The village of Eryl breathed quietly under the early morning mist. Chickens clucked near wooden fences, dew glistened on old roof tiles, and a crooked tree stood watch at the village edge—its bark cracked, its leaves thinning with every season. It was once Kael's favorite tree. Now, it looked as tired as he often felt.
Kael walked through the village with a woven basket on his back, delivering firewood to the blacksmith's daughter and water to the elderly woman who once told him stories of dragon-blooded kings. He smiled softly, bowed his head, and moved along before anyone could ask why he was always alone.
At the edge of the square, a group of boys laughed as they passed by.
"Careful, don't trip over your own shadow, Kael!" one of them sneered.
He said nothing. Just adjusted the basket and kept walking. The laughter trailed behind him like smoke.
The only one waiting for him was the old man—a weathered figure with sharp eyes and hands that could still split a log in half despite his age.
"You smell like wet wood and disappointment," the old man grumbled with a grin.
Kael smirked faintly. "Morning to you too, Master."
The old man tossed him a steamed bun and looked toward the withering tree in the distance.
"It used to bloom every year," Kael murmured.
"Things change," the old man said. "Sometimes they grow. Sometimes they die."
That afternoon, the village was dressed in red. The blacksmith's daughter was getting married—to the son of a noble family. Lanterns floated in the pond, laughter filled the air, and the scent of sweet wine lingered long after sundown.
Kael stood outside the crowd, watching her in silence. She looked radiant. A far cry from the girl who once climbed trees with him barefoot, who cried when her bird died, and who once kissed his cheek before running off, laughing.
She didn't notice him. Or maybe she did—and chose not to.
Later, she approached while he sat beneath the old tree.
"I thought you wouldn't come," she said.
Kael didn't answer. He simply watched the stars beyond the tree branches.
She hesitated, then placed a soft hand on his shoulder. "You're a good person, Kael."
He looked at her. Her eyes were soft. Pitying.
Then she walked away, back to the party. To her new life.
It began to rain.
Kael didn't cry. But something inside him faded. Like an ember growing cold.
The old man appeared beside him, holding an umbrella.
"Some storms don't break us," he said, voice low. "They clean us."
The next morning, the world changed again.
A small carriage rolled into the village, bearing three men in dark robes with silver tokens—scouts from the Falling Sky Academy.
Every child between 12 and 16 was gathered in the village square. Names were called. Fingers trembled. Each placed a palm on a glowing orb, hoping for a spark.
Two boys lit up the orb faintly. Wind and fire elements. The village erupted in cheers.
Then Kael's name was called.
He stepped forward. Placed his hand on the orb.
Nothing happened.
A long silence stretched. The examiner sighed.
"Next."
As Kael turned away, no one clapped. No one looked. Not even the birds made a sound.
But unknown to all, faint glimmers of red, blue, and black light had danced across Kael's back, spine, and chest—then vanished.
The scout grunted. "This one? Hah… he's got no future."
Only the old man smiled silently.
As the scouts packed to leave, he whispered to himself, eyes glinting like steel under moonlight:
"Then let the future fear him."