Golden light, thick and lazy, seeped through the canopy of trees. It painted the forest floor in dappled patterns of gold.
Kael shuffled into the woods.
His axe, a heavy, reluctant weight on his shoulder.
The morning air, crisp and alive with the scent of damp earth and pine, did little to rouse him.
He barely registered it.
His dark eyes, perpetually half-closed, scanned the trees with a sigh.
Searching for a victim."Even the birds are still snoozing," he mumbled glancing up at a pair of raven-colored birds nestled in the branches of a towering oak.
'Lucky bastards.'
Just the thought of his warm, rumpled bed sent a wave of longing through him.
If someone had bothered to look, they'd have seen a lanky youth, barely sixteen, with a mop of black hair that seemed to defy gravity. His leather pants and worn straw shirt hung loosely on his frame as if the effort of fitting properly was too much. But it was his posture that truly spoke volumes. His back was curved, his axe dragged along the ground ,his eyelids fluttered with the constant battle against sleep.
He navigated the trees like a somnambulist.
His 'examination' a series of half-hearted glances.
After stumbling around for who knows how long, he stopped before a tree that dwarfed him in both length and width.
"Perfect."
A wide grin stretched across his face.
A sudden spark of energy ignited in his sleepy eyes as he brought the axe down from his shoulder.
He performed a series of half-hearted stretches that looked more like a slow-motion dance.
'Alright, you overgrown toothpick,' he thought, eyeing the massive tree 'Let's get this over with.The sooner I'm done, the sooner I can find a pillow.'
He squared his shoulders, shifted in his stance, raised the axe, and then...
The sluggish youth vanished.
Replaced by a figure radiating with power and energy.
The surrounding animals, startled by the sudden shift in the atmosphere , paused in their morning routines.
A few curious squirrels crept closer, their tiny eyes questioning whether this tiny human could actually do anything to the giant before him.
'Watch and learn how it's done you bastards,' he thought, a smirk playing on his lips.
With such speed that it almost looked like he teleported to the other side of the tree, the blade cleaved through the air.
Swish
Then something incredible happened…
...Nothing.
"..."
"..."
"Hheheheehehe."
After a couple of seconds of silence, a group of mocking monkeys perched in nearby trees broke into laughter, their screeches echoed throughout the forest irritating any soul who heard them.
Kael, however, remained unfazed.
He simply adjusted his stance, reverting back to his sluggish posture with a bored expression plastered across his face.
Seconds passed by.
And Then__
The ground trembled.
The monkeys, still caught up in their laughter, paused as confusion flickered across their faces.
With a thunderous crack, the enormous tree began its fall a clean cut at its trunk gleamed under the sunlight.
The towering giant crashed to the ground.
Boom!
A mini earthquake rippled throughout the surroundings.
"..."
Silence.
The animals watched in shock as the young man casually grabbed one of the tree's thick branches and began dragging it away as though it were a mere twig.
"Hah, I can't wait to go back to bed."
"…"
...
My name is Kael Darven, and I just turned 16 today.
I was born into a regular family that owned a farm in a small village nestled deep within this forest.
I am the only child of my parents, and they love me as much as I love them.
My father, Aron, is an Adept Sigil knight.
While my mother, Elora, is a simple housewife known for her exceptional skill in knitting.
My parents, were the heart of our little world.
My father was a man of unwavering principle, he believed in the power of hard work, that it forged character like steel in the fire of a blacksmith.
He'd drag me out of bed everyday before dawn, his booming voice echoing through the house, 'Up, Kael! A lazy mind breeds a lazy body!'
He was tough, demanding, but his eyes always held a warmth that told me he cared.
My mother, Elora, was the gentle counterpoint to his strength. Her hands, nimble and skilled, wove warmth and comfort into our lives, whether it was through her intricate knitting or her soothing words, she was the embodiment of love, her presence a constant source of calm in our sometimes chaotic household.
She'd always make sure I ate before my father took me out to train, and would always have a warm bath waiting for me when we returned.
'Don't push yourself too hard, Kael,' she'd say, her voice soft but firm, 'Your father means well, but he forgets you're not a machine.'
They were different, yet they complemented each other perfectly, creating a home filled with both strength and tenderness.
Our village, nestled within the embrace of the ancient forest, was a haven of simple pleasures and quiet camaraderie.
It wasn't grand, no towering stone walls or bustling marketplaces, but it was home.
Roughly two hundred souls called it their own, a tapestry of tightly-knit families who shared their joys and sorrows.
Old Man Hemlock, with his booming laugh and weathered face, always had a story to tell, his voice echoing through the cobblestone streets as he haggled with passing merchants.
The cheerful clang of the blacksmith's hammer, wielded by young Elara, the strongest woman in the village, rang out from her forge, shaping tools and weapons with practiced ease.
And the high-pitched squeals of children chasing stray chickens, their laughter a melody that filled the air.
In the mornings, the aroma of freshly baked bread, courtesy of the village baker, a plump woman named Agnes, drifted through the streets, a comforting scent that mingled with the earthy fragrance of the forest.
The farmers, their faces tanned and lined, headed to their fields, their sturdy oxen pulling carts laden with produce.
Merchants set up their stalls, displaying colorful fabrics, handcrafted pottery, and exotic spices.
