"Paul's perspective."
There was nothing special about him.
That was the thought that lingered in my mind as I sat on the wooden porch of my house, watching him from a distance.
A gentle breeze passed through, rustling the trees and carrying the scent of earth and grass. My light brown hair swayed along with my worn-out cloak, the fabric dancing with the wind's playful touch. The day was peaceful—too peaceful for such troubling thoughts to weigh on me.
His physical prowess was lacking. His understanding of combat was shallow. His technical thinking was uninspired.
Every aspect of him fell below average.
There was no sign of talent in his stance, nor in the way he wielded his sword. His swings were slow, unrefined, and painfully predictable. It was as if he had never once considered the true meaning behind each motion.
And now, as if to solidify the weight of my doubts, I had come to learn that he possessed no mana.
No strength.
No talent.
No magic.
What was left for him, then?
I sighed, tearing my gaze away from the boy, and instead lifted my head toward the sky. The vast expanse of blue stretched endlessly, unmarred by clouds, its purity undisturbed.
A flawless sky.
"Thank you for this wonderful day, O Lord,".
A soft smile tugged at my lips for a brief moment.
But as soon as my eyes returned to the boy, that smile faded.
He was still training. Still swinging his sword with the same rigid, clumsy movements. Yet, despite his many shortcomings, he never once faltered. His body trembled with exhaustion, sweat dripped from his chin, but he followed my instructions without hesitation.
Every order I gave, he obeyed down to the smallest detail.
That was the one thing—the only thing—he had going for him.
But beyond that?
Nothing.
I closed my eyes and let out another breath. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.
Master Kaito… what am I supposed to do?
I clenched my fists, frustration bubbling beneath my calm exterior. Isn't he the one you prophesied about?
My master had never been wrong before. Not even once.
Then why—
I exhaled sharply and furrowed my brows.
No.
I refused to believe Master Kaito was mistaken. He couldn't be.
And so, I would put my faith in him.
Even if I couldn't yet see what lay ahead.
"Meow."
A soft, familiar cry reached my ears, pulling me from my thoughts. I turned my head to the right, and there he was—Loki.
The brown-gray striped cat walked toward me with the unmistakable confidence of a seasoned hunter. His tail swayed with each step, his fur gleaming in the midday sun. And in his mouth, hanging limp and motionless, was his latest trophy—a blue-colored rat. Its tiny body dangled from Loki's sharp fangs, its life already long gone.
Loki approached without hesitation and climbed onto my lap, tucking himself into the warmth of my cloak. He placed the lifeless rat beside me, as if proudly presenting a tribute.
Look at what I've done, he seemed to say. Look at my victory.
Purring softly, Loki curled into a ball, his exhaustion evident. He had spent the morning hunting, and now, with his duty fulfilled, sleep took him with ease.
I, on the other hand, did not have the same luxury.
Ding!
Ding!
The distant toll of the church bell echoed through the mountains, two rings signaling the arrival of midday. The same sound that had rung for years, marking the passing of time as if nothing had changed.
But for me, so much had.
Whenever the bells rang twice, it meant it was time to take a break and eat lunch. That tradition hadn't changed either.
"Finish your drill, and then we'll have lunch!" I called out.
Across the field, the boy named Tatsuya was still in the middle of his training. He was covered in sweat. He shot me a thumbs-up in response, his breath heavy but steady.
"You're doing great, Aaron—"
The name slipped from my lips before I could catch it.
A moment of silence followed.
Tatsuya didn't react. Either he hadn't heard it, or he had chosen not to acknowledge it.
I, however, couldn't ignore it.
"Aaron…" I whispered the name again, slower this time, as if speaking it aloud would make it feel less foreign.
I lowered my gaze to Loki, resting peacefully on my lap. My fingers absentmindedly ran through his fur, and as I did, a memory came unbidden, forcing its way into my mind.
"I hate you! I'm leaving!"
My breath hitched.
I looked down, my eyes tracing the uneven cracks in the rocky ground beneath my boots.
I know it was my fault.
I should have gone with her.
Rebecca…
Rebecca, my wife.
She had been the strongest mage in the entire country of Aluria, feared and revered in equal measure. She had slain countless monsters, stood victorious in countless battles, and fought in wars that shook the very foundation of the land. Wherever she walked, the earth trembled beneath her feet.
She was the Beautiful Mage of Hell.
A woman so powerful, she could decimate an entire army with a single spell. A force of nature that made kings bow and cities surrender before a fight could even begin.
And yet…
She died.
She died like anyone else. Like a mere human.
The King of Deity, cruel and calculating, had known exactly what Rebecca was capable of. He had taken full advantage of her power, sending her on mission after mission, battle after battle, using her like a living weapon. And Aaron—our son—had seen it for what it was.
