A First Step Beyond the Horizon
Morning arrived slowly.
Sunlight crept over the horizon, reflecting softly through the lingering dew in the air. At Taron's home, Armand's loyal guards began packing their gear, the quiet atmosphere marking the beginning of a journey.
Lyanna and Armand had already finished gathering their belongings, which the guards had brought earlier. Armand busied himself giving instructions, making sure everything was in order before departure. Meanwhile, Lyanna stood silently to the side, her gaze distant. Her heart felt heavy. This place was peaceful and comforting—and she had to leave it behind.
Not far away, Taron and his grandfather had stepped aside, speaking privately away from the bustle.
"So, Taron. Do you have everything?" his grandfather asked.
"Yes, Grandpa," Taron replied, short but confident.
His grandfather then handed him a gi. This one was different—an academy emblem had been neatly stitched onto the chest.
"Do you remember our training motto?"
"What is it, Grandpa?"
"Eat well, train hard, rest properly, and study with sincerity."
Taron nodded with a small smile.
"I will follow our motto."
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around his grandfather.
"Take care of yourself, Grandpa."
His grandfather returned the hug, gently patting Taron's back.
"You too. Stay safe."
In the middle of that warm moment, a familiar voice suddenly called out.
"Yo, Taron!"
They turned. Piko stood nearby, waving with his usual grin.
"You're leaving, huh? Take care, buddy."
Taron smiled and nodded.
"You too, my friend. We'll meet again in a year… at the martial arts tournament."
They walked toward each other and shared a brief hug.
"You'd better train hard, Taron," Piko said, lightly punching his chest.
"If you don't, I'll be the one winning that tournament."
Taron chuckled softly.
"Yeah. You too. And please… look after Grandpa for me."
Armand then stepped forward and approached Grandpa Vale. Without saying much, he pulled the old man into a firm embrace.
"Grandpa… please allow me to take Taron with us. I'll protect him as if he were my own son," Armand said sincerely.
Grandpa Vale gently patted Armand's shoulder, his gaze calm yet filled with meaning.
"Very well. Take care of your child… and Taron, I entrust him to you."
Armand nodded respectfully.
"Yes, Grandpa. Then, with your permission, we'll be on our way."
The carriage wheels began to turn, slowly rolling out of the yard.
From inside, Taron leaned halfway out of the carriage. He looked back and waved at Grandpa Vale and Piko, who stood watching him leave.
Along the journey, Taron took in every scene that passed by—the dense forests with towering trees, and the wide open plains stretching as far as the eye could see.
Some villagers they met along the road greeted him warmly. Some waved, others offered polite nods. Taron returned every gesture with a small smile, quietly storing each moment in his memory.
At last, the carriage truly passed beyond the village borders.
The warmth slowly faded, replaced by an unfamiliar atmosphere—wider, quieter, and strangely distant.
In his heart, Taron made a silent promise to himself.
Someday… I will return.
The sun had climbed high into the sky, its heat beating down relentlessly. Eventually, the group decided to stop and rest beneath a large tree, taking advantage of its thick shade to recover for a while.
Taron and the others stepped down from the carriage. They had been traveling for six hours since leaving Rindvale Village—Taron's peaceful and beloved hometown.
But their journey was far from over. They still had about five more hours to go before reaching Armand and Lyanna's residence.
After a short break to regain their strength, the group resumed their journey, leaving the shelter of the great tree behind and moving toward their next destination.
The horse-drawn carriages rolled once more into a quieter forest path. Trees grew densely on both sides, blocking much of the sunlight. The air felt colder, and the creaking of the wheels sounded louder than before.
Taron, who had been keeping watch alongside the guards, began to feel uneasy. The sensation grew stronger with every passing moment, as though something lurked within the forest's silence.
Suddenly, the carriage at the front slowed.
A guard raised his hand high—a signal to stop.
The other carriages halted immediately. In an instant, the once-calm atmosphere turned tense.
Armand opened the window beside where Taron sat with the driver.
"Taron, what's going on?" he asked warily. "Did something happen up ahead?"
Taron slowly shook his head, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
"I don't know yet, Uncle. But… something feels wrong," he said calmly.
He glanced briefly at Armand.
"I'll go check."
"Alright. Lyanna and I will come with you—just in case," Armand replied firmly.
He turned toward his daughter before continuing.
"Lyanna said… for some reason, she can sense dark magic around this area."
