It was finally a day after the celebration of awakening, and according to Castigir's long-preserved historical culture, it was time for the training session that would define the course of their lives. This training was not some simple rite of passage; it was a journey that could consume years—sometimes five, sometimes ten, and in rare cases, even fourteen. Such a stretched span of time dedicated to preparing, maturing, and surviving was seen as both a blessing and a burden. It was an honor to be chosen, yet a torment to be separated from everything familiar for so long.
Arthur had studied what he could about this stage after awakening—or at least he tried to, despite the unreliable records and cryptic explanations deliberately left by past generations. Still, the parts he did manage to gather were enough to intimidate him. The idea of a training session that lasted over a decade was unsettling. To him, it felt like stepping into a void where time would be swallowed, and once he came out, he might not even recognize himself anymore.
This was insanely long—unreasonably long—for someone to be trained, and it was certainly a long time to leave their home behind. But tradition was engraved deeply into the bones of Castigir, and culture was not something one simply refused. Thus, the two siblings, Arthur and Alistair, quietly packed their bags for a journey whose end neither of them could predict.
While preparing, Arthur couldn't help noticing the shift in Alistair's behavior ever since her awakening ceremony. She had grown distant—far more distant than seemed reasonable. The formerly clingy, overly attached sister who once followed him everywhere had suddenly turned into a silent, withdrawn presence. She barely looked at him anymore, barely responded when he called her name. She simply moved through the home like a ghost draped in newfound power.
He had tried convincing himself it was temporary. He had tried talking to her multiple times, hoping she would respond, even with a single word. But she didn't. Not even once.
'I guess this is what power does to the mind of children,' Arthur mused bitterly.
It hurt more than he expected—more than he wanted to admit. She was still his sister. She was supposed to be the one person he didn't have to chase for affection. The idea of giving up on talking to her felt wrong, unnatural, but even so… all his attempts ended in silence.
At long last, the day arrived. Arthur sat quietly in his room, dressed in the attire chosen by his mother for the occasion: all-black clothing—a hooded long-sleeved shirt that fit him comfortably, dark trousers, and leather boots that hugged his ankles firmly. There was also a sword in its sheath resting against his bed—his first real weapon. And then, oddly enough, there was a mask. It was made of some sort of metal yet felt strangely light, almost weightless, and the intricate markings carved into its surface pulsed faintly, as though alive.
"A mask? Must be from mother," he thought, running his fingers across its cool texture.
He glanced at Alistair's bed to his right—empty, untouched, already cold. She had left earlier for her own training. No goodbye, no sentiment, no lingering hesitation. Just gone. He was alone in the room now, left with only his thoughts and the quiet echo of uncertainty.
'Honestly, I feel more hollow inside than optimistic,' Arthur admitted to himself, setting the mask down. His thoughts drifted to the last interaction he had with his sister before she departed. After days of ignoring him, she had suddenly hugged him—tightly, unexpectedly—and whispered into his ear…
"Come back stronger."
After everything, after hardly acknowledging him, that was what she chose to say. A simple phrase, yet it carried a weight that pressed heavily on his chest. It made him question himself—question the training he was heading toward as a Darwan. Would it be enough to make him strong? Or was this training simply a weak imitation of the power others gained?
'Being reborn again, I kinda wanted to be the main character of something, though,' he pondered with a half-hearted chuckle.
The door to his room slowly creaked open. Arthur snapped his head toward it, recognizing the two figures immediately. Unlike Alistair—who had an entire escort assigned to her—Arthur had only two people coming to accompany him. His mother, Lady Castigir, and his elder brother, Argon, stepped in clad in matching black attire.
"We best be on our way now," his mother said, moving into the room. She walked toward one of the plain stone walls—an odd choice—and placed her hand against it.
Arthur watched, confused.
A moment later, the wall emitted a series of soft chiming noises. The bricks began shifting, sliding and rotating in synchronized movements until they formed a door-sized opening. Stone scraped, mechanisms hummed beneath the surface, and soon a dark, narrow stairway was revealed—leading down into unknown depths.
"Surprised?" Argon asked, stopping beside Arthur with a small smile.
Arthur gave a stiff nod.
"Yeah, we are all like that the first time," Argon said, extending a hand to him. "We will hopefully get to know ourselves more during this training session, little brother."
Arthur froze.
He had never been this close to Argon—never exchanged proper words with him, never even touched him. His older brother had always been a distant, almost mythical figure. Yet here he was… offering his hand.
Arthur took it gently and whispered under his breath, "Can't say the same for me."
Soon, the three of them stood before the secret passageway. Lady Castigir stepped aside, allowing the boys to move forward. Arthur noticed Argon stopping at the threshold—clearly waiting.
'They want me to go first,' Arthur thought. A small spike of fear stabbed his chest. For a split second, an absurd thought flashed through his mind—Was his mother sending him to his death? But he banished it immediately. Even if she was strict, even if she was hard to read, she wasn't cruel.
Gathering his courage, Arthur stepped forward.
The moment he crossed the threshold, it felt as though he walked through a thin veil of water—cool and otherworldly. And then everything shifted.
In an instant, he was no longer inside the castle. No stairway. No stone walls. No familiar air.
Instead, he stood in a vast field of grey grass swaying gently under a wind that carried no scent. The sky above him was painted in a deep crimson hue, and a large pale moon hung overhead, casting eerie grey light across the land. The trees in the distance were dark, their silhouettes warped and shadowy, like figures frozen mid-whisper.
"Where am I?" Arthur breathed, turning slowly. His heart pounded in his chest as the surreal world stretched endlessly before him.
It felt like he had stepped into another world entirely.