Aaron, stubborn and righteous, had always protested. He had stood before the king himself, demanding that soldiers be sent to fight alongside her. That she be given support. That she not be treated as if she were disposable.
But the king had refused.
And then it happened.
She was sent alone once more—not to crush an army, not to subjugate a city, but to slay a mere monster.
A single beast lurking in the depths of the forest.
A creature so insignificant that a group of guards had nearly slain it before she even arrived.
It wasn't supposed to be dangerous.
She wasn't supposed to die.
But she did.
She never returned.
I should have gone with her.
I could have gone with her.
And yet, my own slothfulness held me back.
"The monster is so weak a simple novice spell could blow it away." That was what they said.
And I believed them.
So I let her go.
I told myself she didn't need me. That she never had.
But when they brought back her lifeless body, when I saw the woman I had loved reduced to nothing more than a cold, unmoving corpse, the weight of my failure crashed down upon me with all the force of the heavens themselves.
Aaron had been right.
He had been right.
And I…
I had let her die.
No amount of magic, no amount of strength, no amount of regret could ever undo what had happened.
The woman who had once stood as an unshakable force, a legend in her own right, had been struck down by something so small, so insignificant—
And I hadn't been there.
I clenched my fists.
It was one of the greatest regrets of my entire life.
Part 2
I returned my focus to the boy in front of me.
Tatsuya Fukushu.
His breathing was ragged, his grip unsteady, but even so, he refused to stop. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself forward, forcing out one final swing, then another, and another, as if sheer determination alone could compensate for his weaknesses. The way his body trembled with exhaustion was painful to watch.
Yet, he never once allowed himself to collapse.
His brown hair clung to his sweat-soaked face, sticking to his forehead as he struggled to complete the last of his drills.
Brown hair…
Medium-length, unkempt, stubbornly wild even when neatly combed.
Just like his.
I lowered my gaze.
Aaron…
My son.
Aaron had been similar to Tatsuya in many ways—hardworking, loyal, determined to a fault. But there was a difference.
Aaron had talent.
He was gifted with the sword, a natural-born warrior. He had inherited that skill from his father, just as easily as one inherits the color of their eyes or the shape of their nose. It had always come effortlessly to him.
Magic, however, had never been his strong suit.
And yet, even with that flaw, he had been strong. Strong enough to fight. Strong enough to stand his ground against anyone.
But all that strength couldn't stop what happened that day.
After our argument, Aaron left home.
I never saw him again.
I didn't know where he had gone. I didn't know if he was safe.
All I could do was hope.
Hope that he was out there somewhere, still alive. Still standing.
Even if I had no right to hope for anything.
I exhaled softly and turned my attention back to Tatsuya.
It was something I had noticed early on—something that unsettled me more than I cared to admit.
Tatsuya Fukushu did not trust me.
Not in the slightest.
It was in the way he looked at me—no, in the way he refused to look at me directly. His eyes always drifted elsewhere, as if searching for a way out, an escape route he could take the moment he decided I wasn't worth the risk. It was as if he was constantly waiting for me to betray him.
I thought to myself, This is my punishment.
My punishment for the mistakes I made.
For failing Rebecca.
For failing Aaron.
For standing still while the people I loved walked away.
If trust was something I had lost, then trust was something I would have to earn.
And so, I prayed.
I prayed to God, again and again, for guidance.
Show me the way.
Give me the chance to fix what I've broken.
Let me make him trust me.
And for some reason… somewhere along the way, it worked.
I didn't know when exactly it happened.
Maybe it was when I bought him that kimono.
It had suited him well—the fabric light against his frame, the soft colors matching the expression he often tried to hide from the world. He hadn't said much when I gave it to him, but there had been a flicker of something in his eyes.
Something almost… vulnerable.
Or maybe it had been something else entirely.
I didn't know.
All I knew was that, somehow, the distance between us had lessened.
And so, with all the sincerity left in my heart, I offered a quiet prayer of gratitude.
Thank you, my Lord, for answering me.
Part 3
The scent of sizzling meat filled the small cabin, a rich aroma mingling with the faint crackling of firewood.
I turned the skewer slowly, watching as the fat dripped onto the hot iron pan, sending up a satisfying sizzle. The fresh herbs I had gathered earlier were crushed between my fingers before being sprinkled over the meat, their fragrance deepening the warmth of the meal.
Cooking was something I had grown used to over the years.
Once upon a time, Rebecca had been the one to handle it. I had never needed to lift a finger when she was around.
But after losing her…
After losing Aaron…
There had been no one left to do it but me.
