("Monsters.
Yes. I remember them clearly. No, not the beasts. But the ones who had sabotaged my town.
They are no less but incompetent evil beings that perceive our people as no less but insects.")
As the snow fell heavily, the villagers huddled together in fear, hearing the sounds of an approaching army.
They knew what was coming—the rumors of an advanced order moving through the mountains, pillaging and destroying everything in its path, had been spreading for weeks.
The villagers had no chance against the well-equipped and well-trained soldiers of the order, who marched relentlessly through the snow, their armor glinting in the fading light.
The order's soldiers moved quickly and ruthlessly, torching homes and barns and slaughtering livestock.
The villagers, Ubel's mother, and father watched in horror as their homes and possessions were destroyed before their eyes.
The soldiers showed no mercy, and anyone who dared to resist was met with brutal force.
The village leader, Ubel's father, tried to reason with the soldiers, begging them to spare their homes and families. But the order's commander only laughed in response, telling the villagers…
"WEAK. Futile. Rebellious fools. It is treason to go against the Queen of Astait and to form a rebellion. You are the leader of such. And so, your trial will be skipped. You will immediately be sentenced for LIFE in Astait's Prison to justify your wrongdoings."
"For life?!" The father screamed with a guttural voice. His sharp green eyes shrunken into a mixture of fury and shock, he was tossed and kicked into a steel cage before driving away.
"No! This is unjust! It is wrong! I demand to speak to my son! Please. Let me see his face one last time. L… Let me say goodbye to him."
They were cold brutes devoid of emotion.
Instead of agreeing, the soldiers shook their heads in disapproval, kicking him one last time before triggering the jets of the steel transport car to the city of Erkunshinkkdle.
Young Ubel's face froze in pure horror as he and the group stumbled and skidded over to the disaster unfolding before them.
"Father!" Screamed Young Ubel as he raced over to the transport car. Though the soldiers might not have noticed him, his father did. He witnessed as his son desperately slammed his fists against the steel door, screaming with frigid tears welling up in his eyes.
"Let him go! LET MY FATHER GO!"
But they ignored the little boy.
They didn't want to hurt such youth, so they quickly parted away from the village with the father, leaving Ubel and the survivors of the incident with nothing but rubble and despair.
("The Astait Order is nothing but merciless to our people and their own. It has become known in our generation that the Queen of Astait abuses her authority to send her people unjustly she dislikes to punishment for as minor a mistake as a simple mistake.
Where they were sent would be one of the worst and most enforced prisons in the world of Gincad. Astait's prison.)
"Dad!" Young Ubel screamed as he reached out his hand to the blurry snow clouds left by the vehicle's emissions.
The father trembled as he closed his eyes, feeling an overwhelming resentment toward himself. He should never have been escorted to Astait's Prison.
And yet, what made the situation even worse for Young Ubel was that his mother's presence was absent, punishing him even further for his awful curiosity about where she had gone.
After the man's water-covered eyes witnessed his son fall to his knees, the man said with a voice that rose in intensity.
"NO! Please… please let me see my son again! I never got to give him his gift! It took me years of sweat, deduction, and love to craft it. Please."
The ruthless soldiers disregarded his pleas and instead increased the pace of the carriage, sending him off straight to the pathway leading over to Astait's Prison. When Ubel was left in the smoldering debris of his village, he himself welled up in tears of despair, undeservingly receiving the curse of curiosity for what the gift was.
(I had never cared for the gift at that time. All I had ever cared about was my parents and my own safety. But… left with no choice, I assumed that my mother was stuck in the scorching debris of my house.)
"Mom! M… Mom, where are you!" Ubel screamed with manic pacing, skin bunching around the eyes with a pained stare at the crime scene of his demolished home. Bookshelves were tossed onto the ground, years of studying left to waste.
Tables, art crafts, and paintings-- all reduced to ash in an instant.
Though most of the rooms were covered in amber flames that had raged like an untamable bonfire, there was one room left that was miraculously left untouched by the destruction.
The basement.
When the little boy sprinted down the stairs, hoping that his mother resided there, what his eyes were gifted was a sight he had never thought to see. Attached to a purified, sharp, and gargantuan blade on the table was a name carved deep in the surface of steel, saying: "For my only beloved son… Ubel."
It was at this moment that he realized…
This was HIS gift. A present constructed and crafted by the blood, sweat, and tears of his own father… a beautiful and glorious claymore.
* * * * * *
"It was because of this claymore that guaranteed my survival in Astait," Ubel said as he pulled his claymore next to his legs. "When I obtained that and my accumulated knowledge, it had allowed me and my villagers a chance of survival among the frigid lands of Astait."
Aletha's gray eyes blinked fiendishly, darting her two eyes at the grand claymore sitting beside Ubel's right arm. Her face flashed with realization, fidgeting with her ponytail as she spoke.
"So… you used that weapon and your knowledge to survive in Astait? How could you do that when you were so young?"
She asked Ubel as she heard Alai's cooking gradually growing louder.
"Where did you and your people go after that?"
"Please, let me finish," Ubel commented as he took a deep sigh of patience and remorse, recollecting the icy trail swerving over to snow-powder dunes.
"First, the villagers and I had to pursue a path toward Freezedry Dunes, a natural land mass that draws a distinct border that splits both Astait and Zomrack apart."
