The years pass quickly.

Life on the farm never slows down, and neither do I. By the time I turn seven, I’m already learning the ropes of farm work.

I feel the urge to ask my father to teach me more, to help him out.

I want to ease his load, even if just for a little while, so he can get some rest.

Everyday I wake up early, and it’s as if I’m returning to who I once was—but this time, there’s no pressure from my parents.

I don’t have to worry about what work I should do today, or how to find a way to feed myself, or how to make my parents proud.

But now, in this life, I don’t feel any pressure at all. It’s like I’m finally settling into this life.

"Morning, Alistair," my mother greets me, still busy with breakfast.

Mama always greets me like that whenever she sees me, and it’s something I’ve grown used to.

"Morning, Mama," I reply, pulling over a stool to help. My small hands press into the soft dough. It’s tough work, but I enjoy it. It feels real.

After breakfast, I always follow my father out to the fields and try to help him as much as possible.

It all started when I asked him to teach me, jokingly saying it was just for fun.

“Alright” he says, handing me a smaller tool. “Time you learn to work this land proper.”

I nod, determined to learn.

He shows me how to loosen the soil, how to plant seeds just right.

“Not too deep,”

“The roots need air.”

I copy his movements, my hands digging into the earth.

“You’re doing good, Alistair,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder.

“Better than I did at your age.”

I smile, and I felt proud.

Some days, we finish quickly, but other days are so sunny. On those days, my father won’t let me help him. He doesn’t want me getting burns all over my body, and he says it's not good for a young lad like me.

At home, my chores never seem to end. My mother teaches me to fetch water, clean, and cook simple meals (which I already know). She’s patient, even when I mess up.

"Careful, Alistair."

"You’ve got to think ahead."

"I’ll get better," I promise, and she smiles.

"You always do."

But my favorite part of the day? Spending time with Sylra.

She’s full of life.

Her laugh is the best sound in the world.

I love making her giggle, whether by making funny faces or bouncing her gently on my knee.

“Alis!” she babbles, reaching for me with her chubby hands.

"Sylra, are you ready to be lifted up?" I ask, lifting her into the air. She squeals, her tiny hands grabbing my face. She tugs at my hair, but I don’t mind. She’s my 1 year old little sister, and I’d do anything for her.

“Be gentle, Sylra,” my mother warns, but she’s smiling.

“I don’t mind,” I say, holding her close. “She’s just strong. Like me hahaha.”

Sylra babbles nonsense, and I laugh.

“You’re gonna be big and tough one day, too,” I tell her. “but now just eat your veggies, right?”

My days are full, every moment accounted for. I wake, work, learn, play, and help. I’ve come to understand the value of time and effort.

I met him while I'm walking through the forest to go to the near sea.

In this new life, I’ve also met a friend—his name, just like in my past life, is "Elias," though the last letter is different.

I met him while I was walking through the forest, heading toward the nearby sea.

"HEYYY!!" he shouted, and I almost lost my damn life.

"What the hell are you thinking?" I said.

"What the? Are you cursing at such a young age?"

And that’s how we met.

Every time I go to the sea, I see Elias waiting. I don’t know who he’s waiting for, but he always seems like trouble.

"You’re late," he says, tossing a small rock into the water. It skips once before sinking.

"I had chores," I reply, plopping down beside him. "You know how it is."

He snorts. "Chores, huh? Bet you’d rather be out there." He nods toward the horizon, where the water meets the sky.

"Maybe," I admit, leaning back on my hands. "What about you? You just sit here, staring so far away."

"Well," he says, his voice quiet, "I’m always waiting here. It’s kind of weird, you know? But I have to."

"My father left us, he went out on a boat, my mom said. He promised he’d come back, and he sailed into this very sea... and then, yeah, he disappeared."

"My mother lost her mind, and I... I just keep waiting for him to come back. Not for me, but for her. I want her to smile again."

But then Elias’s mood shifts, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "But one day," he says, "I’m gonna be an adventurer. The best one in the world. My dad’s gonna know me, and maybe he’ll come home."

“The best, huh?” I tease. “I bet you’re really gonna do it, Eli.”

“Yeah, I mean it,” he replies, now serious. “I’ll be stronger than the Sentinels.”

That catches my attention. “The Sentinels?”

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Elias nods eagerly. “Yeah. You’ve heard of them, right? They’re so strong, according to the stories. They just stand there, and you melt. The strongest fighters in the world. They protect the kingdoms, fight off monsters, even save entire cities.”

I know them. Or at least, I know of them. In my past life, when I was Elian, there were only three Sentinels. They were legends, their names whispered with awe.

Now there are ten? The world’s evolving, growing stronger. It’s strange, but it makes sense.

Power attracts more power.

