John stood at the edge of the courtyard, his arms crossed loosely, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched the children swarm around Arcos. Their eyes sparkled with curiosity, and their whispers fluttered like the wind through tall grass—eager, but unsure.
Clapping his hands together with a light, encouraging sound, John called out, "Alright, everyone—who wants to show Arcos around? Give him the grand tour."
For a heartbeat, maybe two, the lively chatter evaporated. The group froze, glancing at one another with a mixture of shyness and silent negotiations. No one moved. A quiet tension settled over the moment, as if the question were far heavier than it seemed. John's smile faltered just a little, though the warmth in his eyes remained.
He opened his mouth to offer a gentle push—but before the words could form, a single hand shot into the air.
"I'll do it," Phoenix said, her voice clear and confident. She stood tall, her eyes alight with curiosity. She wanted to learn more about Arcos and where he came from.
John cast a quick glance at Arcos, then shifted his eyes back to Phoenix, offering a firm nod of approval. "Alright then. That's settled," he said, his voice carrying a quiet finality.
He turned to the rest of the group, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "As for the rest of you," he said, drawing out the words like a secret he was about to reveal, "you'll be cleaning up the training ground."
A collective groan rose from the younger trainees, a chorus of dismay that filled the space like a storm cloud rolling in. Faces twisted into expressions of pure frustration—brows furrowed, lips curled in protest, shoulders slumping beneath the weight of dreaded labor.
John couldn't help but chuckle under his breath, the sound low and knowing. He'd seen those looks a hundred times before. They hated cleaning—always had, always would. But he knew what they didn't yet fully understand: every real lesson came wrapped in a little dirt and a lot of discipline.
Phoenix moved past Arcos with quiet grace, her footsteps soft against the earth but imbued with quiet resolve. As she reached a few paces ahead, something tugged at her, and she cast a glance over her shoulder.
Arcos hadn't moved.
He stood there, still as stone, his eyes locked on John and the children playing nearby. Laughter echoed through the air, light and unburdened, but it only seemed to deepen the shadow in Arcos's expression. There was a faraway look in his eyes—haunted, almost—like a man staring through a window into a life he once knew but could no longer reach.
The sight of John's easy warmth with the children stirred something raw in him. A quiet ache unfurled in his chest—an echo of memories long buried but never forgotten. Faces flickered in his mind: his wife's gentle smile, his son's small hand wrapped in his, laughter around a dinner table now silent. The weight of absence pressed down on him like a stone.
A sharp sting of jealousy twisted inside him—bitter and sudden. He hated that it was there. He hated that he felt it. But still, he couldn't tear his gaze away.
Phoenix watched him for a moment longer, her brow softening. She saw it too—the silent grief written in the slump of his shoulders, the longing in his eyes that words could never name.
"You coming?" Phoenix's voice broke the silence, gentle but firm. Her words snapped Arcos out of his thoughts. Embarrassed by his distraction, he quickly turned toward her, offering a shy nod before following in her footsteps toward the small village ahead.
John caught a brief glance of Arcos trailing after Phoenix, the boy's movements hesitant but calmer than when they first met. A faint smile touched John's lips. Seeing Arcos, a child who had endured the trauma of watching his entire village burn, start to feel safe again gave him a quiet sense of hope.
As Phoenix guided Arcos through the village, he took in the surroundings with quiet curiosity. The place was small, consisting of only seven houses, each one simple but well-kept. They all looked ordinary enough, until they reached the seventh house.
Something about the house made Arcos stop cold. It wasn't just the peeling paint or the warped wooden frame that slouched under the burden of time—it was the silence. A heavy, unsettling kind of silence that seemed to press against his chest. The windows stared back at him, dark and hollow, like lifeless eyes that had long since given up watching the world go by. The place didn't just look abandoned—it felt forgotten, as though even memory had turned its back on it. A slow, creeping chill traced his spine. There was an emptiness here, not just in the air, but in the bones of the house itself. And underneath it all, something deeper stirred—an invisible wrongness, quiet but undeniable, like a scream swallowed by the walls.