. . .
In the land of Freezedry, the golden sands stretched to the right while the flaky white powder dusted the left.
Amidst this mystical display of the elements, huts of all shapes and sizes dotted the tops of the dunes.
The white powder lay scattered like frosting on a cake, adding to the beauty of the golden dunes.
The sun blazed with brilliance, casting distinct borders of white clouds and ice. No beasts of any kind had ever dared to venture into this sacred land.
It was in this idyllic setting that young Ubel and his group rushed towards the border between the snow and the sand.
They hoped to escape the tyranny of the nation of Zomrack.
However, their hopes were soon dashed as they realized that the chains and shackles of Astiat's Order had ensnared them.
This order was ruthless, capturing and even slaughtering those who dared to oppose them.
On that fateful day, the sweet frosting that had covered the Freezedry dunes was tainted with the color of rotten raspberries and the stench of wickedness.
In the world ruled by the Queen of Astait, many were unjustly sent to Astait's Prison.
This was not an ordinary prison, but a stronghold that housed both the weak and the strong, the proud and the humble.
The prison was divided into three sectors, each more violent and dangerous than the last. The last layer was considered unfit for any prisoner's survival. And yet, it was there that Ubel's father was sent, condemned to suffer inhuman cruelties.
("When people were against The Queen of Astait's ideals, many were unjustly sent to Astait's Prison.
This place wasn't just an ordinary prison. It was a stronghold that sustained and kept both the weak and the strong, the proud and the humble.
Three sectors were situated in that prison, and each of them had escalating violence and a threat to survival.
I will not go into too much detail, but know that of those three dividers of what people of the world would name, "The Prison", the last layer was the worst, deemed and claimed to be unfit for any prisoner's survival.
And my dad was sent there. Cruel.")
Young Ubel helplessly watched as most of his people in the group dropped, lifeless, onto the snow-covered sandy dunes like dolls.
One by one, their arms were severed by the might of a thousand blades, legs detached from the likes of which of horrible winds, and even the pits of their very pupils surrendered to the false light of the Astait soldiers.
All the boy could do was fall to his knees and grieve for the loss of his people, the ones who had followed him dearly.
Through the general divide of the sunlight and the thickening powder lies only misery. But with time came faith.
Though the flesh of these bodies may have dropped down and turned to whence they had come, a glimmering golden light shone ever so brightly like the sun; inside the interior of not the boy's heart, but the soul.
It came suddenly; this feeling of love where his foot had touched the sand glowed through him.
He had never felt this sensation in his life, nor had he felt this texture pressing against him.
But he knew, at that moment, that his dependence would stem from the faith that came from his soul, not to the heart.
"My… friends. All of them perished." Young Ubel wept as faith pushed his knees out from the ground. A feeling of liberation went through him as he parted from the sands and returned to the town.
Though he had wanted nothing to do with the people of Astait, it was this unknown, hopeful golden power of Love that urged him to come back and try to spread his views unto the people. "
From whence these words were uttered, Ubel grabbed his claymore and struck the tainted beasts down, for he would advance to the city and spark a new beginning upon this madly polluted nation of frost and flourishing deception.
("And from there, Aletha, my legacy for perfection began. I did not return out of a motive for vengeance;
I returned to the city in the hope of uplifting and restoring the faith of this nation, as it had been rumored to have been done in the ancient past.
I decided to separate myself from the majority and did not seek attention, but to lift the spirits of the willing.
Though before I had advanced to the city, I joined the hunters who lurked in Blacksmith Haven.)
Their arms were bruised, their faces brittle, but their eyes were cleansed with love. They treated Ubel with great respect and gave him as much food as they could provide.
But on the fabric of time, he had taught them to eat no more than what was provided. Although the food may have been available —an illusion of choice —Young Ubel decided to eat what was deemed necessary for him, and not to trust in the flesh.
"My friend…" A cheerful, broad-chested man said, his tickling, hefty beard tickling. "... if you want to spread your rays out to the land, you must first learn not to trust in the blade.
For it isn't that the blade will prosper, but your soul and existence. We are survivors of the devastating calamity; we have experienced both thick and thin, but we have never resorted to violence against our enemies.
We follow as with The Sovereign of Zomrack's claim, 'approach evil with love, but don't approach love with evil.'
From there, your temple will be expanded and so shall your bravery."
And so, for fifty days, young Ubel would be tested by the hunters of Blacksmith Haven.
The weapon he had borne was not the claymore his father had given him, not an iron sword, not even a flimsy wooden blade, but his hands and his wits. He traded blows with the barrel-chested man.
But he had not approached them with rage; no, he approached them with hope.
Even with the scorching embers of his vengeance that had burned within him to the reviled Astait's Order, he extinguished those flames with the thought of Love.
This abrupt and sudden feeling of love for the event that occurred for it had opened a door to him like no other.
And so, he rightfully finished the long fight with one last swing, stunning the barrel-chested man but not hitting him completely.
In celebration of this feat, the hunters had not doubted themselves. The drunkards and the faithful hoisted their glasses up and rejoiced at the victory of Ubel.
The once-proclaimed warriors of the land, smitten by the flames of the unknown, lifted at this shining ray of hope.
But even in this sudden uprush of euphoria, Ubel had only shown humbleness.