Mihel turned back.
The sun was lazy in its ascent, still half-asleep beyond the rooftops, but the cold had no such hesitation.
It clung to his skin, sharp and deliberate.
He narrowed his eyes, scanning his surroundings.
He had felt it ever since he left his Skola.
A presence.
A breeze slipped past him, threading through the street and tossing his jet-black hair into his eyes.
And then, as if something had slid directly into his mind, a voice followed.
"Eyes forward. Move."
The pressure was immense. It pressed down on his chest, his spine, his thoughts. Mihel didn't question it.
His body obeyed before his mind could catch up. He turned and walked toward home, every step heavier than the last.
By the time he reached the front gate, sweat soaked his clothes despite the cold.
His breath came short and uneven. There was no doubt in his mind.
He had encountered someone of immense Destiny.
'But why would someone like that be interested in me?'
As he stepped inside, another thought struck him, colder than the morning air.
'Do they already know about my Fate's status?'
That fear lingered, gnawing at him as he moved deeper into the house. Yet another worry rose to meet it.
'How would he explain his Destiny to his parents?'
They were eager. Expectant.
"Come, Mimi," his mother Meria called cheerfully. "Eat this cubed cheese meat I prepared. Come, come, sit down and tell us. You're a Healer, right?"
She was practically glowing with excitement. His father entered the hall soon after and sat opposite Mihel, calm but attentive.
The red chimes near the window twinkled softly as morning light finally spilled into the room.
Mihel's throat tightened. "I… I don't want to keep this from you," he said, hands trembling slightly. "I'm being completely honest. Please believe me."
His parents exchanged a glance. His father spoke gently, concern edging his voice. "Did you not get Healer? It's fine, son. We would have preferred it, yes, but Fate does not rest with us common people."
Mihel bit his tongue. "It's not that, Father," he said.
"The truth is… I didn't get a Destiny." He told them everything. The revelation. The slate.
The silence where Fate should have been.
As the story unfolded, his parents' eyes widened, disbelief slowly replacing excitement.
"So you're saying…" Meria whispered, "your Slate says Destiny Not Found?"
Mihel nodded.
Nathene lowered his head into his hands, fingers pressing against his temples. He looked utterly lost, as if the world had shifted beneath him and left no footing behind.
-------------------------------------------------------
That day passed in near silence.
Mihel shut himself in his room, pulling book after book from the shelves.
History. Theology. Records of Fate.
Anything that might mention someone like him.
Nothing did. Until one passage caught his eye.
'The last king was said to have known a great secret about the world and the origins of Fate.'
Some historians believe he was silenced for this very reason.
Most dismissed it as controversy. Popular nonsense written to attract readers.
He kept reading.
The only other thing that stood out was a brief mention of the Fourth Period, describing how the construction of the Penta Exousia was to bury some ancient past that cannot be brought to light.
History in Gorgoda was intentionally muddled.
There was almost nothing recorded before the Fourth Period.
Mihel shut the book. He went downstairs, where the scent of cooking filled the air.
"Mihel," his mother called, "a letter came from Cilluh Mentor. Go speak with your father."
In the hall, Nathene sat reading the letter, sipping Tallow the thick, oily drink popular throughout Avra, made from the fat of animals.
He looked up and smiled faintly. "Son, me proud of you," he said. "See this letter? It says since you been a top student, the mentors could directly assign you to a military position in the Exousia. That's if you don't want to follow a specific church."
He paused, studying Mihel's face.
"What you think, son? Never mind our reaction before. We were just shocked"
Mihel hesitated.
Without a Destiny, there was nothing to guide his choice.
"I… I need time," he said finally.
Nathene nodded.
That night, Mihel decided he would speak with Riche. If anyone might understand, it was him.
He'd get the chance tomorrow, at 5:30 eos when they usually sparred for practice
-----------------------------------------------------------
Mihel woke early and watched the orange glow of the sun spill across the sky.
