The night air carried the distant hoots of owls and the gentle rustling of wind through the wheat fields. The houses of Ronia Village, nestled within the farmland, stood silent save for one—the home of Ron and his family.
Inside, the flickering light of an oil lamp cast long shadows on the wooden walls as father and son stood opposite each other, their voices rising in heated debate.
"I told you already, Matthew, you're not going to the capital!"
Matthew, just seven years old, stood his ground, his small fists clenched at his sides. His blonde hair was disheveled from a long day's play, but his eyes held a fiery determination far beyond his years.
"Why not? I have the One Power! The Researcher said so! I can already make a Fireball, Father!"
Ron ran a hand through his own blonde hair, frustration evident in his sharp movements. His striking features were tensed with anger and concern, his broad shoulders tight as if carrying a burden too heavy for him alone.
Jena sat nearby, brushing her long red hair. She had long since grown used to these nightly arguments. She didn't interfere anymore—her role was to listen, to be there for both of them when the storm passed.
"It doesn't matter if you can make a Fireball," Ron argued. "It doesn't change the world we live in. You don't know what nobles are like, Matthew. They see us as nothing more than dirt beneath their boots! If a commoner rises too high, they don't praise him. They crush him. The Green Sage—"
"The Green Sage is one of the strongest Arts Users in the kingdom!" Matthew cut in. "And he's a commoner! Everyone respects him!"
Ron scoffed. "Respect? The nobles barely tolerate him. They despise him because he proved them wrong. Meanwhile, the Yellow Sun walks through the royal court like a king, simply because of his noble blood. No one dares challenge his authority. That's the difference."
"But I don't care about politics, Father! I just want to get stronger!" Matthew's voice cracked with desperation. "A teacher here in the village can't teach me what the Academy can! I'll never grow if I stay!"
Ron clenched his jaw. "And what if they don't let you grow? What if they make sure you fail, Matthew? You think the nobles will just let a commoner surpass them? No, they'll hold you back, sabotage you, and if you really start to threaten their power, they'll do worse."
Matthew hesitated, but only for a moment. "Then I'll be like the Green Sage. I'll prove them wrong."
Ron slammed his palm on the table, causing the lamp to tremble. "You don't understand! You're a child! You think this world is fair, but it isn't!" His voice softened slightly, though the anger did not leave his eyes. "You weren't there when I was a guard. I served a noble for two years. I was the chief of his guards, I trained his men, protected his land. But one day, another noble came to visit with his fat, useless son. That noble loved the bastard and decided he needed a high-ranking job. And what better job than mine?"
Matthew listened, his breathing shallow.
"My lord told me my position was taken. Just like that. Years of work, gone, because a noble's son wanted an easy life. And do you know what the worst part was? The bastard couldn't even fight! He was slow, clumsy, a disgrace to the sword. Even a child could've beaten him with enough effort. But that didn't matter. He had noble blood, and that was enough."
Ron exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "That's the world you want to walk into. A world where no matter how good you are, you'll never be good enough, because you weren't born in a golden cradle."
Matthew's lips trembled, but he didn't back down. "That's not fair."
Ron let out a hollow laugh. "No, it's not. And that's why I won't send you there."
A heavy silence settled over the room. Jena finally spoke, her voice quiet but firm. "Ron, Matthew has a gift. Whether we like it or not, it's part of him. You can't keep him here forever."
Ron's eyes softened as he looked at his wife, then back at his son. "I know he has a gift. But I won't send my only son to be chewed up and spat out by the world. Not yet."
Matthew bit his lip. "Then when?"
Ron hesitated. He didn't have an answer.
The night stretched on, the argument unresolved, lingering in the air like the last embers of a dying fire. Outside, the village was quiet, but the neighbors knew—this wouldn't be the last night they heard raised voices from Ron's home.
Matthew clenched his fists, his young eyes burning with determination. "I'll prove everyone wrong. I'll become—"
Jena chuckled softly, cutting him off. "The Red Sage, right?"
Matthew blinked in surprise before grinning widely, nodding with excitement. "Yeah! The Red Sage!" He puffed up his chest, proud that his mother remembered.
Ron watched the exchange in silence, feeling a heaviness in his heart. His son thought he didn't believe in him, that he was holding him back because he doubted his potential. But that couldn't be further from the truth.
Ron had always known Matthew was special. He wasn't an Arts User himself—his strength came from swordsmanship and discipline—but he could see the One Power, just as any seasoned warrior could. And it was there, condensed around his son in a way he had never seen before. Even before the Researcher arrived, Ron had noticed something unusual, something powerful within Matthew. He had always known his son was gifted.
But when the old Researcher visited the village a month ago and confirmed what Ron had suspected, he realized just how immense that gift truly was. If trained properly, Matthew could one day stand among the greatest Arts Users in the kingdom. He could rival the Green Sage or the Yellow Sun—maybe even surpass them.
Or… perhaps even more.
Ron hesitated at the thought. Could Matthew one day reach the level of the White Dragon? A figure of legend? Or—Ron shuddered at the darker possibility—could he reach the power of the most feared Arts User in the world?
The Dark Crow.
