From Tharic's Perspective and Thoughts…
When my mother was alive, she was part of a small rebellion group in our village known as the Pinehollow Revolt. It was made up of her and two close friends, Ralph and Samuel. Unlike my mother, who possessed a keen intellect and the gift of inspiring others, her two comrades were seasoned warriors—men whose skills on the battlefield were matched only by their loyalty to our people. My mother wasn't the sharpest blade in battle, but she was the flame that kept our spirits burning, the voice that made us believe survival—and even victory—were possible.
Looking back now, it's strange to remember how optimistic I once was as a child. No matter how grim the days became, no matter the bloodshed or the uncertainty of tomorrow, there was always hope—hope that rested on the shoulders of my mother and her friends. When they struck down Aether Hunters, the entire village rejoiced. When they returned safely from a mission, we celebrated with music, food, and laughter that seemed to echo into the trees. The Pinehollow Revolt may have been a group of only three, but our village fought together, prayed together, and celebrated together. That kind of camaraderie was rare anywhere in Sylmora, where it was far more common to kill than to care. At the time, I didn't realize how precious it was—I took it for granted. Now, years later, I long for those nights of joy, when the firelight of our gatherings felt like it could keep the darkness itself at bay.
While Ralph and Samuel regularly fought and took missions outside the village, my mother rarely joined them in combat. But when she did, she always wielded a spear—a weapon that seemed almost like an extension of her soul. I decided I would do the same. That way, when I was old enough to fight, she would always feel as though she was right there with me on the battlefield, even if she couldn't be. I trained relentlessly, striking at dummies and spinning the spear until my arms ached and my hands blistered. My dream was to one day join the rebellion and carry forward her flame of hope.
Eight Years Ago…
"My, look at your son train, Marcel," Ralph teased with a broad grin. "At this rate, he might be out there fighting alongside us before we know it!"
Tharic, cheeks flushing with embarrassment, replied, "Thank you, but… I don't think I'm that strong yet."
Ralph slung an arm around my shoulders. "Oh, come on. Don't be so humble. Give yourself some credit, kid."
"Now, now," my mother said, pretending to scold. "No matter how much he trains, he still has chores to help me with inside the house."
"Mother!" I protested.
Marcel's lips curved into a smile. "Of course I'm teasing. I'm proud of your progress, Tharic. But you're too young to be out there. I'd rather you wait a few more years before taking on missions with them."
"The boy's ten, Marcel, and already better than I was at his age," Ralph argued. "I'm sure he could hold his own."
But my mother's tone didn't waver. "No, Ralph. He's not going out there. We can talk again in two years—depending on his progress."
I felt the sting of disappointment but kept quiet, respecting her decision.
Ralph groaned dramatically. "Two years? Who knows if I'll even be alive by then?"
"Oh, stop it," Marcel chuckled, shaking her head. "No need to be so overdramatic."
As it turned out, Ralph's words weren't far from the truth. Just days later, he fell in battle against Aether Hunters. His death struck us like a hammer blow, the first of three tragedies that would unravel the heart of our village. We held a three-day ceremony in his honor, every home draped in mourning cloth, the air thick with grief.
That was the first time pessimism took root in me. I began to wonder if the rebellion's cause was hopeless, if we were only delaying an inevitable end. Still, my mother and Samuel stood strong, consoling everyone, insisting that our fight still mattered.
Months passed, and slowly, the flame of hope in Pinehollow began to burn again. My own doubts faded for a time, and I trained less, my passion flickering in and out. But I developed a new habit: staying by my mother's side whenever I could. I became her shadow, her unofficial bodyguard. Losing her… that was a thought I couldn't bear.
Two years later, tragedy struck again. Samuel fell in battle as well, leaving my mother the last surviving member of the Pinehollow Revolt. I wasn't surprised; it was grimly logical. He and Ralph had always fought together. With Ralph gone, it felt inevitable that Samuel's fate would follow.
His death carved another wound into my heart, deepening my growing pessimism about our rebellion's chances. Now it was just my mother and me, two people to protect an entire village.
After the mourning period ended, I picked up my spear again. This time, I trained harder than ever, determined that my mother would never meet the same fate as her comrades. If she died… I didn't know how I would go on.
The village took nearly a year to recover, but when it did, their hope shone brighter than ever, oddly enough. Their faith in my mother and in me pushed me to continue refining my skills. It was during this period that I mastered my first and only Technique up to this point: Gale Step.
Yet even as I found new strength, my mother carried more sorrow than I had ever seen in her. Losing her two closest friends had left wounds that no amount of hope could fully heal.
Two Years Ago…
"Mother, what's wrong?" I asked, seeing her sitting at the table, her hands clasped tightly, her expression heavy with grief.
She lifted her gaze to me, eyes clouded with sadness. "Nothing… but I saw the Aether Hunters kill another one of our villagers today. How much longer must this slaughter between our own people continue?"
"Mother, our country's hopeless," I said bitterly. "I wish Father would move us somewhere far from here…"
She shook her head. "Abandoning those who need us won't solve anything. It hurts to see such suffering, and I wish others could see that too. We should be uniting, not killing each other…especially now."
