A dream, it was a dream.
The snow was falling, drifting down from the skies onto the earth like a thousand feathers scattered by the heavens. Aron was standing on a narrow path between the forests, and everywhere he looked was white—pure, silent, endless. The air was cold enough to sting his lungs, yet it carried a strange calmness.
It felt as if this had happened before, like a memory disguised as a dream.
Then, through the mist of falling snow, a man appeared. His thick armor clinked softly as he walked, each step heavy but controlled. On his back rested a sword, and when Aron's eyes fixed upon it, his heart skipped. It was exactly like his own blade.
"Who is this man?" Aron wondered to himself.
The stranger exhaled, his breath turning into icy steam that curled away into the cold wind. With one arm, as though it were nothing, he carried a deer, lifeless and still, its antlers brushing against the snow. The man walked close, so close that Aron could feel the weight of his presence—a slight difference in space separated them.
And then, just as suddenly, the man vanished. The wind howled, echoing through the trees, and time itself seemed to bend. The white forest faded away. Aron's dream cracked apart, and he felt himself falling into darkness. His eyes shut tight—until they snapped open.
And there, the first face he saw was Carlos.
"Finally, you're awake!" Carlos laughed with relief, shaking his head. "What were you doing back there? It's been so long, man, I thought you had gone into a coma!"
Aron sat up slowly, still dazed. "Carlos… did you find the herbs?" he asked, his voice hoarse as he rubbed his temples.
"Yeah, I found them," Carlos replied, holding out a small pouch. "But what about you? Were you training again?"
Aron opened and closed his fingers, watching them flex as if they no longer belonged to him. "Yes… I was training. But something felt strange. My body… it feels lighter now."
Carlos gave him a curious look, but before he could answer, a voice called from behind.
"Oh, Aron! You're awake, son." It was Mr. Wood, stepping into the room with his usual calm presence. "Tell me, what kind of training were you even doing that led to this state?"
Aron lowered his eyes. "I… don't know. There was a book. And then words appeared on it. One word, shining across the page—Strength. The book said… build strength."
Mr. Wood's eyes narrowed slightly. "Strength, you say? Hmmm." He stroked his beard, then smiled. "Well then, what better time than now? You've got yourself the greatest teacher, and I'll make sure your body is strengthened, every muscle built into that of a true warrior. From today onward, I will train you myself."
Aron's chest filled with warmth. Finally—someone who could guide him properly.
Mr. Wood nodded firmly. "The fields need only water for the next couple of days. That means we can dedicate our time to training."
Carlos, who had been listening, jumped in. "Wait! Can I also join him?"
Wood laughed heartily. "Of course, boy! Both of you will train. I'll make you strong—physically and mentally."
Carlos reached his hand toward Aron, who clasped it tightly. "Let's go, brother," Carlos grinned. "Let's get stronger together."
And so, training began.
The place shifted. Their smiles faded as their eyes fell upon something unexpected.
A plough.
It rested in the field, its wooden frame marked with years of labor. It was the tool farmers used to dig into the soil, pulled by cows to turn the land. But here, no cows were in sight.
Carlos tilted his head, blinking in disbelief. "That's a plough… are you saying we have to move cows with it? But… where are the cows?"
Wood chuckled, shaking his head. "No, no. You misunderstand. You boys will be the ones pulling it."
Both Aron and Carlos froze, their expressions changing instantly. "US?!" they shouted together.
"Yes, you," Wood confirmed. "Listen. This isn't our land. But Mrs. Flech, who owns it, has grown tired these days. Her husband has passed, and her son works in another city to send her money. She hires workers to keep her crops alive, but today, you two will take up the plough. It is not hard."
Aron and Carlos exchanged a look, their faces pale with exhaustion already. Still, they moved toward the plough, hesitating as their hands touched its handles.
"Start from that corner," Wood pointed.
The boys leaned forward, gripping tightly, and began to push.
The wooden plough dug into the soil. It moved, slowly at first, but with every inch forward, their muscles screamed. Sweat poured down their faces despite the morning sun not yet reaching its peak. Aron leaned harder, his strength carrying most of the weight while Carlos struggled, though he said nothing.
The scorching heat grew worse as the day stretched on. Their shirts clung to their backs, hair sticking to their foreheads, and their bodies trembled with fatigue. The plough tore through the earth, line by line, demanding everything from their muscles.
At last, their stamina gave out. Both boys collapsed onto the soil, gasping.
"Man… I'm so tired," Carlos groaned, his arms sprawled out.
Wood walked over, hands resting behind his back. "A good effort, children. Half a field in one day. Remember though—you will need to do it several times before your bodies adapt."
Carlos sat up, groaning. "More, you say?!"
"Yes, more." Wood grinned. "Now get up, there's still more work."
They followed, limping to the next task.
"This," Wood said, pointing at the stacks beside the barn, "is wheat and rice. Deliver these bags to Kennel at the market and bring back the payment."
Aron bent, lifting three heavy sacks across his shoulders. Carlos managed two, staggering under their weight. Together they started walking, each step heavier than the last. Their breaths came fast, dripping sweat soaking their clothes.
"Mr. Wood really doesn't pity us," Carlos muttered under his breath.
Aron's eyes flicked toward the sky, calm despite his exhaustion. "Yeah… but this is training. This will make us stronger."
Carlos glanced at him with disbelief, shaking his head.
The sun descended, and the moon rose. By the time they were returning home, their bodies were nearly broken, but their arms carried the weight of earned coins. They walked the dirt path lazily, shoulders slouched, yet there was a faint sense of pride beneath their exhaustion.
When they reached Wood's house, he was outside, carving wood as usual. He stood as they approached.
"Did you get the money?" he asked.
Aron stepped forward, handing him the coins. "Here it is."
Wood nodded, then smiled warmly. "Good. As your reward…" He reached into his pouch and handed each boy a small token—nothing much, but enough to make them smile.
"Well done today. A good day of training indeed."
Carlos grinned, waving as he headed toward his home. Aron, however, lingered a little, entering Wood's house quietly. He was beyond tired, his body screaming for rest. As his head touched the pillow, he thought of the dream, of the man in armor, of the word carved in his mind—Strength.
And with that thought, he drifted into sleep.