Chapter 10: Dreams and Dawn
Twenty minutes had passed since the confrontation between Fulan and the bearded adventurer. The villagers, disappointed by the lack of a full-blown duel, had dispersed to their homes, muttering about wasted time. They had expected a fierce battle between seasoned warriors, but Fulan's intervention had turned the spectacle into something far less dramatic.
The bearded man remained kneeling on the ground, his axe still embedded in the dirt. His head was bowed, his shoulders heavy with unspoken regret. The blond swordsman approached him slowly, extending a hand.
"There's no point in staying here," he said softly, his voice carrying the warmth of a friendship that had endured years of trials.
The bearded man hesitated before looking up. The familiar smile on his friend's face—a smile he hadn't seen in years—stirred something deep within him. His fingers tightened around the offered hand, his voice trembling.
"I didn't know... I never knew…"
The swordsman's smile did not waver. "I know. I should have been honest with you from the beginning."
Meanwhile, 150 meters away, Fulan and Fayrouz sat in a merchant's cart, its wooden frame creaking as it rolled along the stone road toward the Kingdom of Saita. The night air was cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant pine. The merchant, a portly man with brown hair, guided the horses with practiced ease, his humming blending with the steady clip-clop of hooves against the road.
Fulan sat with his hands wrapped in Fayrouz's blue bandages, the pain in his burned palms a constant reminder of his reckless actions. Across from him, Fayrouz leaned back, gazing up at the star-filled sky. The silence stretched between them until she finally spoke, her voice calm but laced with criticism.
"Your way of helping them was... harsh. When I saw you fighting, I thought you had a good plan. But all you did was say what the blond swordsman couldn't bring himself to say all these years."
Fulan did not answer right away. His gaze remained on the sky, tracing the constellations.
"The truth, even if it's bitter, is better than a sweet lie," he said finally. "If he had been honest from the start, maybe that girl wouldn't have died."
Fayrouz exhaled softly. "Well, I don't really care about all that. What matters to me is staying healthy and reaching the academy on time. We'll arrive at the Kingdom of Saita in about six hours. You should get some sleep. That's what I'm going to do."
Fulan remained silent. He doubted he could sleep, not with the weight of the day pressing down on him. But as the cart rocked gently and the rhythmic sounds of the road filled the air, exhaustion settled over him. His eyelids grew heavy.
And then, he dreamed.
At first, it was nothing. Just a vast, empty space where time and sound did not exist. Then, from the void, fragments began to surface—shattered images, fleeting sensations.
A flash of red—a trembling hand reaching for him, slick with something warm. A sharp intake of breath. Shadows moving at the edge of his vision, whispering words he could not understand.
Then, a voice. Cold. Commanding.
"Their lives depend on you. If you fail to complete the mission within these three years, don't blame me for what I'll do to your clan."
The words coiled around his mind like iron chains, pressing down on his chest. The world shifted again. He was falling—weightless, spiraling through a sky without end. The wind roared in his ears, yet he could still hear another voice—softer, trembling with desperation.
"Don't listen to him, Fulan! I'd rather die than see you become a killer for our sake!"
The void fractured. Faces emerged—some blurred, others painfully clear. Familiar figures stood before him, their gazes heavy with unspoken words. Their lips did not move, but he could hear their thoughts as if they were being whispered directly into his mind.
Expectation. Judgment. Desperation.
Then, the cold voice returned, closer this time.
"Really? Are you speaking for yourself, or for the entire clan? Because their eyes tell me they'd gladly see him turn into a murderer if it means saving themselves. So, Fulan? Are you going or not..."
The weight of unseen hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him down—
A sharp knock.
"We're here."
Fulan's eyes snapped open. His body jolted slightly as the dream shattered, its remnants clinging to him like the last wisps of smoke after a fire. The scent of damp earth and hay filled his lungs, grounding him in the present. The wooden cart creaked to a stop. Outside, dawn stretched across the sky, bathing the world in soft gold.
The merchant stood beside the cart, waiting. Fayrouz stirred, blinking sleep from her blue eyes before stretching.
The dream lingered at the edges of his thoughts, too vivid to be discarded as a mere illusion. But there was no time to dwell on it now.
They had arrived.
The gates of the Kingdom of Saita towered before them, standing tall and unyielding. The massive stone walls stretched over twelve meters high, their surfaces etched with the stories of old battles and hard-won victories. At the entrance stood two knights clad in polished black armor, their presence exuding quiet authority. They were not simple guards, but graduates of Ragandarok Academy—the lowest rank of knights, yet leagues above ordinary soldiers.
The merchant exchanged words with them as they inspected his cargo. Their sharp eyes flickered toward Fulan and Fayrouz, but they said nothing. After a moment, one of them nodded, stepping aside.
As the cart rolled forward, the capital city unfolded before them. The streets pulsed with quiet life, even at this early hour. Buildings lined the paved roads, their walls a blend of brown and white, adorned with ivy and blooming flowers. Hanging lanterns of Menma-infused crystals cast a soft glow, their light steady and unwavering, untouched by the rising sun. The scent of fresh bread drifted from unseen bakeries, mingling with the crisp morning air.
Merchants set up their stalls, stretching as they arranged goods. Knights patrolled at a leisurely pace, their armor gleaming. Workers moved with practiced efficiency, their voices blending into the background hum of a city already awake.
Fulan took it all in, his mind still caught between reality and the dream that refused to fade. Beside him, Fayrouz walked with quiet confidence, her gaze sweeping over the city with curiosity.
They are now in the capital, Rona. But their journey was far from over. Ragandarok Academy awaited them, still hours away.
As the sun climbed higher, painting the sky in gold and crimson, Fulan exhaled slowly. Yet, even in the warmth of morning, he could not shake the cold grip of his dream.
A warning.
A reminder.
A mission that would not wait.