The chatter in the classroom swirled around me like a distant echo as I sat at my desk near the window, my chin resting on my hand. The warm afternoon sunlight streamed through the glass, casting golden patterns on the wooden floor. My classmates were engaged in lively discussions about Sister Mari's lesson, their voices a mix of curiosity and excitement.
Yuna, as usual, was surrounded by her friends, her cheerful laughter carrying across the room. I couldn't help but glance in her direction briefly before turning my gaze outside, my thoughts drifting far away.
She did well explaining the basics, I thought, my eyes fixed on the village beyond the orphanage. Children played in the fields, merchants haggled in the market, and the serene hum of life filled the air. It was peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos I knew was waiting in the shadows of the future.
But the lesson had been incomplete, painfully so.
I leaned back in my chair, my gaze drifting to the ceiling. Yet, my mind was far from the serenity of the moment.
She missed so much…
Sister Mari's understanding of the world is limited to what's safe and comfortable. She doesn't know about the deeper truths, the layers of magic, the ancient histories, the existence of other races beyond humans. She doesn't know what this world is truly capable of or how dangerous it really is.
Magic isn't just divided by elements or categories; it evolves. Each type has layers of mastery, from the most basic to levels far beyond what most people can comprehend. Few ever reach those heights, and even fewer survive the cost of trying.
I clenched my fist on the desk, the rough texture of my calloused palm brushing against the wood. The years of relentless training in my past life had left their mark, not as scars, but as hardened reminders of my dedication and struggles. Even now, with this body returned to its youthful state, my hands bore the faint beginnings of those same callouses, evidence of my resolve to start anew.
And then there's the truth about this world, the other races. The elves of the Whispering Glades, the dwarves of the Ironspine Mountains, and the dragonkin who once ruled the skies. They're out there, hidden or forgotten, just like the secrets of ancient magic. And when they reappear, they'll shake the foundation of everything people think they know.
My jaw tightened, my thoughts growing heavier.
Sister Mari doesn't understand that the peace we have here in this little village is fragile. It's a fleeting moment in a storm that's been brewing for centuries.
Of course, how could she know? She's never stepped outside the safety of this village. She's here, bound by her own duty to care for us, to keep this orphanage running. But out there…
I glanced toward the horizon, my eyes darkening slightly.
Out there, it's a different story.
My lips tightened, and I turned my gaze back to the classroom. The children around me were full of life, their worries confined to the small world they knew. For them, the outside was a distant, almost mythical place.
My mind, however, was consumed by what lay ahead. I thought of the dangers lurking in the shadows, the powerful figures, the battles, and the choices that could shatter entire civilizations.
If I don't prepare them… If I don't guide them, they'll be swept away. Just like before.
My lips tightened, and I turned and gazed back at the classroom. The children around me were full of life, their worries confined to the small world they knew. For them, the outside was a distant, almost mythical place.
My mind, however, was consumed by what lay ahead. My thoughts of the dangers lurking in the shadows, the powerful figures, the battles, and the choices that could shatter entire civilizations.
If I don't prepare them… If I don't guide them, they'll be swept away. Just like before.
My eyes drifted to Yuna, sitting a few rows ahead with her friends. She was smiling, her laughter light and carefree as she joined in the chatter around her. She caught my gaze for a moment, her expression softening, but quickly turned back to her friends with a faint blush.
I let out a quiet sigh.
Even her… She doesn't realize how much she'll matter in the days to come. She's stronger than she knows.
A distant memory surfaced of Yuna's determination during our training earlier that day. The way she had instinctively moved with the sword, almost as if it had called to her. It wasn't just skill; it was something deeper, a connection waiting to be unlocked.
I'll guide her, he vowed silently. And the others, too. I won't let what happened before repeat itself.
My focus snapped back to the present as Sister Mari called for attention at the front of the class. She was wrapping up the lesson, reminding everyone about tomorrow's schedule.
I straightened in my seat, schooling my expression into something neutral. For now, I'd play the part of an ordinary boy, the one who sat quietly in the back. But deep inside, my resolve burned brighter than ever.
As the class began to shuffle out, I lingered for a moment. My gaze returned to the window, to the vast world that awaited us all.
This time, things will be different. This time, I'll be ready.
The classroom began to empty as the children streamed out, their chatter echoing down the hallway. I remained seated, my eyes fixed on the sky beyond the window. The peaceful village scene stretched out before me, but my mind was racing.
How do I even begin to prepare them for what's coming? Yuna, Kenta, Ryo, Akari, Sora... Their faces flashed in his mind. They're just kids now, unshaped by the chaos. But I know their potential. I just have to make sure they survive long enough to reach it.
A shadow fell across my desk, pulling me from my thoughts. I turned to see Sister Mari standing nearby, her kind expression laced with curiosity.
"Daydreaming again, Tatsuo?" she asked gently, her voice tinged with amusement.
I straightened, offering her a small, polite smile.
"Just… thinking about the lesson."
Sister Mari tilted her head, studying me.
"You're quite the thinker, aren't you? Always so quiet, observing everything. But I hope you don't let your thoughts weigh you down. You're still young. You should enjoy these days, too."
I nodded, though I didn't respond. I wasn't sure how to explain that my thoughts weren't just the musings of a young boy, but the heavy burden of a man who had lived and lost everything.
Sister Mari seemed to sense my hesitation but didn't press further. Instead, she placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled.
"If you ever want to talk, I'm here. Remember that."
