Nine hundred and ninety- seven!"
The boy's voice echoed faintly, trembling through his labored breath. Each word carried exhaustion, yet also a stubborn spark of determination. The sound rippled softly through the vast forest, mingling with the whispering wind that brushed through the treetops. Dust and tiny motes floated gently in the shafts of sunlight that pierced the thick canopy, dancing like drifting stars in the golden air. His breathing was ragged, each inhale shallow, each exhale heavy with strain.
"Nine hundred and ninety-eight!"
Again, his voice rose—weak, but persistent. His arms moved rhythmically, muscles tightening and trembling with effort. The boy, around fifteen or sixteen years old, had short golden hair that gleamed like sunlight caught in strands of silk. Each movement made his sweat catch the light, shining faintly before trickling down his pale skin. His sparkling blue eyes—like clear skies after a storm—burned with fierce resolve, even as his body trembled with fatigue.
"Nine hundred and ninety-nine..."
His voice faltered. His breath hitched in his throat, mingling with the quick, loud rhythm of his heart. For a moment, everything around him seemed to fade—the sounds of the forest dulled, the breeze slowed, the world narrowing to nothing but the boy and the echo of his final count.
"One thousand..."
The last word left his lips like a sigh, barely audible, yet resonating deep within him. Asfinne Seknoten—that was his name. The sound of it belonged to no grand title, no legend, only to a boy who refused to yield. He collapsed onto the earth, his palms pressing against the damp, grainy soil. Sweat and dust clung to his skin, but the light in his eyes did not dim.
Around him stretched a vast forest of towering trees. Their trunks were old and sturdy, marked by the grooves and scars of time. The bark was dark brown, nearly black in the shade, and the leaves above shimmered with hues of green that shifted with every breath of wind. The smell of moist earth filled the air, mingled with the faint scent of moss and old wood. Far away, birds sang—soft, distant notes that seemed to float between the whispering branches.
And beyond it all, rising from the earth like a sleeping giant, stood a mountain. Its surface was riddled with countless holes, small and large, scattered across its steep face like the openings of some vast hive. Each hollow seemed to breathe darkness, mysterious and deep, as though creatures unknown were waiting within.
Asfinne gazed up at that mountain with a tired smile—a mixture of pride and longing. His chest rose and fell quickly, his breath shallow, but his eyes shimmered with satisfaction. Yet even as he stared, the edges of the world began to blur. Colors faded, sounds grew distant, and his vision trembled like ripples on a disturbed pond.
He tried to stand, but his legs gave out beneath him. His exhausted body trembled uncontrollably, and he fell again onto the cold, uneven ground. His lungs ached as he gasped for air. His vision darkened around the edges, and he knew that his body could bear no more.
"No! This is only a thousand! Others train tens of thousands of times! My body... can't stop here!"
Even as his mind screamed defiance, his body betrayed him. The tremor in his limbs grew stronger, his strength drained away like sand slipping through his fingers. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of earth and the faint rustle of leaves swirling around him.
"I... I must... become the greatest wizard ever..."
His words came out in fragments, swallowed by the wind. Then—darkness.
The world around him fell away. Silence consumed everything. For a moment, it felt as though he were floating in endless space—weightless, thoughtless, lost.
Then came the dream.
He stood upon cracked, barren ground beneath a sky the color of ash. The air was dry and heavy, carrying the distant roars of unseen beasts. Shadows twisted across the horizon, moving in unnatural ways. He could feel eyes upon him—watching, waiting.
He walked forward, each step echoing against the hollow earth. Then, through the mist, he saw a figure. Someone stood there—a silhouette of calm amidst the chaos. The figure had long, blue hair tied into a ponytail that swayed in the cold wind. They did not speak, and neither did he. The two simply faced each other, silence stretching between them like a fragile thread.
But before either could utter a word, a voice thundered from all directions at once.
"Wake up!"
Again, it called—louder, closer.
"Wake up!"
And once more—urgent, commanding.
"Wake up, Fin!"
The world shattered like glass. The ground cracked, the sky split apart, and the figure before him began to fade—disappearing into the blinding white light. He reached out, but his hands grasped only emptiness. Then he closed his eyes...
And light returned.
