Chapter 1 — The Lumberjack Who Brought an Axe
The crowd roared with excitement as banners of blue and gold fluttered above the Grand Mage Academy's dueling arena. The final stage of the entrance exam was about to begin.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" the commentator's voice boomed across the colosseum-like hall. "Welcome to the last round of this year's Grand Aetherion Academy entrance exam! The top candidates will face each other in magical duels — where talent, precision, and power shall decide who earns their place among the chosen!"
Nobles, instructors, and the academy's headmaster watched from the viewing platform. Rows of elegantly dressed families whispered among themselves, eyes gleaming with pride and expectation.
The first duel began — a girl with flowing red hair raised her wand, summoning a massive fire Ball. The audience gasped.
One noble leaned forward. "Ah, the daughter of House ignis. Quite impressive."
An instructor nodded. "Indeed. As expected from one of this generation's supernovas."
The giant ball struck. Her opponent's barrier shattered instantly and her opponent went flying out of the areana. The crowd applauded thunderously.
Moments later, another match — a young man in royal blue robes with flashy golden hairs conjured six thunder spears and finished his opponent in seconds.
"Ah, the son of House stormholt," another instructor said, impressed. " as expected from Another supernova, no doubt."
The commentator's voice echoed again.
"And now! Onto the next match!"
The crowd buzzed with anticipation, nobles whispering about which prodigy would step onto the stage next — until the crystal screen displayed the matchup.
The first name drew polite nods:
"Cyan of Westvale Academy."
Then the second name appeared.
"Rowan, independent applicant."
The murmurs began almost instantly.
"Independent?"
"Where's that academy?"
"I've never heard of him."
Then the arena gates opened.
The first student walked out, robed in gold, wand gleaming like a scepter. The second walked in with plain boots, a plain brown jacket — and an axe resting on his shoulder.
The entire hall fell silent.
Then—
"...Wait, is that an axe?"
"Why the hell is he carrying an axe in a mage exam?"
"Did he get lost on the way to a lumberyard?"
Laughter broke out in waves. Even one instructor buried his face in his palm.
"Oh gods... this guy actually made it to the final stage?"
Another sighed. "He was able to scraped through the previous tests by luck but There's no way he can duel."
Rowan stood still, calm despite the noise. His axe — nicked and dull but sharp from years of chopping wood — glinted faintly in the sunlight.
A young guy in the audience cupped his hands and shouted,
"Hey! Check if you forgot your wand, lumberjack!"
The crowd laughed harder.
Rowan said nothing.
His gaze lifted to the academy's insignia carved above the grand stands — a radiant star surrounded by ancient runes.
In his head, his voice was quiet, steady.
> "The Grand Aetherion Academy. The most powerful and respected in the world... a place where people come chasing power, glory, and titles. A place that can make you a High ranking officer, or an Elite of the High dominion."
He exhaled slowly, gripping his axe.
> "But I'm not here for any of that."
The laughter around him faded into a dull echo as the light in his eyes dimmed — replaced by a flicker of memory.
> "I'm here... because of something I can't forget."
The roar of the crowd dissolved — replaced by the rustle of trees, the smell of pine, and the quiet crackle of fire in a small house.The roar of the crowd dissolved — replaced by the rustle of trees, the smell of pine, and the quiet crackle of fire in a small house.
A dim orange glow bathed the cabin walls. The scent of stew and herbs filled the air.
At the hearth, a woman stirred the pot, her dark hair tied loosely behind her back. Steam curled upward, carrying the warmth of home.
The front door creaked open.
Cold wind rushed in — followed by two figures, boots heavy with forest dirt.
"Close it quick!" the woman said with mock sternness. "You'll let the cold in."
"Sorry, Ma," came the boy's cheerful voice. He hurried inside, brushing snow from his sleeves, while the older man behind him shut the door with a laugh.
"Good haul today," the man said, setting a bundle of wood down by the wall. His beard was thick, his shoulders broad — the kind of strength built from years of labor.
The boy — twelve, maybe thirteen — wiped sweat from his brow and grinned. "We found a few red oaks near the creek. Trader Melvin's going to love those."
His father chuckled, removing his gloves. "Melvin always pays well for straight-grain oak. Might even get extra money this week.
"Then we can buy more sugar bread!" Rowan said excitedly.
From the kitchen came the sound of soft laughter. "Only if your father doesn't eat it all first," his mother teased, setting bowls of steaming stew on the wooden table.
Their laughter blended with the crackling fire.
"Arden!" she called toward the other room. "Come help set the table, dear!"
A young man stepped out — older than Rowan by a few years, his dark hair tied neatly, his clothes clean despite the simple life they led. His eyes were calm, intelligent — the kind that always seemed to be thinking of something else.
"Coming, Ma." He carried the bowls with practiced care, setting them down as Rowan trailed behind, trying to steal a piece of bread from the counter.
