Two years flew by like two heartbeats—imperceptible in the general rhythm of life, yet each marked a new milestone in their growth. The forest, once seeming boundless and full of secrets, had become as familiar to them as the backs of their own hands. They knew every path, every ravine, every stream within a radius of many kilometers from the village. Their bodies had acquired that particular build that distinguishes a youth from a boy—a flexible strength, hidden in lean muscles, and a confidence in every deliberate movement.
But their life consisted of more than just training and hunting. The summer before their fourteenth birthday was particularly warm and marked by the annual harvest festival—an event the entire village awaited with impatience. It was a time when the harshness of daily life receded, giving way to merriment, music, and dancing until dawn.
On the day of the festival, the central square buzzed like a disturbed hive. The air was thick with the aromas of roasted meat, sweet pastries, and tart ale. Raine and Bell, freed from their usual duties, were helping set up tables and hang garlands of wildflowers. It was then that Elara, the village elder's daughter, found them. Tall for her age, red-haired and freckled, she had a feisty nature and was never at a loss for words.
"Well, look who it is! Our 'heroes' have decided to condescend to simple village chores!" she drawled with a sly smirk, hands on her hips. Behind her, blushing, hid her friend Lina—a quiet, fair-haired girl whose eyes always followed Raine with timid admiration.
Bell was momentarily taken aback by her forwardness, but then he smiled broadly, scratching the back of his neck. "Hi, Elara. We figured the festival wouldn't prepare itself," he replied good-naturedly, though he could feel his ears start to burn. He was still awkward around girls, but the years spent with Raine had taught him not to back down from a challenge, even a verbal one.
"We always help, Elara. Unlike some, who only know how to wag their tongues," Raine parried calmly, taking the ribbons from his friend with a slight smile.
"Oh, is that so!" Elara's eyes flashed with a competitive spark. "Then maybe we should measure strength instead of tongues? Arm wrestling! Right here, right now! The loser grants the winner any wish!" She looked challengingly at Bell.
Bell glanced doubtfully at his own arm, then at Elara's. The challenge was unexpected, but it was too late to back down. A competitive fire lit in his ruby eyes. "Alright," he nodded, with a serious expression that Raine found so amusing. "But if I win, you have to help us carry those barrels of ale over there."
To the cheers of the gathered onlookers, they sat down at the table. Elara's arm was surprisingly strong and calloused, but Bell, despite all his embarrassment, proved stronger. Gritting his teeth with effort, he slowly but surely pinned her hand to the tabletop.
"Well, pretty boy, you win!" Elara huffed, blushing slightly. "Make your wish. Just so you know, I'm not hauling any barrels!"
Bell thought for a moment, his face completely serious. "Then... " he drew out the word, "you have to... uh..."
Raine covered his face with his hand, holding back a laugh. His friend's practicality and naivety were truly boundless.
"Allow me to translate," he interjected, placing a hand on Bell's shoulder. "He means that as his reward, you will accompany him for the first dance by the fire tonight."
Bell blinked in surprise, looked at Raine, then at the slyly smiling Elara, and his cheeks finally flooded with color. He hadn't expected such a turn of events.
"He's not as simple as he looks! It's a deal, whitey! I'll see you by the fire!" Elara winked and, dragging Lina with her, disappeared into the crowd.
That evening, as the stars lit up over the village and a huge bonfire blazed in the center of the square, Bell, gathering his courage, approached Elara himself. For the first few moments, he moved a bit stiffly, trying to remember the steps he had seen at past festivals. But soon, his natural agility took over. He stopped thinking and just let the music lead him. Elara was surprised to find that this simple-minded boy moved with an unexpected lightness and strength. He wasn't a graceful dancer, but there was a grace to his movements, and it was captivating.
Raine, meanwhile, stood aside, watching them, when Lina appeared silently beside him. "That was cruel of you," she said quietly. "He has to learn," Raine replied just as quietly, his gaze fixed on the dancers. "In the city, he'll have to interact with more than just monsters."
"You're leaving, aren't you?" Sadness sounded in her voice. "After the festival. Everyone's talking about it."
"Yes."
They fell silent, watching the dancing flames. This festival, full of life and laughter, felt like a farewell. A final, bright memory before a long and unknown road.
...
Today was a special day. The air itself seemed to thrum with anticipation. Fourteen years old. In this world, it wasn't just another birthday, but a threshold, crossing which you ceased to be a child. It was the age when dreams either took on flesh and blood or turned to the dust of unfulfilled hopes.
An unusual silence reigned on their training ground, which over the years had transformed into a perfectly flat, well-trodden area with several mangled dummies at its edges. Raine and Bell stood facing each other, bare-chested, their breathing merging into a single rhythm with the rustling leaves. This was not just another spar. This was an exam. The culmination of all the years they had lived together.
