Prologue: The Realm of True Nature
In the beginning, there was only silence—a formless world of infinite skies and boundlessness of earth, untouched by time. From that silence came a world unlike any other: True Nature. A world of green tints and animating light, where mountains touched the heavens and rivers carried secrets of old magic. The woods drew breath, the seas sang chorus, and even winds were rumored to sing along with the very essence of being.
To exist in True Nature was to wake up every morning with the world brimming with wonder. Cities were built where plains went on forever, their walls of stone overgrown with vines that glowed with a gentle light by the moon. Powerful kingdoms and abandoned ruins dotted the landscape like fragments of a great tapestry, each adorned with a mark of a bygone era. But the true glory of this world was not so much its beauty, nor its grandeur—it was in the power that ran unseen through every living thing: Energy Resolve.
Energy Resolve was the very essence of life, the wind of power bound to every soul. It was not merely magic, nor something that could be grasped and withdrawn such as air or water. It was life itself, living deep within one's body, all tangled up with the soul. When a newborn baby breathed for the first time, they awakened their Energy Resolve; and when the old breathed for the last time, it returned to the world like the droplet lost in the sea. It was to tap into this essence in order to access life itself—though to so do stupidly was to lose it forevermore.
Generations past, the world was brutal and unfettered. Energy Resolve was unchecked, and those capable of harnessing it were powers of nature. They were warriors who inscribed their names in books of history, kings who held dominion with unparalleled might, and tyrants who brought lands to ruin in their quest for authority. Power was the codex during those days. The powerful dined on the weak, and the earth of True Nature ran red with blood shed in innumerable wars.
It was stated that during those times, all horizons became battlegrounds. Villages disappeared in the blink of an eye as opposing clans fought each other. Armies came not for justice, but for vanity. And meanwhile, the Energy Resolve that lived within them was tested to its boundaries—leading men to battle until their spirits incinerated, and all that remained were empty shells. The world was expansive, but its inhabitants were perishing more quickly than it could mend.
And yet… in the darkness, a glimmer of hope was kindled.
From the upheaval rose those who defied the torrent of mortality—heroes who battled with sword and spell in unyielding resolve. They were not conquerors nor oppressors, but protectors. They did not merely wish to fight but to defend, to bring order to the tempest of greed and vengeance. They would come to be known as the Knight Sorcerers.
Knight Sorcerers were unlike any before them. Their training was forged in suffering, their strength bound in honor. They understood that Energy Resolve was not a destructive tool, but a covenant—a bond between one's spirit and the world itself. To wield it was a duty, not a right. They vowed to guard the innocent, to kill the evil, and to serve as bulwarks against the nothingness that threatened to engulf the realm whole.
It was they who brought the first age of peace to True Nature.
No longer did villages burn secretly, and kingdoms get bullied by brutal warlords. The more the Knight Sorcerers won, the more they drove back the darkness that sought to engulf everything. Their names were legend, passed around in the ballads of minstrels and the prayers of the faithful. They were the swords that cut tyranny, the shields that guarded the innocent, and the beacons of hope in a dark age of endless night.
But peace had not been a gift—it had been achieved, and it was fragile.
Even as the wars were ended, though, the vastness of True Nature held dangers within. For even in a world so lush and green, evil had a tendency to flourish. The wild outside the great cities was filled with savage monsters and forgotten curses. Ruins left behind slumbered beneath mountains and in forests, their shut doors hinting at forbidden powers. And among men, ambition never died.
It was for this reason that the position of Knight Sorcerers continued on. They were not masters, but guardians—those who stood on the walls, defended the wild borders, and looked out for the return of old chaos. Their presence was evidence that though Energy Resolve may break, it may also defend, heal, and inspire.
But even while peace held sway, the world continued to change.
Children born during this period of peace learned of the wars only as legends—legends of blood and courage that lay as far away as the stars. Villages flourished under the security the Knight Sorcerers provided. Magic, which had originally been only a tool, became an art and a commerce. Scholars studied Energy Resolve in order to unravel its secrets. Artisans integrated it into their crafts, and healers employed it to mend flesh and bone. For the very first time in history, individuals in True Nature envisioned a future not built on conquest but on hope.
