Galor never intended to train Rinve too early.
He knew the boy's body was still small. His bones were not fully hardened, his breathing not yet steady.
But the world rarely grants time to those destined to be different.
That morning, Galor stood in the yard with a wooden sword in hand. The air was still cold, dew clinging to the ground. Rinve stood before him, small feet planted firmly in the soil, back straight.
"Listen carefully," Galor said in a low voice.
"A sword is not a tool for victory. It is a tool for survival."
Rinve nodded.
He didn't ask why. He knew his father never spoke without reason.
"Hold it," Galor continued, handing him a shorter wooden sword.
"Don't resist force. Follow its flow."
Rinve grasped the sword.
And Galor knew immediately the grip was right.
Not stiff.
Not weak.
Precise.
This child…
Galor exhaled slowly, suppressing the feeling rising in his chest. Admiration was dangerous for a father in an unforgiving world.
The first training was not graceful.
Rinve fell again and again. His hands reddened, his knees stained with dirt. Yet he didn't cry. He didn't complain.
Every time he fell, he stood back up.
Every time he misstepped, he corrected himself.
Galor did not help him rise.
"You want to be strong?" Galor asked after Rinve fell for the fourth time.
"Yes," Rinve answered without hesitation.
"Why?"
Rinve was silent for a moment. Then he said softly,
"Because the world won't wait."
Galor closed his eyes briefly.
He didn't know where a child learned words like that.
But he knew this was no coincidence.
Day by day, training became routine.
Sword practice in the morning.
Breathing and balance at midday.
And at dusk, Levane taught Rinve to sit in stillness, to sense the subtle flow that could not be seen.
"Don't force it," Levane whispered with her eyes closed.
"Let it recognize you first."
Rinve followed her guidance.
And there.Levane felt it.
That flow… was too calm.
Not wild.
Not chaotic.
Like a deep lake untouched by wind.
Levane slowly opened her eyes.
This child… isn't just strong.
She didn't say it to Galor.
Not yet.
But not all eyes looked upon Rinve with ignorance.
One afternoon, as Rinve practiced his swings near the edge of the village, he felt something different.
Not danger.
Not threat.
A gaze.
He stopped.
Turned.
Behind the trees stood a young girl. Her hair was light, her eyes clear yet deep. She wasn't much older than Rinve perhaps a year or two.
She didn't smile.
She wasn't afraid.
She was simply… observing.
"Who are you?" Rinve asked.
The girl looked startled.
"You can sense me?"
Rinve frowned.
"You're standing there."
The girl fell silent. For the first time, her expression shifted.
"Strange," she murmured.
"You shouldn't be able to yet…"
She stopped herself.
"I'm Ellara," she said. "I was just passing through."
Rinve nodded.
"I'm Rinve."
They looked at each other.
And in that instant, Ellara felt her breath catch.
This is him.
She stepped back.
Her hands trembled. Her eyes never left Rinve not from fear, but from confirmation.
She used no tool.
Read no numbers.
Checked no system.
Her body knew.
The world she had seen since childhood a world of endless war and collapse trembled faintly before her.
"You…" Ellara's voice barely came out.
"You shouldn't be here."
Rinve tilted his head.
"This is my home."
Ellara bit her lip.
Not yet. But it will become the center of everything.
Galor called Rinve from afar.
Rinve glanced back, then returned his gaze to Ellara.
"Do you want to watch me train?"
Ellara hesitated.
Then nodded.
And as Rinve swung his sword again Ellara saw it.
Not technique.
Not strength.
Precision.
Every movement was clean. Nothing wasted. As if that small body already understood the shape of battle before ever experiencing it.
Ellara closed her eyes.
If he grows… the world won't be ready.
When the training ended, Galor noticed Ellara.
"Who is that child?" he asked warily.
"I'm Ellara," she replied politely.
"I was just passing through."
Galor studied her.
He sensed no malice. Yet his instincts remained uneasy.
"Leave before nightfall," he said at last.
Ellara nodded.
But before leaving, she looked at Rinve one more time.
A gaze far too heavy for a child.
That night, Rinve couldn't sleep.
Not from exhaustion.