It crept in gently, slipping through his eyelids, warm and soft. When he opened his eyes, he was met not with the desolation of his dream, but with the dim, flickering sight of an old, wooden ceiling. The planks were dark brown and warped, with cracks where the morning light leaked through. The faint creak of wood echoed as a breeze slipped in from outside. It felt as though the entire ceiling could collapse at any moment.
The bed beneath him was little more than a hard wooden frame. No sheet, no cushion—only the rough grain of old timber pressing against his back. The pillow beneath his head was covered in faint patches of mold, and the musty smell of damp wood filled the small room. Dust hung in the light streaming through a single window, turning each ray of sunlight into a slow-moving column of gold.
Asfinne slowly sat up, his body heavy and sore. Every muscle protested, his arms shaking slightly as he pushed himself upright. His head throbbed faintly, but his eyes adjusted to the dim light.
Then he saw her.
Standing at the foot of the bed was a girl—around his age, fifteen or sixteen. Her fiery red hair glowed like burning embers in the light that filtered through the window. Her golden eyes shimmered with both anger and worry, reflecting the soft light like molten metal. She wore simple clothes, plain and worn, but her presence filled the small room with warmth and life.
Her arms were crossed, her expression a mixture of sternness and concern. When she spoke, her voice was firm—but beneath it lingered a tremor of care she couldn't quite hide.
"Did you sneak out of the village and go train behind the mountain?!"
Her tone was sharp, but her eyes told another story—a quiet fear, a sleepless night spent waiting. She wasn't just angry; she was relieved to see him alive.
Asfinne let out a dry, awkward chuckle, trying to defuse the tension that hung in the air.
"You don't sound that angry," he thought to himself silently.
But before he could speak, footsteps echoed from the doorway. A woman's voice called out—clear, strong, and undeniably furious. The air in the room seemed to grow heavier in an instant.
A red-haired woman appeared, her face stern, her brows drawn tight. She moved quickly toward him, her hand gripping his shoulder firmly. Her touch wasn't cruel, but it carried the weight of someone deeply worried.
"So... you really went out, didn't you?"
Her words were calm but laced with the kind of authority that left no room for lies. Asfinne met her gaze and immediately knew there was no escaping this.
He swallowed hard, his mind racing for an excuse—something to soften his inevitable punishment. But nothing came. No lie seemed worth speaking. Finally, he sighed softly and answered truthfully, voice low and resigned.
"Uh... yeah. I went out."
For a moment, silence hung between them. Then the woman spoke again—her anger barely masking her sorrow.
"Fin, do you know how worried everyone at the orphanage was? They all went out looking for you!"
The words struck him harder than any blow. His heart sank. He saw it then—the tears welling in her golden eyes, the way she bit her lip to keep her voice steady. One tear slipped down her cheek, glistening in the light.
Guilt washed over him. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek as he wiped the tear away with gentle care.
"I'm sorry, Sonia... I didn't think you'd be this worried about me."
His voice was soft, genuine. Their eyes met for a moment—long enough for unspoken feelings to stir in the silence.
Without realizing it, Sonia stepped forward and hugged him. Her arms tightened around him as if afraid he'd disappear again. The faint scent of wood and sunlight lingered between them. Time seemed to stop.
Then she pulled away, flustered, her cheeks flushed red. She avoided his gaze, stammering out her words.
"Who... who said I was worried about you?"
She turned quickly, her voice now quieter, tinged with warmth she tried to hide.
"The food's on the table. Mom made it. Don't forget to thank her."
And with that, she hurried out of the room. Her footsteps faded down the wooden floorboards until only silence remained.
Asfinne sat there quietly for a long moment. The corners of his lips curved into a faint smile—a mixture of embarrassment, relief, and something softer he couldn't name.
Sunlight streamed through the small window again, falling across the rough wooden floor. Dust drifted lazily through the light like glittering motes suspended in air. The faint creak of the walls and the rhythm of his own breathing filled the silence.
And within his chest... that echo still remained—the sound of his first thousand. The beginning of something that would one day define him.
The forest, the mountain, the dream, and the warmth of the orphanage all lingered together like notes of a single melody—one that whispered to him, telling him to rise once more.