But deep below the heart of this living world, there was a discontent. Energy Resolve was boundless like the domain itself, and power like that could never remain at rest for all time. For every guardian born, so too was there a shadow born to oppose them. Darkness was patient, and it had been silent for far too long.
And so the people of True Nature slept under serene skies, with no knowledge that the winds of fate were already massing. Theirs was a magnificent, green, and living world—but on the distant edges of that endless horizon, a new story was to be told.
A story that would begin not with kings or heroes… but with one solitary boy.
---
The residence where Faye Lanivelle lived was not a home.
It was a lonely manor on the far outskirts of the Lanivelle estate, surrounded by towering walls and patrolled by guards who never met his eyes. The garden was overgrown, the air always colder than anywhere else in the realm, and silence reigned in every hall. To most, it was nothing more than a prison disguised as a sanctuary—a place built not to keep someone in, but to keep him away from everyone else.
Faye had been told many things in his seven years of life, but above all, he understood one truth: he was cursed. The mark beneath his left eye—dark, jagged, and unnatural—was proof of it. People said it was a bad omen, a sign that disaster would follow wherever he went. His grandfather, Okoma Lanivelle, the iron-willed patriarch of the family, had even ordered his execution the day he was born.
If not for his grandmother Neah, he would not have lived to see the sky.
And so, for his "protection," he was sent here. Separated. Forgotten.
He sat now in the corner of his small room, knees pulled to his chest. Outside the window, the vast world of True Nature stretched far and endless, green fields and distant hills painted by the setting sun. It looked warm, alive—everything his world wasn't.
"Here," came the sharp voice of the maid.
A wooden tray clattered against the floor, food spilling across the rough planks. The sound echoed in the hollow manor. Faye flinched, but he didn't speak. He never spoke to her.
The maid, a tall woman with a perpetual scowl, folded her arms. "Eat it. Or don't. I don't care."
He nodded quickly, crawling toward the tray. The stew was cold again, as it always was. It didn't matter. He had learned not to complain.
"Disgusting," the maid muttered under her breath, her lip curling. "Having to serve a cursed one like you… What a waste of my life."
The words stabbed at him, sharp and familiar. He lowered his head, his small hands trembling as he picked up the wooden spoon. He didn't answer. He never did. If he told anyone… if he complained to his family, what if they thought he was troublesome? What if they hated him more than they already did?
So he stayed quiet.
He always stayed quiet.
Two years ago, this maid—Barmouth—had been assigned to him. She didn't care for him. She barely spoke to him except to scold or insult him. She left his room messy, his meals late, and sometimes, she didn't come at all. Yet Faye endured it. Not because it didn't hurt, but because the thought of being hated by his family was worse than anything she could ever say.
He wanted—just once—to be loved.
So, he told no one.
That evening, as he lifted the spoon to his lips, a sudden crash echoed through the hall. The door slammed open, and a voice—clear, furious, and trembling—shattered the silence.
"WHAT do you think you're doing?!"
Faye froze. His crimson eyes darted to the door. Standing there was a girl with chestnut hair tied neatly behind her head, wearing the elegant uniform of the Lanivelle family. Her presence was like sunlight tearing through storm clouds.
"...F-Fionna…?" Faye whispered.
His eldest sister.
Fionna Lanivelle's gaze locked on the maid like a blade. Her hands trembled, not with fear, but with rage so sharp it almost seemed to burn.
Barmouth sneered. "Lady Fionna… I—"
The excuse never came. Fionna crossed the room in a heartbeat, grabbed the maid by the collar, and—
BANG!
Her forehead slammed against Barmouth's with a force that echoed in the walls.
"You—" Her voice cracked, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "You dare throw food at my brother? You dare tell him to die?!"
Barmouth stumbled back, clutching her forehead. "I—he's—he's cursed! Everyone knows it! Why should I—"
"Shut up!" Fionna's scream was raw, trembling with fury. "Don't you EVER call my little brother that again! He's not a curse! He's Faye! My brother! You hear me?!"
Faye stared, wide-eyed. His tiny hands gripped the edge of his chair. No one had ever raised their voice for him. No one had ever… defended him.