"Hands off, little thief," Arden said, smirking.
"I was just checking if it's warm enough," Rowan replied innocently.
His mother shook her head, laughing softly. "Sit down, all of you."
They gathered at the table. The wooden bowls clinked. Outside, snow drifted gently past the window, the forest whispering beyond.
The scent filled the air — rich broth, wild herbs, and the comfort of home. The four of them gathered around, their faces glowing in the firelight.
For a moment, everything was peaceful — until his mother's voice broke the quiet.
"Go on," she said, glancing at Arden. "Tell your father what you told me earlier."
Rowan blinked, spoon halfway to his mouth. "What did you tell her?"
Rowan's older brother, who had been silent, staring into his bowl with a thoughtful look finally lifted his head.
Arden hesitated, then took a breath."Father, I… I want to become a mage."
The fire popped. Even the air seemed to still.
His father's hand paused midair, eyes narrowing slightly. "A mage, huh?"
His voice was low. "That's no small dream."
Arden nodded. "i want to learn magic and become a real mage, not always watch it on fastivals. I know for that I have to go to the academy but If I can get in, I can learn real magic. I could even… change our lives."
Rowan's mother smiled faintly but her eyes held quiet worry. "You'll need coins for that, dear. The academy isn't cheap."
"Besides" his father added."for people like us being enrolled in the academy is also not very easy."
"I know." Arden's voice softened. "I'm not asking you to send me now. I just… wanted you to know what I want to become."
His father leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. "We just paid the land taxes for this season. It'll take time before we can think of something like that."
But before anyone could respond —
"I'll help!" Rowan blurted, eyes shining.
All three turned toward him.
"I'll work harder, Father! I'll chop more wood, help carry more logs. Melvin pays more for the best ones, right? I'll find them all!"
His father chuckled. "You will, huh?"
Rowan nodded furiously. "I'll make sure Bhaiya becomes a mage!"
Arden looked at his little brother — the determination in those young eyes almost embarrassing. He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're still too small to swing that axe properly, you know?"
"I'll grow fast," Rowan shot back, puffing his chest.
His father blinked in surprise. "You will, huh?"
Rowan nodded furiously. "I'll chop more wood! I'll help carry the logs! Trader Melvin. he pays more for high-quality ones, right? I'll find the best trees!"
His mother smiled gently, shaking her head. "Listen to him. He's already planning your future, Arden."
Rowan pouted. "I can try!"
Their father let out a deep, hearty laugh. "He's got your stubborn streak, Mira."
Their mother said. "Maybe your more than me."
The table filled with laughter — soft, sincere, the kind that could make the small house feel warmer than any fire.
Outside, the forest whispered beneath the moonlight, and the steady hum of crickets filled the silence between their laughter.
Inside, the small house glowed with life — the clinking of bowls, the faint scent of smoke and stew, and the soft chatter that made a home feel whole.
When Rowan's mother finally gathered the plates, she smiled toward her husband.
"Tomorrow, teach him how to swing that axe properly, won't you?" she said, nodding toward her younger son, who was already trying to lift the tool half his size.
The father chuckled, rubbing the boy's hair. " I'll teach him. But he better not lose a finger trying to copy me."
"I won't!" Rowan said proudly, puffing his chest. "I'll be faster than you someday!"
The man laughed again, his voice deep and hearty. "That's what every man says before he learns how heavy a log really feels."
---
The Next Morning
Dawn spilled over the forest in bands of gold. Mist rolled between the trees like slow-moving breath.
Rowan stood beside his father at the clearing behind their home, the axe handle slick in his small hands.
"Feet apart," his father said, adjusting Rowan's stance. "Don't fight the weight — guide it. Feel where the wood wants to split."
Rowan nodded seriously. He took a swing — too short, too clumsy — and the blade barely nicked the bark.
His father grunted. "Too soft. Again."
Swing. Miss. Swing. Miss again.
By midday, Rowan's palms were raw. Sweat ran down his temple, and his arms trembled. But each time he lifted the axe again, his father only watched quietly — never scolding, never stopping him.
When the boy's knees finally buckled, his father stepped forward, steadying him with one strong hand. "Good," he said simply. "You'll get there."
And Rowan smiled, tired but proud.
---
Days Passed. Then Weeks.
The rhythm of life in the little forest town continued — quiet, honest, and slow.
Rowan's father and he worked side by side, cutting wood, hauling bundles, and sorting them by grain and color. His mother hummed while cooking, waving at them from the window as they returned each evening.
And when the coin jar on the mantle began to fill, little by little, their hearts began to feel lighter.
One dusky evening, Arden came back from the trader's office holding a small envelope — the academy's seal pressed in blue wax.
Rowan froze. "Is that…?"
Arden nodded, unable to hide the smile tugging at his lips. "I made it to The Academy."
Their mother gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. Their father blinked, then broke into a grin so wide it almost looked like disbelief.