I exhaled softly and reached for the wooden plates, setting them carefully on the worn table. The stew I had prepared earlier was still hot, the broth rich with vegetables and spices. A simple meal, but one that would be filling after a long day of training.
"That should do it," I muttered, wiping my hands on a cloth.
Tatsuya should be back soon.
After finishing his training for the day, I had sent him to the hot springs to wash up. It had become somewhat of a routine—a moment of respite after the endless drills and exercises I put him through.
But as I stepped toward the door, intending to call out to him—
I froze.
The cabin was silent.
Too silent.
Even the faintest sounds of movement—footsteps shifting, the rustling of clothes, the quiet breathing of someone nearby—were missing.
Tatsuya wasn't here.
A cold feeling settled in my gut.
I stepped outside, glancing toward the direction of the hot springs. Steam rose gently in the distance, curling through the cool evening air. The springs themselves weren't far from the cabin. If he had still been there, I would have heard at least something. The splash of water. The shuffle of footsteps. The sound of cloth being draped over the wooden railing.
But there was nothing.
A sense of unease crawled up my spine.
Where had he gone?
Tatsuya wasn't the type to wander. If anything, he was overly cautious, always keeping to the safest path, always keeping his guard up.
And yet—
He wasn't here.
My fingers tightened into a fist.
It was probably nothing.
Maybe he had gone to relieve himself somewhere in the trees. Maybe he had stepped away for just a moment.
But even as I tried to rationalize it, the unease didn't leave me.
The last time I let someone leave my sight…
I never saw them again.
A sharp wind rustled through the trees, cold against my skin.
I retuned to the cabin and sat down at the table, steam rising from the plates in front of me.
I was tapping my feet against the ground.
I tried to calm myself, to tell myself it was nothing. Tatsuya was probably just caught up in something trivial.
But even as the words formed in my mind, the discomfort in my heart didn't dissipate.
A moment later Tatsuya emerged from the door, his silhouette framed by the fading light of the day.
He slowly opened the door, as though he had been deep in thought during his walk.
In his hands, he carried a small bundle, wrapped carefully in worn cloth, tied with a simple piece of string.
At first, I didn't know what to make of it.
But then, as he came closer, something about the way he held it—so carefully, almost reverently—reminded me of the small trinkets Aaron used to bring back whenever he traveled.
Tatsuya stopped in front of the table.
His usual guarded expression was softened just slightly, as if he had made some kind of decision.
Without a word, he held the bundle out to me.
I hesitated, reaching out slowly, uncertain of what I was about to receive. As my fingers brushed the cloth, I felt something solid beneath the wrapping.
I unwrapped it carefully, not wanting to damage whatever lay hidden inside.
It was a small, beautifully crafted wooden carving—a sword, though miniature in size, made with remarkable detail.
The blade gleamed with a faint luster, despite its wooden composition.
The hilt was wrapped in leather and on the pommel, a faint symbol I recognized all too well—a diamond with a Z shaped in it.
I once gave Aaron a pendant with the same symbol like that.
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry, and I tried to mask the emotions flooding through me. "Where did you find this?" I asked, not trusting myself to say anything more.
Tatsuya shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting to the ground, then back to me. "It's… something I've been working on. A gift, the symbol I saw on the hilt of the sword you gave me and in the old history book."
"So I thought, maybe was is important to you in some way?"
There was a long, drawn-out pause. The kind of silence that spoke volumes in its absence. His words, simple as they were, carried weight. He hadn't just carved this sword—he had thought of me.
There was a long, drawn-out pause. The kind of silence that spoke volumes in its absence. His words, simple as they were, carried weight. He hadn't just carved this sword—he had thought of me. Of us. Of the history between us.
Tatsuya, the boy who had once avoided me at all costs, was offering me something that could not be more meaningful.
I looked down at the small carving in my hands, the memories of Aaron flooding back in waves. The feeling of a father's pride, mixed with a heart-wrenching sense of longing.
Tatsuya didn't say anything else. He didn't need to. The message had been clear in his actions, even if he couldn't say it aloud.
I could feel my heart heavy in my chest, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. But I forced the emotions down, swallowing them back.
Tatsuya sat down at the table and took a big bite out of the skewer.
His face lightened up with happiness, he always looks the happiest when ever we are eating.
Does he like my food that much?
"Thank you." I said to him.
He looked up from his plate and gave a big smile.
I watched him quietly as he finished his meal.
"Tatsuya." My voice more firm and catching his attention. "What unseen truth binds every warrior, no matter how strong?"
I decided to ask the question again, I judged that now he was ready to give me the right answer.
A frown appeared on his face but it quickly disappeared.
With an understanding look he opened his mouth.