She reached out, resting her hand gently on my head. "If only I were as strong as you, Tharic, I'd go out there and help as many people as I could."
"Stronger or not," I muttered, "I doubt it would make a difference in this cursed world."
She smiled faintly. "Maybe not… but the world doesn't need more destruction. Even the smallest difference can be enough to change someone's heart."
"Think about the difference we've already made here in Pinehollow," my mother said, her voice calm but steady. "Sooner or later, if we can unite more people outside our village… we would be unstoppable against any Aether Hunter."
Her eyes swept the room slowly, taking in every corner of our modest home before meeting mine again. "It's just me and you now, Tharic. I know it won't be easy, you'll have to shoulder most of the fighting from here on out, but I'm confident you'll surpass even Ralph and Samuel one day. You're already so talented at only sixteen."
I gave a faint smile. "I guess you're right… I don't know why I was doubting earlier."
"But," she continued, her tone turning more firm, "whatever happens in the future, never let the spark die, the hope that others carry in their hearts that one day we can live in a free country."
I frowned in confusion. "As long as I have you, Mother, that fire will never fade. It'll live forever."
She shook her head. "No, Tharic. With how uncertain each day is, there's no guarantee I'll always be here. When the time comes, and it will, I want you to take my place and be that hope for others."
"What are you saying?!" I blurted out, my voice cracking. "You're my mother! I won't let you die while I'm still breathing!"
"Tharic…" she said softly.
"Besides," I went on, "I don't think I could ever take on that role. I'm not… you. I'm too pessimistic about Sylmora. I don't have the same faith you do."
"You don't need to be me," she replied gently.
I dropped my gaze to the floor. "I'm just not the leader you are."
She reached forward, tilting my chin upward until our eyes met. "Leadership comes in many forms, dear. What worked for me might not work for you, and that's fine. Find your own way to keep this hope alive. Protect our village, and our people so they can live to see a brighter Sylmora. So they can still believe in tomorrow."
Her words pierced something deep inside me.
I quickly shook my head, scolding her, "Stop saying all this sappy nonsense. There will never be anyone like you. Don't talk as if you're already gone."
She stared at me for a moment… then laughed.
"W-what's so funny?" I stammered, flustered.
Since that day, those words have stayed with me like a shadow, whispering in the back of my mind:
"There's no guarantee I'll always be here. When the time comes, and it will, I want you to take my place and be that hope for others."
I had never imagined life without my mother. My father was always away, traveling as a merchant across Sylmora, so she had been my constant, my anchor. If she were gone… I don't know who I would be.
For the next two years, I didn't dwell on it. I focused on what I could control—protecting her. Everyone in Pinehollow knew our hope lived as long as she did. She might not have been the strongest, but she was the pillar that kept the fire in our hearts burning.
I didn't have her gift for leadership. I didn't know how to inspire people the way she could. When I was younger, I thought I wanted to be just like her, but as I grew, I realized I was more comfortable guarding that hope from the shadows, making sure it never went out. That had always been my role, even when the full Pinehollow Revolt was still around.
That's why I could never imagine her dying. If she died… so would the spark.
Five months ago…
"Where are you going?" my mother asked, glancing at me as I strapped my spear to my back.
"Just going to sharpen my spear," I replied, stepping toward the door.
She tilted her head. "Oh, nothing urgent. I was just planning to visit the farmers' market in the village center, pick up some vegetables. I thought you might want to come along."
"Give me thirty minutes," I said firmly. "When I get back, we'll go together."
She chuckled. "No worries, dear, I can—"
"I'm not letting you wander alone," I cut in. "We'll go together."
She smiled knowingly. "Alright then, but make it quick! The sun's already starting to set."
I nodded and headed west, leaving the village and stepping into the forest. I didn't notice the figure perched high in a tree, watching me. An Aether Hunter's lips curled into a faint smile before he vanished into the shadows.
I found a familiar boulder and sat down, picking up a smooth rock from the ground. The sound of scraping metal echoed softly as I began sharpening the spear's dull edge. It was almost meditative—just me, the rustle of leaves, and the distant calls of birds.
"It's been two years since she said those words," I thought. "I've made it my mission to make sure her death never comes to pass. Since then, nothing out of the ordinary has happened—aside from me getting stronger."
"With my mother as the last member of the Pinehollow Revolt, it's more important than ever that I protect her… and protect the fire she keeps alive in the village."
I paused, thinking about the huge Aetherite crystal that had suddenly appeared in our village's center, a towering shard of shimmering light that slowly released Aether into the land around it. For the first time in my lifetime,I saw people's hope seem to grow on its own, aside from my mother.
The rock slipped from my hand.
"Tch. Damn it."
I grabbed another and kept sharpening until the spear's point gleamed in the fading light. Testing it, I stabbed the ground—leaving a deep gash in the dirt. I grinned in satisfaction.
"Perfect."
The sky had shifted to a rich orange, the sun now kissing the horizon.
"Shit, I hope it's not too late for the market."
Then… a sudden gust of wind blew in from the east, the direction of Pinehollow. The trees swayed. Leaves rustled violently. And the forest fell unnervingly quiet.