The mere thought of that name sent a chill down Ron's spine. The Dark Crow wasn't just powerful—he was a menace, a ruler of destruction. His organization, the Black Tower, had spread across the land like a disease in recent years. Entire villages burned in their wake. Their followers didn't just kill; they desecrated, taking the corpses of their victims for reasons no one understood. The very idea of it sickened Ron.
The Black Tower had no warriors, no honorable fighters. Only Arts Users, twisted by their own power, wielding it for evil.
Ron clenched his jaw and looked at his son. He wanted to believe Matthew would always choose the right path, that he would never be tempted by the darkness.
But power could be intoxicating.
And once Matthew left for the Academy, Ron wouldn't be there to guide him.
Ron shook his head as he listened to Jena's playful banter with their son.
"Why red, though?" she asked with a smirk. "I have red hair, but you don't. And your Fireball Art is orange, as far as I know. So then?"
Matthew's face lit up at the question. He loved it when someone believed in him—especially since he always felt like his guiding figure, his father, didn't. He eagerly replied, "Because no one else has it!"
Jena chuckled. "Are you sure about that? I can name a few. The Red Fist, for example."
"No, he's a bad guy, so it doesn't count at all. See, I told you! The Red Sage is the coolest title ever."
Ron wanted to step in and say that people didn't choose their own titles—others did. That was how the Green Sage had gained his name, through feats that made people recognize him. But he held his tongue.
Jena, however, wasn't done. "Sure, the Red Fist is a bad guy, but what about the Red Warrior? He's not exactly a hero, but he's also no gang leader like the Red Fist. So then, what's your reason now?"
Matthew grinned, shaking his head like a teacher correcting a student. Jena narrowed her eyes. She had a feeling Matthew had done his homework on this.
She wasn't wrong.
Matthew had spent countless hours reading about the world's history and its great figures. Jena's late father had left behind a collection of books, which she had brought home with her when she moved to Ronia Village. Matthew, despite being only seven, had already learned how to read and write—not perfectly, but well enough to absorb the stories within those books. He loved learning about the world, its mysteries, and the legendary figures who had shaped history.
And now, he was using that knowledge against his own mother.
Matthew leaned forward, explaining with confidence. "You see, the Red Warrior isn't a bad person, per se, but he's also no Arts User. He's a Fighter." He smirked, raising a finger as if delivering a grand revelation. "Haha, do you get it? I'd be the only Arts User using red for my nickname! And so, we conclude that Red Sage rules as a nickname."
At that, Ron couldn't hold it in anymore. He clapped his hands in laughter, his deep voice filling the small house. Even Jena rolled her eyes and smiled.
For a moment, the family of three seemed to agree on something.
Ron exhaled, shaking his head. "It's not that simple, Matthew."
Matthew's smile faded. "Then explain it to me."
Ron hesitated. His son was only seven, but he spoke with the stubbornness of a grown man. That same determination would serve him well one day—if it didn't get him killed first.
Ron sighed. "The Academy isn't just about training. Nobles run it. People like the ones who took my job, who think power belongs to them. You think they'll just let a farmer's son rise up?"
Matthew's hands balled into fists. "Then I'll make them! If I'm strong enough, they won't have a choice."
Ron sighed as he watched his son grin in triumph, arms crossed like he had just won the greatest argument in history. He still didn't get it. No matter how many times Ron tried to explain, Matthew wouldn't understand until he was older. Right now, he was just a boy—smarter than most, sure, but still a boy. The world wasn't some grand adventure where you just decided what you'd become. The world decided for you.
As Ron thought this, something inside him tensed. A sharp, uneasy feeling crept down his spine, like a warning before a storm. His fingers twitched, instinct taking over before his mind caught up.
Then he noticed it.
The usual evening sounds—the wind against the wooden walls, the distant murmur of the village, the crackling of the fire—had disappeared.
Jena was still smiling at Matthew, but a second later, her expression shifted. It was subtle, but Ron saw it. She had felt it too. She wasn't as attuned to danger as he was, but she was no ordinary villager either. Before settling down, she had been an adventurer, and a strong one at that. Matthew had once seen her take down a bear with a single punch. She rarely spoke about her past, never mentioned her parents or whether he had any uncles or not.
Matthew, oblivious to the growing tension, kept talking. "So, if I become the Red Sage, I—"
Ron raised a hand sharply. "Quiet."
Jena's shoulders stiffened. Her eyes flicked toward the window. Ron took a step forward, his movements slow and deliberate. His pulse had steadied—battle instincts kicking in—but that only confirmed his worst fear. Something was out there.
Before he could say anything, Jena moved.
It was subtle, almost instinctual—the way a mother shields her child without thinking. She stepped in front of Matthew, her stance firm, protective. Not a single unnecessary movement, just a quiet, absolute readiness to defend her son.
Ron reached the window and moved the curtain aside. The moment his eyes adjusted to the dim light outside, his breath caught.
Figures moved in the darkness, their silhouettes shifting unnaturally. Cloaks too still against the wind. The way they moved—it wasn't like regular soldiers or adventurers. It was careful, calculated.
Ron knew that kind of movement. Arts Users.
And not just any.
The Black Tower.
His grip tightened on the curtain as a cold dread settled in his stomach. The village was about to become a battlefield.
—End of Chapter.