A small, quiet village lay beneath a heavy autumn storm. The sound of raindrops hitting the cobblestones filled the air, accompanied by distant rumbles of thunder.
A lantern swung in the wind outside a humble wooden house, casting a flickering light on the drenched ground. It was a night that seemed to weep from the sky. The village of Wiaxau was caught in a relentless downpour, its narrow paths turned into muddy streams.
Amid the storm, a lone figure hurried through the darkness, clutching a small, bundled shape to her chest. She was drenched, shivering, and looked around frantically as if she were being followed. Kneeling at the doorstep, she struggled to keep the blanket wrapped tightly around the baby, gazing at him with a sad expression.
She gently placed the bundle down and whispered softly, though her words were lost in the rain. She knocked quickly three times, paused, then knocked once more—a distinct rhythm. Taking one last look at the baby, she wiped her eyes.
Hesitating for a moment, her breath misted in the cold air. One hand brushed against the baby's cheek, and a weak, trembling smile crossed her lips. "Be safe... please," she murmured.
The old wooden door creaked in her ears, prompting her to hastily get up and run away. The muddy road slowed her down, but she didn't stop, despite being exhausted and completely soaked.
The door creaks open. A man's voice, muffled by the storm, asks, "Who's there?" The man is surprised, almost disbelieving, when he sees the baby.
He scoops up the child, and mutters, "Who would just leave a kid...?"
A woman with concern in her eyes appears behind him, "A child...?"
The woman looked at the child and asked, "Jerry, what's going on? What's that child." She came closer just to see a child wrapped in a blanket.
Jerry hesitated answering "Someone just left him here... just... like this." He looked at his wife with confusion in his eyes
The wife caressed the cheek of the child and looked around outside just to see pitch black night accompanied with heavy downpour "Did you see who it was?"
Jerry shook his head while giving the baby to the wife, "No... just a glimpse... Someone in a hood." He looked once again to see nothing significant, he looked closer and saw steps engraved on a muddy road, but they were smeared as if someone was in a hurry.
Softly, taking the baby she murmured "He's freezing... let's get him inside." making the man alerted
Jerry sighed and dropped down on the chair, "What now?"
She faintly smiled while looking at the child, "We'll keep him warm, feed him... and then we'll see."
Jerry looked at the room door where their son was, "You're serious about keeping him?"
Genuinely nodding she added, "Look at him, Jerry... he didn't ask to be left here."
Jerry paused while listening to the raindrops hitting the window together with firewood burning in the living room, he sighed while rubbing his forehead, "Audrey... we've already got Russel to look after. He's barely a year older." He raised his voice, "We can't just... take in another one, "
Craddling the baby Audrey added, "So you want me to leave him outside?"
He raised his voice even more, "No! I'm just saying... it's not fair on Russel. We're barely managing as it is." He calmed down and apologized, "Sorry... I raised my voice again. It's just that we may get too attached and... and... what if someone comes looking for him?"
Audrey gently rocking the baby said, "If someone cared enough to come back, they wouldn't have left him like this. Maybe they didn't have a choice."
After a pause, he conflicted, "I just... I don't want Russel to feel pushed aside. Two boys, so close in age... it's not going to be easy."
Audrey came closer to the Jerry and sat down in next to him, "Then we'll make it work. We've got room, and... maybe Russel could use a friend. You know how lonely he gets when you're out fishing."
Jerry grumbled and pinched his nose bridge, "If this kid starts causing trouble, I'm holding you responsible."
Audrey softly laughed, "I'll take that risk."
Years went by, and the tale of the child left on the doorstep became a quiet rumor in the village. Orka never paid much attention to those old stories. As far as he was concerned, he was just another kid—albeit a bit more restless, always drawn to the distant hills and the unknown.
The sun streamed down its blazing rays from the sky, glinting off the hair of a child with brown hair and green eyes. "Orka, slow down!" he shouted, panting as he ran further away toward his brother, who had black and brown eyes. "Wait for me!"
Orka grinned and picked up speed, shouting over his shoulder, "Come on! If you can't catch me, you'll never catch fish!"