"Lady Fionna, please," Barmouth stammered. "You don't understa—"
"I understand enough!" Fionna's voice shook. Her tears, now falling freely, glimmered against her flushed cheeks. "You've been treating him like he's less than human for two years. And he—" She turned, looking at Faye, her anger softening into something far more painful. "And he didn't even tell us… because he was afraid we'd hate him…"
Faye flinched. He hadn't said that. Not out loud. But somehow, she knew.
His sister knelt before him, taking his small, trembling hands in hers. "Faye… listen to me. You are not a curse. You're my brother. And I love you."
The words were simple, but they struck him harder than any insult ever had. His chest tightened. His vision blurred. For the first time in his life, he felt something warm—something that didn't hurt.
"...Sister…" His voice cracked like thin glass.
"Don't you ever think you're alone, okay?" she said, her voice trembling. "Because I'll never let anyone hurt you. Not ever again."
Behind her, Barmouth opened her mouth, but Fionna turned and glared at her with such fury that even the maid recoiled.
"Get out," Fionna commanded. "Before I make you regret every second you've spent in this house."
And for the first time, Barmouth had nothing to say. She fled.
The room was quiet again, but it was no longer cold. Fionna stayed with him until he stopped shaking, holding his hand as if she was afraid he'd disappear. For the first time, Faye smiled. It was small, shaky, but real.
That day, something changed in him.
A spark of hope.
If Fionna cared for him… maybe, just maybe, the rest of his family didn't hate him either.
And for a boy who had only ever known loneliness, that hope was everything.
---
One Week Later
Barmouth was gone. Faye never saw her again.
In her place came a new maid: Barbara.
She was young—no older than sixteen—with long black hair and piercing blue eyes. She moved with quiet efficiency, her face calm and unreadable. To most, she would have seemed cold, almost mechanical. But to Faye… she was different.
She never raised her voice. She never threw his food. She never called him cursed.
She simply… stayed.
"Eat," she said one evening, placing a tray of warm stew on his table.
Faye hesitated. "...It's not cold?"
Barbara looked at him blankly. "Of course not. Food is supposed to be warm."
It was such a simple statement, but it made his chest ache.
Day by day, Barbara cared for him. She brushed his hair when it tangled. She cleaned his room until it no longer smelled of dust and loneliness. She didn't smile, not once, but she was there. And for Faye, that was enough.
At night, as he sat by the window staring at the moonlit fields of True Nature, he clutched his blanket tight and whispered a promise only he could hear:
"One day… I'll be strong enough to stand beside them. To stand beside my sister… and protect her, just like she protected me."
For the first time in seven years, the lonely manor no longer felt like a prison.
It felt… almost like the beginning of a home.
---
The days in the lonely manor grew quieter after Barbara arrived—but they were no longer empty.
Faye still woke up to the same gray walls and the same distant sounds of the world beyond the gates, but now, every morning carried a new anticipation. For the first time, someone stayed by his side without hatred in their eyes. Barbara was still as expressionless as the day she arrived, but her presence alone was… steady. Unchanging.
And in that steadiness, Faye found something he'd never had before.
"Barbara," Faye said one morning, clutching his glass of milk, his red eyes bright. "Do you think… I could become a hero someday? Like Father?"
Barbara was folding his clothes at the time. She didn't pause. She didn't laugh at him. She simply glanced his way, her face calm as ever. "If you want to be one," she said, "then you can."
Faye blinked. He'd expected a different answer—maybe even silence. "Really?"
Barbara nodded once. "Heroes are people who never stop walking forward. If you want to be one, then walk."
Her voice was flat, almost mechanical, but Faye grinned as if she'd told him the greatest secret in the world.
That was how their conversations began.
Every day, after Barbara finished her duties, she stayed by him. Faye would talk endlessly—about wanting to be a Knight Sorcerer, about how one day he would prove he wasn't cursed, and even about silly things like how much he hated bitter food but loved milk more than anything else.
And Barbara, for all her coldness, never told him to be quiet. She answered every question. Sometimes her replies were short, but to Faye, they mattered more than anything.
One evening, as the sky turned gold and shadows stretched across the manor floor, Faye looked up at her and asked a question that had been sitting in his heart for a long time.
"Barbara… how's my family doing?"
Barbara didn't stop polishing the wooden table, but her gaze softened—so slightly that most people would have missed it.