It was a place where life moved at a gentle pace, where neighbours looked out for one another, and where the rhythm of the seasons dictated the ebb and flow of daily life.
I've lived here all my life, and although there isn't anything extraordinary about it, it's still home to me.
My life hasn't been anything special—not that I would want it to be.
According to my parents, I barely cried as a baby, or more precisely I didn't cry at all.
At first, they worried something was wrong.
But after consulting a local herbalist and discovering that I was just a quiet child, they eventually relaxed.
It wasn't long before they realized the truth—I wasn't just quiet...
…..I was extremely lazy.
I didn't cry because it took too much effort.
As a child, all I did was eat, sleep, and sleep some more.
I never bothered making friends or picking up hobbies—unless sleeping counts.
My mother handled most of the farm work since it wasn't that big, leaving me with very few chores to do.
By the time I turned ten, my father had finally had enough. He dragged me out daily to train with him, determined to put my body to work.
I had no talent for magic—he and my mother both knew that much.
Even the most basic sweeping i couldn't cast without passing out, which means i had extremely low mana.
So, if I was ever going to amount to anything, knighthood was the only path left for me.
At first, I resisted.
But my father was relentless.
He was dead set on at least getting me into a good shape before i turned 16 and had to complete my first Arcane trial to begin my path to knighthood.
But to everyone's surprise, I turned out to be a natural.
Despite my lazy tendencies, I possessed an absurd amount of stamina.
I could keep up with my father's training without breaking a sweat.
And i even outran him sometimes on our morning jogs, which was crazy considering he was already an Adept sigil.
"Hahaha, it looks like you were made for knighthood, son, that stamina of yours is monstrous," he once said, giving me a hard slap on the back much to my dismay.
After years of constant training, I developed a considerable amount of strength, and a strong build. According to my father, i shockingly almost had the same amount of strength as a Novice Sigil.
And today, finally, is the day i turned 16.
My parents are planning on throwing a feast to celebrate my coming of age.
Then after that my father and i would have to travel to the city for me to register for my first trial, and it would be my first time leaving the village so even though i new my days of sleeping and lazing around are over, i was still a little bit excited.
...
Dragging the massive tree branch behind me, I quickened my pace.
The rough bark scraped against the forest floor.
'Just a little further,' I thought.
My eyelids feeling heavier with each step.
'Then, maybe, just maybe, they'll let me nap before the feast.'
The thought of my soft, worn quilt made my limbs ache for rest.
Usually, by now, the sounds of the village would be a comforting hum—old man Hemlock's booming laugh as he haggled with a merchant, the cheerful clang of the blacksmith's hammer, and the high-pitched squeals of children chasing stray chickens.
But today... only the rustling leaves and the distant cawing of crows filled the air.
A strange, unsettling silence.
I frowned.
The heavy branch slipping in my grip.
Where were the hunters? They always take this route every morning to go out for expeditions, but I hadn't seen a single soul.
Then suddenly a metallic tang, sharp and unfamiliar, pricked my nostrils.
It was wrong, horribly wrong.
'Wait… isn't that… blood?'
Then, a scream ripped through the silence.
A raw, agonized sound that made my blood run cold.
"AHHHH!!!"
No…..Mom.
The branch fell from my numb fingers as i broke into a run.
My boots pounding against the earth.The forest blurring into a green haze.Each silent step was a torment, an eternity.And then, the silence shattered.
A chorus of screams, a symphony of terror, echoed through the trees.
The village… my village… was screaming.
The trees parted, and the village square sprawled before me.
A scene ripped straight out of a nightmare.
My breath hitched.
A strangled gasp escaping my lips.
It wasn't home anymore.
It was a slaughterhouse.
Bodies, twisted and broken, lay scattered across the dirt road.
Their blood painting the ground in grotesque patterns.
The air, thick and heavy, reeked of iron and death—a stench that clawed at my throat and made my stomach churn.
The cheerful stalls, usually bustling with merchants, were overturned and shattered.
Their wares strewn amidst the carnage.
The cobblestones, once worn smooth by countless footsteps, were now slick with blood.
And….
at the center of it all, a hulking beast stood amidst the ruin.
Its fur, matted and dark, glistened with crimson.
Its jaws, stained red, worked rhythmically as it tore into the remnants of a mangled body.
A body I recognised.
Dad…
Its eyes, twin pools of malevolent yellow, fixed on me, a predatory gleam in their depths.
A low growl rumbled from its throat, a sound that vibrated through the air, sending a chill down my spine.Its claws, thick and curved, were tipped with black, razor-sharp talons, capable of rending flesh and bone with ease.It was a creature of pure, unadulterated violence, a nightmare made flesh.
My legs buckled beneath me, the world tilting around me.
A choked sob rose in my throat, a sound I couldn't suppress.
My vision blurred, tears stinging my eyes.But I forced them back, refusing to let them fall.
A cold numbness spread through me, a shield against the unbearable pain.
Then, the numbness cracked.
A burning sensation, hot and raw, ignited within my chest.
Twisting the grief into something darker, something primal.
My hands clenched into fists, my turning knuckles white.
It was then that I felt an emotion that I had never experienced before
It wasn't the dull ache of sleepiness.
It wasn't the gnawing emptiness of hunger.
It was a raging inferno of pure, unadulterated rage.
"YOU BASTARD!" My voice, hoarse and broken, echoed through the silent village."