CHAPTER 1
The Orson family training hall echoed with the sound of rapid footsteps and muffled impacts. The sturdy dark wooden beams, typical of medieval architecture, blended seamlessly with luminous panels embedded in the walls — a quiet technology that lit every corner with crystalline brightness. This was Luna Lume: a secluded city, outside the four great empires, yet still touched by discreet modernities brought by them.
Esmond moved through the center of the hall as if time itself were on his side. His body, firm and experienced, seemed to anticipate every move his son would make before it even happened.
Angelo, a 14-year-old boy, advanced with nearly unbearable intensity.
"This time I won't lose, Dad!" he shouted, lunging forward.
A blue glow spread across the palm of his hand. The air froze, forming blades of ice that shot out in a fast, aggressive sequence.
Esmond smiled — a calm, patient smile. The kind of smile only a father who knows both the talent (and stubbornness) of his child can give.
"Keep dreaming, Angelo."
With a single, elegant sidestep, he let the projectiles pass by as if they were nothing but wind. The ice hit the floor, scattering crystals that cracked under the light.
Angelo dove, rolled, and launched another attack. Esmond responded with a fluid spin, almost as if he were teaching while fighting. He jumped, twirled through the air, and landed behind his son, dodging another strike with the ease of someone who had performed the move a thousand times.
"You're slow today," Esmond teased as his son got back up.
"No way!" Angelo replied, eyes shining with that mix of determination and irritation only a young, ambitious person can possess.
He slid across the ice he had created, moving at triple speed. He faked an attack to the left, spun to the right, and threw a punch with all his strength, all his will, and all the hope of finally catching his father off guard.
For a moment, it seemed he might land it.
But Esmond merely tilted his head, dodging with absolute naturalness. His hand caught his son's fist gently — firm enough to hold, soft enough to teach — and used the momentum to send Angelo flying across the hall.
The boy soared several meters, landed on his back, and slid to a stop near the wall.
"Aaagh… damn…" he muttered, caught between frustration and involuntary respect.
Esmond crossed his arms and approached slowly.
"Strength without precision, Angelo, is just noise."
He extended a hand. "But you're improving."
Angelo looked at the ceiling — crafted wood with golden lines reflecting the bluish light. It was the house he grew up in. The Orsons' house, beautiful and imposing, like all the hybrid structures in Luna Lume.
"I can never beat you…" he said, taking his father's hand and standing.
"Good thing you keep trying." Esmond smirked slightly. "One of these days, you might even surprise me."
Angelo took a deep breath, the usual fire rekindling in his eyes.
The training hall fell silent once again. Outside, the city continued its slow rhythm, under the authority of Governor Auster File. On the horizon, the event that would change everyone's destiny was approaching:
The Pilgrims' Day was almost here.
Angelo wiped the sweat from his forehead with his forearm, still flushed from both the effort and the mild humiliation — the good kind, the one that exists only when you admire someone enough to want to surpass them.
"Damn…" he muttered, fixing his messy hair.
"I really thought I could do it this time."
Esmond let out a low chuckle, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows in a gentle warning gesture.
"I've already told you what happens when you rely only on strength. You think fast, but you attack faster than you think."
Angelo rolled his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to shake off the frustration. The training hall seemed even more imposing after the defeat — the light panels reflected on the wooden floor as if judging every misstep.
"Dad… were you like this when you were my age?" he asked, looking up.
Esmond glanced away for a moment, as if searching a very old memory.
"I was worse," he replied, in a tone too light to be either a lie or absolute truth.
The boy laughed, breaking the weight in the air.
Esmond extended a hand, but this time not to lift anyone — just to rest it on his son's shoulder, with that firm touch that always meant: I'm here, keep going.
"You have talent, Angelo. Too much energy, too stubborn… but a good heart. And that, son, you can't train. You're born with it."
The silence that followed was comfortable. Familiar.
Then the training hall door slid open with a soft creak.
Light from the corridor spilled in, revealing the hybrid architecture of the Orson house: gray stone walls with modern lines crossing like luminous filaments. Outside, the distant hum of the city could be heard — Luna Lume waking as Pilgrims' Day approached.
Esmond sighed lightly.
"Let's go."
"Go where?" asked Angelo, already excited, as if he had fully recovered from all the falls.
"Outside. You still have a lot to see today. And there are things in the city I want you to notice before the festival."
Angelo straightened, adjusted his clothes, and ran to grab his coat. His energy returned completely — as if no fall had happened.
