Dawn crept over the treetops, brushing the clearing with pale gold. Miguel groaned awake, stretching his tiny, sore limbs. Sleeping on rough dirt still felt foreign. Annoying. Uncomfortable. Miserable. He reached for the one reliable morning ritual he had invented in this world.
Water Ball.
A fist–sized sphere splashed straight into Nick's sleeping face.
Nick shot upright with a gasp, hair standing like a frightened cat."Koroshite yaru!!" he barked instinctively, eyes wild.
Miguel blinked. "What nonsense are you even speaking this early? Get up."
Nick wiped his drenched face, shivering. "Use water ball again and— anata o koroshimasu."
Miguel arched an eyebrow. "…Stop trying to sound cool in a language you don't know."
Their glares met—thin, childish bodies trying to look intimidating.
After a few seconds, they both sighed.
"About last night…" Miguel began, settling back against a half–finished wooden beam.
Nick nodded, expression thoughtful. "We need to decide."
Miguel shuddered dramatically. "I am not living in this forest. There are bugs everywhere. Weird noises. Wild animals. No soap. I refuse."
Nick spread his arms, proudly gesturing at the crooked walls around them."What about this? This—splendid structure I forged through sweat and flame!"
"You mean this trash?" Miguel deadpanned.
Nick froze. "…Trash?"
Miguel poked the flimsy wall; it wobbled dangerously."Yes. Trash. Collapse–with–a–sneeze trash."
Nick grabbed his head dramatically. "How dare—! This is my masterpiece!"
Miguel smirked. "Masterpiece? Bro, it's barely a house."
The bickering escalated. They argued about architecture, hygiene, mosquito bites, stability, pride, and philosophy for a solid five minutes before both fell silent—breathing hard, glaring at each other like rival generals.
Then Miguel spoke lightly. "Battle."
Nick's eyes narrowed. "You want to settle it… like that?"
Miguel nodded. "Winner chooses. Stay here… or follow the old man."
A slow grin spread across Nick's face. "If I win, we stay. If you win—we go."
"Agreed."
They stepped outside the shelter's shadow, facing each other beneath the morning light. Their tiny bodies trembled from exhaustion and childish stature—but mana thrummed through them like a second pulse. They clenched their fists.
"This is your last chance," Nick warned, flames flickering along his knuckles.
Miguel smirked. "Yours too."
They charged.
Water collided with flame, bursting into a cloud of steam. Their fists crashed together; air rippled with mana pressure. Miguel's grin widened.
"Fire is weaker than water."
Nick laughed—eyes glinting with confidence. "Then I'll just use more fire!"
Flames roared, erupting up his arm. The heat spiraled and turned blinding—sparks hissing against the ground, melting soil into dark molten patches.
Miguel's eyes widened.
But he didn't panic.
"Do you think basic fire can evaporate ice?" he shouted.
His tone was cocky. Nick paused—just long enough.
"I didn't sleep," Miguel continued. "I trained. I mastered ice magic."
Frost exploded from his palm, swirling like winter wind. Steam surged as ice clashed against flame, pushing Nick back step by step. Nick clenched teeth—heat intensifying—but Miguel's icy mana was too structured, too cold, too sharp.
The fight lasted mere seconds.
Ice consumed flame. The ground froze over. Nick's magic sputtered.
"…I lose," Nick admitted, sitting down with a defeated exhale.
"How?" he muttered. "We have the same amount of mana. How did your magic overpower mine? And when did you learn ice?!"
Miguel puffed his chest proudly. "While you were sleeping like a pig, I was training."
Nick pointed accusingly. "You—! You traitor to sleep!"
Miguel smirked.
A slow clap echoed through the clearing.
"You both are more talented than I expected," a calm voice praised.
They turned. Krogas stood at the tree line, watching with approving eyes.
"I can assure you…" he said, stroking his beard thoughtfully, "…with thirty years of training, you might surpass any mage in Glarian."
Nick froze. "…Thirty years!?"
"That's older than my entire previous life!" Miguel groaned.
Krogas chuckled softly. "Magic takes time, discipline, and harsh environments. You two are rare. I won't see such talent wasted."
Nick exchanged a glance with Miguel. The tension… evaporated. Their decision was already made.
Miguel stepped forward. "I'll go."
Nick puffed cheeks childishly. "…I'm going too."
Miguel blinked. "That didn't take much convincing."
Nick suddenly turned back to the shelter and fell to his knees dramatically."Goodbye, masterpiece!" he wailed. "I'll miss you!"
Krogas raised a brow. "…Masterpiece?"
Nick pointed proudly. "That magnificent structure!"
Krogas squinted. "…That pile of sticks?"
"Hey!" Nick hissed. "These are premium logs!"
Miguel couldn't hold it anymore—he coughed, trying (and failing) to hide laughter.
Nick glared daggers. "Traitor."
Krogas waved a hand casually. "Shall we depart? The road is long."
Miguel nodded firmly. "Yeah."
Nick wiped his tears dramatically, then instantly brightened. "Yes!! Adventure time!"
The old elf chuckled at their sudden mood swings."You remind me of troublemakers from decades ago."
As they began walking, Krogas spoke calmly, voice held low like a teacher beginning a lesson.
"Along the path, you'll face beasts. Bandits. Famine. Magic storms. But with discipline, you'll conquer them."
Nick swallowed. "Magic storms…?"
Miguel groaned. "Famine…?"
Krogas smirked. "Were you expecting flowers and butterflies?"
Nick mumbled under his breath. "…I wouldn't mind butterflies."
Miguel elbowed him. "Focus, nerd."
Nick rolled his eyes—and kept running.
As the sun climbed higher, their small silhouettes disappeared into the forest. Leaves rustled behind them. The half-made shelter stood quiet, like an unfinished memory.
Neither of them looked back again.
Their journey had begun—long, uncertain, dangerous.
But for the first time since arrival…
They weren't running.
They were moving forward.
To be continued ...!