"Phoenix?" Arcos called out, his voice hesitant, tinged with a mixture of curiosity and unease.
Phoenix paused and turned back to him with a reassuring smile, her expression calm and confident. "Yes? What is it, Arcos?" she asked. But as she stepped closer, she caught the flicker of fear in his eyes. Her brow furrowed slightly. "Are you okay?" she added, her voice softening with concern.
Arcos didn't answer immediately. His breath hitched in his throat as he slowly lifted a trembling finger, eyes fixed on the weathered silhouette at the edge of the clearing. He pointed toward the house—if it could still be called that. It stood crooked and half-swallowed by the shadows, its paint peeled away like skin, windows gaping open like vacant eyes.
"There…" he murmured, the word barely more than a breath. "That house…"
His voice was tight, fragile, as though speaking too loud might stir something inside it. Every muscle in his body had gone rigid, a quiet dread crawling beneath his skin like ice. The longer he looked, the deeper it sank in—a cold certainty that something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
It wasn't just fear. It was the kind of primal unease that grips you before a storm breaks, or when you're certain you're being watched in an empty room. Something about that house reached into him, twisted around his spine, and refused to let go.
Phoenix followed his gaze, but her expression didn't change. She seemed utterly unfazed, as though the house were invisible to her. After a brief silence, she shook her head lightly, dismissing the notion with ease. "Oh, that?" she said, almost casually. "It's nothing. Just an old place."
But to Arcos, it felt like more than just an old place. There was something about the way Phoenix had walked past it earlier, pretending it didn't exist, that made him uneasy. His heart pounded in his chest, and though he tried to steady his breathing, he couldn't shake the feeling that the house was watching him.
As Arcos took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, the house around him began to shift. The once eerie and warped walls now settled into the familiar form of an old, ordinary house. Its gentle, worn appearance eased something in him, washing away the tension in his chest. For a moment, he almost forgot the terrible things he had just witnessed.
Phoenix, noticing the fear vanish from Arcos's eyes, gently took his hand. Without a word, she led him to a nearby bench tucked beneath a tree. They sat in silence for a moment, the air calm but heavy with unspoken questions. Phoenix glanced at Arcos, her expression soft, curious yet careful.
"So, Arcos…" she began, her tone warm and inviting as she turned toward him. "Where did you come from?"
Arcos paused, the silence stretching long between them. His eyes dropped to the earth, as if the ground might offer solace—or perhaps an escape from the memories clawing their way to the surface. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely more than a whisper, rough and fragile, like dry leaves rustling in the wind.
"I was born in a small village," he began, each word dragging behind it the weight of grief long buried. "Far to the north… where the winters bite and the forests go on forever."
His hands, resting on his knees, curled into tight fists. The knuckles turned white, trembling slightly, as though he were trying to hold something back—something that threatened to consume him.
"They came without warning," he said, the words catching in his throat. "Knights… from a neighbouring kingdom. I don't know why. Maybe we were in the way. Maybe they just wanted to watch the world burn."
His breath hitched, and for a moment, he couldn't speak. Then, with a quiet, broken exhale, he went on.
"They set everything to fire. The sky turned black with smoke, and the air was filled with screaming. My mother—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "I couldn't do anything. I was just a boy. All I could do was run."
His eyes shimmered now, not with tears he let fall, but with the effort of holding them back.
"I ran… and hoping they wouldn't catch me."
Phoenix listened, her heart tightening in her chest. She couldn't fathom what it must have been like for someone so young to witness such horror. What could she say to something like that? No words felt right. "I'm… I'm so sorry," she said at last, though her voice barely rose above a whisper. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "How did John find you?" she asked gently, her voice tinged with both sadness and genuine curiosity.