Despite his heavy breathing, Russel pushed himself to run faster and briefly caught up to Orka. "But…" he gasped, struggling to finish his sentence. "Wait... a second, I need a break."
Orka slowed down and stopped, watching Russel grip his knees and breathe heavily, which made Orka grin even wider. "But Dad says I don't have to run to fish..."
Rolling his eyes, Orka placed his hands behind his head and picked up a stick, holding it at his waist like a sword. "Boooring! You're such a killjoy," he exclaimed.
Russel finally calmed his breathing and stood up. "It's not that I'm like that; it's just that you're too unserious. Just because Mom and Dad are always busy doesn't mean we can slack off. I'm already helping out on the farm with the fields and the animals, and I even plan to help Dad with fishing near the sea."
"Ugh, helping others is sooooo boring!" Orka whined, "I just want to play knights and go on epic adventures! How about you? Do you want to join me?"
"Um, Orka," Russell said, trying to sound serious, "I can't right now. I have important things to do. I need to help take care of the farm today since everyone is busy, so it's my responsibility. Maybe we can slay some dragons later?"
Orka understood that this meant Russel was busy all the time and doesn't want to play, "Fine, I'll just walk around the village or visit Uncle Tom," he said.
As he was about to leave, Russel exclaimed, "But how about helping me out on the farm?" This annoyed Orka, and he chose to ignore him.
After a while of walking on the dirt road, he arrived at the gate of the village where Orka saw a man with light blue hair and blue eyes and a spear in his hand planted firmly into the ground and equipped with leather armor.
"Uncle Tom!" The shout rang out, pulling Tom's attention away from his thoughts. He turned to see the familiar figure of Orka rushing toward him, a bright smile lighting up their face. "Orka!" he exclaimed, joy sparking in his eyes at the sight of Orka being here.
"Are you slacking off again?" Uncle's words made Orka glance away, whistling to distract himself.
"Come on, just spit it out. What's bothering you?"
Orka let out a heavy sigh, frustration evident in his voice. "The farm is so repetitive; it's driving me crazy. I really don't get how brother Russel can handle it day in and day out..."
----
Tom snickered, "Ah, you're just like your old man was at your age. Always looking for something more exciting than the work in front of you."
Orka groaned, "But it's so boring! I don't get how Russel likes it... He acts like he's already a grown-up."
Tom leaned on his spear, "Well, that's Russel for you. Always the responsible one. You, on the other hand, are chasing dreams like butterflies. Nothing wrong with that, but... you can't just leave your chores half-done."
Kicking a small pebble Orka replied, "I know... it's just that no one ever lets me do anything cool. Russel's always saying I'm too careless."
Tom grinned, "That's because you are. But that doesn't mean you're useless. You just haven't found your thing yet."
Orka perks up, curiosity glinting in his eyes.
Orka questioned, "My thing?"
Tom nodded, "Aye. Everyone's got one—a knack for something that just feels right. Russel's found his, but you're still wandering. Nothing wrong with that. Just means you're not ready to settle down."
Nodding Orka replied, "Yeah... Maybe I'll find something amazing out there someday!"
Tom looked at Orka, "Just don't forget—sometimes the amazing stuff is right under your nose. Now, you planning to hang around here all day, or are you up for a little practice?"
Orka's eyes lightened up with sparkles, "Practice? You mean sword fighting?"
Uncle Tom nodded, "Why not? Better than you wandering off into trouble again."
In the sunny expanse of grass near the gate, Uncle Tom sets up a simple training session giving him a wooden sword.
As Tom hands Orka a wooden practice sword, a surge of excitement courses through him. This moment feels like the adventure he's always dreamed of embarking on. He grips the sword tightly, the weight of it filling him with determination.
He glances at Uncle Tom, hoping to replicate the stance he sees.
However, as he attempts to mimic his uncle's confident posture, Orka finds himself awkward and unsteady, a mixture of eagerness and inexperience holding him back. Nevertheless, the thrill of the experience ignites a fire within him, inspiring him to keep trying.