"Ready?" Raine's voice was calm, but in the depths of his amber eyes, anticipatory sparks danced.
"More than," Bell replied. A smile touched his lips, but his ruby eyes were deadly serious. He was no longer the boy who needed to be pushed. He was a warrior, ready to challenge his teacher and his friend.
The movement began without warning. Bell exploded from his spot, the ground seeming to bend beneath his feet. He wasn't just running—he was closing the distance with astonishing speed, using the technique Raine had taught him for years: short, explosive steps, transferring his body weight from heel to toe, turning every push into an impulse.
The first strike was a feint—a jab to the body, calculated to make Raine move. But Raine didn't budge. He had seen the ruse a moment before it was executed. Instead of dodging, he took a short step forward, his palm, like a cobra's head, darting out, aiming not at Bell's fist, but at his elbow, to break the attack's structure and throw him off balance.
But Bell was ready. At the last second, he changed the trajectory of his strike, his fist opening, and his fingers tried to grab Raine's wrist. Simultaneously, his other hand delivered a sharp blow to the ribs. Raine was forced to retreat, breaking contact. A red mark instantly appeared on his side.
"Fast," Raine noted with internal satisfaction. "He's not just reacting. He's thinking, adapting right in the middle of the fight."
The battle turned into a kaleidoscope of swift attacks and counter-attacks. Bell was like a storm—his strikes rained down, each aimed at vulnerable points, each attack flowing into the next without the slightest pause. He used everything he had learned: sharp level changes, kicks to the shin to break rhythm, short shoulder shoves to create distance. His style, honed by Raine, was pragmatic and brutal, devoid of all showmanship.
Raine, however, was the rock in the midst of this storm. His movements were economical, almost minimalist. He didn't waste energy on unnecessary dodges, preferring to meet Bell's attacks with hard blocks and parries, redirecting his blows and using his friend's own momentum against him. He saw the fight several steps ahead, predicting Bell's intentions from the slightest tensing of a muscle, the turn of a shoulder, the shift of a gaze.
"Not bad," Raine exhaled, when he managed to evade another series of blows and momentarily get behind Bell. "But you're too predictable. You attack in series of three or four, and then you pause to catch your breath."
"And you talk too much!" Bell retorted, spinning sharply on his heel. His leg flew up, aimed at Raine's head. A spinning kick—a dangerous and difficult technique.
Raine ducked, letting the whistling foot pass over his head. Bell's anger made him stronger, but also more reckless. As Bell completed the spin, losing his balance for a split second, Raine stepped forward, his hand landing on his friend's supporting knee, his shoulder driving into his chest.
A leg sweep. A classic technique they had practiced thousands of times. But this time, something went wrong. Bell, already falling, managed to twist in mid-air. He didn't land on his back, but rolled over his shoulder and, without stopping, kicked out from below, knocking the support out from under Raine himself.
They crashed to the ground almost simultaneously, raising a cloud of dust. For a moment they lay there, breathing heavily, looking up at the clear blue sky through the gaps in the leaves. And then Bell laughed. Loudly, thunderously, from the heart.
"Looks like... a draw?" he rasped, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
Raine smiled back. He could have dodged, could have ended the fight earlier. But this is what he had wanted to see. Not victory, but persistence. The ability to fight to the very end, even when it seems all is lost.
"Happy birthday, Bell," he said, getting to his feet and offering his friend a hand. "I'd say you passed."
...
It wasn't hard to understand that the time, which had seemed endless, was relentlessly coming to an end. The summer that followed their birthday was filled with the last, desperately bright days of childhood. But with the first cold winds, which brought the smell of wilting leaves, it became clear that it wasn't just the season that was changing. Autumn came early that year, painting the forest in copper and gold. The days grew shorter, the nights colder. And with each passing day, Bell's grandfather faded. His laughter was heard less often, his jokes lost their edge. He no longer sat on the porch all day, preferring to doze in his chair by the hearth. His mighty body, hidden beneath a mask of frailty, was finally beginning to give way for real.
Bell paced, unable to find his place. He tried to care for his grandfather, cooked him stews that he barely tasted, covered him with a blanket. But he was powerless against the ultimate enemy—time.
One evening, as the icy wind howled in the chimney, the old man called them over. He spoke with difficulty, his voice reduced to a faint whisper.
"Don't mope, chicks," he whispered, and the shadow of his former smile touched his chapped lips. "It happens."
He looked at Bell, and in his faded eyes swam an immeasurable tenderness.
"You're... a good boy, Bell. You have the soul of a hero. Don't lose it. Don't let this dirty world stain it."
Then he turned his head to Raine. His gaze became clear and piercing, just as it had been that night when he took his promise.
