In a land where magic flowed as freely as rivers and old legends still walked in mortal form, humans, beastmen, elves, dwarves, giants and many other races, lived side by side — while countless mystical beasts roamed the forests, mountains, and seas, It is a world where wonder and danger intertwined.
Far from the bustling hustling cities, in the quiet village of Ralia, situated in the kingdom of Etheria, nestled between rolling green hills, stood a modest country house. Its whitewashed walls were framed with dark wooden beams, sunlight pooled over the thatched roof, turning the damp morning dew into glimmering silver, in front, a little garden bloomed beside an old stone well, and a gravel road connected the house to the rest of the village.
It was the kind of morning that made time feel slower, as if even the wind had paused to listen. And then, as if answering the silence itself, the stillness was pierced by the sharp cry of a newborn.
"Congratulations!" the nurse exclaimed, smiling as she wrapped the child in cloth. "It's a boy! And he is healthy and fine"
Juliette Edric Neshveil, weary from the long labor, lifted her head, her pale face glowing with joy. "Let me see him," she whispered. The bundle was placed in her arms, and her smile deepened. "Nicholas… look at him. Isn't he beautiful?"
Her husband, Nicholas Edric Neshveil — a seasoned swordsman whose scars told stories he seldom shared — leaned closer. Yet here, cradling his son, those memories seemed to fade into insignificance. "He's not just beautiful. He's perfect. Our son."
Juliette's tired eyes shimmered with tears. "What shall we name him?"
Nicholas gently took the boy into his arms, pride warming his expression. "Julius. Julius Edric Neshveil."
"Julius…" Juliette repeated, the name resting on her lips like a blessing.
And so, the quiet home gained a new heartbeat — one destined to echo far beyond the hills of Ralia.
———
Soon, Julius turned six months old, the house was filled with small joys. Little Julius could now sit upright, his bones firming as his laughter rang like bells, echoing softly through the sunlit kitchen where the scent of fresh bread lingered.
"Julius, say 'aaa'," Juliette coaxed as she fed him.
"Aaa!"
Juliette's heart leapt. "Good boy!"
"Ma ma ma…" the baby babbled.
She froze, eyes widening. "Did you… just call me Mother?" There was a strange clarity in his gaze, as if he understood far more than any six-month-old should.
Nicholas, leaning in the doorway, smirked. "Looks like he's growing fast. Won't be long before he's crawling all over the house."
Juliette hugged her son close. "Nah, my Julius will be a good boy. He won't give his mother any trouble."
———
As Julius turned one year old, Juliette's prediction proved false. Julius had become a whirlwind of energy.
"Come now, Julius, eat your food," Juliette said, trying to hold a spoon to his mouth.
Instead, he giggled and crawled away, his tiny hands scurrying across the floor. The floorboards creaked under his tiny hands, sunlight catching his laughter like little sparks.
"Wait! Don't crawl away!" Juliette cried, chasing him.
Nicholas leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, laughing. "He's turning into quite the troublemaker."
"Don't just stand there! Help me to catch him!"
Nicholas raised a brow. "And miss the fun of watching you run in circles? Never."
"You are insufferable!" she snapped, still running after Julius.
The boy hid beneath the bed, giggling uncontrollably.
"Ah, there you are." Juliette crouched down and scooped him up. She kissed his chubby cheek. "Now, eat well and grow strong. Don't you want to be strong like Father?"
"Da da da!" Julius babbled.
Nicholas couldn't help but smile, pride swelling in his chest.
———
By his second year, Julius had learned to walk and speak in short, eager bursts. Mischief had become his constant companion.
One afternoon, while racing through the hall, his little legs gave out. He stumbled and fell, crying loudly.
Juliette rushed to him, heart pounding. "Shh, it's all right, I'm here." She placed her glowing hands on his scraped knee. Soft light spread across his skin, and the wound closed instantly. His tears vanished as quickly as they had come.
To keep him close, she carried him into the kitchen. She lifted a spoon. "This is a spoon."