Every Saturday, without fail, they fought at 5:30 eos.
It was tradition.
He already knew his decision. Whatever Riche chose, he would follow.
They had never said it aloud, but everyone knew. They were inseparable. Where one lacked, the other compensated.
Together, they were far stronger than either alone.
Mihel pulled on his fur cloak and stepped outside.
His parents were already gone. As Healers of the Church, they left at 4 eos, though recently they'd been returning far later than usual.
When asked, they claimed to be working on a special cure. Mihel hadn't pressed further.
The dense forest between Skaria and Wahum served as their training ground.
Thick trunks and tangled roots made it perfect for traps, ambushes, and honing movement.
Riche was already waiting.
Mihel raised his open palm. Riche knocked on it firmly.
"Morning, Riche. I need to talk to you about something," Mihel said. "So after the fight, stay a bit longer, alright?"
Riche grinned. "No way. You backing out already with the 'important talk' excuse?"
Mihel sighed. "I clearly said after."
Riche laughed, tossing his head back. "Alright then. Three… two…"
"One."
They sprinted in opposite directions, vanishing into the forest.
As Mihel ran, he pulled strings and ropes from beneath his cloak.
He glanced at his wrist dial. 5:40 eos. The device caught sunlight and cast a precise shadow along its outer ring.
The real fight began at 5:45 eos. He had minutes.
Mihel worked fast, creating a square zone layered with traps. Strings tied to branches. Ropes looped around weighted logs.
If he could lure Riche into this area, the match was his.
He unsheathed his sword.
Chamynos Fios.
A gift from his grandfather, a Destined Bladesmith of Fotia.
Mihel had added the 'Fios' himself, binding the blade to his grandfather's name.
The hilt was bronze, set with three rubies. The blade itself was black, forged from cooled magma stone.
He swung it once, the weight familiar, grounding.
The sword was meant to resonate with one's Destiny, amplifying it.
'That turned out really helpful for me,' he thought dryly.
A howl split the forest.
Riche.
He always did that, claimed it helped him locate Mihel. The nearby villages probably thought a beast roamed the woods.
Mihel dropped a matchstick at his feet and ran toward the sound.
Moments later, he spotted Riche, twin cleavers Mundo and Mitad gleaming in his hands.
Riche turned, grinned, and charged.
The blade came down. Mihel sidestepped, slashing toward Riche's side.
The strike was blocked instantly.
Riche used the momentum to riposte, forcing Mihel back.
Mihel spun and fled deeper into the trees.
Riche hesitated only a heartbeat before giving chase.
'Perfect.'
Mihel led him straight into the trap zone. All that remained was to ignite the trigger wire.
A flash of silver cut past his face.
Pain bloomed along his cheek.
A throwing knife.
Mihel rolled, grabbed the fallen matchstick, and struck it against the rough strip bound to his forearm.
Flame leapt alive. He pressed it to the wire.
Behind him, Riche was closing in, unaware.
Mihel rose, blade ready.
Riche came from above.
They clashed, steel ringing through the trees. For three seconds they traded blows.
Then Riche feinted high and cut low, slicing Mihel's abdomen before driving a brutal kick into his gut. Mihel crashed into a tree.
'Damn. Definitely broke something,' he thought. 'But it's too late now.'
Riche approached, still inside the trap zone.
"Ha! That's two victories lead for me now. So what was it you wanted to—"
He stopped.
"…Why are you smiling?"
The net dropped. Riche was instantly tangled, crashing to the ground.
Mihel staggered forward and shoved him back.
"Three… two… one."
A log swung from the side, smashing into Riche.
"That's for the kick," Mihel said. "And we're even on wins."
After a moment, Mihel untangled the ropes. Riche sat in the mud, grinning.
"Mi, that was one of your best traps yet. I'll crack it next time though. Guess I got cocky."
He looked up. "So," Riche said,
"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"