1989, St. Augustine's Orphanage, London
Early in the morning, the sun was still hidden behind a pale horizon. The air in the yard was cool and damp, filled with the scent of dew.
A boy stood barefoot on the grass, swinging a wooden stick in his hand. It was crude, one end thick and the other unevenly tapered, but in his grip, it moved with an orderly smoothness.
Slash!
Thrust!
Cleave!
Each swing seemed to slice through the air, producing a crisp, hissing sound. His footwork was equally impressive, every step flowing smoothly into the next, resembling a graceful dance.
The sun gradually broke through the morning clouds. Sunlight poured onto the ground, causing the damp grass to glow softly. The boy's figure continued moving around the yard.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps came from the building behind him, followed by a burst of laughter. Soon, a group of children spilled into the ground-floor corridor. One of the boys immediately spotted the lone figure in the distance.
"Oh, that weirdo's at it again. Dancing with a stick," he sneered mockingly, pointing in Merlin's direction.
A girl cupped her hands to her mouth. "How long has he been at it now? A year? I heard the older kids saying he's practicing to be a scarecrow. If he keeps this up, I think he might actually succeed one day."
Their laughter rang through the corridor. After a few more mocking remarks, the group strode off toward the cafeteria.
From start to finish, Merlin showed no reaction to their mockery, his movements never faltering. His ashen-brown hair clung damply to his forehead, and his emerald-green eyes held a distant, dazed look, as if lost in another world.
And in truth… he was.
What his eyes saw, the others could not. What his ears heard, no one else could hear. His body remained in the yard of St. Augustine's Orphanage, but his mind… his mind had already wandered off somewhere else.
...
Ivory Village, Aerion Kingdom
"You can stop now," said a firm voice.
Merlin stopped and looked up to see that the world around him had changed. The stick in his hands had become a real sword.
He was no longer in the orphanage. Instead, he stood in a broad garden lined with bare trees, the ground hard-packed and frosted at the edges.
A cluster of houses lay further down the slope, their chimneys puffing thin trails of smoke into the gray sky. Behind him rose his own home: a sturdy, two-story house built of timber and stone.
The air was sharp with winter cold, sending shivers through his sweat-soaked body.
A tall, broad man with short brown hair and pitch-black eyes stood a few paces away. He had a trimmed beard and wore a padded gambeson beneath simple steel plates—light training armor.
"That's enough for today," Albert said, his gaze filled with satisfaction.
"But Father, I can keep going," someone beside Merlin protested.
Merlin turned to see his brother, Ralph, wearing a discontented look. He had their father's black eyes and the same brown hair.
Two years older than Merlin, Ralph stood a full head taller than him, and his sturdy build looked nothing like that of a normal thirteen-year-old.
Even after an hour of sword practice, he showed no trace of fatigue—not even a drop of sweat. His posture remained perfectly upright, like a sturdy pine tree.
Merlin looked down at his own trembling hands clutching the sword and muttered under his breath,
"What a brute…"
Perhaps he spoke too loudly, or perhaps Ralph's ears were simply too sharp. Either way, his brother's face twisted into a scowl. "Who are you calling a brute, you scrawny shrimp?"
Merlin spread his hands and spoke calmly, as if stating a simple fact. "Of course I'm calling you a brute—who else is here? And I'm neither scrawny nor a shrimp. I'm perfectly normal for my age. You're the abnormal one."
"You little—" Ralph's knuckles whitened around his hilt as he stepped forward, his voice dropping dangerously low. "Are you looking for a beating?"
Merlin smirked, unfazed. "If that's what you want, by all means, try. But you'd only be proving my point."
Albert watched his two sons bicker back and forth and could only shake his head helplessly. Ralph really needed to control that temper of his; being so easily provoked by mere words could be fatal at a critical moment if he wanted to be an adventurer. He didn't want his son to lose his life over such a small mistake.
Merlin's tongue was also getting too sharp lately.
Still, Albert had no real solution for this. Maybe this was simply how the gods thought of balancing things out, because he had realized very early on that both his sons were prodigies.
Ralph wasn't the brightest mind in the room, but his remarkable endurance and near-monstrous stamina gave him plenty of room to grow. On the path of the knight, given enough time, Albert had no doubt his eldest would surpass him one day.
Merlin's strength, on the other hand, lay in his mind. Ever since he began speaking, the boy had shown maturity and intelligence far beyond his years, mastering in months what took others years to learn. He possessed a tireless curiosity and an unrelenting thirst for knowledge.
His progress in swordsmanship was equally astounding. Despite Ralph's two-year head start, Merlin had caught up in just six months. Now, aside from the physical difference imposed by age, his form and technique were nearly identical to his brother's.
Albert's lips curved into a faint smile tinged with regret. He would have made a fine knight, but it was a pity. Having inherited his mother's talent, Merlin was destined to be a mage—just like her.
"That's enough, you two," he said at last, stepping between them before things escalated further. "I have an announcement to make."
He continued once he confirmed he had both of their attention. "We won't be practicing swordsmanship anymore. Both your forms and techniques are already near perfect."
Merlin blinked, lowering his sword, while Ralph frowned.
Albert's gaze fell on his younger son first. "Starting tomorrow, you'll begin learning magic from your mother."
Merlin froze. For a moment, the words didn't register. Then his eyes lit up, almost overflowing with excitement!
"As for you, Ralph," Albert continued, turning to his elder son, "you'll be training with me. I'll make sure you get enough real combat experience. If you can meet my standards, I'll let you register as an adventurer. That's what you've been wanting, isn't it?"
"Father—really!?" he blurted out. His irritation vanished, replaced by a broad grin.
Albert let out a small laugh. "Enjoy it while it lasts. That smile won't stay there for long."
He sheathed his sword and adjusted his gambeson. "Now, I have to report to the village hall. You two should head inside—your mother will have breakfast ready by now."
After wishing him a good day at work, the brothers watched Albert stride off toward the center of the village before turning back toward the house.
Inside, the home was modest yet cozy, with a crackling fireplace to ward off the winter chill, plush armchairs, and warm wooden walls. The faint crackle of firewood came from the hearth, its glow spilling into the tidy kitchen.
Their mother, Elena, stood by the counter, a lock of golden hair slipping from her braid as she bent over a pan. The morning light streaming through the window caught in her emerald eyes, making them glimmer like polished jade. She glanced up as the door opened, her lips curving into a gentle smile.
"You're back," she said, setting the spatula down. "Go wash up. Breakfast will be on the table in just a moment."
"Yes, Mother," Merlin replied obediently, already unlacing his boots by the doorway.
Ralph, however, smirked and darted past him. "Last one to the washbasin is a lazy slug!" he shouted, bounding upstairs toward the bathroom.
Merlin rolled his eyes at the childish provocation. Honestly… where does he get that enthusiasm?
Running again after an entire morning of drills? Merlin would be crazy to do that. He didn't have a monstrous constitution like Ralph.
Moreover, he was a perfectly sane and rational person who just happened to have an entire lifetime of experience rattling around in his head. It would be a joke if he got provoked by something like this.
With that thought, he straightened his back and walked calmly up the stairs at his own pace, ignoring the distant sound of Ralph's triumphant laughter from above.
...
At that very same time, in the yard of St. Augustine's Orphanage, the other Merlin had already set aside his stick and was wiping the sweat from his face with a handkerchief.
His muscles still trembled faintly from the constant motions. Exhaling deeply, he folded the cloth, slipped it into his pocket, turned on his heel, and quietly made his way toward the cafeteria for breakfast.