The village of nerou had no walls then, just fencing, training and a single man. Darius liosmane once a celebrated Myth rank in the walls of JunWin City. Since his Exile he has become a farmer on the outskirts village tending soil instead of steel.
Though his days of fighting are not over, this world was not friendly, even near the walls of JinWin City there are always enemies in this world.
Every night when the sun dropped behind the marsh hills, the mist always came crawling. Pale and quiet.
That's when Darius would stand on the outer ridge, hammer across his back, watching the fog ripple like it was thinking.
"The mana is restless tonight." His two boys, forever attached to his hip, would nod and act like they also know what's happening.
Dimiour was ten, sharp-eyed and far too observant for his age. Always reading. Always asking questions, always pushing the boundaries of how the village thought. The one word that defines him: Focus. Even as a child, Dimiour worked tirelessly to be mighty like his father.
Jah, on the other hand, was everything Dimiour wasn't—barefoot, wild-haired, and louder than the frog creatures at dusk.
He had no family name, only the one Darius had given him. Young Jah was caught spying on Dimiour's training, Darius being who he was instantly insisted he joined the class, the duo never looked back.
Where Dimiour thought, Jah moved. The two were opposites, yet inseparable—like fire and smoke they took off in unmistakable chemistry from day one.
Where dimiour used strategy and intellect to win Jah used unorthodox tactics and cunning to keep his foe under his manipulation style fighting.
One evening much like any other, both crouched in the grass beside Darius as he scanned the fog.
"Sense anything?" Darius asked without turning.
After a light ethereal hue from ground level Dimiour responds. "Nothing with mana"
"No frogeon"?
Dimioir takes a minute to answer his fathers question before taking out a notebook full of notes.
"None with enough mana to stand out"
Darius stood. "Back home now, we have left over grallok at camp."
The campfire crackled low when they returned. The smell of stew—herbs, salt, and wild game—wrapped the air.
Villagers laughed in the distance; children played with sticks, pretending to duel like soldiers.
"You two," Darius said, setting his hammer aside, "sword forms. Then food."
Jah groaned again. "Can't we eat first?"
"You fight better hungry," Darius said, ruffling his hair. "Teaches you to move through discomfort".