Arcos paused, swallowing hard as he gathered the strength to answer. "The knights… they were about to kill me," he said, his voice barely above a murmur. "Then John appeared. He saved me." He glanced at Phoenix briefly before looking away again. "I took him to my village, hoping he could help… but…"
His voice faltered, and a deep, aching sorrow clouded his eyes. "I was too late," he whispered, the weight of those final words settling heavily between them.
Phoenix didn't know how to respond. All she could do was sit beside him, offering the quiet comfort of her presence, letting him know he wasn't alone anymore.
Phoenix thought for a moment before offering the only suggestion she could think of. "Arcos... you could ask John to train you, like he's been doing with me and the other kids," she said, her voice calm but encouraging.
Arcos's eyes widened with excitement, a flicker of hope shining in them. "Do you think he'd say yes?" he asked eagerly, the idea of training like a warrior lighting a spark in his mind.
Phoenix smiled warmly and gave a reassuring nod. "Yeah, you can ask him right now if you want." She lifted her hand, summoning a small orb of glowing energy. Its green aura shimmered softly, and on the other side, John's face appeared, looking at them curiously.
"Everything okay, Phoenix?" John asked, his tone steady but concerned as his image hovered within the orb.
Phoenix nodded. "Yes, Master, but... could you come here for a moment?" she asked politely.
Arcos stared at the orb, his eyes wide with wonder. He had always dreamed of learning magic, and seeing this kind of power up close left him in awe. When John gave a brief nod of acknowledgment and the orb vanished, Arcos turned to Phoenix, admiration plain on his face.
"What was that?" he asked, his voice tinged with both excitement and disbelief.
Phoenix chuckled softly at his reaction. "It's called a communication orb," she explained, her laughter fading into a gentle smile.
"Everything okay, kids?" John asked as he appeared in front of them, his voice steady and calm.
Both Phoenix and Arcos jumped slightly, startled by his sudden presence. Phoenix quickly composed herself, offering a nervous smile. "Yeah… Arcos just wanted to ask you something," she said, her tone soft as she glanced at her companion, silently encouraging him.
John's gaze shifted to Arcos, curiosity flickering across his face. He noticed the boy's hesitant expression but responded with a gentle smile. "What's on your mind, Arcos?" he asked, his voice warm and inviting.
Arcos hesitated, his eyes flicking toward Phoenix. She gave him a subtle nod, silently urging him to speak. He took a shaky breath, his fingers fidgeting slightly before he finally met John's gaze.
"John… could you…" Arcos began, his words faltering as he struggled to find the right ones. He looked down at the patch of green grass beneath his feet, summoning his courage. "Could you train me? I-I want to become strong, like you."
John studied the boy, understanding the weight behind his request. He knelt down so they were eye level and placed a reassuring hand on Arcos's shoulder. "You really want me to train you, huh?" he asked softly.
Arcos nodded, lifting his head to meet John's eyes, his expression earnest.
For a brief moment, John was silent, thinking it over carefully. Then he gave a small nod. "Okay, I'll train you," he said. "But there's one condition."
Arcos's eyes widened slightly, waiting for John to continue.
John's expression turned serious, his tone firm but compassionate. "As long as I'm alive, you won't go looking for revenge. Promise me that."
Arcos blinked in surprise, but after a moment's thought, he nodded firmly. "I promise."
Satisfied, John gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Alright then. Training starts tomorrow."
Phoenix watched the exchange in silence, a small smile playing at her lips as relief washed over her. Phoenix stands, brushing off the dirt from his clothes. Beside him, John rises as well, sharing a silent glance. Without a word, they begin walking toward the other kids gathered nearby. Arcos watches them for a moment, something shifting in his expression. Hesitating only briefly, he steps forward and follows, falling in line behind them. For the first time in a long while, he feels something unfamiliar, a quiet sense of belonging. He doesn't say it out loud, but in his heart, he knows. These people, these kids, they're more than just companions on this journey. They're his new family.