The morning after the king's summons, Morix stood on the training grounds, guiding his soldiers through their drills. His stance was steady, voice firm, yet his mind wandered far from the clang of steel around him.
It wandered back… to her.
The faceless girl who had lived in his dreams since childhood.
She appeared to him in fragments soft laughter carried by wind, a silhouette glowing like moonlight behind fog, small hands tugging at his as they ran through meadows that felt more real than anything he knew in the waking world.
He remembered the warmth of those dreams the way she called out to him, always with the same familiar softness, like she had known him long before he knew himself.
Sometimes she whispered his name with such tenderness that Morix woke with tears on his face, unable to understand why a stranger's voice could carve so deeply into him.
Was she a memory?
A fantasy?
Or something fate had kept hidden from him?
Morix didn't know.
He only knew one thing every time he opened his eyes, an ache lingered in his chest, as if he had just lost someone precious.
Just like every morning, he wondered:
Will I see her again tonight?
Or will she fade away… like everything else?
A sudden burst of shouting yanked him back to reality.
Outside the training ring, three soldiers were arguing loudly, their voices echoing across the courtyard.
"That's nonsense. The strongest in the kingdom is His Majesty!" one insisted. "He's the only Sword Saint alive!"
"Idiot," the second soldier snapped. "The last Sword Saint before him General Weldonier could split mountains with a swing. Even the king couldn't defeat him in youth!"
"You're both wrong," the third said, arms crossed. "It's General Morix. Sword Saint or not His Majesty hasn't even drawn his blade in decades. Meanwhile, Morix fights in every frontline, every war. Strength isn't a title. It's what you survive."
The others hesitated.
Morix only let out a quiet breath.
Strength… sword saints… titles…
They meant nothing to him.
Not compared to the storm in his chest.
He pushed his thoughts away.
Dreams were trivial things. Echoes. Illusions.
He had more important burdens to carry burdens no one in the kingdom knew about… yet.
Before he could continue training, the sound of wheels against gravel interrupted the rising tension.
A grand carriage, marked with the royal crest, rolled into the courtyard.
The soldiers straightened instantly.
Morix's eyes narrowed.
The eldest prince had arrived.
And with him, the beginning of a fate Morix could no longer outrun.