The sun hung high in the sky, casting golden rays on the training ground where Tom stood, arms crossed and a glint of determination in his eyes.
"Feet apart!" he barked, his voice firm but encouraging. "Balance is everything. If you can't keep your footing, you'll just be flailing around like a wild chicken."
Orka shuffled into position, adjusting his stance with noticeable uncertainty. "Like this?" he asked, wobbling slightly as if he were trying to balance on a tightrope.
Tom shook his head, a playful smirk creeping across his face. "You're too stiff! Loosen up. Think of it like dancing—not stomping around like a lumberjack."
Orka frowned, genuinely puzzled. "Dancing? That's for girls!" He crossed his arms defensively, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
Tom chuckled, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "Tell that to a swordsman who knows how to move. A good fighter flows with the fight, Orka."
With a groan, Orka dropped his head, frustration spilling into his voice. "I don't get it..."
The air was thick with the scent of sweat and determination as the training continued, each small misstep pushing the boundaries of Orka's understanding.
Tom demonstrated a few slow movements, showing how to shift weight smoothly. Orka attempted to mimic him but nearly stumbled.
Tom patted his shoulder, saying, "You'll get there. It just takes practice. You're too eager to rush in—calm down and think it through."
Orka murmured, "But adventures don't wait…"
He was panting as he tried to maintain the stance, "Why do you think Russel's always so serious? He acts like he has to figure everything out right now."
Tom chuckled, "That's because he's thinking ahead. Your brother's always contemplating the future, probably because he knows his path."
Orka scratched his nose, "That sounds boring. What's the point of worrying about things that haven't happened yet?"
Tom sighed, "Not worrying—preparing. People like Russel just feel the need to be ready when life shifts."
Orka was puzzled, "Life shifts... You mean like powers?"
Tom nodded, "Yeah, that too. Have you ever wondered why everyone's different? Some people acquire useful abilities, some don't. Some even end up cursed."
Orka frowned, "Cursed? How so?"
Tom leaned back against the wall, "Abilities aren't always a gift. You know Auntie Lindsey, right? She can talk to horses... but only on Tuesdays. Not very handy, especially since she's scared of them."
Orka laughed, "That's ridiculous!"
Tom sighed and gazed at the sky, "Ridiculous or not, it's just how it is. Everyone in the village got their power after recovering from a serious illness as a kids. Once it passes, you either receive something useful, something strange or... nothing at all."
Curiosity sparked in Orka, "So... why do people change when they gain powers?"
Tom shrugged, "It varies. Some folks get stronger, faster, or improve their senses. Some even change physically—like that guy by the field with moss growing on his skin. His power helps plants grow faster, but it also made him look part-plant."
After a pause, he added, "It depends on who you ask. I never miss when I throw a spear. It doesn't matter how far or how fast the target is moving—if I aim for it, I'll hit it."
Orka's eyes widened, "That's amazing! You could be a knight or something!"
Tom shook his head, "Maybe once. But a power like that isn't everything. I still need to know how to fight effectively. Just because I never miss doesn't mean I always strike what I'm aiming for."
Orka looked confused, "Huh? How does that work?"
Tom sighed, "An ability is only as good as the one using it. I might never miss, but if I don't know where or when to throw, it's just a wasted shot. One time, I threw a spear right through a charging boar... but didn't realize there was a boulder behind it. I broke the tip clean off."
Orka laughed at Tom's amusing throw, "Did it still count as a hit?"
Tom chuckled back, "Sure did. But I was left without a spear. That's the thing with abilities—sometimes they make you overconfident. You forget that skill and judgment matter just as much."
Orka inquired, "So, why didn't you become a knight? You'd be fantastic!"
Tom paused, glancing at his spear as if recalling something, "There's more to being a knight than just throwing accurately. You have to protect people, make tough decisions... and not everyone's cut out for that life. I learned that the hard way."
Orka frowned, "Did something happen?"
Tom took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, looking sad, "Let's just say... even when you never miss, it doesn't mean you're always right. Sometimes you hit what you shouldn't."
Orka stood near him, not fully grasping what he meant.
