Night
The sky stretches wide, boundless, shrouded in deep darkness adorned with thousands of stars. They blink slowly, as if gazing from afar—cold, silent, unreachable. Two moons hang in the sky. One is large, pale grayish white, emitting a soothing yet piercing light. Beside it, a small moon with a faded blue hue orbits slowly, half of its side shrouded in a thick shadow, as though hiding something it does not want to reveal.
Kael sits at the edge of the window, his body leaning against the cold wooden frame. His gaze is vacant, piercing through the strange yet beautiful sky. "This world... is much more peaceful than my homeland," he thinks faintly, like a murmur in his heart, swallowed by the night wind.
The wind blows gently, carrying the scent of earth and leaves damp with dew. But the tranquility shatters instantly.
Footsteps approach, fast. Heavy and hurried. The door slams open, nearly tearing from its hinges.
"Kael!" That deep voice fills the room in a single wave. His father stands at the doorway—sharp eyes, broad shoulders, and a voice loud enough to make the heart stop for a moment.
Kael jerks in surprise. "Y-yes?" he responds spontaneously, his body tensing immediately. "I'm dead... definitely getting scolded," he thinks in panic, his hands instinctively clenching.
But the man moves closer, placing both hands on Kael's shoulders. Not in anger, but with controlled strength. His face is serious, but there's something behind those eyes—a pride that is not hidden.
"...Impressive." One word. Soft, but full of meaning. His thumb rises, a satisfied expression clearly visible.
Kael is frozen, his mind not processing it. "I... wasn't scolded? Eh... wait... what did he just say?"
"If you can use magic," his father continues while turning away, "then it's time to train your body as well. You can't just rely on magic."
The atmosphere changes. Heavy. Kael swallows dryly.
"Wait until tomorrow morning. In the yard," his father says, then walks away, leaving a silence that blankets the room again.
Kael stands still, cold sweat beginning to trickle down. "Physical training...? No... I've seen him train alone. That's not training... that's torture... One hundred push-ups, one hundred sit-ups... every morning... every day... I'm going to die..."
Dawn
Dawn slowly shatters the darkness. A thin mist still hangs low over the grass, covering the ground with a coldness that pierces the bones. The reddish light creeps slowly from beyond the horizon, splitting the night sky that has yet to completely depart.
The small village where Kael lives is still asleep. The wooden houses stand in uneven rows, their roofs darkened by time and moss. Wild birds begin to chirp faintly, as if waking the world from its long slumber.
But one figure stands firm in the front yard—at the center of a small field covered with hard earth and dry grass damp with dew. The man, Kael's father, wears worn-out training clothes, full of scars and patches. His body is strong, standing unwavering, like a rock in the midst of waves.
Kael walks toward the field with slow steps and a wrinkled face. His eyes are heavy from the forced sleep. The thin jacket doesn't provide enough warmth against the morning chill, and the scent of wet earth makes his feet shiver despite the rough leather sandals.
"You're up, kid?" His father's voice is like a hard blow that shakes off the remaining drowsiness.
Kael only nods. His body feels heavy. But heavier still is the shadow of what he is about to face this morning.
"Let's go. Stand up straight. Take a deep breath."
Kael obeys, even though inside, he really just wants to run back to his bed. But his father's gaze makes that option never really exist.
"This morning's training is the foundation. We'll forge your body to match your magic. If you can only rely on magic, then you'll die once your magic runs out. This world... doesn't forgive weakness."
His tone is flat, but Kael hears something behind his words. Experience. Wounds. Maybe even loss.
His father walks around, grabs a large stick from a pile beside the house—thick, rough, and longer than Kael's body. He throws it toward his son.
"Lift it."
Kael stares at the stick. "…Is this a joke?" he murmurs quietly.
His father only grins, his face faintly illuminated by the dawn light.
"I don't train my son to be a soft mage. You'll be more than that."
Kael swallows. In his heart, he curses that damn magic that had drawn attention to him. But he knows, since last night—his life will never be the same again.
He bends down, gripping the stick with both hands. The weight immediately jolts his arms and shoulders. Muscles that had never been used scream silently.
The sky slowly brightens, the thin mist burning away in the first light of the sun. The village starts to wake. But in the small yard, the training has already begun.
Kael tries to lift the stick, but his body immediately resists. His arms shake as the weight pulls on muscles that haven't even formed. His shoulders feel like they're being crushed, and his back begins to scream from the unstable posture. But in front of him, his father stands still, observing without comment—like measuring not strength, but willpower.
Kael groans quietly. No screams, no tears. But his face starts to pale, and his hands sweat heavily, making the stick almost slip.
"Don't drop it," the voice comes like a cold whip, sharp and giving no room for refusal. "Hold it. Feel the weight. That's your body's burden. The burden of your weakness. Face it, don't run."
Kael grits his teeth, his knees almost touching the ground. But he doesn't want to let go. Not in front of that man. Not after all this has begun. Because deep inside, something has awakened—something he cannot understand. Perhaps it's not courage. Maybe it's just the fear of disappointing, or perhaps... some faint hope that he could become more than just a shadow in a village unknown to the world.
The morning air stings his lungs. The dew starts to dry as the sun rises, splitting the mist like a thin curtain cut by a sword. The small village begins to live. The sound of doors opening, footsteps on wet ground, roosters crowing—all become the backdrop to the small stage shared by Kael and his father.
After five minutes of suffering, his father raises his hand. "Enough."
Kael collapses to his knees. The stick rolls and strikes the ground, raising dust and dry leaves. His body trembles, his breath ragged, and his heart beats too fast for such a quiet morning.
"That wasn't training. Just an introduction."
Kael slowly looks up, his eyes dazed. "...What?"
"Starting tomorrow, we'll begin for real." His father doesn't wait for a response, only walks away with his back straight and his steps firm—as if he's never known doubt.
Kael wants to cry, but his body is too exhausted even to feel sadness. He just lies on the ground, staring at the morning sky now tinged with silver-blue. Those two moons still hang up there. One shines softly, the other half-covered in black shadow.
"Why do you always watch me, huh?" Kael murmurs softly to the small moon. As if hoping for an answer from something silent in the sky.