The following days passed with a rhythm both simple and steady, as Aren accepted Mrs. Clara's kind offer to stay a little longer in exchange for helping around her home. Her house sat quietly on the outskirts of Kukuru—a bustling, sprawling city known mostly for its vibrant market square and the constant hum of trade and chatter. The city was alive, but the edges where Clara's farm rested felt like a calm buffer against the chaos inside the walls. Sometimes, Clara had to travel farther out, delivering her herbs and remedies to remote villages or isolated farms. It was during one such journey that fate had brought them together, a chance meeting on a dusty road that seemed to pivot the course of Aren's uncertain path.
His days were filled with honest labor, hands roughening again as he helped with the farming chores—tilling soil, carrying water, repairing fences. The earth's smell was rich and dark after the morning's watering, and the warmth of the sun settled deep into his bones. He found a kind of grounding in the physical work, a reminder of the world's steadiness amid the swirling storm of his mission. Whenever he had a moment to himself, he wandered through Kukuru's lively streets, weaving through clusters of merchants hawking their wares, children playing in the dusty alleys, and elders sitting on shaded benches exchanging stories.
His unusual appearance—the sharp features, the striking eyes—occasionally drew curious glances. Sometimes, Aren would pull the hood of his cloak low to shield himself, yet despite his attempts, his presence quickly became well known. The locals didn't shy away; rather, they seemed to accept him quietly, as if the stories of his recent deeds had preceded him. They spoke in hushed tones of the stranger who had stood against the bandits, who had defended the people without fear or question. Surprisingly, no one challenged the powers he wielded. There was no overt fear, only a cautious respect mingled with their own burdens.
Aren observed them closely—there was a subtle tension beneath their everyday smiles, a fragile hope veined with worry. Their conversations hinted at economic hardship, political instability, and the absence of the knights who once guarded these lands. He realized the city was like a finely balanced scale, tipping toward uncertainty with each passing day. The Sand Reapers—the bandits who had ambushed Clara's family—were a dark shadow lingering at the edges of their minds. Their bodies had been buried in a secret place, and the villagers chose silence over sorrow, hoping the remaining bandits wouldn't be drawn to this quiet corner. But Aren knew better. Danger was seldom so easily laid to rest.
One afternoon, seated on a weathered bench beneath the broad branches of an ancient oak, Aren let his mind churn through possibilities. The palace—his true destination—loomed in his thoughts, distant and heavily guarded. Without the badge or status of a knight, access was impossible. He needed another way in.
[Your Majesty, I was considering something. Perhaps adopting the guise of a merchant? Traders are often granted entry into the palace grounds for business.] Val's calm voice came through the bracelet's soft glow.
"I thought about that too, Val," Aren murmured, eyes scanning the horizon beyond the city walls. "But to get the King's attention, I'd need goods of exceptional value—things rare enough to intrigue even a jaded ruler. Looking around this place, I don't see much that would fit the bill."
[Then we must find work that leverages your unique skills.]
He smiled faintly at Val's pragmatism. "Time is on our side. Whether it takes a day or a year won't change much at this stage." The realization that nearly two thousand years had passed began to settle more comfortably in his mind. That knowledge gave him a new patience, though the hunger for answers still burned fiercely beneath it. He owed his calm to years of experience and to the lessons instilled by his family—especially his grandfather. Learn to let some things go. Time is the one battle you cannot win.
Resolute, he ventured once again into the heart of Kukuru. He practiced speaking the local tongue, slowly needing less assistance from Val to navigate the nuances of conversation. His evenings were spent poring over dusty tomes and weathered scrolls in the city's modest library, searching for any trace of the old world, any mention of the era he'd left behind. Nothing surfaced. The history of his time was buried, perhaps deliberately, beneath the shifting sands of a new era.
He learned instead of new rulers and powers—names foreign and strange compared to the Six Dragons who once held sway. This new world was layered and complex, and Aren's mind raced to connect these threads. If he was to reclaim or rebuild, he needed allies, knowledge, and clues to what had become of the noble houses.
His thoughts were interrupted by sudden commotion. A group of children burst through the marketplace, their voices ringing with excitement and fear.
"They're coming! The Stravan are coming!" one shouted, breathless with urgency.
Aren's brow furrowed—he'd never heard the name before. It was worth investigating.
He pushed through the gathering crowd and found a small clearing where two figures stood, clearly the focus of attention. A woman with long, sun-kissed curls and strong arms revealed beneath a worn leather vest smiled warmly at the crowd. Beside her, a tall, scarred man bore a calm dignity, his posture relaxed but ready. Both carried weapons—the woman's retractable spear clipped to her back, the man's sword and shield worn but meticulously maintained.
"They look formidable," Aren thought, admiring the craftsmanship and the worn gleam of their gear.
[Scanning confirms significant muscle mass, functional strength—not just for show.]