“But two of those ten are considered heroes,” Elias continues, his voice dropping like he’s sharing a secret.

“They’ve done things no one else could. Like saving the capital from that dragon three years ago. You remember that?”

I nod slowly. “Yeah, I heard about it.”

Elias leans in closer. “One day, I'll be one of them. An adventurer. A hero. I'll be up there with the Sentinels.”

I smile, but my mind is already turning. Could I really do that too?

Leave the farm, chase a dream so big? It’s what I want more than anything.

But my parents… they’ve worked so hard, poured everything into this life. How can I tell them I want something different?

That night, as I lie in bed, the thoughts won’t leave me alone.

That night, as I lie in bed, the thoughts won’t leave me alone.

I stare at the ceiling. The farm is my family’s life. It’s steady, honest work. But it’s not my dream. I want more. I want to see the world, fight monsters, make a name for myself—something I never could in my past life.

But how do I tell them that?

How do I look my father in the eye and say, “I don’t want to be a farmer”?

The thought twists in my chest. I know they’d support me, but would they be disappointed?

Hurt? I don’t want to let them down, but I can’t ignore this fire inside me.

The next morning, I sit at the breakfast table, the words heavy on my tongue.

My mother hums as she serves porridge. My father sips his tea, his eyes already on the day’s work ahead. Sylra giggles in her high chair, throwing bits of bread on the floor.

“Alistair,” my father says, breaking the silence. “You’re quiet today.”

I swallow hard. “I’ve been thinking.”

He raises an eyebrow. “About?”

I take a deep breath. This is it. “About my future.”

I know I’m just seven years old, and it’s ridiculous to bring this up now, but I think it’s better to start telling them early.

They both stop what they’re doing, their eyes on me now. The weight of their attention feels like a mountain, but I push through.

“I want to be an adventurer,” I say, the words rushing out before I lose my nerve. “I want to see the world, fight, protect people. Be strong enough to protect my family.”

The room goes quiet, except for Sylra’s happy babbling. My parents exchange a look, and for a moment, I can’t read their faces.

Then my mother smiles, soft and understanding. “You’ve always had big dreams,” she says, her voice gentle.

My father nods slowly. “It’s a dangerous path, Alistair. But if that’s what you want… we’ll support you.”

It’s almost too quick for me to process. They agree to let me follow the path I want. I’m stunned. It’s the first time I’ve ever felt this free, this confident. I know now I can grow stronger, faster.

I don’t say anything. I just hug them, showing them how much I appreciate them.

Weeks passed.

Something changed inside me.

It’s different when you find the courage to tell your parents your dreams, to say out loud that you’re going to pursue them. It’s something I hadn’t expected, but it had a bigger impact on me than I could’ve imagined.

And my father—surprisingly—was supportive. He didn’t argue or tell me I needed to stay on the farm.

No, he did something more.

“Here,” he said, handing me a smooth, polished wooden sword.

I stared at it for a moment.

It wasn’t just any wooden sword. This one was special—well-made, carefully crafted. The handle was wrapped in leather, and the blade was shaped so perfectly that it felt real, almost alive in my hands.

“This is for you, son,” my father said. “If I’d known earlier that you wanted to be an adventurer, I would’ve made this for you sooner. But if this is your path, you need to practice. Take it. Train with it.”

I swallowed hard, a lump forming in my throat. “Thank you, Father.”

"It's alright son,” patting me on my head. “And remember, even heroes need to work hard.”

---

And It wasn’t long before I introduced Elias to my parents.

The first time they met, they were a little wary—after all, Elias wasn’t from around here. But he charmed them quickly with his easy smile and the way he listened when they spoke.

My mother, especially, seemed to take a liking to him, offering him more food than he could finish.

As the days went on, Elias became a regular part of our family. We’d all eat together, laugh together, and then I’d take him out to practice with the sword my father had made for me. He was eager to learn, just like me. The bond between us deepened with every passing day.

After seeing how serious we were about our training, my father again did something unexpected.

“This is for Elias,” he said, holding it out to my friend.

Elias’s eyes widened. “For me?”

My father nodded. “You’re Alistair’s friend. If you’re going to practice with him, you need your own sword.”

Elias looked at me, his grin spreading wide. “Thanks, Mr. Jorin. I’ll make sure I practice hard.”

“Good,” my father said, “but remember, practice is only one part of it. Don’t neglect the hard work that comes with it. Help out. That’s what keeps you grounded.”

---

The days turned into weeks, and I found myself balancing two worlds. The work on the farm, helping my parents with the chores, and my training with Elias.

We’d spend hours in the fields, swinging our wooden swords, practicing strikes and blocks.

Swishh! Swish!

Slash.

Thud.

Our hands would blister, our arms would ache, but we pushed on.

