''When I went into my father's room, I saw him sitting in a chair right next to his desk. His back was turned. When I called out to him, he didn't respond. I quickly approached him. What I saw was horrifying. The unseen side of the desk was covered in blood. When I turned the chair toward me, my father's hands were at stomach level—and his heart was placed on them. I was terrified. I wanted to cry. I felt every human emotion at once. Then, when my mother called out to me, I told myself, "Now is not the time. My mother and sister are still alive—I have to save them." I rushed downstairs. My mother immediately asked about my father, but I couldn't answer. I grabbed both of them by the arms and pulled them outside. Our house was burning. My father had died in a way he didn't deserve, and I couldn't do anything about it.''
The old man was stunned by what he had heard and felt sorry for Damon, but there was nothing he could do for him. He was curious about the rest of the story—what had happened to Damon's mother and sister—and asked:
"What happened to your mother and sister? Why were you waiting there all alone?"
"I don't remember..."
Damon couldn't recall anything. The images in his mind were blurry. Remembering his father had cast him into mourning. But there was something he had to do: remember—he had to remember what happened to his mother and sister. Shaken, Damon rose from the chair. As he stood up, he felt pain in his right leg. It made walking difficult. As Damon looked at his leg, he saw a handprint. A small, delicate handprint. But it was a burn mark—someone had burned him. When the old man saw it, he said:
"Your leg is badly burned, son. Is that a handprint or something else?"
"I don't know... I don't understand what's going on right now. I don't even care about my leg. I have to find the rest of my family."
"Where will you go at this hour? You need to rest. Maybe after resting, you'll remember what happened. We also need to treat that leg."
Damon felt helpless, but he also thought the old man was right. He couldn't go far with that leg. He had nowhere to go. He had no choice but to wait. The old man gave Damon a couch to lie on. Then he brought medical supplies from his room to treat Damon's leg. Damon was in pain, but it was the last thing on his mind. Lying there, he asked the old man:
"Can you tell me more about this town?"
The old man began speaking slowly and clearly:
"This is the town of Luthern, son. I told you that before. We are in the kingdom of Ophir. We have a strong king—his name is Oden. He has a daughter and a son. I don't know their names exactly, but from what I've heard, the princess is kind-hearted and very beautiful. As for the prince… I can't say the same."
Damon grew more curious. In his homeland, there were no kings—only pure evil. He lived in a land ruled by demons, where he spent his days hiding, unable to roam freely. With a faint smile, Damon said:
"Can you tell me more?"
"The capital of our kingdom is a city called Minas. It's a beautiful place, surrounded by greenery, with flowing waterfalls and many other wonders. We make our living through farming and trade. Each town is protected by warriors of various ranks. But the capital is different. The ten strongest warriors in the kingdom are tasked with protecting it."
"Actually, they're not protecting the capital—but the king, right?"
The old man laughed:
"Yes, you could say that. But don't say that in front of everyone. Now you should rest. We'll continue our talk in the morning."
As the old man was leaving, Damon called out to him:
"What's your name, old man?"
The old man turned and replied:
"Little."
"Thank you."
As Little walked to his room, he was still worried about Damon's leg. There was no heat coming from the burn, but the mark continued to glow. He didn't yet understand what it meant.
In the morning, Little came downstairs and saw Damon sitting on the couch. He asked:
"How are you, son? Did you remember anything about your family?"
Damon replied sadly:
"No, I didn't. But I'm going to leave today. I don't know where to start, but I have to find a way."
"By the way, Little, you said my name is not welcome around here. Why did you say that?"
Little had to tell him the truth. Sitting down in his chair, he said:
"Your name was once given to six-star mages in this country, son. Later, the last master we knew betrayed the kingdom, and the name was cursed. There are a few other names, like yours, that are only granted to mages."
Damon found Little's story ridiculous and responded:
"Don't you think that sounds a little crazy? I'm not a mage, and neither was my father. We were looked down on and bullied for years in our country. Don't you think if we had any power, we would've used it?"
Little responded seriously:
"It may sound crazy to you. It might not be like that in your country. But here, this is how things are. That's how it's been for years—by order of the king. So my advice is: don't use your real name out in public."
Damon couldn't fully take Little's words seriously, but he couldn't leave anything to chance. In a place he didn't know, he couldn't trust anyone. So he decided to take the old man's advice seriously.
Damon was now ready to leave. Little gave him a few supplies and some food. Damon's unknown journey was about to begin. Would he be able to find his family? He couldn't answer that even to himself. As he left Little's house, he said:
"Goodbye, old man. Thank you for everything. I hope I'll see you again someday."
Little gave a slight smile:
"I'm sure we'll meet again, son."
Damon walked away slowly. When he looked around, nothing was familiar. He had learned some truths—others were still mysteries. With a backpack on his shoulders and heavy steps, he slowly disappeared from sight.