"Finally! I thought we'd stay here all day," he said, almost bouncing toward the door.
"If it were up to you, we would," Esmond replied, smirking.
They left the training hall, walking down the long corridor that led to the Orsons' front courtyard.
The Luna Lume sun streamed through wide windows, casting silver tones on the walls. The city had this peculiarity: everything seemed to reflect the light with a soft vibrancy, as if the region itself breathed luminosity.
As they walked side by side, Esmond commented:
"Governor Auster File will announce something important today. And I want you to be alert. It's not a normal time for Luna Lume… nor for the world beyond."
Angelo frowned.
"Something important… like what?"
Esmond didn't answer immediately. His expression shifted — not to worry, but to one of those adult shadows of thought.
"You'll see."
Then he added, to ease the tension:
"And don't worry. You won't have to fight me again today."
Angelo exaggerated a sigh, grinning mischievously.
"Phew… I thought you had more falls planned for me."
"Not today," Esmond replied, opening the main door. "But tomorrow? Maybe."
Angelo laughed, following his father outside.
And there, in the morning light and the city's growing movement, his first step toward a month that would change everything officially began.
And Pilgrims' Day hadn't even arrived yet.
Luna Lume woke slowly, like a gemstone warmed by the morning sun. The city was a living fusion of peoples and cultures, a neutral point among the four great empires — neither submissive nor rebellious, just different. In the streets, it was common to see shimmering fabrics from the Moon Empire alongside dark cloaks from the Nebulous Lands; golden-skinned merchants mingled with red-eyed warriors and artisans with colorful tribal markings.
Esmond and Angelo walked through the city center, crossing wide, well-aligned streets. The buildings had that unique hybrid style: medieval walls reinforced with light metal lines, large smooth glass windows, and polished stone rooftops. Cars passed occasionally — simple two- or four-wheeled machines powered by common energy, nothing extravagant. Technology never drew too much attention; it merely served discreetly.
Greenery had its place too. Blue- and silver-leaved trees — typical of this isolated territory — swayed lazily in the wind. Children ran across the squares, while vendors shouted prices for exotic sweets and fruits.
When Angelo and Esmond turned the corner onto Luminar Street, a group of children noticed them. First one, then two, and within seconds four or five were laughing and playing around them.
"Master Esmond! Master Esmond!" shouted a boy, trying to imitate a martial move he had seen in public training.
"Angelo, show the ice trick!" called a girl, holding his arm.
Angelo blushed, trying to brush off the request with a smile.
"Not now… me and my dad are just taking a walk," he said, with that warm charm that only increased the children's admiration.
Esmond chuckled softly.
"You're getting too famous for your own good," the father joked as the children finally ran back to their games.
They continued on, the conversation flowing naturally.
"You know, Dad… sometimes I think you overdo the master pose," Angelo said, hiding no tease.
Esmond raised his chin with mock arrogance.
"What can I do? I'm a born fighter. A prodigy of the old guard. A living example of martial elegance."
"A snob, you mean," Angelo replied, laughing.
"Snob? Me? Never. Hm… maybe a little. But only because I deserve it."
Angelo shook his head, trying not to laugh too much. That lightness between them turned even the most mundane days into something special.
Then the sound of hurried footsteps broke the calm.
A man came running down the street, tripping over his own legs, almost falling while pushing people aside. His face was red, chest heaving as if he had run the length of the city.
"M… M… Mister Esmond…" he tried to shout, gasping for breath.
The man stopped in front of them, hands on his knees, breathing as if the air might escape his lungs.
"Breathe, breathe," Esmond said, patient but clearly concerned.
Long seconds passed.
Heavy breaths.
One hand on his chest.
Another on his forehead.
More air. More effort.
Finally, he straightened.
"Mister Esmond… Master Angelo…" he began, voice steady now despite the sweat streaming down.
"The Queen has just sent a formal invitation. You've been summoned… to appear at the House of Hope, in the Supreme Royal City."
Angelo's heart skipped a beat.
Esmond looked up, surprised — but not shocked. As if something deep inside had already prepared him for this moment.
They exchanged a silent glance.
First surprise.
Then understanding.
Then… a mutual smile.
"Well…" murmured Esmond. "It seems the universe decided to speed things up."
Angelo smiled back, that spark of adventure always burning inside him.
And so, with that shared smile on the streets of Luna Lume, the first chapter came to an end.