The fireplace crackled softly inside the cabin, casting warm shadows across the aged wooden walls. The smell of burning wood mingled with the air, and the wind outside made the window rattle faintly. On the floor, books lay scattered over a thick fur rug—some stacked precariously, others open among hasty scribbles.
"Hey, Grandpa…" — the youthful voice broke the silence as he flipped through one of the volumes with restless hands.
In the corner of the room, before the window that reflected the starry sky, a modest desk held a man with long gray hair. Reclined on a sturdy chair, the firelight traced the outline of his broad back. His long-sleeved shirt, unbuttoned down to the chest, barely concealed the still-evident musculature beneath the fabric.
He was writing in a leather-bound journal — a curious contrast: large, calloused hands guiding a fountain pen with delicacy and precision.
"What is it, Luck? Time to put the books away and get some sleep… did you forget tomorrow is an important day?" — he said, glancing over the rim of his thin glasses, pulled from the maze of notes by his grandson's call.
"I know…" — the boy replied, rubbing his eyes — "but I was wondering… do you think I'll get a good attribute at the Decantation Ceremony?"
The old man placed the pen back into the inkwell, removed his glasses, and crossed his arms over the desk, staring at his grandson with curiosity.
"A good attribute? And what exactly would a 'good' attribute be?"
Luck frowned, thoughtful.
"One… strong. Something that makes people respect me. Maybe Fire… or Electricity. Or maybe Resonance, like you and Uncle Kaj."
"Or what if…" — he added with his emerald eyes gleaming — "what if I turn out to be one of those rare cases, with two attributes? Or even... one of the singularities with three! Just imagine — I could tear through hordes of monsters on my own… and reach the top of the five towers before anyone else."
The grandfather raised an eyebrow and chuckled.
"Haha! That would be something, indeed. You really aim high, don't you? But I doubt that's your case… people like that are rarely right of mind. Especially the ones with three — insane bastards. And don't think they're invincible…"
"You… you've fought a triple attribute?" — Luck asked, eyes widening in reverence.
"Yes." — The old man leaned back, gaze lost for a moment before returning to his former stance. — "But we are getting off topic."
He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the desk.
"What you need to understand, Luck, is that there is no weak attribute. In the right hands, all of them are deadly."
He paused briefly, closing the book on the table.
"Take my case as an exemple, when I began my journey as a hunter, they said mine was impractical. Today… no one dares underestimate it. Some even fear it."
"Being strong is not about killing and conquering. It's about protecting… and building. I've slaughtered more monsters than I can remember, son. But true respect only came after I nurtured something greater than myself…"
"You mean… Goldenback?"
"Exactly." — A half-smile appeared. — "The guild will stand long after I'm gone. Protecting lives, shaping decent people. That… is my legacy."
"…Legacy…" — Luck whispered. The word still seemed too large to fit in the mouth of someone so young.
The old man studied him for a moment, then asked:
"You're clever. You must know the other name of the Decantation Ceremony, right?"
"Uh… Ritual of Essence?"
"Exactly. Essence… is who you truly are. The rest is just noise. That's what the ritual will do: strip away the excess, the attributes that don't represent you.
Tomorrow, don't worry about what others think. Nor about what you expect to receive. The ceremony won't turn you into someone else, Luck. You're not gaining anything new. What will happen… is that something already inside you will be revealed."
He paused, then added firmly:
"Now go to bed. Leave tomorrow's questions for tomorrow. Whatever it is… we'll make it work."
Luck only nodded. He said nothing—his shoulders relaxed slightly, but his eyes still carried a trace of unease.
He stood slowly, gathered the scattered books, and returned them to the shelf in the corner. Then, on a sudden impulse, he rushed to his grandfather and hugged him tightly.
"Thank you, Grandpa. Good night."
"Good night, my Luck."
Luck climbed the stairs in hurried steps, the sound fading until only the crackling of the fire remained.
The old man watched him disappear upstairs, then let his eyes drift toward the bookshelf—its volumes carefully organized by genre and alphabet. Alone again, he leaned back in his chair, a faint smile on his lips.
"Fire, huh?… As if you could burn anything at all…" — he muttered, gaze fixed on the fireplace.
After a few moments, the old man reached for the desk. With a firm twist, he turned a key in the lock of the last drawer.
Inside lay a small, dark wooden box, its flawless finish reflecting the orange glow of the fire. On the lid, the engraving of an eye seemed to gaze back at him.
His thick, calloused fingers slid over the carving. For a moment, his eyes lingered on the object, as if the world around him had vanished.
"It's almost time…"