The fireplace crackled softly inside the cabin, casting warm shadows across the weathered wooden walls. The scent of burning wood mingled with the air.
On the floor, books lay scattered over a thick fur rug — some stacked unstably, others left open amidst scribbles.
"Hey, Grandpa…" — a youthful voice broke the silence as he flipped through one of the volumes with restless hands.
A modest desk stood in the corner, before a window that mirrored the starry sky. Behind it, a man with long white hair sat in silence.
Leaning back in a sturdy chair, the firelight outlined his broad shoulders.
His long-sleeved shirt, open at the chest, barely concealed the still-apparent muscles beneath the cloth.
He was writing in a leather-bound journal — a curious contrast: large, calloused hands guiding a fountain pen with delicate precision.
"What is it, Luck? It's time to put the books away and get some sleep… did you forget tomorrow's an important day?" he asked, peering over thin spectacles.
"I know…" — the boy replied, rubbing his eyes — "but I was wondering… do you think I'll get a good attribute at the Decantation Ceremony?"
The old man placed the pen back in the inkwell, removed his glasses, and crossed his arms over the desk, watching his grandson with curiosity.
"A good attribute? And what exactly would a 'good' attribute be?"
Luck frowned, thoughtful.
"Something… strong. Something that makes people respect me. Maybe Fire… or Electricity. Or maybe Resonance, like you and Uncle Kaj."
"Or maybe…" — he added, his emerald eyes shining — "what if I'm one of those rare cases, with two attributes?
Or even one of the singularities, with three! Just imagine — I could cut through hordes of monsters alone… and reach the top of the five towers before anyone else."
The grandfather raised a brow, letting out a short laugh.
"Haha! That would be quite the feat. You really aim high, don't you, boy? But I doubt that's your case…"
"People like that are rarely right in the head. Especially the ones with three — insane bastards. And don't think they're invincible…"
"You… you've fought a triple attribute?" Luck asked, his eyes wide with reverence.
"Yes..." — The old man leaned back, his gaze drifting for a moment. — "But we're straying from the point."
He paused briefly, closing the book that lay open on the desk.
"What you need to understand, Luck, is that there's no such thing as a weak attribute. In the right hands, any of them are dangerous."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.
"Take me, for example. When I began my journey as a hunter, they used to say mine was impractical. Today… no one dares underestimate it. Some even fear it."
"Besides, being strong isn't about killing and conquering."
"It's about protecting… and building. I've slaughtered more monsters than I can remember, son. But true respect only came after I cultivated something greater than myself…"
"You mean… the Goldenback?"
"Indeed." — A faint smile formed. — "The guild will still stand long after I'm gone. Protecting lives, raising decent people. That… is my legacy."
"Legacy…" — Luck whispered.
The word still seemed too big to fit in the mouth of someone so young.
The old man studied him for a moment, then asked:
"You're smart. You must know the other name for the Ceremony, right?"
"Um… Ritual of Essence?"
"Exactly. Essence… is who you truly are. The rest is just noise. That's what the ritual will do to you: strip away the excess, the attributes that don't represent you."
"Tomorrow, don't worry about what others think. Or about what you hope to get."
"The ceremony won't turn you into someone else, Luck. You won't be given anything. What will happen… is that something already inside you will be revealed."
He paused, then added firmly:
"Now go to bed. Leave tomorrow's worries for tomorrow. Whatever it is… we'll find a way to make it work."
Luck only nodded. He said nothing — but his shoulders loosened slightly, though his eyes still carried a trace of unease.
He rose slowly, gathering the books scattered on the floor and returning them to the shelf in the corner.
Then, seized by a sudden impulse, the kid ran to his grandfather and threw his arms around him.
"Thank you, Grandpa. Good night."
"Good night, my Luck."
The boy hurried up the stairs, his footsteps fading until only the crackle of the fire remained.
The old man's eyes followed the boy to the top, then drifted toward the bookshelf across the room — its volumes carefully arranged by genre and in alphabetical order.
Alone again, he leaned back in the armchair, staring briefly at the fireplace.
"Fire, huh?… I don't think you're the type to burn things down, kid," he said with a half-smile tugging at his lips.
…
After a few moments, the old man reached toward the desk. With a firm twist, the key turned in the lock of the bottom drawer.
Inside rested a small box of dark wood, its polished finish immaculate.
On the lid, the carved symbol of an eye seemed to stare back at him.
"It's almost time…" he murmured, his thumb lingering on the engraving.