After a while, Orka resumed his training stance with the wooden sword, while Tom lightly guided him, staying near the gate to see anyone entering the village.
When Orka corrected one flaw, Tom found another, causing Orka to groan, "But... if you never miss, doesn't that make you the best fighter around?"
Tom smirked at Orka's comment, "Heh, not even close. A good ability doesn't guarantee you're a good fighter. It's just one piece of the puzzle."
Orka tilted his head, "What do you mean?"
Tom gestured with his spear, "Think about it. Just because I can throw a spear without missing doesn't mean I can handle myself in a close fight. What if my opponent gets too close? What if I don't have a spear? Am I just going to give up?"
Orka scratched his head, "I suppose... but wouldn't you just throw another spear?"
Tom chuckled, "That's the issue. A lot of folks with flashy abilities forget that it's just a tool, not a solution. You need to understand how to use it wisely, but also how to fight without it."
Tom sighed, "Take swordsmanship, for instance. You can give a sword to any fool, but that doesn't make him a swordsman. The same goes for spears, bows, and even magic. An ability might give you an edge, but it's the training that truly matters."
Orka adjusted another flaw in his stance, yet his legs weren't stable; even a single swing had him wobbling like a scarecrow, "So... even if I got a really cool power, I still need to learn how to fight?"
Tom nodded, "Exactly. A knight who knows how to wield a spear without relying on fancy powers is far more dangerous than some hot-headed kid who just throws energy around."
Orka pondered, "So powers don't necessarily make someone strong?"
Tom shook his head, "Nope. True strength comes from understanding your limits and pushing them the hard way. Why do you think I train every morning? Even with my ability, I could become rusty if I don't keep practicing."
Orka smiled, prompting Tom to grin in return, "I never thought about it that way. So... swordsmanship is like... compensating for not having a power?"
Tom's grin widened, "Sort of. Some people dedicate their entire lives to mastering martial arts, swordsmanship, spearmanship—heck, even magic without relying on powers. A power can become a crutch if you don't know how to wield it properly." He glanced at the sword in Orka's hands, "That's why I use a spear, sword, and other weapons; I need to know my limits and expand them."
Tom's words ignited excitement in Orka, "Then maybe I could be strong even without an impressive power!"
Tom patted Orka's shoulder, "That's the spirit! You just need to put your heart into it. But remember: whether you have power or not, it's the determination to keep learning that makes the real difference."
Orka adjusted his stance again, "Alright! I'll train hard and become strong like you!"
Tom chuckled, "First, get that stance right. You look like a wind-blown scarecrow."
Orka groaned, "Why is it so difficult to stand properly?"
Tom sighed and shook his head, "Because fighting isn't just about swinging a weapon. It's about balance, control, and making every move count. A well-trained fighter can outlast someone with a strong ability simply by being strategic."
He continued, "You know, some people out there don't have any power at all—just pure skill. Incredible swordsmen who can slice a leaf in half mid-air, monks capable of breaking stones with their bare hands, and mages who can cast intricate spells without relying on innate talent. That's why you need to train both your body and mind, instead of just counting on luck."
Orka's eyes sparkled with inspiration, "I never thought of it like that. So... maybe I could become a great fighter even if my power isn't that impressive? Maybe I can slice monsters in half with a single slash or... or punch through a mountain or... cast amazing magic!"
Tom laughed and nodded, "Absolutely! Never forget kid: an ability is just a tool. It's the one who wields it that makes the real difference. If you let go of your dreams now, you'll never have the chance to pursue them."
After training, Orka lay on a grassy hill just outside the village, watching the clouds drift lazily by. He thought about Tom's advice on "finding his thing" and wondered if there was something special he was destined to achieve.
His hand absentmindedly fiddled with the small pendant he had kept since childhood—a habit he wasn't even aware of.
Orka heard distant laughter and saw Russel assisting Audrey with herbs near the clinic. A brief pang of envy struck him—Russel always seemed to know what to do and where he fits in.
Orka squeezed the pendant, feeling a strange warmth emanating from it, but shrugged it off as mere imagination.