The morning sun painted the rooftops of Naiathe in gold, and the mist that gave Mistfall its name clung low to the cobbled paths. The light broke through in slanted shafts, scattering across the dew-slick tiles of homes nestled among pinewood and stone.
Itsuki Naoya sat on the railing outside his home, a short ledge overlooking the quiet road that wound through the western edge of town. His hair tousled by the wind, eyes half-lidded with sleep, he balanced a slice of toasted flatbread in one hand and a flask of tea in the other.
"Oi, you're going to fall like that," his father's voice called from inside. "And if you fall again, your mother's going to lecture me."
Itsuki grinned. "If I survive the fall, I'll deal with it."
Kaito Naoya stepped out onto the porch, arms folded, still wearing his training robe from the morning session. He was a sturdy man with shoulders like a wall and eyes sharp as tempered steel. In his youth, Kaito had once trained alongside some of Astralyn's finest — now, he trained the town's next.
"Itsuki," he said after a moment. "You and your friends have your orientation at the Dojo soon."
"I know."
"Don't joke your way through it. The instructors aren't like me."
"I know."
Kaito gave him a look. "Then stop saying 'I know' and start acting like it."
Itsuki laughed as he hopped down from the rail, stretching his arms. His training uniform hung lazily from his waist, jacket tied, undershirt sleeveless. A breeze caught the back of his collar as he leaned forward, the smell of pine and fresh bread still clinging to the air.
He turned back and waved. "I'm heading to the square. Shion said he'd bring the spar sticks."
"Come back before lunch or your mother will send the hawks after you."
"I'll run faster than them this time!"
"Try not to trip over your own pride."
---
The town of Naiathe wasn't large — just over a hundred families, with wooden homes tucked between open courtyards and flowered terraces. It was peaceful, but not stagnant. Life here moved like water: slow, but steady, with depth below the calm.
Children chased each other past baker stalls and fruit carts. Traders unloaded goods from the east. Over the rooftops, the tall arch of Mistfall's central monument could be seen — a crystalline pillar, grown directly from the earth itself, pulsing faintly with silver-blue light.
The Essence Stone. A symbol of their bond with the land.
Itsuki took a turn near the old well, jogging past a few neighbors who greeted him with raised brows and smirks. He was known in town — not because of his family name, but because of the mischief that often followed his footsteps.
"Morning, Itsuki," called the baker's wife.
"Morning, Miss Etta!"
"Tell your father the honey rolls are fresh today."
"I'll remind him! He forgets everything that isn't shaped like a training rod!"
Laughter followed him as he dashed off.
---
By the time he reached the lower courtyard, two boys were already waiting beneath the willow shade — one perched atop a stack of crates, the other crouched and chewing on dried fruit.
Kairo Huisji leaned back lazily, arms crossed behind his head. His silver-streaked hair fluttered as he tilted his head up. "You're late."
"No, I'm fashionably early. You just have no life," Itsuki replied.
"Tell that to my schedule."
Takumi Leo tossed Itsuki a stick wrapped in cloth — light and balanced like a practice blade. "You still using the same stance, or are you finally going to try not getting hit today?"
"Please," Itsuki smirked. "I only let you hit me so you can feel good about yourself."
"Your generosity is humbling," Takumi said flatly.
They bickered like brothers — playful jabs, nothing serious. Behind the words was real trust, the kind built over years of shared fights, secret hideouts, and helping each other out of trouble more times than they could count.
Kairo stood, brushing crumbs from his jacket. "Shion said he'd be here, didn't he?"
"Yeah," Itsuki nodded. "He mentioned something about picking something up at the temple. He'll be here."
"Still weird how he always disappears like a ghost," Takumi muttered.
---
As if summoned by the comment, footsteps approached — quiet, but not unnoticed. Shion Enther stepped into view, dressed in dark tones that made him blend with the shadows of the alley he emerged from.
His eyes were sharp, always watching — calm, but unreadable. He gave a small nod as greeting.
"Sorry," Shion said. "Had to check something."
"You always do," Kairo said. "One day, we'll follow you and find out where you sneak off to."
"Don't," Shion replied simply.
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. Just… expected.
---
They sat together for a while in the sun-warmed grass near the training field. No sparring yet — just the comfort of being together, on the edge of something new.
Soon, they'd enter the Silvermist Dojo as initiates — no longer just boys from the neighborhood, but trainees with real expectations. Some would rise, others wouldn't. That's how it had always been.
Itsuki looked up at the sky, where wisps of clouds drifted across the morning blue.
"Do you guys ever wonder," he said quietly, "if things are going to change soon?"
