The guards took the lifeless body of Renart and Sofiana to the king room.
"Hmmm, The legendary sword master Renart and the archmage Sofiana, HAHAHAHA." Kicks Renart head.
"Put their heads on spikes. Somewhere visible. I want the world to know."
"Yes you majesty." A soldier answered.
"Do you have anything to report?." The king asked, The armored giant. Despite Ashar escaping the warrior nodded in a no.
Cut to the present.
Ashar unconscious on a bed...
behind a thin curtain, voices whispered in argument.
The woman hissed, "I told you we shouldn't have brought him in! What if he's a murderer? Or cursed? What if he wakes up and slaughters us in our sleep?"
The man scoffed, "Did you see him? He looks like a noble's son. Smooth skin, clean nails, not clean but okay, hair shinier than our cooking pot! And that light–don't act like you didn't see it. It was divine. Divine! The whole field lit up in gold like the gods were throwing a festival just for us."
She folded her arms. "Exactly! Gods! Which means danger! You think the gods hand-deliver children for fun? And his clothes are completely drenched in blood. Something's wrong with this boy. He fell from the sky! The sky, Marlo!"
Marlo rubbed his hands together, eyes glinting. "Wrong or not, he's our golden ticket. We clean him up, feed him a bit, wait till he's awake and talking… then maybe we find out who's looking for him."
"Looking for him? You want to return him?" she said, stunned.
"No, no, no," Marlo smirked. "We wait until the reward posters start going up. You know how these noble types are. 'Oh no, our precious heir is missing!' Boom–ten thousand gold coins. We bring the boy in, bow a little, cry a bit, and retire rich."
She narrowed her eyes. "And what if there's no reward?"
Marlo shrugged. "Then we train him. Raise him like our own. Get him to lift sacks and herd goats."
A long silence.
"…you hate goats," she muttered.
"I hate being poor more," he snapped back.
They turned as Ashar stirred on the bed, his fingers twitching slightly, brows furrowing like someone gripped by a nightmare.
Marlo leaned in. "He's waking up."
His wife took a step back. "You first."
"Fine," Marlo said, straightening his shirt and forcing a warm, fatherly grin. "Time to greet our walking treasure chest."
Ashar woke screaming.
The couple jumped back behind the curtain.
The sound tore from Ashar's throat like something wild, something broken. He couldn't breathe. His lungs burned. His body shook.
He remembered.
His father's blood on the stone floor. His mother's voice breaking as she cast her final spell. Her body, cleaved in half. His father's head falling. The smile Renart gave him before stepping in front of that final strike.
Ashar clutched his chest, trembling.
"Please..." he whispered. "Please let it be a dream."
But it wasn't.
A presence. Breathing beside his thoughts.
"Ashar…." A voice. Not from the world around him, but inside him.
He froze.
"...Father?" Silence followed then–like a flicker in the dark–It spoke again.
"You're alive. That's all that matters right now."
Tears rolled down Ashar's cheeks. He didn't know whether to scream again or fall silent forever. The world had ended. Everything he loved had been ripped from him. And yet... something of it still remained.
A piece of his father.
Inside him.
Outside the curtain…
The woman hissed and grabbed her husband's arm.
"Did you hear that? He's talking to himself! I told you, he's cursed! Probably possessed! We're going to die in our sleep."
Marlo peeked through a crack in the curtain. "No, no wait! This is perfect! He's clearly a special child. Probably some half-god, soul-split, bloodline nonsense."
She gawked. "That's your solution? What if his soul bites yours in the middle of the night?!"
He waved her off. "Think about it! A boy who talks to ghosts? A golden light? We raise him, train him a bit, and boom, auction him off to some weird noble cult with deep pockets."
She slapped his arm. "You're not selling a haunted child, Marlo!"
He grinned. "I said auction. It's fancier."
She scowled "What should we do now? Go and talk to your haunted child."
Marlo stepped forward again only to step back behind the curtain once more.
"Why did you come back? Go and talk to him so we can earn money."
"He is crying." Marlo replied. Both of them clueless as to what they should be doing. Stood in their place clueless.
"Just make something good to eat if he eats something, maybe he will quiet down."
"Fine. I'll make stew. Spirits like stew, right?"
"Make extra. Just in case one of his voices is hungry too. don't want them to eat us instead."
The smell of garlic and onions soon filled the small home. The women grumbling the entire time, tossed chopped vegetables into a dented iron pot and stirred it with more frustration than love.
