Breeze stayed with the old woman and Acacius for a while before leaving, the warmth of their humble home gradually dispelling the cold shadows of the boy’s haunting past. The fire crackled softly, illuminating their faces as Acacius shared his story in hesitant, fragmented sentences.
He spoke of the cruel taunts hurled at him by strangers, the unkind hands that pushed him aside, and the cold, pitiless eyes that looked at him as if he were less than human. “They… they said I’m an embodiment of a curse,” he stammered, his voice trembling. "They accused me of being an omen of misfortune, branding my very existence as a harbinger of ill luck, an ugly embodiment of a curse. To rid themselves of my presence, they pelted me with stones, hurling them with a fervor born of irrational fear. When I begged in desperation, imploring for a morsel of food after they burned the trash can that I ate from, they recoiled as though my touch would taint their sustenance. Their rejection escalated—sticks swung at my limbs, their boots launched at me as though even proximity could carry contamination."
Breeze’s fists clenched tightly at his sides, his heart aching for the boy. It was a pain he knew all too well—the sting of rejection, the suffocating weight of loneliness. However, despite his own tribulations, Breeze recognized that his struggles paled in comparison to the relentless torment endured by this boy, rendering him unable to claim a complete understanding of the child's anguish.
“It's okay now,” Breeze said firmly, his voice cutting through Acacius’s sobs. “You’re not a curse. You’re a survivor, Acacius. And survivors are stronger than anyone else.”
Acacius blinked up at him, hope flickering faintly in his eyes. The old woman reached out, clasping Breeze’s hand with gratitude. “Bless you,” she murmured. “You’ve given him what I couldn’t, a chance to believe in himself.”
Breeze nodded, his resolve hardening. He turned to Acacius. “Listen, kid. The world isn’t going to change overnight. People like us—we have to fight for our place in it. But I’m willing to teach you how to survive, how to protect yourself, and maybe one day, how to change things for the better. In return, you’ll be my subordinate. Are you ready for that?”
Acacius’s eyes widened. “You’ll teach me to fight? To be strong?”
Breeze nodded. “Yes. But strength isn’t just about muscles or weapons. It’s about heart, about knowing when to fight and when to endure. Can you promise me that you’ll use what I teach you not just for yourself, but for others like you?”
The boy’s expression shifted to one of fierce determination. “I promise,” he said without hesitation. “I want to help people, just like you helped me.”
Breeze smiled, caressing the boy’s hair. “Good. Then let’s get started tomorrow.”
When Breeze was about to leave, the grandma gave him the quest reward with profound gratitude.
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Breeze set out for the MES to report the completion of his quest. The bustling hub was alive with activity, hunters, and mercenaries milling about, exchanging tales of their exploits. Breeze navigated through the crowd to the quest counter, where he handed over the mission slip.
“Job’s done,” he said curtly. The receptionist who's taking the shift after Brother Oak, a portly man with a sharp eye for details, reviewed the slip and nodded.
“Good work. Here’s your payment,” he said, sliding a small pouch of coins across the counter.
Breeze accepted it with a nod of thanks but paused when he counted the coins. The amount was the exact reward the old woman had given him the previous night. A frown creased his brow as he pieced it together.
He slapped his forehead. "I totally forget that the reward always takes place in the MES, we both forget about that, she paid twice,” he murmured under his breath. "The old woman must have forgotten that the MES required an upfront fee and a reward for any quest posted and I as a fool took her money twice. Breeze felt a pang of guilt. “She could’ve used this money for herself or Acacius.”
He considered returning it immediately but glanced out the window at the darkening sky. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the streets were already growing quiet.
“Tomorrow,” he decided. “I'll return it to her as soon as I can tomorrow morning.”
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Later that evening, Breeze returned to the inn where his master, Sayah, was waiting. She greeted him with her usual teasing grin. “Back from playing hero again?” she quipped.
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Breeze chuckled. “Something like that. What about you? How was your day?”
Sayah’s expression grew serious for a moment. “Challenging, as always. But there’s satisfaction in taking down a pack of ravenous nightstalkers. What about your quest? I heard whispers about you helping a discarded boy. True?”
Breeze nodded, recounting the events of the day. Sayah listened intently, her sharp eyes softening as he described Acacius’s plight. “You’ve got a good heart, kid,” she said when he finished. “Just don’t let it get you killed.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Breeze replied with a wry smile. They shared a simple dinner, exchanging stories of their respective quests before retiring to their rooms.
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Alone in his room, Breeze retrieved the legacy book he had been reading. Its thick pages and highly refined calligraphy had become a source of fascination and guidance. Tonight, he delved deeper into its first chapter, which detailed the life of his first ancestor.
