Years passed on Aarvak Island — though time here didn't flow as it did in the human world. Days and nights often blended, and seasons seemed to exist only to teach, not to pass.
When I first opened my eyes here, I was a frightened child, still reaching for a mother's hand that wasn't there. But now, I was no longer the boy who stumbled through the forest. I had grown—not fully, but enough to carry the spark each master left in me.
Five masters had guided me so far, each leaving more than knowledge behind — they had forged fragments of the person I was becoming.
Master I – Arken Veylan, The Sage of Logic.
He was the first to open my mind. From him, I learnt that the world wasn't built from miracles but from patterns hidden inside them.
I understood the rhythm of systems — not just machines, but life itself. Logic wasn't just numbers or strategy; it was balance.
Under Master Arken's patient eyes, I learnt to decode energy patterns using old runes and modern circuits alike. What was once impossible to a child's imagination became real through focus.
He taught me patience and control — how to read the unseen language within chaos, how to think before reacting, and how to move not against logic, but with it. "Knowledge, he said once, "isn't heavy if it lives in the heart, not the head."
Even now, when I analyse anything strange — wind, sound, emotion — his calm voice lingers in me. "Observe, then act. Life always reveals before it hides again."
Master II – Kaien Ruo, The Warrior of Two Worlds.
If Arken gave me a mind, Kaien gave me a body.
He broke me before he built me.
Training under him was like walking through endless storms. My muscles ached, my breath often failed, and yet he pushed me forward with quiet, merciless grace. "A weapon without awareness wounds its wielder first," he told me again and again.
From his lessons, I learnt more than combat — I learnt rhythm, focus, and self-respect. He blended ancient martial styles with modern tactics, teaching me to trust instinct without forgetting discipline.
He trained me not just to strike but to protect. In one of our last sessions, he threw me into a whirlpool to fight the current, shouting, "Courage is never loud. It's the breath you take when the world expects you to drown."
Even now, when fear touches me, I remember his calm hands guiding my stance. The warrior in me doesn't roar anymore — he listens.
Master III – Inara Lys, The Healer of Time.
Her valley smelt of rain and herbs, and her voice soothed even pain itself. Under her, I began to see how strength and gentleness lived as one.
Healing wasn't only about curing wounds — it was about understanding balance. One can't mend bodies without touching the spirit inside.
"In pain," she said softly once, "you'll find truth faster than you'll find answers."
She showed me how to heal through touch, sound, and light. She also taught me modern medicine—how science and soul walked hand in hand. She carried the kindness of mothers and the wisdom of lifetimes.
From her, I learnt sacred stillness — the ability to place a hand over chaos and watch it calm on its own. Her teachings made me realise that even anger could become medicine if guided gently enough.
When I felt tired, she'd smile and say, "You're too young to hate exhaustion." And I'd laugh again, forgetting pain.
Master IV – Darius Vale, The Master of Gold and Shadows.
He taught me the invisible war that moves men — the dance between choice and consequence.
His wisdom came through numbers, commerce, and strategy. "To rule your destiny," he said, "you must first understand what rules your world."
He turned the concept of wealth into something sacred — the balance of exchange. Everything taken must be given. Every power gained has a price.
Through him, I learnt to read patterns of behaviour and to manage resources of energy, not only money. His lessons often came disguised as games — trading stones that weren't stones, gambling for lessons instead of gold.
"Greed, he told me once, handing me a gleaming coin, "isn't the hunger for more. It's the fear of less."
From him, I learnt control over mind, temptation, and myself.
Master V – Lucien Graviel, The Weaver of Beauty.
And then came the world of creation. After all those teachers who taught me logic, strength, healing, and power, Lucien taught me art—to see beauty as purpose.
His realm was colour, form, and the heartbeat of creation. He believed that design was the soul's handwriting. Whether stone or silk, wood or light, he said everything deserves meaning.
"Create with love," he told me while guiding my trembling hands, weaving silver threads through cloth. "Because beauty isn't born from perfection — it's born from care."
He made me sculpt, paint, and design tools that carried soul. Slowly, I realised his true lesson was not artistry but awareness — to see how even silence has form if one listens.
Under Lucien, I began discovering my voice — not the one that spoke words, but the one that shaped worlds.
Together, these five masters carved foundations within me. I wasn't yet a man in body, but my spirit carried the weight of wisdom they trusted me with. Days turned into cycles of creation, training, and meditation. My body moved like water, my thoughts clear as glass.
But amid all that learning, something else stirred in me — something older.
At times, while meditating near the silver sea, I felt an ache deep in my chest — not pain, but remembrance. A warmth, like a heartbeat calling from far away. I didn't know then that it was my family. Their love had found a way to slip through realms, reaching me faintly like whispers between dreams.
Each time the feeling came, the mark of the seven stars on my neck glowed faintly. The first five points now shone brighter than before — proof that the path of five was complete.
The island itself seemed to change with me. Its seas calmed, its forests shimmered more softly.
At sunset, Master Aarion would sometimes appear at the edge of the horizon, watching silently. I didn't ask questions anymore. I only bowed, knowing this was just the beginning.
For five masters had made me strong, but fifteen still waited — and among them hid the truths my heart still needed most.
The journey had only just begun, and the boy who once cried beside a river now stood barefoot beneath the endless sky, whispering to the wind that had become his oldest friend:
"I'll master everything you've shown me. And when the stars call again, I'll be ready."