But from the strange feeling left behind by that meeting.
She knew something.
He didn't know what.
But he was certain Ellara was no ordinary girl.
Outside, the wind whispered softly.
And deep within him, the seed pulsed a little stronger.
The night grew late.
The fire in the hearth dimmed, leaving only faint red embers. Galor sat cross-legged by the door, his sword resting against the wall. He didn't sleep. Since that afternoon, his instincts refused to allow it.
"That child…" he murmured.
Levane turned from the bed.
"Ellara?"
Galor nodded.
"There's something off. Not a threat. But not coincidence either."
Levane fell silent, looking at Rinve sleeping peacefully, his breathing steady, his face calm. It was hard to believe such a small child could become the source of adult unease.
"Rinve has drawn strange things since birth," Levane whispered.
"I thought I was just an overprotective mother."
Galor didn't answer.
He knew it was more than that.
On the other side of the village, Ellara sat alone atop a large stone, hugging her knees. The night wind tugged at her hair, yet she didn't move.
Her chest felt tight.
I found him too early…
Since childhood, Ellara had seen what others couldn't. Lines of possibility. Shadows of the future. A world destroyed by endless war.
And in every vision, there was always one empty point.
Something that should exist… but never appeared.
Until today.
Rinve filled that void.
Ellara pressed a hand to her chest, steadying her breath.
"If I'm wrong…" she murmured.
"If I misread this…"
But her body didn't lie.
She trembled not from fear of Rinve, but from fear of how the world would react to him.
The next morning, Galor trained Rinve harder.
Not cruelly but firmly.
"Again," he ordered when Rinve mismanaged his breathing.
Rinve nodded and repeated.
"Again."
The wooden sword cut through the air.
"Focus."
Rinve was sweating. His breath was heavy. Yet his eyes remained clear.
"Father," he said between movements.
"Is a sword always heavy?"
Galor frowned.
"Weight is relative. Why?"
"When I'm not angry… it feels lighter."
Galor froze.
He didn't answer.
He only said, "Remember that feeling."
Levane watched from afar.
Whenever Rinve focused, the air around him felt different. Invisible, yet present.like a gentle pressure that made leaves pause mid-motion.
He's holding something back…
Levane bit her lip.
As a mage, she knew one truth: power that is too calm is usually power that has been locked away.
That afternoon, Ellara returned.
She stood at the edge of the village, hesitant to step inside. But when she saw Rinve small, sweating, smiling faintly as his father corrected his stance her chest felt heavier.
He's still just a child…
Ellara stepped forward.
Rinve noticed her first.
"You came back," he said.
Ellara nodded softly.
"I wanted to make sure."
"Make sure of what?"
She glanced at Galor and Levane, then back at Rinve.
"That you're real."
Rinve smiled faintly.
"I'm here."
That simple answer nearly made Ellara lose control.
They sat beneath a tree.
Ellara watched Rinve's hands small, scraped, marked by training. No sign of overwhelming power. No visible aura.
And that was what frightened her most.
"Rinve," Ellara said quietly.
"If one day… the world asks you to choose… what will you do?"
Rinve thought for a moment.
"I don't know," he answered honestly.
"But I don't want people to cry."
Ellara closed her eyes.
That wasn't a hero's answer.
It was the answer of someone who would be forced to become more than he wished.
Galor called Rinve for the final training.
Ellara stood to leave. Before she did, she whispered,
"Be careful."
Rinve looked at her.
"You too."
Ellara smiled thinly.
"That's funny. I should be the one saying that."
Night fell again.
The village looked peaceful but beyond it, the world was beginning to move. Not fast. Not violently. But inevitably.
Rinve lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His thoughts were filled with Ellara's face, her words, the weight in her gaze.
I'm not an ordinary child…
He wasn't afraid.
But he didn't feel ready either.
In the silence, the warmth in his chest returned.
This time, it wasn't faint.
Not weak.
Like a second heartbeat.
And for the first time, Rinve felt something close to
An answer.
I will grow.
Outside the house, the wind stopped.
As if the world itself were holding its breath.
And inside Rinve
The seed pulsed just a little stronger.