Kairo leaned back, eyes closed. "Things always change."
"Not like that," Itsuki said. "I mean something bigger. Like… something's coming."
Takumi chuckled. "You've been listening to too many travelers at the tea stalls."
"Maybe."
Shion said nothing. He just kept his eyes on the sky, as if trying to read something between the clouds.
The bell above the training grounds gave a low chime as the afternoon wore on. Sunlight filtered through the drifting mist that gave Mistfall its name, catching on windchimes strung between the eaves of training halls and archways. Essence shimmered faintly in the air, unseen by most but felt in the bones like a quiet hum, steady and eternal.
Itsuki Naoya leaned against the wooden railing at the edge of the raised platform, chewing absently on a straw stalk. His dark hair was tousled by the wind, and the sleeves of his uniform had been rolled up to his elbows. From his vantage point, he could see the others moving below — familiar faces, voices, and sounds that made up his daily rhythm.
Kairo was practicing alone again, darting between wooden dummies with short, calculated steps, vanishing between one breath and the next. The instructors hated it when he did that — phasing mid-yard. They said it was cheating, but Kairo always just grinned and shrugged like rules were things that only happened to other people.
Takumi, on the other hand, was going all in as usual. His strikes echoed like drums, each swing of his essence-forged staff burning the air with flare trails. He was always the loud one — not in voice, but in presence. Like someone who couldn't help but declare, I'm here, with every move.
Shion? Well, Shion was exactly where he always was — half-hidden in the shadows of the west tree, sketchbook in hand. Nobody ever asked what he was drawing. They just knew that if something strange happened later, he'd probably already predicted it in ink.
Itsuki smiled a little. He liked watching them like this. It made things feel simple.
A gust of wind swept across the courtyard, carrying with it a hush that silenced the laughter and movement for a moment. The wind was strange. Not strong — but cold. Not the kind of cold that made you shiver… the kind that made your soul pause.
"…Did you feel that?" Takumi called, lowering his weapon and blinking toward the others.
Shion looked up sharply, his eyes narrowed. "That wasn't local. That was Essence shift."
"Above?" Kairo asked, turning toward the sky. His voice lost some of its usual cheer.
Itsuki didn't answer. He was still staring out across the misty horizon where the clouds had darkened without warning. He felt it too. Not a threat, exactly. But… something vast. Something watching.
Behind them, the doors to the main training hall creaked open. A tall figure stepped out — Sensei Kaito, his presence commanding as ever, robe fluttering despite the still air.
"You four," he said, voice sharp as flint. "Inside. Now."
No questions. No delay. The boys exchanged glances and followed.
---
The hall was lit by lanterns that pulsed softly with captured essence, casting the interior in hues of amber and violet. The scent of incense coiled in the air — calming, but not enough to mask the tension in the room.
Sensei Kaito stood by the scroll wall, hands clasped behind his back.
"You felt it," he said without preamble. "Good. That means you're ready."
Takumi frowned. "Ready for what?"
The Sensei gave a rare, tight smile. "Tomorrow, the trial begins."
A pause.
"You mean—?" Kairo stepped forward, eyes wide.
"The Drifter's Path," Kaito confirmed. "Your names have been chosen. You'll enter the Wayhall with the others. No longer as trainees. But as walkers."
Itsuki's brow furrowed. The Wayhall. The Trial. The shift from practice to purpose. Every Virelian of age knew what it meant. But he didn't expect it to be now. So soon.
Kaito raised a hand. "You've trained long enough under these skies. Now, the world beyond Mistfall awaits. You'll face beasts, puzzles, truths — and yourselves. You'll be judged not just on strength, but control. Clarity. Resolve."
They stood quietly, the weight of it settling in.
Shion broke the silence. "Was that shift… part of it?"
"No," Kaito said simply. "That was something else."
---
Later that night, after the others had gone to rest, Itsuki sat alone at the edge of Naiathe's overlook. Below him, the mist curled over rooftops like silver ribbons, the glow of essence lamps soft beneath the fog.
His mother's voice echoed faintly in his memory, warm and teasing. "Don't forget to breathe, Tsuki. The world is big, but your heart's bigger."
He smiled.
Behind him, soft footsteps approached.
"You're not nervous?" It was Shion.
Itsuki didn't look back. "No… not really."
A pause.
"I am," Shion admitted.
That got a chuckle from Itsuki. "You? The one who draws future disasters?"
"That's why I'm nervous."
They sat together for a while, letting the silence stretch. Stars blinked into view above them — some bright, some flickering.
"Whatever's coming," Itsuki finally said, "we face it together."
Shion nodded. "Together."