Morning in the village always arrived with the same sounds the creak of wooden wheels, roosters crowing, and the whisper of wind carrying the scent of damp earth. But for Rinve, that morning felt different. Something had changed, though he didn't yet know what.
He sat in front of the house, watching his own shadow stretch across the ground. His body was still small, thin like any other village child. His arms were short, his fingers not yet fully strong. But his mind… his mind often felt too quiet for someone his age.
"Rinve."
Galor's voice came from behind.
Rinve turned quickly.
"Father."
Galor stood with his arms crossed, his gaze as usual calm, deep, and difficult to read. He was not a man of many words, but every word he spoke carried weight.
"Come here," Galor said.
Rinve stood and jogged over. The ground felt cold beneath his bare feet. Galor waited until Rinve stood directly in front of him, then crouched so their eyes were level.
"Today, we begin something new," Galor said.
"What is it?" Rinve asked innocently.
Galor paused, as if choosing his words carefully.
"Learning how to breathe properly."
Rinve frowned.
"Breathing?"
Galor nodded.
"Everyone breathes. But not everyone understands how."
The words sounded strange.even to Rinve. Still, he nodded.
They sat cross-legged in the yard. Galor taught him something simple inhale slowly, hold it for a moment, then exhale in a steady rhythm. No strength. No force. Only breath.
"Don't force it," Galor said.
"Just feel it."
Rinve closed his eyes.
And then it happened.something that made Galor unconsciously hold his own breath.
Rinve's breathing… was too perfect.
Unbroken. Unshaken. As if the small body had known this rhythm for a long time. Galor watched Rinve's chest rise and fall, steady almost flawless.
This… isn't normal, he thought.
But Galor said nothing.
The practice went on for a long time too long for a child. Yet Rinve didn't complain. He didn't fidget. When Galor finally stopped, Rinve opened his eyes, looking confused.
"Father," he said softly, "why does it feel… warm?"
Galor froze for a fraction of a second.
"That's just your imagination," he replied quickly. Too quickly.
Behind the door, Levane had been watching everything. Her hands clenched the edge of her apron, her eyes trembling slightly. She didn't know what Galor was teaching, but she knew one thing her child was not the same as other children.
Not better… just different.
By midday, Rinve accompanied his mother into the village. That was where the world began to reveal its true face.
He overheard adults talking—
about the northern kingdom, about knights who had passed through months ago, about another village destroyed by something they called "wild creatures." The words were never explained, but they were enough to plant seeds of unease.
"Mom," Rinve asked suddenly, "why are there knights?"
Levane smiled faintly. "To protect people."
"From what?"
Levane fell silent. Then she gently stroked Rinve's head.
"From things ordinary people can't fight."
The answer did not comfort him. It did the opposite.
In the afternoon, Ellara appeared again.
She stood beneath the old tree at the edge of the village, like a shadow that had chosen to be seen. Rinve noticed her first.
"Sister Ellara," he called.
Ellara turned. Her gray eyes lingered on Rinve too long. As if judging, not observing.
"You trained today," she said. It wasn't a question.
Rinve nodded. "Father taught me how to breathe."
Ellara smiled—a thin smile, hard to read.
"And you succeeded."
"It was just breathing."
"No," Ellara replied quietly.
"For some people, it is a doorway."
Rinve was about to ask more, but Ellara had already turned away.
"Save your questions," she said as she walked off.
"Some doors… should not be opened too early."
The words lingered in the air. And in Rinve's mind.
Night fell.
The village grew silent once more. Rinve lay in his bed, staring at the wooden ceiling. His body was tired, but his mind was not. There was something in his chest not pain, not heat more like a gentle pulse he couldn't explain.
Am I sick? he wondered.
He closed his eyes.
The pulse returned. This time, a little stronger.
Rinve didn't know that at the same moment, far beyond the village, something was moving. Not toward him yet. But the world itself had begun to adjust.
And without realizing it, the direction of Rinve's life had begun to split.
The pulse did not stop.
It came like small waves hitting a shore soft, repetitive, painless. Strangely, it kept Rinve awake. He opened his eyes and looked toward the small window beside his bed. Moonlight slipped in, cutting through the darkness of the room.
Rinve slowly sat up.
He placed a hand on his chest. His heartbeat felt normal. But beneath it… there was something else. Something that seemed to answer his breath.
He remembered the morning's training.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Rinve did it instinctively.
The pulse responded.
Not stronger but clearer.
"What is this…?" he whispered.
He didn't know that what he felt wasn't power awakening, but a key beginning to align. Like an old door long left closed, its hinges creaking softly when touched for the first time.
In another room, Galor awoke.
He sat upright, cold sweat on his temples. No dream. No sound. But his instincts honed by long experience screamed that something had shifted.
"Levane," he called quietly.
She stirred awake.
"What is it?"
Galor didn't answer immediately. He stared toward Rinve's room.
"Do you… feel it?"
Levane nodded hesitantly.
"It's like… the air has changed."
Galor exhaled slowly.
"That child… can't go on like this."
Levane clutched the blanket. "Are you afraid?"
Galor fell silent. For a long time.
"I'm afraid this world won't let him grow in peace."
In Rinve's room, the night grew even quieter. He lay back down, letting the sensation fade. His eyes closed, but his thoughts wandered.
Ellara's words echoed in his mind.
Some doors should not be opened too early.
"Am I opening a door…?" he whispered before drifting off.
The next morning, the village was shaken by troubling news.
A hunter from a neighboring village arrived with a pale face. He spoke of a massive shadow in the outer forest—something that moved unlike any animal. It didn't attack. It watched.
Whispers spread. Children were forbidden from wandering far. Adult men began carrying simple weapons.
Rinve heard everything.
Standing beside Galor, he watched the tense faces around him. There was a strange feeling in his chest not fear, not courage but a desire to understand.
"Father," he asked quietly,
"if something is watching… what should we do?"
Galor looked at him for a long moment, then answered honestly.
"You must know… whether you are prey. Or not."
The words left Rinve silent.
That day, the training changed.
No longer just wooden sword swings. Galor began teaching footwork, distance, and how to observe an opponent even when that opponent couldn't be seen.
"You're learning too fast," Galor muttered without realizing it.
Rinve smiled faintly.
"That's because you teach well, Father."
From afar, Levane felt a growing unease she couldn't explain. The child absorbed everything too quickly. As if the world itself was guiding him.
That afternoon, Ellara appeared again.
This time, closer.
She stood directly before Rinve, her gaze steady, unsmiling.
"You feel it, don't you?"
Rinve hesitated, then nodded. "I don't know what it is."
Ellara closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, fear was no longer hidden.
"That's why I'm here," she said softly.
"To make sure you're not alone… when the world starts paying attention to you."
"The world?" Rinve asked.
Ellara didn't answer. She only looked toward the forest where the shadow had been seen.
"From today on," she said, "never train alone."
Rinve wanted to ask more. But for the first time, he could feel it
not all answers were safe to hear.
When night fell again, the pulse returned.
Slightly stronger than before.
And far beyond the village, something finally decided to move.