Should I do it and take my revenge? But I am nothing more than horrible and useless. Aron's shirt tightened on his chest, clinging to his skin, making him exposed — the old marks, the scars, the muscles carved by years of struggle. He was pounding the soil with a pickaxe, again and again, forcing it into the ground to pull the huge rocks from beneath the earth. Each strike echoed his thoughts, heavy and unforgiving.
I remember what I am.
The specialty. The adventures I have encountered throughout my journey. Every battle, every road, every choice. Yet every single time, I tasted a bad end to it. No victory ever stayed. No peace ever followed.
Whatever opportunity was in front of me, I got carried away far from it. I was not thinking — nor do I think I ever truly did. He kept pounding the soil while these thoughts drowned his mind. If only from the start I had chosen to fight… He hesitated, the pickaxe frozen mid-air. If only… There would have been different outcomes. I let my father die. I let my mother die. The whole valley was destroyed, reduced to nothing but ash and memory.
The sound of metal striking stone returned. A large rock was finally discovered beneath the soil. Aron began pounding inside, loosening it little by little. Sweat dripped from his face, his breath heavy. After a while, the rock shifted. It was loose. He wrapped his arms around it, veins straining, muscles screaming.
"Ahhhhhh—!"
With one final push, the rock came free. Aron fell back and sat on the ground, gasping for breath. The sun was trapped behind clouds today, yet its rays slipped through in broken pieces, touching parts of the land. Aron's eyes shined as the light brushed his face.
If only from the start… everything could have changed.
The wind calmed, flowing gently around him. Aron stood up and noticed a piece of wood nearby. He grabbed it, examined its weight, its balance. Then he moved. One step. Then another. His skills flowed naturally, without thought. Each move blended into the next — clean, sharp, controlled. He jumped, charged, twisted. The sand danced with him as he raised the wooden weapon high—
Balrad's face appeared in his mind.
Aron froze. The wood stopped inches from his ear.
"Wow."
Aron turned.
Balrad stood there, arms crossed, a wide grin on his face.
"Look at those moves," Balrad said. "Everything perfectly blended together. The position. The art. And the most important part — balance. It takes years for someone to learn balance properly." He narrowed his eyes slightly. "But those moves… they are not normal. I can tell. They must be different. Something only Norms can perform. And of course, who is more powerful than the Norms?"
Aron lowered the wood slowly.
"Yes," Aron said. He wasn't happy. "But it has been a very long time since I have touched a sword."
Balrad laughed. "You touch a sword every day, kid. But I guess…" He walked away and returned, handing Aron a sword. "I was also a great warrior once. I'm a blacksmith now, but the blade never truly leaves your hands."
Aron took the sword, his grip instinctive.
"Do we really have to do it?" Aron asked, his eyes half-lidded. He looked like he hadn't slept properly — but it was always like this.
"Don't worry," Balrad said calmly. "It's just a spar match. We just have to move a bit. Let ourselves breathe."
They walked to the open ground. The rules were simple — to win, the opponent needed to be on the ground.
They charged.
Aron held back. He wasn't using his full strength. Balrad, however, was serious. The swords clashed, sparks flying. Aron was pushed back steadily. There were so many openings Balrad left — clear chances to strike. Aron saw all of them. But he didn't want to attack the old man. He only dodged.
Balrad charged again, straight like a knife.
Aron stepped aside. His balance was perfect. The opening appeared — one strike could send Balrad flying.
Instead, Aron dropped his sword.
It hit the ground with a dull sound.
Balrad's eyes widened.
"Well," Balrad said after a pause, forcing a smile, "it's okay, son. It's just a battle."
Aron nodded.
"Let's go eat something," Balrad added.
The fight ended there. But in Balrad's mind, he knew the truth. He should have already been knocked down when the battle started. Aron let him win on purpose. He didn't want to hurt him.
The table was covered with food. Inside Balrad's house, the smell filled the room. Roasted lamb. Beef ribs. Wheat bread. Cooked rice. A salad made of different vegetables.
"Enjoy, Aron," Balrad said. "This is today's hard work meal. You've been doing the ground perfectly. We can grow many things here. Even trees."
Aron stared at the food.
I should tell him, Aron thought. About the blade. About who I really am.
"Balrad…"
"Yes, son?" Balrad looked at him.
"The food is really tasty," Aron said. "Did you cook it yourself?"
Balrad laughed. "Yes. It was hard, but I always do this for Sai. That idiot… I wonder what he's doing right now."
Suddenly, a whisper echoed in Aron's head.
The white stone should be placed alongside the flames, because someone took it away a long time ago…
Pain exploded in his head. Aron grabbed his skull and groaned.
"Aron!" Balrad rushed to him. "What happened?"
Aron collapsed. "Aron! Aron!"
His eyes closed.
The environment changed completely.
Darkness.
Silence.
Then a voice.
"Aron… Aron… Aron…"
He slowly opened his eyes.
He saw Ray.
"Ray?" Aron rubbed his eyes. "Is that you?"
"Look at you," Ray said softly. "You are so different from the last time we met. And yet… it has been years."
"Where am I?" Aron asked. "Everything is silent. There is nothing here. It's so dark."
"I know," Ray said. "Do you remember the white orb I gave you?"
"It's in my bag," Aron replied. "But it's far. I don't even have my sword."
"Raise your right hand."
Aron raised it slowly.
"Now think of the white orb."
Aron focused. The image burned in his mind.
"Open your hand."
He did.
The white orb appeared.
"How?" Aron whispered. "What am I supposed to do with it? What is this world?"
"It's a dimension," Ray answered. "Only one person can witness it. And that person is you. This dimension was created for you."
"For me?"
The orb transformed into a white stone. In front of them, a massive ruined castle appeared.
"Let's go," Ray said.
They walked up hundreds of broken stairs. At the top, Aron saw them — two flames, burning brighter than anything he had ever seen.
"What are they?" Aron asked.
"These are the flames that rose when you were chosen."
"I cannot enter," Ray said. "This place will melt me. In the middle, there is a space. Place the stone there. Then return."
In the real world, Aron lay unconscious on the bed.
Two days passed.
Balrad sat beside him, worried.
"What happened to him…"
Inside the dimension, Aron stepped forward. The air burned. The flames roared like thunder. He reached the center and placed the stone.
At first, nothing happened.
Then—
A light exploded. So bright, so powerful, beyond imagination. The earth trembled. The darkness shook. Even far beyond this place, something ancient stirred.