprays everywhere, soaking the scalefox. With its enemy defeated, the scalefox turns towards Sion and the kit. It approaches them, sap dripping from its fur.
The scalefox is elusive, typically keeping to its territory deep within the forest. They very rarely show themselves to humans. Therefore, the only knowledge available to the villagers are the oral tradition carried on throughout the generation and the vestiges of its hunts. All the villagers know is that the scalefox is the most clever of all the forest’s creatures and the most destructive. Wreathed in mystery, they know only of the remnants of forest left in its wake. The legends paint a picture only slightly more favorable. The scalefox is only fabled as righteous in the face of great men binding them to their service through combat. Elsewise it is vindictive and wrathful, systematically destroying all that endangers it, wreaking destruction as it needs to. If a scalefox comes in peace, it is the foretelling of a hero; if a scalefox does not, it is the foretelling of demise. To Tima, who has fought and killed monsters for so much of his life, and so far away from glorious tales of heroics, he can only believe the truth of the latter, and so he has passed on only the latter.
Sion freezes as he becomes lost in what to do. The colony had not been so urgent as the scalefox, and as it approaches Sion, he cannot bring himself to struggle as he had before. To him, the result is now set. He can only die. As the scalefox reaches Sion, it shakes its head, splattering sap over Sion and the surrounding grass and bushes. It pays no heed to Sion. It approaches the kit and presses its snout into the kit as it begins to nuzzle against its child. The mother scalefox, seeing the weakness in her young, lifts it by the scruff of its neck with her maw. She returns to Sion and does much the same to him. Sion looks around confused as he leaves the ground.
The scalefox is known for an intelligence great enough to hold grudges, and strength great enough to pay them in full. There have been cases of scalefoxes ending poaching operations without any human intervention, simply because the poachers had made the mistake of harming its children. The scalefox is fully aware of people, and is fully prepared to chase them to the ends of the earth to make them pay. But while they are a great mind and a great body, both endangering humanity, they are also a great heart. Scalefoxes, within their hidden enclaves, have extremely affectionate family units. They are solitary creatures by nature, save for when raising their young. With all its wisdom, the scalefox can understand the harm caused by a person and hold a grudge, but it can also understand clearly the good of a person and owe debts. Wherever there is the capacity for a grudge, there is also the capacity for loyalty and care.
The scalefox dashes through the forest, too quickly for Sion to register his surroundings. After an indeterminate distance, the scalefox stops in the inner sanctum of the forest she has made her den. The forest is unusually clear here, free of both trees and shrubbery. The only tree within this area is massive, certainly the largest and oldest of the entire forest. Within the exposed roots of the tree are the ruins of a shrine. The wood has all rotted away, leaving behind only overrun stone. A mossy statue of an unknown figure lay enveloped in the roots. Sion can tell where offerings were to be left, and around it are several stone, gem, and metal ornaments of symbols he has never seen before. Sion becomes intrigued, and approaches the statue. He reaches out his hand to push the moss away from the obscured face of the figure. However, his hand cannot reach it. His hand stops short, as though an invisible wall lay between him and the statue. Sion continues to prod at the unseen obstruction in curiosity. Meanwhile, the scalefox bustles about the area. She moves swiftly over roots as she moves around the grand tree collecting grasses. As she passes Sion, her paw steps onto the barrier resolutely. Sion steps away from the statue and instead reaches towards the ornaments, only to find the same barrier between him and this mysterious shrine that neither scalefox pays any heed to.
The scalefox mother stops running in front of the kit. She chews the grasses she collected as her child sits calmly in front of her. She then licks the kit’s cut forelegs, applying a salve of some kind to the wounds. Sion watches the tranquil scene patiently. After several minutes, the scalefox moves and begins digging, her kit joining her. The scalefox drops a collection of fruits and berries in front of the kit, then drops a similar collection in front of Sion. Sion remembers his hunger as the food arrives. He eats what he can, the fruits not too covered in dirt to be wiped clean, and feels much more satisfied. However, it still was not a whole meal for Sion, and his mind returns to how to find his home. Before any thinking truly begins, the scalefox lifts Sion again, and again it bounds through the forest.
Tima grabs a dagger at his waist and assumes a stance. Suddenly, a scalefox begins to emerge from the forest. Tima’s eyes are listless, with deep bags beneath them, but he still never loses sight of the monster. He stares it down, brandishing the dagger, hoping that it flees. However, the scalefox continues to strut towards him. As it draws closer, Tima is able to observe it more clearly. Hanging from its jaw is Sion.