"Spooon!" Julius repeated proudly.
"Yes, that's right! And this —" she held up a fork, "— is a fork."
"Fokk!"
Juliette chuckled. "Close enough, Julius."
Then she lifted a knife.
Julius's eyes lit up. "Sword!" he shouted, trying to grab it.
Startled, Juliette pulled it away. "No, Julius. This is not a sword. It's dangerous."
"Give me sword!, Father sword!, I sword!" He stamped his feet, pouting furiously.
Juliette sighed, hiding her worry. "No, Julius. Not this."
He turned away. "I won't talk to you!"
"Don't run, Julius—you'll fall again!" she called, following quickly.
But Julius was determined. For the first time, he began climbing the stairs. His small hands clung to the steps, his little legs trembling with effort. Juliette's heart clenched, but she let him try, ready to catch him if he slipped.
"Yes, Julius," she whispered with a soft smile. "You can do it."
At last, he reached the top. Wide-eyed, he wandered into a study filled with shelves of books. His tiny fingers brushed over the spines before he pulled one down, staring curiously at the drawings inside.
From the doorway, Juliette's heart swelled, as Julius lingered over the books, tracing letters with tiny fingers, utterly fascinated.
And indeed, it became his routine. Each day, he climbed the stairs to the study, gazing at pictures, listening intently as Juliette told him stories, and slowly learning the shapes of letters beneath her gentle hand. Juliette began teaching him to write, spell words, read, and even do simple calculations.
———
Another year passed, and Julius was now three years old. The once mischievous Julius had grown quieter with age—or at least, a little less troublesome. Most of his days were now spent in the study, seated beside his mother, Juliette, who patiently guided his hand across parchment and taught him letters and rhymes.
"Twinkle, twinkle, lil star…" Julius recited with childish enthusiasm, his small voice carrying the rhythm. "How I wonder what you are! Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky!"
Juliette clapped her hands, her smile radiant. "Very good, Julius. You've memorized it perfectly."
Julius's face lit up. "Thank.. you!"
"As promised," Juliette said, producing a sweet from her pocket, "here is your reward."
His eyes widened. "A sweet!" He snatched it eagerly and bit into it, beaming with delight. "Yayyy! I love sweets. It's so good, Mother!"
Juliette laughed softly. "I knew you would."
———
But while Julius grew more studious, his fascination with the sword never faded.
One afternoon, he dragged himself toward his father's weapon stand, his tiny hands gripping the hilt of Nicholas's sword. He strained, face red, but the blade would not budge.
"Uuuhhh…"
"Julius," Nicholas's deep voice cut across the room, "no. You mustn't touch that. Swords are dangerous. When you grow older, you may wield it."
Julius pouted, but his eyes still glimmered with determination. "Fine… but remember, I'll beat you one day!"
Nicholas chuckled, amused. "I'll be waiting for that day, my son."
Denied his prize, Julius vanished for a moment and returned, brandishing a stick with a stone tied crudely to its end. Standing tall—at least in his mind—he declared, "I, Julius Edric Neshveil , challenge you to a duel!"
Nicholas laughed aloud, entertained by his son's antics. "Very well. I accept."
Julius lunged with all the ferocity of a stone-age warrior, the stick thudding against the floor, dust kicking up at his tiny feet, but Nicholas dodged effortlessly again and again, until the boy finally collapsed to the ground, panting.
"I'll win next time," Julius huffed.
"Of course, my little warrior." Nicholas crouched down and presented him with something hidden behind his back—a small wooden sword. "This will serve you better than that stick, don't you think?"
Julius's eyes sparkled as he grasped it, and though his arms were small, the way he held it made Nicholas pause — there was a naturalness, a spark of promise in his posture. "My sword! Yayyy! Thank you, Father!"
Nicholas ruffled his hair. "Your training begins now."
Though most children did not begin until six or even eight years old, Nicholas could already see the spark in his boy.
