Episode : Choices in the Midst of Chaos
Lian had decided—it was time to find a party in Ervandor. The newborn city was plastered with recruitment notices, every wall and board cluttered with scribbled promises of glory.
He scanned one sheet, the parchment flapping in the wind.
"Warriors wanted. Brave souls needed for expeditions into uncharted lands."
A faint smile touched his lips. Maybe this will be the one.
But that hope faltered the moment he stood before the group.
The party was little more than eager faces and chipped weapons. Their armor hung loose, as if borrowed, and their eyes shone with naïve excitement.
"You're a warrior, right?" one asked with a grin. "Aren't you excited for your first real battle in Astralium?"
Lian's smile remained polite, but his heart sank. Their enthusiasm wasn't born of courage—it was born of ignorance.
"First battle, huh…" he murmured, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I'll look elsewhere."
He left them behind and moved on.
The second notice seemed more promising—carefully written, their plans meticulous, their tone serious. Lian allowed himself a sliver of hope.
That hope didn't last.
The "party" was a nest of swindlers.
They spoke of "rental gear" that required absurd deposits, of "exploration fees" to be paid up front, of dangers only they could "guide him safely" through—for a price.
Lian listened quietly, then exhaled a long sigh.
"Not for me," he said flatly, and walked away.
The third group was worse.
He saw the banners before he even heard the speeches—a family crest, stitched in gold thread.
"Ah! You must join us!" one of them said, all bright smiles and perfect teeth. "With you in our ranks, we'll achieve legendary deeds! Our family has already uncovered relics across the continent—your help will bring us greater glory!"
But their words were theater. Their expedition, a performance. Their quest for "relics" was only a quest for applause.
Lian didn't waste another moment.
"I won't waste my time," he muttered, turning on his heel.
The last party he visited—the only one that truly impressed him—was already complete. Their equipment gleamed from use, not vanity. Their stances told him they'd seen real battle.
But when he approached, their leader bowed his head politely.
"I'm sorry, traveler. Every position is already filled. May your journey be safe."
Lian simply nodded, though the sting of disappointment sat heavy on his chest.
"I understand."
By nightfall, he had visited enough.
"No one here fits," he whispered.
After a long silence, he straightened, resolve hardening.
"Then I'll walk my own path."
That evening, he walked the crooked streets of Ervandor, stopping at stalls lit by swaying lanterns. He bought healing salves, tightened every strap on his gear, checked the weight of his pack.
When he stepped back into the night, the wind brushed his face like an unseen hand.
He hefted the pack onto his shoulders.
***
Episode : Rumors and Others
Lian walked the quiet road beyond Ervandor, his steps steady and unhurried. He wanted nothing more than to leave behind the newborn city's clamor and savor a moment of solitude. But far ahead, massive silhouettes caught his eye—figures shaped like bulls.
In Elysium, they were spoken of in hushed tones: Brontaur, a people notorious for their ferocity and cruelty. Even from a distance, their sheer presence carried an air of intimidation.
Lian's hand brushed the hilt of his sword. He readied himself for the possibility of conflict. A Brontaur would not be easily dismissed.
But as he drew closer, his tension wavered.
Their movements were slow. Unhurried. Peaceful.
They weren't hunting. They weren't charging. They were simply passing through.
Lian kept his eyes on them, his guard unbroken, even as he continued walking.
Then—a sudden sound.
The sharp rhythm of feet pounding the earth, rushing up behind him.
Instinct surged through him. His blade was half drawn in an instant.
And the tip of that blade met something… small.
A tiny figure, barely reaching his chest—also shaped like a bull.
The little one skidded to a stop, startled, hands raised high.
"I-I'm so sorry! I was just playing with my friend and— I didn't mean to run into you!"
Lian blinked, staring down at the small horned figure.
He'd heard that the Brontaur were savage, merciless. But the trembling little creature before him looked nothing like the monsters he'd imagined.
He slowly lowered his sword.
More of them appeared in the distance—larger, stronger figures, each with the same bull-like features.
For a heartbeat, his tension returned.
But again, there was no malice in their approach.
One stepped forward, voice calm and low.
"Traveler, we apologize for startling you. We mean no harm."
Their words were steady, their eyes warm.
Confusion creased Lian's brow.
"Aren't you Brontaur? In Elysium, we were told they were savage and cruel."
At his question, the bull-shaped man let out a soft chuckle and shook his head.
"Ah, the Brontaur. They are… distant kin of ours. But we are not the same. They were once peaceful, as we are, but in time, some among them turned violent. So the tales go, at least."
Lian listened, startled.
They explained further: they were not Brontaur, but Runeguard—a people who valued peace, who lived with strength tempered by gentleness.
"We are the Runeguard," the man said. "We hold to peace. Perhaps the tales that reached Elysium have been twisted over the years. But if more travelers like you cross these lands and meet us with open eyes, then perhaps these old misunderstandings will fade."
Their calm voices and unguarded words sank into him.
Lian realized how easily rumors hardened into truth—and how often those "truths" were wrong.
He eased fully, sheathing his blade, and spoke with them for a time. They shared stories of this land's history and their people's past, then wished him safe travels.