"I still say he's cursed," she muttered, "but if I/m going to die in my sleep, at least I won't do it hungry.
Marlo hovered nearby, trying to sneak a carrot. She slapped his hand away. "Don't touch it! It's not for you."
"But I'm starving!"
"Good. That's the taste of responsibility."
Behind the curtain, Ashar sat up slowly. His body was stiff, sore. But not too injured maybe it was Sofiana's doing. The cocoon of light she wrapped him in… maybe it had carried healing magic too. A mother's last protection for her child.
His throat burned. His chest felt split in half.
He winced. Renart could see. Could smell. Could feel everything Ashar felt.
A voice rang out–not through the room, but within his skull.
Calm. Firm. Familiar.
"You need to eat something," Renart said. "Get your strength back."
Ashar clenched the blanket in his hands, jaw tight.
He didn't answer.
Though only a soul, Renart still wore the shape he died with–face, voice, presence. Emotions rippled through him just as they once had in life.
A crack of anger surged from Renart's soul, echoing in Ashar's mind.
"Are you going to let your mother's death be in vain?" Renart snapped. "She gave everything to protect you. So did I. Don't waste it by lying in bed like a broken doll."
Ashar flinched. His breath caught in his throat.
Tears pooled in his eyes again.
"I didn't ask for this," he whispered aloud.
From the kitchen, Lina's ears perked. "He's talking to himself again."
"I told you," Marlo said. "He's not cursed, he's chosen. All the best money-making boys talk to themselves. It's probably prophecy."
"Or madness."
"Same thing, really."
Ashar ignored them. His fingers dug into his palms.
"I didn't ask to survive."
"No," Renart said. "But you did. And that means you carry us now. Me. Her. Everything. The pain proves you're still alive, Ashar. So use it."
Ashar stayed silent.
But he reached for the bowl when it arrived. Slowly. Quietly.
Lina handed it to him, eyes narrowed.
"It's hot. Don't spill it. If you burn yourself, I'm not cleaning you up and don't ask for seconds."
Ashar nodded.
"Thank you," he said softly.
Marlo leaned in from behind her, whispering like a child waiting for a secret.
"Is he glowing again?"
"No," she snapped. "But if he starts floating, I'm out."
Ashar didn't respond. He ate–slowly, but steadily. The food wasn't special. But it was warm.
And that was enough. For now.
The night passed.
And morning came, dragging sunlight across the floor like a lazy golden cat.
Marlo woke up screaming. "It's the golden light, did he start glowing again? are we rich now?."
Lina hit his head "It's morning light you idiot. Get up and feed the cows."
Ashar sat on the edge of their house outside, staring at his hands. They were steady now. But they didn't feel like his hands anymore.
"Still breathing," Lina grunted, walking past. "Good. No ghosts today."
Marlo peeked.
"Boy! Can you talk to gold? Or summon treasure? Maybe turn rocks into rubies?"
Ashar blinked. "…No."
Marlo deflated. "Useless." Then perked up. "What about healing? Can you fix backs? Knees? I've got a spot on my–"
"Marlo!" Lina yelled.
"What! I was just asking–he glowed like the sun!"
Ashar said nothing. But he could feel Renart stirring again inside him silent, and watching….
"They're fools," Renart muttered in Ashar's head. "But they've kept you alive. That's worth something."
Ashar stood slowly. His legs protested, but obeyed.
He stepped outside for the first time since waking.
The air was cool. Fresh. And the sun made his eyes ache.
But… it felt real. And after the nightmare of the castle, he needed something real.
Renart spoke "Where do you think we are?."
"I don't know."
"Ashar, do you know how many continents we have?."
"Yes I do. Mom had taught me. There are six continents in total."
He stared into the distance, remembering her voice as he spoke.
Elarion - Our homeland
A continent of balance between nature and mana, where kingdoms rise on magic and steel. Once home to Sofiana and Renart.
Vaelyra – The Eastern Archipelago
A continent made of floating islands, mist-covered seas, and sky temples. Known for wind magic, scholars, and deadly air beasts.,
Drokhmar – The Burning Wastes
A rugged land of volcanoes, ashlands, and iron cities. Home to fire-forged warriors and lava-born beasts.
Tessavelle – The Elven Realm
Overflowing with mana so dense, humans can barely survive it. Ruled by the Elves–ancient, proud, and hidden away."