He turned to Juliette later that evening, his gaze lingering on their son, who swung the wooden blade with gleeful abandon. "He's growing too fast, isn't he?"
Juliette nodded softly. "Far too fast." Juliette watched silently, pride mingled with worry.
Nicholas smiled faintly. "While others his age play mischief, Julius is different. He loves his studies… and now swordsmanship too. He will become a great warrior one day. I'm certain of it."
Over the next two years, Julius continued to train with both sword and pen, growing stronger, wiser, and more determined with each passing day.
———
By the time Julius turned five, he had grown taller, stronger, and sharper with every passing year. Under Nicholas's strict guidance, he trained diligently, wooden sword in hand, his movements swift and precise. Though still small, his sword work already outmatched boys several years older. Juliette, meanwhile, nurtured his mind with books, lessons, and patient stories, watching with pride and awe as her son flourished before her eyes.
Yet even as Julius thrived, a new challenge loomed.
One crisp autumn morning, Nicholas prepared for a long journey beyond the borders of Ralia. His departure, though necessary, weighed heavily on the family — most of all on Julius.
"Father," Julius said, tugging at his cloak as Nicholas fastened the last strap of his traveling pack, "please come back soon!"
Nicholas knelt so his eyes met his son's. "I promise, I will. But while I'm away…" He rested a calloused hand on Julius's shoulder. "Train hard. The next time we spar, I expect you to challenge me properly."
"I will!" Julius declared, fists clenched in fierce determination. "And this time, I'll win!"
Nicholas chuckled warmly. "That's the spirit."
Juliette's voice, soft but edged with worry, carried from the doorway. "Take care of yourself. And come home safe."
"I will," Nicholas said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Goodbye, my dear family."
Juliette and Julius waved until he disappeared down the village road, a lone figure swallowed by the horizon.
———
The days without Nicholas passed slowly. The house felt quieter, the yard emptier. Julius missed the clang of wooden swords, the laughter that followed each mock battle. With nothing else to do, he buried himself in study, exploring every shelf of his mother's vast library.
One afternoon, while wandering among the towering bookshelves, his hand brushed against an aged, dust-coated volume bound in deep blue leather. Curiosity sparked. He pulled it free and whispered aloud, "Magia Tironum: Volume I? What's this?"
The moment he opened the book, faint runes shimmered across its pages — glowing briefly as if recognizing his touch. His heart skipped a beat.
"Water magic… wind magic… earth magic… healing…" he read aloud, his eyes widening with wonder. The pages were filled with illustrations and detailed instructions, the very foundations of sorcery itself.
A thrill ran through him. Could he really do this? Could he wield magic?
He followed the instructions carefully, heart pounding. Extending a trembling hand, he whispered the incantation written on the page. At first, nothing happened. Then — a droplet of water formed above his palm, wobbling like a living thing before stabilizing into a perfect sphere.
"Y-yes!" Julius gasped, his voice echoing in the quiet room. "I did it!"
A grin spread across his face, wild and triumphant. "When Father comes back, I'll defeat him for sure. I'll keep this a secret… even from Mother. Hehe."
And so began Julius's hidden training. Day after day, while Juliette believed he studied stories and arithmetic, he returned to the grimoire. His progress was nothing short of extraordinary. What the book warned would take years came to him in weeks. The runes that baffled most apprentices seemed to welcome his voice.
Even the book itself hinted that "true mastery of a single school of magic often requires years of disciplined study." Yet Julius needed only days. The spells obeyed him as if they had been waiting for his call.
Three months later, the boy who once swung a wooden sword now commanded the elements themselves. He could summon water to his will, shaping it into orbs or cutting streams. He could raise earth into shields or sharp projectiles. He bent wind to lighten his steps and heal small wounds with a gentle glow.
While most children would not even begin their magical journey until the age of ten or twelve, Julius — barely five — had mastered the foundation of four elemental schools.
But in his youthful innocence, Julius did not grasp the truth. What others would call genius was only the faintest flicker of the storm sleeping within him.