A quiet breeze settled over a humble village nestled within a barony. Golden wheat scattered across the rich soil, painting the landscape with an aesthetic minimalism. Rancher men herded grass-eating cattle across modest fields, while children of varying ages played outside, unbothered by the mud clinging to their feet and clothes.
Young adults honed their crafts, some guided by patient hands, others sweating through grueling work. The elderly and sickly sat in silence, eyes fixed on the far horizon, indulging in meditation by way of tranquility.
From over the miniature hills came a figure large in stature, yet light in step. He wore simple, cloth-woven attire. His hair was dark, his skin bathed in the warm tone of the sun. At the crest of the hill, he spread his arms wide in quiet reminiscence. His eyelids closed, a smirk curling on his lips. Nothing, he thought, beat the wave of the wind brushing against his skin.
From below, an elderly man cupped his hands around his mouth and called out: "Oi! Come down from there, Reed!"
Reed smiled and called back, "Yes, Uncle!"
He rushed down the hill, his footwork immaculate despite its untrained nature, he swerves around rocks, narrowly avoiding carefully planted flowers. His uncle watched him descend, gaze lingering in quiet reflection.
'What a waste of talent.'
With a soft grunt, he placed his hands behind his aching back and turned, leading Reed toward their humble abode.
Dusk settled. The sky dimmed, and the night crept in.
Inside, Reed and his uncle sat across from each other at a wooden table, sharing a modest meal. A plain, unappealing hard bread. It was unsweetened and flavorless.
His uncle eyed Reed as he quietly ate, expression unreadable.
'Truly nothing like the spoiled brats from the capital.' He mused, nodding slightly as he chewed his own bread.
He opened his mouth, then paused. A subtle, quiet cough broke the silence.
"Reed... twenty-two years old..."
The rest of the thought caught in his throat. Across the table, Reed smirked faintly, catching on.
His uncle sighed.
"In life," uncle began, "there are beautiful women. Some fated to be wedded... others, disillusioned by withering standards."
He glanced up, hoping to insight wisdom.
Reed wore his usual dull expression.
His uncle sighed again.
Reed, internally thought, 'So this is what it's like to think you're the knight in shining armor who once wed a damsel in distress. Truly shameless old ranting.'
Reed chewed slowly, then responded, "Well... in life, there are those who find themselves striking, great, and even unparalleled." He swallowed. "Until they stand next to the crown prince."
He resumed munching, as if the truth he'd dropped weighed nothing.
His uncle raised a brow.
'So the boy does think... just hides it under that lazy grin.'
A dry chuckle escaped.
"And here I thought you weren't listening."
Reed curled a mischievous grin.
"Telling me so many stories and I have yet to see you show me proof."
There was subtle scorn in his tone.
He leaned back, rocking his wooden chair. One hand massaged the back of his head. The bread forgotten. His uncle chuckled.
"Some things are better left as they are... no need to drag out dusty trophies from the past."
He swept his eyes down to his palms. They were calloused, cracked, and worn.
Reed spoke again, softer this time, as if stumbling upon the thought. "When should I leave this village?"
His uncle, mid-sip of water and reading a book, choked.
"Asking this now? After all the times I told you already?" His face tensed involuntarily.
'Hold it in... Hold it in... This young man still has much to learn.'
"Why don't you just rush into the capital and wreak havoc at the palace? At least then you'd have something to brag about," he said dryly.
Reed snickered. "I'm not dumb enough to get myself executed for infamy."
But behind the laughter, his uncle's mind wandered. He remembered all the training, all the hours, the sweat—all of it barren.
'Strange. No matter how dense one may be, by now even a fool would've grasped something. And yet...'
Uncle continued observing Reed's physicality.
'Was he destined for something? Or had I given him the wrong guidance?'
Then, at last, he asked, "Reed... how did you grow strong before?"
Reed blinked. The question cut deeper than expected.
He leaned forward. The memory surfaced.
"Eight years ago... when the palace's army came trampling into our village. They conscripted anyone of age. Men, women, didn't matter. I was just under the line. Exempt."
His fists clenched.
"They weren't soldiers. They were farmers. Masons. Midwives. And they were the first to die in the campaign. Sent to the front like cattle."
His uncle lowered his gaze.
"They didn't even know how to hold formation. They bled on foreign soil. And the reports called it a necessary loss."
Reed's voice darkened.
"I couldn't take it. I ran off. Took a carriage to the capital. Thought I could do something. Punch a guard. Make a point."
A bitter laugh escaped.
"Turns out, that's not wise. They beat me within an inch of my life. I fell into a coma.
I was put into a public clinic, a rundown establishments for those of low status.
The healer said I'd never walk again. Wouldn't wake for a year."
"But the next morning, I woke up. Healed. Stronger. Like something had cracked open inside me."
He looked down at his hands.
"That... was the first time I felt it. True strength. Not from training. Not from routine. From nearly dying."
His uncle stared at him in silence.
And in that moment, something between them shifted. Not broken. Not healed. Just... changed.