Chapter 1:
For four years, I endured the unrelenting vigilance of the Bastion, biding my time as the rulers’ eyes bore down on every shadow. Their enforcers, driven to please their masters, exhibited a ruthlessness that defied humanity. They did not knock on doors; they shattered them without warning. Upon entering, if they found a family preparing dinner, they would confiscate the food without a second thought. Most of the beautiful women, in their desperation to avoid being violated, chose to deface themselves—scarred faces, severed breasts—sacrificing their dignity to repel those monstrous desires. Even those drastic measures weren’t always enough to ensure safety.
The four years felt like four decades, a ceaseless terror embedded in the very souls of the citizens. I suffered countless beatings during this time, all endured in my quest to study the Bastion’s layout. I scrutinized every corner, every shadow, and observed the patrol routines of those brutes. At the end of the fourth year, the rulers decreed a law to protect women from assault—at least those who were not slaves. The only known reason behind this sudden shift was the growing number of women mutilating themselves to avoid attention but the truth is that a deadly kind of disease started spreading among the violators. This, my descendants, is the reality of life under a tyrant’s rule.
Step by step, the Bastion’s guardians began to grow lax. Their endless vigilance, dulled by the monotony of time, created an opening. I seized that opportunity and began my move. From my home, I started digging a tunnel—an escape route to the world beyond the walls. It was no trivial task. For two years, I toiled relentlessly. Each handful of dirt needed to vanish without a trace, every scrape of the spade a risk of discovery. That labor taught me patience as much as it tested my resolve.
The tunnel was more than just an escape route. It was a statement—a declaration that I would not be caged, not by fear, not by stone, and not by the weight of their oppressive rules.
Note: My descendants, I must emphasize that the first chapter you write is to chronicle your life experiences, for the lessons drawn from hardship serve as an enduring guide. The second chapter, however, is to distill the essence of knowledge you gather over a lifetime. Write with purpose, for these pages are our legacy.
Breeze ran his fingers over the ink, feeling the gravity of the words, and then flipped the pages to check the second chapter. Unlike the first chapter’s raw tale of survival, the second unfolded as a treasure trove of knowledge. It was a meticulous catalog of creatures, their habits, and their vulnerabilities—a lifetime of understanding distilled into clear, deliberate prose.
“This is the legacy you left us," Breeze thought, his eyes lingering on the pages. "Not just survival, but the tools to thrive.”
He read late into the night, absorbing every word. The ancestor’s struggles and triumphs resonated deeply with him, fueling his own determination to carve a path through the challenges he faced. As he closed the book, a newfound resolve settled over him. Tomorrow would bring new trials, but he was ready.
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At dawn, Breeze rose with the first light, adhering to his disciplined routine. He proceeded to the training grounds, where he concentrated on refining the fundamentals with unwavering intensity guided by his master. Each movement was deliberate, each repetition a testament to his commitment. After an exhaustive session, he returned to the inn to share breakfast with his master, their conversation punctuated by plans and reflections.
Afterward, Breeze set off to return the coins he owed the elderly woman, the pouch clinking softly with its contents. The streets were already alive with the hum of morning activity, workers and merchants bustling to their daily tasks. When Breeze arrived at the humble dwelling, he was greeted by the sight of Acacius in the yard. The boy was attempting rudimentary punches, his movements awkward yet earnest, each swing imbued with the raw determination of someone eager to improve.
“Good,” Breeze called, startling the boy. “But keep your elbows in. You don’t want to leave your sides open.”
Acacius nodded, adjusting his stance. The old woman appeared at the door, her face lighting up when she saw Breeze. “You’ve come back,” she said warmly.
“Of course,” Breeze replied, handing her the pouch of coins. “These belong to you. You paid me twice for the quest—once to the MES and once directly. I couldn’t keep it.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, then filled with gratitude. “You’re an honest soul,” she said. “But take it. Use it to help Acacius. He needs tools, clothes, and food. Whatever he lacks, you’ll provide better than I can.”
Breeze hesitated but nodded, understanding the truth in her words. “Thank you. I’ll make sure it’s used wisely.”
As the sun rose higher, Breeze began Acacius’s training in earnest, guiding him through the basics of self-defense and survival. The boy’s determination shone through every awkward punch and unsteady kick. Watching him, Breeze felt a spark of hope for the future—not just for Acacius, but for himself and all those who dared to defy the world’s cruelty.
Together, they began building a foundation for a better tomorrow. But tomorrow is yet to come, and as usual, a problem came walking on two feet.