Taron, Armand, and Lyanna stepped down from the carriage and walked together toward the front of the convoy. Zerik followed closely, remaining faithfully at Armand's side as his guard.
Once they reached the front, Armand immediately approached the soldier on duty. His gaze was sharp, his tone commanding.
"What happened?" he asked. "Is the situation under control?"
One of the soldiers saluted quickly before answering.
"Yes, sir. There's a horse carriage that has overturned ahead on the road."
He glanced briefly forward before continuing.
"Should we offer assistance?"
Taron stepped forward.
"Uncle, let me take a look," he said calmly. "You all stay here."
Armand studied him for a moment, then nodded.
"Alright. Be careful."
Zerik stepped forward as well. "Allow me to accompany you, sir—"
"No," Armand cut in firmly.
He turned briefly toward Lyanna.
"You stay here. Don't forget—Lyanna sensed dark magic in this area."
Zerik clenched his teeth softly, then nodded in obedience. He returned to his position, his right hand never leaving the hilt of his sword, his body fully alert.
Meanwhile, Taron approached the overturned carriage. He greeted the merchant calmly, asked what had happened, and offered his help without hesitation.
The merchant looked genuinely relieved—and grateful—that someone was willing to assist. Without wasting time, Taron moved to the fallen carriage and lifted it.
It took some effort, but eventually, the carriage was restored to its proper position.
The merchant quickly reattached his horse. His face was filled with gratitude as he approached Taron, pulling him into a tight embrace before bowing respectfully toward Armand and the others.
"Thank you… truly, thank you," he said sincerely.
After that, he climbed back onto his carriage and began to ride away. From a distance, he waved with a warm smile, as if hoping they might meet again someday.
The merchant's carriage grew smaller, its wheels slowly disappearing around the bend in the road. His waving hand was still faintly visible in the distance.
Taron stared after it for a moment… then turned around.
That was when—
the sky suddenly changed.
Dark clouds gathered rapidly, swallowing the sunlight as if it were being forcibly dragged away. The air became heavy in an instant—cold, oppressive, pressing against his chest.
Suddenly, a flash of light erupted from behind Armand.
BRAAGHH!
Lightning tore through the sky and struck straight toward the merchant's carriage.
It hit.
BOOOOM!!
A deafening explosion shook the road. The horse-drawn carriage was lifted off the ground for a split second before being engulfed in towering flames. Wooden fragments flew everywhere, a wheel was hurled far into the trees, and the horse screamed in pain before collapsing to the ground.
Thick black smoke billowed upward, swallowing the view.
"That carriage—!" one of the guards shouted.
Without waiting for orders, Taron had already moved. His body shot forward at full speed toward the blast site. The ground cracked beneath each step. Heat lashed against his face, but he didn't slow down.
Please… let him be alive, he thought desperately.
He reached the impact site.
Flames still raged fiercely. Debris was scattered everywhere. In the center of the blaze lay a motionless figure—the merchant.
"Hold on… just a little longer," Taron murmured.
Using his bare hands, he pushed aside burning beams, ignoring the pain searing his skin. He pulled the merchant free from the fire and gently laid him down on the ground.
The merchant was still alive.
"Kid…" his voice was hoarse, barely audible.
"Easy, sir. Don't talk yet," Taron said quickly.
"I'll get you somewhere safe."
Meanwhile, back with Armand—
the guards suddenly turned around.
From between the trees and the fading smoke, figures in black robes began to emerge.
There were many of them.
And without making a sound, they had already surrounded the convoy.
Taron finally returned to Armand's side with the injured merchant. The moment his eyes took in the scene before him, his body stiffened.
There are too many…
The black-robed figures stood in a wide circle around them, silent and orderly, as if the encirclement had been carefully planned from the very beginning.
Armand immediately took command.
"Lyanna, heal the merchant," he ordered firmly without looking back.
Taron knelt and carefully lowered the merchant onto the ground. Lyanna gave a short nod and quickly knelt beside them, her hands glowing softly as she activated her healing magic.
Up front, Zerik and the other guards had already formed a defensive line, standing firmly in front of Armand. Swords drawn, breaths held, eyes tracking every movement of the enemy.
Taron remained behind them—beside Lyanna and Armand.
His hand slowly clenched into a fist.
Across from them, the black-robed force did not move.
As if waiting…
for a single command to begin the slaughter.