"I entrusted him to you, boy."
Those were his last words.
The next morning, Bell found him in the chair. He was sitting just as he always did, pipe in hand, as if he had simply dozed off while looking at the smoldering embers. But the hearth had long gone out, and a ringing, icy silence filled the house.
The funeral was simple. The entire village came to say goodbye to the old eccentric who, though an outsider, had become an integral part of their lives. Arthur and a few other men dug a grave on a small hill behind the village, one that overlooked the vast forest.
Bell stood by the fresh mound of earth and said nothing. He didn't cry. He had shed all his tears that night, in the empty, cold house. Now, there was only a ringing emptiness inside him—a deafening echo of the laughter he would never hear again, and a coldness in the place of the warmth that had always been there. He stared at the loose earth, but he saw only his grandfather's face, frozen in eternal peace. Raine stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder. He offered no words of comfort. What words could help when an entire world had collapsed? He was simply there. And that was all that was needed.
The week after the funeral passed in a fog. Raine came at dawn and left after dark. He didn't pry with conversation, didn't try to console him. He was just there. He silently chopped wood, carried water, and cooked simple food that Bell barely touched. He took over the entire routine, giving his friend the space to live through his grief. In the evenings, they sat by the hearth and sorted through the old man's legacy. It was books. Dozens of worn volumes on history, monsters, heroes, and distant lands. Every page was saturated with the smell of tobacco and adventure. They didn't read, but rather sifted through them, like holy relics, touching the world they had yet to discover.
"What now, Raine?" he asked quietly. His voice was hoarse, but firm.
"Now—Orario," Raine answered just as quietly. "We'll follow the path he showed us."
"I'm scared," Bell admitted. "For the first time in my life, I'm truly scared."
"I know," Raine said. "Me too. But we'll go together. Fear is easier to carry between two."
The next day, they cleared the house of everything unnecessary, giving it to the neighbors. They locked the house, deciding to leave it as it had been when the old man was alive. Their departure was no secret. The village lived on rumors, and everyone knew that its two strongest youths were preparing for a journey.
In the evening, as they walked down the main street for the last time, someone called out to them. Elara and Lina were standing by the well, their faces unusually serious in the light of the setting sun.
"So it's true?" Elara asked, her voice devoid of its usual sarcasm. "You're leaving?"
"We're leaving," Bell answered simply.
An awkward silence fell. They stood, not knowing what to say. All words seemed empty and unnecessary. They remembered their childhood: how they had run from the old miller's enraged goose, how they had searched for treasure in the abandoned barn, how Elara had taught them to weave wreaths, and they had taught her to use a slingshot. These memories, warm and a little sad, hung in the air.
"Then get lost," Elara finally sniffed, trying to hide the tremor in her voice. "Just... just don't die out there, idiots. You hear me? If I find out some goblin ate you, I'll dig you up from the ground and kill you myself!"
Her face contorted, and tears streamed from her eyes. Large, angry tears, which she immediately began to wipe away furiously with the back of her hand. This strong, confident girl, who never showed weakness, was crying. It surprised everyone, including herself.
Bell was flustered. He took a step toward her, awkwardly held out a hand, but didn't know what to do. He just stood there, muttering something like, "Hey, come on... we'll come back... probably..."
Lina, who had been standing silently all this time, walked up to Raine. Her light eyes were full of unspoken longing. She opened her mouth to say something, her lips trembling.
"Raine, I..."
He gently interrupted her, placing a hand on her shoulder. His gaze was warm, but it held no hint of false hope.
"Take care of yourself, Lina," he said quietly. His voice was calm, as always. "Only become more beautiful. Be strong. Don't wait for someone to come and protect you. And remember, even in the darkest night, you can always find the stars. If you look hard enough."
He squeezed her shoulder lightly and took a step back. He understood everything. But his path lay far from this quiet village.
At dawn, they left the house. The farewell with Raine's family was short and hard. Livia cried, not hiding her tears, hugging her son again and again. Arthur handed him a small but heavy pouch of Valis.
"Be a man," he said. And in those two words was everything: a father's blessing, pride, and the pain of parting.
They climbed the hill one last time. Two figures stood frozen by the nameless burial mound.
"Thank you for everything, Grandpa," Bell whispered. "I'll become a hero. I promise."
They stood for a moment longer, and then, without looking back, they walked away.
The road snaked before them, disappearing into the morning mist. The village was behind them, its sounds fading away, giving way to the silence of their own footsteps. Childhood was behind them. Ahead lay the unknown. A new world, full of dangers, wonders, and adventures.
Raine looked at Bell. The emptiness in his eyes was gone. In its place was determination—as hard as steel. He walked forward, gripping the hilt of his knife, and the wind of change ruffled his snow-white hair.