Karnirath – The Frozen Crown
Covered in glaciers and ancient ruins. Its people are few but hardy, and legends speak of dragons sleeping beneath the ice to this day.
Zuharim – The Desert of Time
Endless sands, buried cities, and time magic. Home to nomadic clans, forgotten gods, and relics that can twist fate.
He paused, then added quietly,
"Each of them was named after the dragons who once ruled over those lands. The strongest of their kind. But even dragons... can fall to time."
Renart voice followed
"By the looks of it, we're still in Elarion. Maybe the outskirts. Possibly Vaelyra, if Sofiana flung you far enough."
A pause.
"Either way, you need to start training again. You need your strength. They might come looking for you."
Ashar clenched his hand. And moved toward the house.
Marlod grunted, straining like a dying donkey against the massive boulder stuck in the middle of his half-buried carrot patch. Veins popped in his neck, forehead. HIs faced turned red like a tomato.
"Move for heaven sake, MOVE!" he roared, pushing with all his might. The boulder didn't move an inch.
Ashar approached and spoke in a soft voice
"...Can I help?"
Marlo paused, panting like a broken bellows. He squinted at Ashar.
"You? What are you gonna do? Poke it you sadness? Or ask your ghost friends to move it? This thing weighs more than my wife's complaints."
Ashar blinked, unsure if that was meant to be a joke or a cry for help.
Still, he walked over, placed both hands on the boulder, and pushed it with all his strength. The boulder moved and Ashar looked at his hands, brows furrowed.
"...Too weak," he murmured.
Silence.
Marlo stared, jaw unhinged.
"…I loosened it for you," he muttered, standing up straight and dusting his hands like he'd done most of the work.
"Classic technique. You just gotta warm the rock up first. Let it fear you a little."
Ashar didn't reply. He was still staring at his hands.
Marlo leaned in, eyes wide. "You sure you're not a runaway royal or a farm god or something?"
From the house, his wife yelled, "If he's a farm god, tell him to bless the carrot next!"
Marlo groaned. "Great. Even the divine can't save me from chores."
Three Months Later
Life in the hills moved slow–like molasses poured in winter. But for Ashar, it was the first time in a long time that slowness didn't feel like a curse.
He trained in the woods every morning before dawn, pushing his body until his muscles screamed and the trees whispered in winded approval. Renart guided him from within–not always gently.
"Faster. Again. You think the Empire will wait while you catch your breath?"
By day, he worked with Marlo on the farm, hauling water, chopping wood, scaring off raccoons the size of goats, and trying to survive the wife's cooking experiments.
"You've got good hands for a noble runaway," Marlo said once, watching Ashar patch a fence.
"I'm not a noble," Ashar muttered.
"Ah. So you are a runaway," Marlo winked.
He didn't press further. That was the unspoken deal--they didn't ask, and Ashar didn't tell.
Evenings were quiet. Ashar sat outside watching the stars, often with a bowl of hot soup that somehow always tasted like garlic and judgment. Sometimes, he spoke aloud--just softly enough that only Renart could hear.
"I'm not ready yet."
"Then get ready."
The couple had grown used to his odd silences and long stares.
"I think he's part owl," the wife whispered once.
"Nah," Marlo said. "Owls don't shovel pig droppings that fast."
Despite their grumbling, Ashar became family. In their own way, they cared. They fed him. Gave him a roof. Never asked for more than what he gave.
And they didn't know it, but they'd helped save him.
One night, over burnt bread and barely-cooked stew, Marlo spoke with a mouth half full.
"Lina the Hollow Wolf been spotted again"
Ashar tried to listen there conversation.
His wife shivered. "Last month, it dragged off a trader's mule. They only found the hooves."
Marlo laughed nervously. "Bet it tastes like garlic soup too."
Ashar didn't laugh.
That night, Like usual Ashar went outside to wash the dishes,
He scrubbed mechanically, but his eyes kept drifting toward the tree line.
The forest was a black wall under the moonlight, still and watchful.
Then--he froze and stared at a single spot in the dark forest.
Something was there.
Not movement. Not sound. But presence.
He couldn't explain it, but he felt it. A pressure just beyond the trees, like a held breath waiting to exhale.
Ashar narrowed his eyes.
And in the dark between the branches, two faint glimmers hovered--eyes, wide and unblinking.
Something was staring back