"They're well," she said. "Your father is strong. Your mother is graceful. Fionna, Floyd, Flunna, and Fachiyo… they're all healthy."
Faye's small hands clenched tightly. "I… I wish I could see them more…"
Barbara's voice was calm, but there was a quiet gentleness hidden in her tone. "You see them every week, Faye. They come."
Through the window.
It wasn't the same as holding them or speaking to them, but every week, Faye would wait by the tall window in the manor's western hall. And every week, his family came—leaving gifts with Barbara, standing in the courtyard below, waving up at him.
He could never open the window. He could never shout down to them.
But seeing them… just seeing them was enough to make his heart race.
That day, Barbara set aside her cloth and looked at him. "Do you want to hear a story?"
Faye's head snapped up. "A story?"
"About your father," she said.
And from that moment, the lonely manor became a different world.
Barbara told him of the day Rossa Lanivelle became a hero.
---
Twenty-five years old. That was how old his father was at the time. It was during the coronation of the new king, Leonard Charlotte II.
The capital had been alive with celebration. Knight Sorcerers from every corner of the realm gathered in honor of the coronation, their presence thinning the guards across the kingdom. And it was on that very day, when the kingdom's eyes were turned toward the throne, that disaster struck in Arpa District.
The Syluk Armies, a band of ruthless marauders, descended upon the district without warning.
The city was unprepared. The knights were away.
But Rossa was there.
Alone.
"Your father," Barbara said, her voice steady, "didn't wait for orders. He didn't hesitate. He fought."
And fight he did. With blade in hand and his Energy Resolve burning bright, he faced the invading force head-on. Dozens of Syluk raiders clashed against him, but not one broke his stance. Witnesses said his strikes were faster than the wind and heavier than steel.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Arpa District still stood.
And Rossa Lanivelle was named the Hero of Arpa.
"People loved him," Barbara said, her blue eyes distant, as if recalling the memory herself. "They built statues. They sang his name. He saved them all."
Faye's small fists trembled with excitement. His crimson eyes were wide, shining.
"Father's… amazing!" he gasped.
Barbara nodded once. "He is."
"Were… were you there?" Faye asked.
This time, Barbara was silent for a long moment. Then, softly, she said: "Yes."
Faye tilted his head. "You…?"
"I was in Arpa. One of the children trapped when the Syluk came. Your father… saved me."
Faye stared at her, his mouth slightly open. He had never heard Barbara speak of herself. Not once. And now, for the first time, her voice carried a shadow of something different.
"He carried me," she said. "And he told me… I was safe."
Faye's chest tightened. "...Then… then Father's not just a hero to everyone… he's your hero too."
Barbara didn't reply. She didn't need to.
That night, as Faye lay in bed, he stared at the ceiling, his mind alive with images of his father standing tall against the Syluk armies. A man so strong that even Barbara—calm, unreadable Barbara—spoke of him with a quiet reverence.
"Someday," Faye whispered into the dark, "I'll be like you, Father. I'll protect everyone… just like you did."
And for the first time, his dream didn't feel so far away.
---
The next week came.
Faye woke before dawn. He barely touched his breakfast, bouncing on his heels by the window. Barbara, as always, stood silently behind him, holding a wrapped parcel—another gift from his family.
Then he saw them.
Fionna, Floyd, Flunna, Fachiyo, and his parents.
They stood in the courtyard below, waving up at him.
Faye's breath caught. He pressed his hands to the glass, his eyes burning with tears he refused to shed. He couldn't shout. He couldn't run to them.
But they were there.
His family.
Barbara knelt beside him and handed him the gift. A wooden sword, small enough for his hands. His father's handwriting was carved on the hilt: "To my son. One day, I'll spar with you."
Faye's lips trembled. He hugged the sword to his chest.
"They don't hate me…" he whispered, almost disbelieving.
Barbara's voice was quiet, but firm. "No. They love you. That's why they come."
Faye nodded, tears spilling down his cheeks.
Every week, he stood by that window. Every week, his family came. And though he could not touch them, though the glass kept him apart, the warmth he felt in his chest never faded.
For the first time in his young life, Faye no longer felt cursed.
He felt loved.
And that love… gave him hope.