Lian bowed in return before continuing on his way.
Their unexpected kindness lingered with him.
"Not all of them were savage to begin with… there must have been reasons for how things became the way they are."
The thought stayed with him as he walked, each step a reminder that the unknown continent held truths he could only uncover for himself.
The world rarely moved as expected.
And only by meeting it face to face could he hope to learn what was real.
His journey was only just beginning.
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Alone or not… he would move forward.
And with that, Lian's first solitary step into Astralium began.
**
Episode : An Unexpected Crisis
Lian's boots left the walls of Ervandor behind.
He moved through the low hills that bordered the city, crossing the outskirts where fledgling adventurers made their first hunts. The land here was considered "safe"—a word Lian knew better than to trust.
In the distance, he saw them.
A cluster of young adventurers, gear clinking nervously as they checked and rechecked their equipment. Their voices, low but eager, carried across the grass.
"We're ready! If we stick together, this'll be easy!"
Lian slowed, watching them. Their swords looked new, their shields unscarred. They hadn't yet learned what real fear smelled like.
He started to pass them by. They'll learn. They need to.
But then the scream came.
A sharp, tearing cry, followed by the crash of something heavy in the brush.
Lian's head snapped around.
The young party had drawn something far worse than they expected.
From the trees came a wolf—but not the kind they'd been told haunted these outskirts. This one was massive, its shoulders rising higher than the tallest of them, its muscles coiled like steel cables under its fur.
It snarled, teeth bared, and the sound turned their bravado into terror.
"I-It's too strong!" one cried, stumbling backward.
The formation collapsed. Shields dropped. Blades clattered to the dirt. Someone tried to cast a spell, but panic turned words into stutters and the magic fizzled uselessly in the air.
Lian stood still for a breath, watching.
If they steady themselves, they can survive this. If they—
The wolf lunged.
One of the adventurers froze, wide-eyed, as death rushed toward him.
That was enough.
Lian moved.
Steel flashed. The impact of claw against sword rang like struck iron as he met the wolf head-on, driving it back a step.
"Back. All of you, back!" his voice cracked like a whip.
The adventurers blinked at him, dazed. "Who are you—?"
Lian didn't answer.
He struck again, each swing deliberate and precise, his blade carving the wolf's momentum away piece by piece.
"Wake up!" he barked. "If you stay frozen, you'll die here!"
The words hit harder than his sword.
The young adventurers flinched, but the haze broke. They began to move again, fumbling, but moving.
"Shield in front. Now. You—strike from behind. Mage—trip its legs!"
His orders came sharp, clipped, unarguable.
And somehow, they obeyed.
Clumsy though they were, they found rhythm in his voice. The shield-bearer blocked. The swords struck. The mage's spell finally landed, tangling the wolf's movements for a breath.
Lian didn't waste that breath.
His blade arced in a single, decisive strike.
The wolf fell.
Silence followed, broken only by ragged breathing.
"…Thank you," one of them whispered. "We—we could have died."
Lian sheathed his sword.
"You almost did," he said coolly.
They flinched.
"You came here unprepared. You didn't move as one. And next time, you won't have me to save you."
Shame weighed heavy on their faces. One muttered softly, "We didn't… trust each other."
Lian's eyes softened slightly.
"Adventuring isn't about swinging a sword. It's about trusting the hands beside you. Learn that—or the next hunt will be your last."
They nodded, chastened. One spoke, barely above a whisper.
"We'll do better next time."
Lian turned away, his voice low as he walked.
"Make sure you do. I won't be here the next time."
As he left them behind, his thoughts wandered back to his own youth—his own early failures, the hands that had saved him when he stumbled.
He hoped these young adventurers would grow. And he hoped their lives would not depend on luck alone.
Lian walked on, deeper into Astralium.
The land had only just begun to test him.
**
Episode : A Name Spreads
Lian had intended to remain quiet in Ervandor.
But word travels fast in a newborn city.
The story of a lone warrior saving fledgling adventurers spread like spilled ink—through the market stalls, into the corners of taverns, across the training yards.
"That strong swordsman—he saved us," they whispered.
By the next day, his name was everywhere.
Small parties lingered around him, hopeful.
"Would you join us on our next hunt?" one asked. "Will you teach us?"
Lian met their hopeful eyes and shook his head.
"I have nothing to teach you. You have to learn on your own."
Disappointment dimmed their faces, but his words stayed with them.
Not all attention was kind.
More seasoned adventurers watched him with cold appraisal.
"Helping them will only make them weak," one scoffed. "They'll never learn if someone keeps saving them."
Another nodded. "We got here without help. Only the strong survive."
Their voices carried no weight with Lian.
He hadn't helped for praise, nor for the judgment of others.
He had helped because it was right in the moment.
That was all.
When his preparations were complete, Lian quietly packed his things.
He ignored the curious eyes in the square as he passed through, the whispers brushing against his back like stray leaves in the wind.
He didn't stop.
He didn't explain.
He simply walked out of the gates.
And the farther he went, the lighter his steps became.
Whatever stories they told behind him, whatever names they whispered, Lian carried only one truth forward—
His road was his own.