The night was still.A cool breeze whispered through the trees surrounding the training grounds.Gray sat on the ground, his shoulders rising and falling with every tired breath.Sweat mixed with a thin trail of blood running from the corner of his mouth.
Above him, the half-moon hung quietly — pouring its pale light over his worn face,as if the heavens themselves tried to console him with a silence only those who've walked a long, lonely road could understand.
He lifted his head toward the sky…and suddenly, the world around him began to fade.The air changed.The night folded in on itself — and the past returned.
Childhood — The First Ash
Water dripped from wooden buckets.Children's laughter echoed between rows of crooked huts.A small village, tucked between cold hills, its houses leaning into one another as if huddling for warmth.
There, in one of those huts, a pale-haired boy was born —frail, barefoot most days,his name was Gray.
His mother was a thin woman with gentle eyes that carried both exhaustion and kindness.She worked from dawn till dusk, gathering wood and selling herbs to survive.His younger sister, Ellen, helped as much as her small hands could.
There wasn't much in their home…only the quiet strength to keep going.
Every evening, the three of them sat around a tiny wooden table —a bowl of thin soup, a piece of dry bread shared between them.And every night, Gray would look up through the hole in the roof, toward the moon, and say in that small, certain voice only children have:
"I'll become the man who protects you.I'll build us a real house."
His mother would smile, brushing his messy hair and whisper:
"Strength, Gray, isn't in the sword…It's in the heart that refuses to let others fall."
Those words never left him.
The First Wound — Lessons in Pain
But the village was not kind.Children stronger than him mocked his torn clothes.One sneered at him once, saying:
"A poor boy like you will never be a knight!"
That day, Gray clenched his small fist — and hit him with every ounce of buried anger.They rolled in the dirt, fists flying, dust clouding the air.
The fight was short, but it left something permanent inside him:the understanding that dignity must be defended, not begged for.
He returned home with a swollen cheek and a bleeding knee.His mother sighed deeply as she cleaned his wounds.
"If you're going to fight," she said softly,"make sure your heart stays cleaner than the blood you'll see."
Gray stayed silent, staring at the floor.His little sister, Ellen, took his hand and smiled shyly.
"When you grow up, teach me to fight like you…But promise you won't leave me alone."
He laughed then —a laugh he no longer remembered how to make.
Years Passing — The Ember That Stayed
Time began to run.Gray grew older.In the mornings, he worked the fields.At noon, he carried firewood to the market.And at dusk, he stood alone in the fields,training with a stick as though it were a real sword.
Each night, his palms split open from gripping too tightly.But he didn't stop.He could still hear his mother's voice echoing in his mind:
"Strength isn't striking… it's staying on your feet."
So he kept standing — even when it hurt.
The Dream That Moved — Toward the Capital
One day, a merchant from the capital rode through the village,handing out parchment flyers for the Royal Tournament of Knights.The paper gleamed white against the dusty village.
Gray read the words aloud, his voice trembling:
"Annual Tournament — ten thousand aur for the champion, and the honor of standing before the royal throne."
He didn't read further.Those few words were enough to change everything.
That night, sitting beside his mother and sister, he spoke with a determination none of them had heard before:
"I'm going to the capital.I'll come back victorious."
His mother froze, then reached into a small box and pulled out a wooden pendant —a circle carved with a simple symbol resembling the sun.
"Take this," she said,"so you'll remember — we're waiting for you, no matter how long the road."
His sister placed his hand on her forehead and whispered with childlike pride:
"And when you come back… you'll teach me how to fight, right?"
The Capital — Awe and Humiliation
Orvallis, the shining city of white stone and high towers —a place that never slept.The markets roared with gold and noise.
Gray had never felt smaller.He stood before the registration gate,and the clerk sneered at him.
"You think you're a knight?This isn't a place for villagers."
But Gray didn't move.He waited in line for two full days until they finally let him enter.
During the first trial, he nearly failed.But he held on — bleeding, limping, refusing to fall.
And for the first time…someone noticed him.
The Meeting — The Fourth Prince
One evening, long after the others had left,Gray stayed behind in the empty yard, still training with his wooden sword.The moonlight traced silver arcs with every swing.
A calm voice broke the silence behind him.
"Tell me… why don't you stop?"
Gray turned halfway.Standing there was Prince Ken, hands behind his back, eyes sharp but not proud.
Gray replied without hesitation:
"Because falling means going back…and I have nowhere left to go."
Ken smiled faintly — a rare expression.
"Good.Come to the eastern yard tomorrow.I'll show you what it means to never fall again."
That was the moment the fire truly began —the flame that forges steel.
The Fire That Forged Him
Under Ken's command, Gray's training pushed beyond human limits.Cold mornings, breath freezing in his lungs.Endless swings of the sword until his arms burned.
He fell dozens of times —but each time, he rose faster, quieter, stronger.
Ken was not a kind teacher,but he saw something rare in the boy —something worth shaping.
"Resolve like yours," Ken once said,"can't be taught. It can only be respected."
The Tournament — Battle to the End
Days passed.The tournament began.
Gray faced opponents stronger, faster, cleaner in form —but none with his fire.
He clawed his way through the brackets until he stood before Kota,one of the most feared young knights.
It was a brutal match.He nearly died —saved only by Ken's split-second intervention,a sword tossed to change the tide.
Gray won that day, barely.He reached the finals —and lost, narrowly, to Halmez.
But when he walked out of that arena,the crowd didn't see a loser.They saw a knight who refused to give up.A heart that refused to break.
Return to the Present — The Moon Again
The pale light returned to his face.He was back in the training yard.His breathing had steadied; his body still ached.
He pressed his hand into the dirt — gripping it tight, whispering softly:
"I promised I'd come back stronger…and I haven't yet."
He raised his eyes to the sky.The moon shone just as it had when he was a boy.
But this time, its light reflected differently —in eyes no longer filled with childish dreams,but with a knight's unshakable resolve.
He was no longer the boy who wished for strength.He had become the man who would never fall.