My fourth year came with a rite of passage unique to this world: the Diaspora Ceremony. While I had always been referred to as Wolfhart by my family, this event marked the official recognition of my identity within the community as a second son. Names, it seemed, carried weight beyond simple labels in Minor Eden—they were tied to the very essence of who you were and how you would be remembered and I would carry the name of this village with me into this world.
The ceremony was a village-wide event, held in the central hall of Valda-Ashdock. The floating lake town was alive with activity that morning, families preparing offerings, decorations strung along walkways, and the scent of spiced bread wafting from the bakery. From my perch at the window, I could see villagers in their best clothes, laughing and chatting as they made their way toward the hall.
“Wolfhart, come here!” my mother called from the other room.
I toddled over, feigning the clumsiness expected of a child my age. Mother adjusted the small, embroidered tunic she had made for me, her hands gentle but firm.
“You look like a proper young man,” she said with a smile, her eyes softening.
I grinned, letting her dote on me. Moments like this were rare in a world where survival often overshadowed sentimentality.
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The hall was packed with villagers by the time we arrived. At the front of the room stood Father, resplendent in his ceremonial armor, a stark contrast to his usual rugged appearance. Beside him was the village elder, a wizened man named Ordric, whose long white beard and staff gave him the air of a storybook wizard.
The Diaspora Ceremony began with a blessing from the elder. He spoke of the lake’s bounty, the strength of the community, and the importance of names as a reflection of one’s soul. I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of irony at that last part, given my Soulless skill. And how I could not forget where I came from as a second son. I represented all of them here and would travel forth to spread our legacy.
“Today,” Ordric intoned, “we gather to name a child born under the light of the Nexus, a child who will carry our hopes and our history into the future.”
The villagers murmured in agreement, their faces alight with pride and anticipation.
Father stepped forward, his voice steady and commanding. “This is my son, born of Valda-Ashdock, under the watchful eye of the Nexus. He shall be known as Wolfhart Valda-Ashdock, and may his name bring honor to our home.”
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A cheer erupted from the crowd, and I forced a shy smile, playing the part of a bashful child.
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The rest of the day was a blur of festivities. Tables laden with food lined the walkways, and music filled the air as villagers danced and sang. Children ran about, laughing and chasing each other, while the adults shared stories and toasted to the future.
I stayed close to my parents, observing the interactions around me. The Naming Ceremony had provided a rare opportunity to see the village as a unified whole, and I made mental notes of the various relationships and dynamics at play.
“Hexa,” I thought, “anything of note from the crowd?”
“Several individuals possess elevated mana signatures,” Hexa replied. “Notably, the elder and your father. This suggests they have refined their profiles through sustained effort or significant events.”
“Good to know,” I mused. “And the rest?”
“Most display average mana levels for this region. The majority are non-combatants with basic profiles.”
As I mulled over this information, a voice pulled me from my thoughts.
“Wolfhart!”
I turned to see a girl about my age, her curly red hair and bright green eyes making her stand out in the crowd. She wore a simple dress, but her energy was anything but subdued.
“Hi! I’m Ava,” she said, grinning. “Wanna play?”
Before I could respond, she grabbed my hand and dragged me toward a group of children who were playing near the water’s edge.
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Ava was a whirlwind of energy, her enthusiasm infectious even for someone like me, who tended to keep a low profile. She introduced me to her friends, a mix of boys and girls who were more than happy to include the “newly named” Wolfhart in their games.
As we played, I couldn’t help but notice how Ava’s confidence seemed to set her apart. She was fearless, leading the group with an ease that belied her age.
“You’re funny,” she said at one point, laughing as I stumbled over a rock. “You don’t talk much, but you’re fun to be around.”
“Thanks,” I said, keeping my response short.
She didn’t seem to mind, chattering away about her favorite games, her family, and her dreams of one day becoming a famous adventurer.
“Do you think the Nexus is really as big as they say?” she asked, her gaze drifting upward.
“It’s probably even bigger,” I replied, my tone thoughtful.
Her eyes widened. “Really? You think so?”
I nodded. “The structures connecting the worlds… they must be massive. It would take a lifetime to explore them all.”
Ava’s excitement was palpable. “Then we’ll just have to try, won’t we?”
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As the sun began to set, the festivities wound down, and families began to return to their homes. Ava and I parted ways with a promise to play again soon, and I followed my parents back to our house.
That night, as I lay in bed staring at the faint glow of the Nexus through the window, I felt a strange sense of belonging. Despite the mystery surrounding my skills and the challenges that lay ahead, I was beginning to feel at home in this world.