The village of Korazu woke with the first breath of dawn. The sun had yet to touch the peaks of the mountains that stood like ancient sentinels around the forest's edge, but the sounds of life had already begun to echo through its narrow, winding paths. A cart creaked over gravel, chickens clucked behind wooden fences, and the smell of baking flatbread drifted from the stone ovens.
To most, it was another day in the cycle—work, eat, rest, repeat.
But not for Reivo.
He stood on the edge of the forest again, where trees grew taller than any house in Korazu, where the air was cooler, damp with the dew of early morning. His wooden sword hung loosely in his hand, carved with a dragon spiraling from hilt to tip, the work of his father's careful hands.
His green eyes shimmered with reflected sunlight breaking through the canopy.
"Phantom Step!" he shouted, lunging forward, boots thudding against the moss-covered ground. He twisted, ducked beneath an imagined claw, and spun to strike back.
"Dragon Slash!"
The sword cracked against a tree trunk. The vibration ran up his arm, but Reivo only grinned.
There were no real monsters here—not yet. Just birds, wind, and the far-off rustling of squirrels leaping between branches. Still, in his mind, this was the edge of the unknown. A frontier.
"Again?" came a soft voice.
Reivo turned to see Mira, his younger sister, sitting cross-legged on a nearby rock, a half-eaten apple in her lap and her wide brown eyes fixed on him. Senn, the youngest, was curled up next to her, dozing softly.
"Always," Reivo said with a grin. "How else am I going to beat a five-star dungeon?"
"You're not even Level One," she teased, sticking her tongue out.
He dropped to the ground beside her, catching his breath. "Not yet."
Mira tilted her head. "Do you really think the Will of the World will choose you?"
Reivo looked up at the forest canopy, eyes trailing the shafts of light filtering through. "I think... I want to know why it chooses anyone. Why some people get powerful classes, and others stay here forever. Why there are monsters at all. Why dungeons appear. Don't you ever wonder?"
Mira bit her lip. "No. I just want to stay safe. I don't want to end up like the people in your book."
He pulled the worn, leather-bound tome from his satchel and placed it gently between them. The cover was scarred, and the title long faded, but the stories inside were alive.
"I don't want to end like them," Reivo said. "But I want to become something. I want to see what's out there. Past the trees. Past the mountains."
Mira was silent for a long time. Then she handed him the rest of her apple.
"Don't take too long out here," she whispered. "Mom's making root stew."
He smiled, pocketing the fruit, and watched as she gently shook Senn awake and led him back toward the village. He sat there for a while after they'd gone, staring into the darkened woods.
Every rustle, every snap of a twig in the distance set his imagination on fire. He imagined goblins in the underbrush, their green skin slick with dew, whispering in their guttural tongue. He pictured shadow beasts moving between trees, watching him, testing his courage. But none ever came. Only the quiet patience of the forest answered him.
With a sigh, Reivo stood up, brushing dirt from his trousers. The wooden sword he slung over his back with a strip of leather tied crudely to act as a harness. As he made his way back toward the village, the forest slowly gave way to open fields and scattered fences, smoke trailing up into the sky from hearths that had already begun preparing for the midday meal.
Korazu came into view like an old painting—worn, familiar, and full of life.
Stone cottages with moss-covered roofs lined the winding paths. People moved slowly, methodically. An old woman tossed grain to clucking hens, while a few boys around Reivo's age chopped firewood under the stern gaze of the blacksmith's apprentice. The clang of hammer on steel echoed from the forge at the center of town, mingling with the lazy hum of bees near flowering herb gardens.
"Oi, Reivo!" called a voice.
He turned to see Joren, the baker's son, waving from the doorway of their family's modest shop. The scent of fresh bread rolled out with him.
"Back from slaying dragons already?"
Reivo chuckled and walked over. "Only three this time. Had to let the fourth go—he begged for mercy."
Joren laughed, tossing a small round loaf at him. Reivo caught it clumsily, blinking in surprise.
"On the house," Joren said with a wink. "My mom says you eat like a starving wolf, anyway."
"Thanks!" Reivo broke off a piece of the warm bread and popped it into his mouth. "Tell your mom she's a hero."
"She already knows."
They exchanged a few more jokes before Reivo continued on his way. He passed the herbalist's hut where his mother worked, the familiar scent of mint and crushed sage floating through the open window. He paused, considering stepping inside, but figured she'd be busy preparing poultices or drying leaves.
He could see her in his mind: sleeves rolled up, hair tied in a loose braid, humming softly as she ground herbs with practiced hands. She always had a way of bringing calm wherever she went, even when Senn was screaming and Mira was asking a hundred questions.
Instead, Reivo veered toward the small, secluded grove behind their home, where a narrow stream trickled over polished stones. He sat down near the water, tearing off another piece of the bread and dipping it in. The cold water made it tougher, but he liked it that way. He stared at the reflection of the trees, the rippling light, the way the breeze carried petals from a nearby flowering bush.
He didn't realize how long he sat there until a voice cut through the quiet.
"Dreaming again?"
It was his father. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a beard that had more gray in it than last year. He had a woodcutter's build—powerful arms, calloused hands—but his eyes were gentle, the same shade of green as Reivo's.
Reivo looked up and shrugged. "Just thinking."
His father walked over and sat beside him with a grunt, the old leather of his boots creaking. "About monsters again?"
"And the Will. And the dungeons. And... everything."
His father was silent for a moment. "You've always looked further than most."
"That a bad thing?"
"No. But it can be dangerous."
Reivo picked at the crust of the bread. "Why? Because I'll get hurt?"
His father turned his gaze to the stream. "No, because sometimes the world answers back. And it doesn't always do so kindly."
They sat in silence after that. The birds chirped, the wind rustled through the trees, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
"I want to be ready," Reivo said quietly.
"You will be," his father replied. "But don't let the world steal your heart before you have a chance to give it. Not all strength comes from swords and skill windows."
Reivo nodded, though he only half understood. His father ruffled his hair before standing up.
"Come on, your mother's waiting. Stew's almost ready. And Mira already tried to sneak a bite. Again."
They walked back together, the setting sun casting long shadows across the village paths. The lanterns were being lit, one by one, flickering with soft golden light. It painted the cottages in warm hues and made the village feel like a place untouched by time.
As they reached their home, Reivo caught sight of his mother through the window, smiling as she stirred the pot. Mira was helping slice herbs, her tiny hands precise, while Senn sat on the floor, chewing on a wooden spoon.
Reivo paused at the door, just for a moment, to take it all in.
This peace. This warmth. This quiet moment in a world that didn't promise many.
He didn't know what the future would bring. What monsters might crawl out from the dark. What kind of person he would become.
But for now, Korazu was still whole.
And that was enough.