"Damn… guess I'll be here for a while."
Felthart muttered, leaning against the rough trunk of an old oak. The forest whispered softly around him—rustling leaves, distant birds, the fading light of dusk. He let out a tired sigh and closed his eyes, letting sleep take him.
---
Three Years Ago — The Royal Castle of Silverhaven
"It's good to be home," an elderly man said as he stepped through the towering marble gates of the castle. His robes—deep violet and lined with silver runes—fluttered with every step.
"You're finally back after three long years, Nolan," a familiar voice called out.
The man turned slightly, a faint grin tugging at his lips. "Oh? If it isn't Ryker."
Ryker, clad in the armor of the King's Guard, walked beside him down the long corridor. "We summoned you back from the Kingdom of Valnim a year ago. What took you so long?"
Nolan chuckled softly, eyes glinting beneath his gray brows. "I was... detained by certain matters. Nothing worth troubling the court over. What matters is—I'm here now."
Ryker exhaled through his nose. "I suppose so. I can't exactly question the Archwizard of Silverhaven."
They soon reached the royal quarters, where the great doors opened into the king's chamber.
(The rank of Archwizard is the highest among all wizards—granted only to those who have reached the Third Circle or below and proven their mastery of Force.)
"Ah, Nolan—you've returned," said King Marcellius, his voice weary yet firm. Nolan and Ryker both knelt before him.
"My king," Nolan said, bowing his head. "Forgive the delay. What troubles demand my return?"
The king gestured for them to rise, his expression dark. "We found Gable… and my son. He vanished—under the protection of Silverhaven's strongest knight."
Nolan's eyes narrowed slightly. "You found the sunforged knight and the boy, but he escaped him? That's no small feat. Then… he must have awakened Force."
The king froze. "You mean to say he awakened Force—at only five years old?"
Ryker's gaze was calm, emotionless. "It is… possible, Your Majesty. He is of royal blood. And it is that time of the century."
"Perhaps…" the king murmured, his hands curling into fists. "But even so—no child should possess such power."
Nolan's expression was unreadable. His mind, however, was already working in silence.
---
The Present — Nightfall
"Hey, kid. Wake up."
The voice pulled Felthart from uneasy sleep. His vision blurred—then sharpened. A man stood before him, framed by moonlight.
"Who… who are you?" Felthart asked sharply, pushing himself upright. His hands instinctively reached for his daggers, blades flashing as he took a defensive stance.
"Easy, kid." The man raised his hands in peace. "Name's Nolan. What's yours?"
Felthart hesitated, his instincts screaming—but there was something calm, ancient, familiar about the man's presence.
He lowered his daggers.
"I don't know if I'm just tired or losing it," he muttered, "but I feel… safe around you. My name's Felthart."
Nolan smiled faintly. "A good name. And from what I can sense… you're a ninth-level Force user, aren't you?"
Felthart frowned. "You can sense that?"
(Force users can only gauge others within two levels of their own. Anyone stronger than that remains unreadable.)
"I can't sense your level," Felthart admitted quietly. "Which means… you're far stronger than me."
"Correct," Nolan said with a small nod. "Tell me, how old are you to be wielding daggers like those?"
"Ten," Felthart replied without hesitation, his tone flat.
Nolan blinked. "Ten? And already attuned to Force? That's… remarkable."
(Could it be?) Nolan thought, studying the boy's sharp features, the quiet pain in his eyes. (Is this… the lost prince of Silverhaven?)
"I don't see what's so remarkable," Felthart muttered. "There are people far stronger."
Nolan chuckled softly. "Even the strongest began weak. They just worked harder than the rest. That's how the gods shaped the world—to give everyone a chance at equality."
Felthart looked up at the stars. "And yet the gods aren't fair, are they? Some are born with unmeasurable potential—breaking those very laws. Why would gods create people who defy their own design?"
A quiet laugh escaped Nolan's lips. "Heh… just an old man's ramblings."
Felthart didn't answer. His gaze lingered on the stars, as if searching for something he'd lost.
After a moment, Nolan reached into his robe and tossed him a small card. "Here. You're not ready yet—but when you are, come here. Train. Grow stronger. Show them this, and they'll let you in. Two years from now."
Felthart caught the card, glancing down. "Emberhaven Force Academy…? It's in Melino City?"
When he looked up again—Nolan was gone. The night was silent.
---
Two Years Later
Time passed quietly, though the silence was never kind.
For two years, Felthart lived in the wild—hunting, cooking, surviving. He read old books salvaged from ruins, practiced what he could remember, and taught himself to endure. But he didn't grow stronger. Not truly. His heart was heavy, his will fractured. Pain had stolen his purpose.
"The entrance ceremony's seven days away," he murmured one morning. "Guess I should get ready."
He walked to the nearby village—the first time in years. He bought food, clothes, a new pack, and a ticket to Melino City. The journey would take six days by carriage.
His reflection in a shop window startled him. His once short hair now reached his shoulders, golden-blonde and unkempt. His eyes—once a deep royal shade—were now the blue of the lenses he wore. He looked… like someone else. Maybe that was the point.
That night, under the quiet hum of the carriage wheels, he gazed at the stars once more.
"Emberhaven Force Academy…" he whispered. "Let's see if I can still become someone stronger."
As the road stretched before him, the lights of Melino City waited beyond the horizon—
and with them, the first chapter of a new life.
---