Approaching a nearby villager, Aren quietly asked, "Excuse me, I'm new here. Who exactly are the Stravan?"
The villager smiled knowingly. "Ah, Clara mentioned you might be green to all this. The Stravan are... well, they're sort of mercenaries or adventurers. Folks who take on all kinds of jobs—sometimes for coin, sometimes for food or favor."
"Like the mercenaries of old?" Aren inquired softly, the word echoing memories of forgotten times.
"Maybe. They've become more common since the knights left for the capital. Strong folk who don't mind rolling up their sleeves when danger strikes."
"And these rewards you mentioned?" Aren pressed.
"Anything the person posting the job can offer. Money's scarce now, but they accept whatever's valuable—food, supplies, even a promise. They've helped with monster hunts and bandit clearing. I once paid them back with fresh bread."
Aren's mind worked rapidly. This was an opportunity. To be a Stravan meant access, mobility, and perhaps a foot inside the palace walls.
"I think I know what I'll do next," he said quietly, eyes fixed on the two strangers.
"Val, I've made up my mind. We should talk to them."
[Good choice, Your Majesty. But be patient—there's quite a queue of people waiting to speak with Bufo and Kana.]
Aren took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the coming days. The road ahead was uncertain and winding, but for the first time since awakening, a clear path was beginning to form.
⁂
Observing them closely, Aren couldn't help but notice how patient and kind both Kana and Bufo were, despite their fierce, battle-hardened appearances. They carried themselves with a calm confidence that reminded him of his visits to the schools back in his homeland, where children would swarm around him with endless questions, their curiosity brimming. There was a warmth beneath their tough exteriors, a quiet kindness that made them approachable and genuine.
And then it was his turn.
Stepping forward with measured composure, Aren spoke clearly, "Hello, nice to meet you. My name is Aren."
Both Kana and Bufo turned to him with surprise, their expressions shifting as if they weren't expecting such calmness from someone who looked so young—his face still smooth and youthful, belying the weight of his presence.
"Oh wow," Kana said, her eyes lighting up with genuine curiosity. "I don't think I've ever seen you around before! I'm Kana, and that's Bufo." She nodded toward her companion. "Do you have any questions for us?"
Up close, Aren took in her striking features. Her golden eyes sparkled with a fierce intelligence and a hint of mischief, framed by the wild curls that cascaded around her face. Despite the full combat gear she wore—sturdy leather, reinforced plates, and straps—there was a grace in the way she moved, a fluidity that spoke of years of training and experience. He would have guessed she was in her early thirties, while Bufo, with his weathered face and salt-and-pepper hair, seemed older, perhaps in his forties.
Taking a breath, Aren decided to be direct. "I know this might sound sudden, and we've only just met... but I want to be your apprentice. I want to become a Stravan myself."
He dipped into a slight bow, a sign of respect from his era, hoping it would translate well in this new world.
Kana blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Oh wow... Um, Bufo? What do you think? Isn't he a bit... young?"
Bufo stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I usually don't care much about age, but she has a point. We need more than just words. He might have to prove himself first, kid."
Before Aren could respond, a familiar voice rang out from the crowd behind them.
"That kid saved us from the bandits! I'm sure you can spare some time to get to know him."
It was Mrs. Clara, standing with a warm smile. Aren felt a flicker of surprise—he hadn't expected her to appear.
Other voices quickly joined in, creating a chorus of support.
"Yes! Aren saved my father's life. He was poisoned!"
"I'm not sure how he did it, but the man has skills! I can vouch for him!"
And then more voices, each echoing their own praise, swelling the crowd's approval. Aren was momentarily speechless. These were strangers, villagers he had only helped a few days ago, yet now they stood up for him as if he were one of their own. Their faith gave him a new kind of strength.
Kana laughed softly, breaking the tension. "Okay, okay! I'm starving. How about you join us for dinner, Aren?"
"Yes, it would be an honor," he replied, and together the three of them moved toward a nearby restaurant. Mrs. Clara gave him a knowing wink before she slipped away, and Aren whispered, "Thank you." She responded with a gentle kiss on his forehead—like a mother's blessing.
⁂
The restaurant was bustling with the evening crowd, the air thick with the mingled scents of roasting meats, fresh bread, and spiced stews. The owner, recognizing the visitors, managed to seat them at a quiet table on the balcony overlooking the city's lantern-lit streets, giving them a bit of privacy.
Kana leaned forward with a playful grin. "So, how long have you been a Stravan, if you don't mind me asking?"
Aren raised an eyebrow. "You're awfully formal. How old do you think I am? Sixteen?"
Kana smirked. "What's the legal age of adulthood here?"
He smiled. "Eighteen, at least." They both laughed, letting the question drop.
