4000 Years Ago

  The land of Zephyria was still trying to recover after the catastrophic war that had ravaged nearly everything it touched. Once lush plains were now cracked and barren. Forests that once hummed with life had burned into fields of black ash. Even the skies above the land were stained with a lingering haze, as if the world itself had not yet finished mourning. Of all the lands scarred by the conflict, Zephyria had taken the worst of it. Villages flattened, kingdoms shaken, and countless families torn apart.

  But Zephyria was stubborn. Bit by bit, its people were rebuilding their homes, reforging their tools, and trying to reclaim the life that war had stolen from them. At one of the four great kingdoms—Kingdom Malvia—life was beginning to resemble something normal again. Yet even during this slow return to peace, troubling signs were approaching.

  Kingdom Malvia

  Inside a modest shop on a quiet street, an elderly man wandered between shelves stacked with grains, cloth, herbs, and simple household tools. His wrinkled hands moved with caution, selecting each item with the practiced patience of someone who had lived through more disasters than he cared to count. Walking beside him was his grandson, Tamashi, a boy of fourteen with dark hair and thoughtful eyes.

  “Tamashi dear, could you carry the bag?” the old man asked gently.

  “Okay, Grandpa,” Tamashi replied. He lifted the bag carefully and followed his grandfather out of the shop.

  For a few moments, they walked in silence. The street was lively—people chatting, merchants calling out, children running past with laughter that seemed almost too bright for a land recently scarred by war.

  Then Tamashi spoke. “Grandpa… you’re not having any more visions, right?”

  The old man paused for a heartbeat, then sighed. “Visions? No. I haven’t felt anything since the war ended. Why do you ask, Tamashi dear?”

  Tamashi kept his eyes forward. “I just… wanted to know. If you get another vision, you’ll have to go back to the capital. And then I won’t see you again for a long time.”

  A soft chuckle escaped the old man. “You miss me that much? That warms my heart.” His voice remained calm, but there was a tenderness beneath it. “But you know I must return to the palace if I see another future. I am the *Visioner of the kingdom*. If a prophecy comes, I must act—for the safety of our motherland.”

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  “Can’t you just not go?” Tamashi muttered. “Why do you have to be the Visioner?”

  The old man laughed—not mocking, but patient. “Tamashi, you’re fourteen now. You must learn that duty to the kingdom and duty to family both matter. I serve because I want to protect this land. And I am honored to do so.”

  Tamashi sighed in defeat. “I can never win against your wisdom, Grandpa.”

  The old man’s smile grew. He placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’ll be a great man one day, Tamashi. I know it.”

  Tamashi looked at him and managed a small smile. “If you say so.”

  When they reached the house, the door swung open so abruptly that Tamashi nearly dropped the bag. A young girl appeared—ten years old, short black hair dripping wet, green eyes blazing with annoyance.

  “Brother! Where did you go without taking me?” Miya demanded, then charged at him and knocked him flat on his back.

  “Hey—Miya! Get off!” Tamashi groaned.

  The old man chuckled quietly. “Miya dear, don’t be upset. We only went out to buy some things.”

  “Hmph. Fine.” She crossed her arms, still pouting.

  But when the old man gently ruffled her hair, her anger dissolved almost instantly.

  “That’s my sweet granddaughter,” he said warmly.

  Miya’s cheeks reddened, and she looked away shyly.

  “Tamashi dear,” the old man said, “take the items to your mother.”

  Tamashi nodded and headed inside. The old man and Miya walked farther into the house, stopping at a door that led into a dimly lit room. Inside, sitting on a bed, was Miya and Tamashi’s father. His left arm and left eye were gone—lost forever in the war. Bandages still covered parts of his torso and shoulder.

  Miya climbed onto the bed and nestled beside him immediately.

  He chuckled softly and stroked her hair with his remaining hand. “Still full of energy, aren’t you? Good. I like seeing you like this.”

  Miya hesitated, then asked in a quiet voice, “But… when will you be healed?”

  He looked at her for a long moment before forcing a smile. “Soon. It won’t take long.”

  Though his tone was gentle, Miya could sense the truth hidden behind it, but she simply nodded and leaned closer.

  The father looked at his own father—the old man—and spoke. “You shouldn’t have come back from the capital just for me. You’re old now. The journey could’ve made your illness worse.”

  As always, the old man spoke calmly, with a voice full of patient certainty. “A father always feels responsible for his child. Even if you’re grown, even if you have children of your own, the pull of parenthood doesn’t fade. I believe you understand that now.”

  The father chuckled softly. “I can’t deny that.”

  “Are you planning to go there… for healing?” the old man asked carefully.

  The father shook his head. “No. Not like this. I’m staying here with my family.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes. I am.”

  The old man accepted the answer with a slow nod as he sat down. “Then I’ll stay here until I get my next vision.”

  His son frowned. “Another vision? But… you said the last one was your final.”

  “I only said that so the children wouldn’t worry,” the old man admitted quietly. “On my way here, I already felt the **first essence**. I just need the second.”

  “So it’s only a matter of time before you leave,” his son said softly.

  “Yes,” the old man replied. “It is.”