"Thank you," I said simply, watching as she turned and left the room.
Once alone, I let out a slow breath. The weight of my knowledge pressed against me like a heavy cloak.
She's kind. Too kind for this world. But kindness alone won't protect anyone when the storm comes.
I rose from my seat and left the classroom, my footsteps echoing in the now-empty hall. Outside, the children were scattered across the orphanage grounds. Some were playing games in the courtyard, their laughter ringing out like music. Others had wandered off to the flower fields or the nearby market, soaking in the freedom of the day.
My feet carried me to my usual spot, a secluded area behind the orphanage where the training grounds lay. It wasn't much, just a patch of dirt with a few makeshift targets and logs for sparring. But it was enough for me to continue honing my skills.
As I approached, I noticed a familiar presence nearby. Yuna was there, leaning against one of the training dummies with a thoughtful expression.
"You didn't waste any time," she said, smirking as I walked up.
I raised an eyebrow.
"I could say the same for you."
Yuna shrugged, stepping away from the dummy.
"I figured you'd come here. You're always training when you're not in class."
"And you're always following me," I teased, my tone light but with a knowing edge.
Yuna's cheeks flushed, and she crossed her arms.
"I'm not following you. I just… wanted to practice more. You said I had potential, didn't you?"
I chuckled softly, nodding.
"Fair enough. Let's see how much you remember from this morning."
We fell into a rhythm, sparring lightly as I guided Yuna through the basics. Her movements were still rough, but there was a spark of instinct in the way she handled the sword, a spark that I knew would ignite into something extraordinary with time.
As we trained, Yuna experimented with both her wooden training sword and her wooden dagger, switching between them in an attempt to find a balance. At first, her movements were clumsy, the transition between weapons slowing her down. But she pushed through, determined to improve. She practiced alternating between single-handed and dual-wielding stances, trying to strike with her sword while keeping the dagger ready for quick follow-ups.
I couldn't help but notice how determined she was. Every swing, every block, every misstep, she pushed through it all with a tenacity that reminded me of why she had been such a crucial part of my team in the previous timeline. I could see it already; if she continued at this pace, her skill with dual weapons would become something formidable.
Two hours passed in a blur, and the sound of the orphanage bell echoed through the air, signaling the end of our free time.
"Looks like class is starting again," Yuna said, wiping the sweat from her brow.
I nodded, sheathing my wooden practice sword.
"You did well today. Keep practicing, and you'll surpass me in no time."
Yuna rolled her eyes, though there was a hint of a smile on her lips.
"I'll believe that when I see it."
As we walked back to the orphanage together, the air between us felt lighter. I found myself smiling more often around her, a feeling I wasn't used to but didn't entirely mind.
She's growing stronger already, I thought, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye.
And so am I. This time, we'll all be ready.
As Yuna and I walked back toward the orphanage, a strange stillness hung in the air. The usual sounds of children's laughter, the distant chatter of the workers, and the ambient noise of daily life were all absent. It was… too quiet.
My sharp senses, honed through years of combat and vigilance, caught the unusual silence before anything else. I stopped in my tracks, my instincts flaring. I raised my arm, signaling for Yuna to halt as well.
"Wait," I said, my voice low, my gaze fixed ahead.
Before Yuna could even respond, I moved swiftly, grabbing her waist and pulling her into a nearby bush. My movements were quick, practiced, as if this were a routine I had done many times before.
Yuna's face flushed crimson as I suddenly drew her into the tight embrace, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't help but imagine all sorts of scenarios in her mind, each more embarrassing than the last.
Is he trying to…? Her thoughts ran wild for a moment, her cheeks tinged with warmth from my sudden proximity.
However, I remained oblivious to the way my actions made her feel, keeping my arm securely around her waist. I held her close, ensuring she stayed low and out of sight. The silence in the air only made my senses more heightened.
Yuna, still unsure of the situation, glanced at my serious expression, feeling a mixture of confusion and a flutter of emotions she wasn't quite ready to understand.
"T-Tatsuo? What's going on? Why did you...?"
"Look," I interrupted, my voice now a whisper, tinged with concern. I nodded toward the orphanage.
"Do you hear that? It's too quiet."
Yuna hesitated, then cautiously peeked out from behind the bush, her eyes scanning the orphanage grounds. Normally, at this hour, the sounds of children playing, talking, and the general hum of activity filled the air. But now, there was nothing. Not a single voice, not even the faintest movement.
She swallowed, suddenly feeling a chill creep up her spine.
"I... I don't know, Tatsuo. It's never this quiet. Everyone's usually up by now."
My jaw tightened. My instincts were telling me that something was off. In all my years of fighting, surviving, and being on high alert, I knew when the world around me was too calm. This kind of silence wasn't normal. It was the kind of silence that came before danger, before an ambush or an attack.
Yuna could feel the tension in my posture, and despite the awkwardness of our current position, she couldn't help but be more aware of my presence now. My sharp eyes scanned every corner of the orphanage, looking for something specific, something hidden.
"Stay low," I said, my voice quieter now.
"We need to figure out what's happening before we rush in."
Yuna nodded, her mind racing, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something dark was looming over us. Whatever had caused this eerie silence… it wasn't a coincidence.
My grip on her waist tightened slightly, a reminder that, despite the awkwardness of the moment, I was still focused on keeping her safe. Yuna felt the weight of my words sink in, the realization that our peaceful day was about to be shattered.