"Well, to answer you properly—I've been a Stravan for over twenty years. Kana joined about eight years ago," Bufo said, raising his cider as he spoke, nostalgia tinting his voice.
"Wow, you actually count the years," Aren chuckled.
"So, what exactly do you do? What are your responsibilities?" Aren asked, genuinely curious.
Bufo's eyes glinted. "When I joined, Stravan were basically a support group for the knights. We handled tasks they didn't have time for—messenger duties, small escorts, monster scouting. But now that the knights have left for the capital, those duties have piled up. We've had to step up."
Kana added, "Some days we escort caravans, others we search for lost livestock, or clear dangerous beasts from the outskirts. It really depends."
"And what kind of missions do you usually take?" Aren asked, leaning in.
Bufo shrugged. "Depends on the reward. Smart mercs pick jobs based on what they get back. But these days, even a fancy dinner like this can be a prized reward."
Kana nodded. "We're from this region, so we know firsthand the impact of the king's decisions. We take every mission we can, traveling city to city, hoping someday the work will dry up."
Aren's mind raced. This was exactly the kind of life he could step into—useful, respected, and mobile. "Do you ever go to the capital? I imagine the mission volume would be much higher there."
"Definitely," Bufo replied. "We'd love to get away from the regular monsters and bandits for a change. But if no one stays here to watch over these towns, things would fall apart."
Aren nodded in understanding, impressed by their sense of duty. "What does it take to become a Stravan? Is there some kind of process or ritual?"
Kana smiled approvingly. "Straight to the point! I like that. Well, to become one, you need a Stravan badge like this." Both of them pulled out small wallets and flipped them open, revealing a silver circular badge engraved with two wings flanking crossed swords in the center.
Bufo continued, "There are two ways to earn the badge. One is to go to the official headquarters in the north and pass an assessment. The other way is to complete a difficulty-three mission successfully—one that requires a senior Stravan to vouch for you."
Aren felt a thrill inside him. This was perfect—a way to travel, gain information, and survive while working toward the capital.
He smiled, trying to hide it behind a bite of bread.
Kana leaned closer. "We heard a few versions of that bandit story you're connected to. You say you have an emblem and you're a good fighter. Can you tell us more? What's your story?"
Bufo's gaze sharpened, clearly sizing him up.
Aren took a deep breath. "I come from a faraway land, a place very different from here. That's why I don't know much about your customs yet, but I'm learning."
Kana's eyes softened. "I heard you grew up with your grandfather. Did he teach you to fight? What happened to him?"
"He's no longer with us," Aren said quietly. "Everything I know about fighting, I learned from him." That was the most honesty he dared offer without sounding unbelievable.
Kana studied him, then asked, "I've never seen anyone with hair and eyes like yours. What's the name of your country?"
"Valoria. Not many have heard of it." Aren shrugged, a little embarrassed.
"Valoria? Nope, never heard of it," she laughed. "What's that thing on your arm? Looks like a watch but it doesn't show the time."
"That's a translator device. A parting gift—I'm still figuring out how to use it."
Kana's curiosity got the better of her. "Can I try it?"
She touched the glowing SENTINEL on his wrist, and instantly the light shifted to red.
"Val, it's fine. They're good," Aren interrupted just before the device could respond.
The bracelet expanded to slide off his wrist, and he passed it to Kana. After a moment, it shrank to fit her smaller wrist perfectly.
"How does it work?" she asked eagerly.
[Translation starting…]
Aren began speaking softly in his ancient tongue. Kana's eyes widened in amazement as the device translated every word into clear text on a small display.
"Whoa, I can actually read what you're saying!" She giggled while Bufo shook his head, a bit embarrassed by the display of childlike wonder.
After a few minutes of playful testing, Kana handed the SENTINEL back. It was a wise choice to let her try it—Aren had ensured Val only revealed its translation feature, preventing any further unwanted exposure.
"That thing is definitely useful! Not so much for us locals, but perfect for travelers like you," she smiled, sipping her drink.
"So," Kana asked, "are you still serious about becoming a Stravan?"
"Yes. And I wouldn't mind being tested if you have any doubts," Aren said evenly, his gaze steady and unwavering.
Bufo and Kana exchanged a glance, clearly impressed by his resolve. Kana crossed her arms, tilting her head from side to side as if weighing the decision.
"Alright, I have an idea. We can test you out on a mission first. We can't risk sending you on a difficulty-three job without seeing what you can do in the field. I have some tasks lined up—mostly clearing wild beasts from certain areas. What do you say?"
Aren nodded firmly. "Sounds perfect. When do we start?"
"How about tomorrow? Do you have weapons or gear ready?"
"I have a knife. My axe was destroyed, so that's all for now."
"Well, you'll need to find some decent gear before we go. Also, pack comfortable clothes—we're heading to the desert!"
And so, with a sense of determination and anticipation, King Aren's first big quest to become a Stravan truly began.