Tima springs into action, stepping forward once as he draws his dagger behind him before thrusting it forward with all his might. Unwavering, the scalefox looks at him. She opens her maw, letting Sion fall away. Tima stops his blade on the dot as he changes targets. As he stops his arm, the foliage behind the scalefox rustles and shakes. Tima drops his body as his arm recedes closer to his chest. With his other arm, Tima catches Sion and pulls him in close. As Tima holds Sion, he begins to bawl into Tima’s chest. Amidst the cries, the scalefox stares back at Tima nobly. Tima bows his head slightly to the scalefox in return. The two then turn away from each other and depart, walking slowly in the other’s presence before suddenly speeding up greatly.
Tima says nothing as he cradles Sion to his chest while dashing through the forest. Soon after entering his father’s embrace, Sion and Tima exit the forest. Tima leaps over the wall and lands beside the lone hunter set to make sure nobody else got out without the village knowing. The hunter is fatigued, having been stationed there only to let him rest. He’s startled awake when Tima lands. Before the hunter can get a word in, Tima gives a succinct order.
“Go out into the forest and tell everyone that our job is done.” Without waiting for a response, Tima starts walking off.
As their pace slows, Sion relaxes. His sobs come to an end and he looks up at Tima with tears in his eyes.
“Sorry, Dad… Are you mad at me?” Tima pats Sion’s head comfortingly as he answers.
“Of course not.” Tima has a far off look towards the sky. He slows silently as he continues walking. Warmth grows on his face before he continues. “I’ll tell you a story.”
Sion looks up as Tima lifts him onto his shoulder. As he holds Sion there, Tima begins to tell the story.
“Once upon a time, there was a dragon who ruled over the wasteland. He was very, very lazy and very, very cruel. He treated all the people of the wastes badly, but he was so lazy that he wouldn't even do that by himself. Instead, he used his treasures to lure in some of the people and turn them into his servants. Those people were very greedy, so they joined the dragon. For the sake of their greed, those people hurt their friends. They kept fighting for the dragon for generations. But then, one day, Great King Bana appeared. He and his friends fought hard, slaying the dragon. After the dragon was defeated, the people of the wastes approached Great King Bana. They thanked him and told him to take the treasures the dragon kept as a gift. However, Great King Bana refused. He said to the people ‘I have not come to claim wealth nor glory, I have come only to free my fellows from the tyranny of dragons. Those treasures have long been the treasures of your people. The only place for it is in your hands.’ The people, moved by Great King Bana’s kindness, swore loyalty to him, and began sorting their treasures and returning them to their rightful place. Once Great King Bana left the wastes, however, the dragon’s greedy subordinates didn’t accept this. They fought all the other people of the waste and became rulers themselves. They were just as bad as the dragon, and the people of the waste felt doomed. Before long, their prayers for a new age were answered. The god Vacokenos, God of Emptiness, Hollows, Voids, and Wasted Effort, saw the problem the people were facing. He loves humanity more than any other god, so he couldn’t let the people suffer any longer. He cursed the dragon’s subordinates. He made it so they could never leave the wasteland on their own, and made them wander, hunting any monsters they came across. Even today, their descendants still wander the plains, hoping for forgiveness while never trying to change. Lord Vacokenos loves people dearly, so if they were to become better and earnestly try to connect with others once more, his curse would certainly be broken.” Tima looks down at Sion tenderly, cradled still against his chest. “Sion, if somebody knows that what they did is wrong and wholeheartedly apologizes, have the grace to forgive them.”
Tima shifts Sion’s weight in his arms as he pulls open the large wooden doors of the church. He steps inside, shutting the doors behind him. As Tima walks down the aisle, Sister Fayre looks up at him with jubilant surprise, alerting Bule, Wesend, and Oure. The three children turn around, then quickly run up and surround Tima and Sion, tears in their eyes. Sister Fayre thinks for a moment about scolding them, but is herself too overwhelmed with joy. Tima places Sion on the ground beside the boys. As Sion looks at them, the three attempt to apologize, interrupted and incoherent by their tears. As the four boys begin to calm down once more, Tima drops to one knee to meet Sion’s gaze, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Sion, never doubt your own potential. Work hard. Study hard. Even if you don’t have a Class, effort will bear fruit. I promise you that you can become great. Promise me that you’ll make yourself great?” Sion nods, then Tima stands and leaves, leaving the four boys in Fayre’s charge.
And so, Sion would work. Under the tutelage of his mother and Father Cynde and under the training of his father and the Elder, Sion worked. Day by day, Sion pushed himself towards greater heights. Even as he worked, his care for others never changed. Even as he himself still learned, he taught the younger children as they received their classes year after year. He would still forever protect them, the people he holds closest in his heart. And in this manner, five years passed.