"Not every child is born to dream. Some only inherit scars."
The sky was a clear blue, the white clouds looked pure, and the green trees were soothing to the eyes.
The wind blew gently across the northern valley of the Kingdom of Elgrad. Grains of wheat swayed softly, and among the rows of vast fields, a young boy ran lightly, carrying a basket filled with vegetables. His smile was innocent. His voice was still untouched by complaints.
Those were the last days before everything changed.
My name is Minato Ascheveil.
Born to a poor farming family that couldn't even dream of having a sturdy roof. But back then… I still believed happiness could be bought with a piece of bread and a mother's embrace.
"Father will come home this evening. He said the harvest was accepted by the noble. Maybe we can eat better tonight," said Mother as she brushed my hair.
Her voice was gentle. Warm.
I didn't know that would be the last night I would hear her voice, because thoughts like that had never crossed my mind.
The Kingdom of Elgrad—my birthplace—was one of the many kingdoms on the continent of Altevaria. On the map, it resembled a spear plunged into the heart of the continent. But in reality... the kingdom was never that sharp.
To the north and east, the Kingdoms of Vyland and Desterra were heating up. The high foreign trade taxes imposed by Vyland crippled Desterra's economy. Relations between the kingdoms crumbled, and war became inevitable.
But that wasn't what sparked my personal hell.
In the south, Elgrad—my kingdom—was rotting.
The nobles lived in endless feasts, while the people starved. Corruption was no longer hidden. The law did not apply to those with noble bloodlines.
And the king… the king remained silent.
The people, growing angry, were met with whips. Those who resisted simply 'disappeared' in the night. Some villages had begun to secretly rebel. But they were only sparks. The fire of revolution was not yet ablaze.
That day, Father didn't come home.
Mother and I waited until nightfall. I was still holding a wooden bowl filled with potato soup that was never served.
When the door was finally knocked upon, it wasn't Father who came.
It was two men in light armor, wearing the emblem of a golden bird on their chests—the crest of the local noble family: Greinhold.
"Your father... hid part of the harvest," they said.
I knew they were lying.
They dragged Mother outside, not even letting her remove her worn apron. I followed.
The forest near the fields had witnessed many things, but this time… I wished I were blind.
Mother was forced to her knees. Father—his neck drenched in blood—was already lying lifeless.
"For lowly farmers like you, this is the punishment for forgetting your place."
And when the sword fell...
I saw the blood fly through the air, along with my hopes dying with it.
Since that night, I lost everything.
No home. No embrace. No warmth.
I ran into the forest.
Lived in a cave. Survived on roots and river water. My body rotted in the cold.
But… I was still alive.
I didn't know why. But in my mind, there was only one voice.
"Destroy them. All those who made the world this way."
They say revenge is a fire that burns everything.
But me…
I would turn it into fuel. To survive. To become strong enough.
And when I return to that land,
They will know—
Ashes never die.
They merely wait for the wind to ignite them once more.