We didn’t have a lot of time to spare—there was always something to do, whether it was tending to the crops, fixing fences, or bringing in the harvest.

But every free moment I got, I’d grab my sword and train with Elias. He was getting better, just like me, though sometimes I felt like he was catching up faster.

But I never stopped helping my parents.

I couldn’t.

They needed me. Even when my muscles burned and my body begged for rest, I would find a way to get up and keep going.

“Alistair,” my mother would call, her voice soft but firm. “We need you in the field.”

I’d nod, wipe the sweat from my brow, and grab the nearest tool.

And when I finished, I’d head straight back to my training with Elias.

It was exhausting, but it was the only way I knew how to start growing.

~

“Alistair you're a traitor!” Elias shouted, role playing like we're in some kind of play while blocking a strike with his wooden sword.

I smiled, swinging again. “You’re getting faster. I’ll have to step up my game.”

“I’m not going easy on you,” he grinned, his sword dancing through the air as he parried my strike.

We laughed, our swords clashing with the sound of wood against wood.

For a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered—no chores, no work, no responsibilities.

Just me and Elias, pushing each other to be stronger.

But I couldn’t forget why I was doing this.

One day, I’d be more than a farmer. I'd be more than a porter, I’d be an adventurer. I’d be the strongest.

But for now, I’d keep working. I’d keep training. And I wouldn’t stop until I was ready.

I also became aware that the system had been quiet for a while now. It wasn’t fully unlocked yet, but I could still see my stats.

I didn't know when or how the system would fully unlocked, but I knew one thing: I'd have to be ready and train hard.

More years passed.

I was thirteen now, and everything seemed the same. The fields stretched out before me, endless and familiar, a reminder of everything we've worked for.

But this year, things felt different.

The harvest was supposed to be the best one yet—better than any other year before it.

But the weather had other plans.

The sky grew heavy with dark clouds, a warning I had ignored.

We should’ve known. We should’ve prepared more, but we didn’t.

My parents and I had been so hopeful. We thought this year might be the one where we could finally take a breath, maybe even rest from all the endless labor.

Then, the storm came.

It started slow, just a few gusts of wind and a light drizzle. I didn’t think much of it at first. But by the second day, the winds howled like beasts, tearing through the trees, and the rain came in sheets, relentless and unforgiving.

My father tried to go out and check on the crops, but he had to retreat within minutes. We couldn’t even see the barn from the house—the storm was too fierce.

By the third day, the storm had become a beast in itself, and we all knew it wasn’t going away anytime soon. My father sat by the fire, silent, his eyes hollow and distant. My mother, too, withdrew into herself, her hands trembling as she tried to keep the house warm. But it was hard. The cold seeped in no matter what she did.

I could feel the weight pressing down on her, just like it was on all of us. She knew, just like my father did, that the crops were gone. The storm had taken them.

It's been a whole week of never seeing the sun.

The storm’s strength had us all trapped inside, the winds so fierce they rattled the windows and shook the walls. It was like the earth itself was screaming.

On the seventh day, I couldn’t take it anymore.

I had to see it for myself. The storm, the destruction. So I peeked through the window.

Everything outside was dark.

It was like the world had been swallowed by the storm. The wind howled louder than I thought possible. I saw nothing but sheets of rain and swirling dirt. Our fields? Gone. Our crops? Gone.

My heart dropped.

My family had worked so hard for that harvest. And now… it was all lost.

I turned my head, and I saw my parents, sitting there. They looked defeated. My father’s shoulders slumped, his head in his hands. My mother stared out the window, her face pale, her lips trembling. They didn’t know what to do.

I looked back out, trying to understand what was happening. Something didn’t sit right with me. The winds… they were coming from somewhere. I couldn’t see it clearly, but I felt it. The storm wasn’t just random. It was too focused, too deliberate.

I squinted through the rain, and then I saw it—a pattern.

The wind wasn’t just blowing from any direction. It was coming from up top. From the mountains. But there was more.

It was coming from… a cave?

A cave at the top of the mountain?

It hit me like a lightning strike. The winds weren’t natural. This wasn’t just a storm. It felt like a spell, like someone or something was casting it. The winds twisted and turned, like they were being controlled, funneled into a single point.

I had to know.

I turned and ran back to my parents, my heart pounding in my chest. I couldn’t just stand by and watch everything my family had worked for be destroyed. Something wasn’t right, and I had to find out what.

But I had no idea where to start. The storm was still too strong to go out there, too dangerous.

I paused for a moment, looking at my parents again. They didn’t see it. They didn’t see the storm for what it was.

All they saw was the loss.

I clenched my fists, determined to know what really is inside the cave.

I needed to check it out.

I feel it—a driving need to uncover the truth, to find out who or what is behind this.

The storm might be relentless, but so was I.