"Well, I'll be damned," he said softly. "You did it, boy."
Rowan leapt onto his brother, nearly knocking the letter out of his hands. "See? I told you, Bhaiya! You'll be a mage!"
The small house erupted in laughter again that night. The stew tasted sweeter than ever.
---
The Day of Departure
When the morning came, a mist hung over the forest road. Arden stood at the gate, his travel bag slung over his shoulder. His mother adjusted his cloak for the fifth time, eyes already misty.
"Don't forget to eat," she said.
"I won't."
"And write to us."
"I will."
"And don't stay up all night reading like you do here."
Arden chuckled. "I'll try."
His father stepped forward, placing a rough hand on his shoulder. "Make us proud, son. Whatever happens, don't forget who you are."
Rowan ran up, panting, holding out a small cloth bundle. "Here! I made you something!"
Arden untied it — inside were two perfectly smoothed wood carvings, one shaped like an axe, the other like a feather.
"They'll bring you luck," Rowan said.
Arden smiled — a quiet, genuine smile. "Then I'll carry them always."
As his brother walked down the road and the forest swallowed his figure, Rowan stood still, waving until his arms ached.
---
Months Later
Letters began to arrive.
One by one, in careful handwriting — stories about city life, academy dorms, and lessons about mana flow and elemental studies.
Every evening, Rowan would sit by the window, reading them aloud while his parents listened in quiet pride.
"My studies here are going good and I'm planning on giving the entrance exam of the Grand Aetherion academy it's a higher institute of magic. I heard that those who get there are guaranteed to become a high ranking mage."
"He said he is going to give entrance exam of some high institute." Rowan said with a smile.
"Let's write him a good luck letter." His mother exclaimed.
"Yes, let's do that." Rowan said as he quickly got up from the chair in excitement and fell.
His parents chuckled as Rowan rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.
A year past and...
Then came the letter that changed everything.
It bore the golden insignia of the Grand Aetherion Academy — confirmation that Arden had passed the internal trials and earned his place among the official students.
For weeks afterward, Rowan couldn't stop smiling. "My brother's a real mage now!" he'd say to anyone who would listen. Even the tea seller started teasing him for it.
But as time went on, the letters grew fewer.
First one month without a word.
Then two.
Then three.
"Why hasn't he sent any letter, it's been quite sometime since the last one."Rowan was looking out the window the snow was falling outside as people were rushing inside their house.
His mother tried to reassure him — "He must be busy studying."
"But still it's been long writing one latter wouldn't hurt."
"He is in a higher institute dear. He have to focus on studies there. And the capital is very far from here."
"I heard that there are things in capital by which we can instantly send messages."
Rowan got up from his chair as he went inside his room.
His father looked at his sad face but said nothing.
---
Seasons Turned.
The snows melted. The scent of wet earth filled the air again.
Rowan had grown taller, stronger, his swings sharper and more confident. He and his father delivered stacks of red oak to Trader Melvin that morning — enough to fill two wagons.
Melvin's eyes widened. "You two outdid yourselves this time. Here — take this bonus, you earned it."
His father accepted with a humble nod. "Appreciate it, Melvin."
"Keep bringing me wood like that and I'll start calling you my lucky charm," the trader said with a grin.
As they walked back through the town road, Rowan's father said, "You've improved a lot. Can almost match me now."
Rowan grinned. "Almost? I think I already do."
His father chuckled. "When you can cut three trunks before lunch without dropping dead, then we'll talk."
But as they were walking some people of the town were looking at them it was hard to tell what that gaze meant.
Rowan and his father looked around at the people.
"What happened! is something on my face?" Rowan's father asked a person who was looking at them but he didn't say anything as he abruptly left.
"What's wrong with him?" Rowan's father muttered in confusion as he saw the retreating man's figure.
"Looks like he got possessed by some evil spirit." Rowan said.
"Rowan, don't say stuff like that."
"What's wrong in it. He should go and visit some shaman." Rowan joked.
They both laughed as they reached the tea stall — their usual stop before heading home.
---
The Tea Stall
The old tea seller waved. "Ah, the best lumber duo in town! Sit, sit. I'll get your usual."
Steam rose from their cups as the scent of roasted leaves filled the air. Rowan leaned on the table, flipping through the folded newspaper lying nearby.
And then—
his breath caught.
"Dad… look."
His father turned.
There, on the second page, was a photograph — faded and grainy, but unmistakable.
Arden's face.
For a brief, proud heartbeat, Rowan grinned. "Bhaiya made it to the news!"
His father leaned closer, smiling faintly. "Well, look at that... He really—"
The smile froze halfway. His eyes scanned the words below the picture. His brow furrowed.
Then his lips parted.
"What the hell…"
The breeze rustled through the pages. The tea steam drifted away.
And the world, for that one moment, seemed to fall utterly silent.
Chapter end.