Dwarves poured out of their homes, eyes wide in horror as they saw the house engulfed in flames. Yet, the culprit was nowhere to be found.
Even when the mages from the Central Court arrived to extinguish the fire, their efforts were in vain. The flames only seemed to grow more violent, as if feeding off their magic.
The only one present was Volhcard—finally regaining consciousness—his body battered and bruised, his eyes locked on the inferno that had once been his home. He clutched the front of his coat with trembling hands, the image of the fire burning itself into his memory forever.
But a few minutes earlier...
Aldir stood over Volhcard's unconscious form. With a single, casual slap, he stirred the boy awake.
Volhcard coughed violently, clutching his throat. Pain wracked his body as he weakly looked up at the masked man standing before him.
"Why... why are you doing this to me?!" he croaked, groaning from the pain.
Aldir chuckled and crouched down, the smooth mask concealing his expression—but his voice betrayed amusement.
"Because you're a genius. And I need geniuses—or the strong—for what's coming."
Volhcard's eyes widened, a storm of grief and fury swirling within them. Tears welled up before spilling freely down his cheeks. He clenched his left fist tightly, nails digging into his palm.
"Genius?" he choked out. "You don't even know me! You burned my home... my parents... all for some plan?! It's all my fault. I was too weak... too afraid..."
He bowed his head, gripping his shirt as sobs wracked his small frame.
Aldir watched in silence, then stood and turned away, footsteps echoing against the cracked earth.
"Well, this is goodbye. For now," he said, his tone almost casual.
The sounds of approaching voices began to echo from the city center—dwarves shouting, rushing toward the chaos.
Volhcard raised his head and turned to look at the departing figure. Aldir stopped, just for a moment, and turned his head to glance back.
He reached up, shifting his mask just enough to reveal his mouth.
"Didn't I tell you?" he mouthed silently, the corners of his lips curling upward. "Tomorrow would be our last meeting."
He pulled the mask back into place and continued walking, vanishing into the growing morning light.
The sun had risen.
Time felt distorted—had the night passed so quickly? Volhcard didn't know, and at this moment, he didn't care. The pain was too raw, too heavy.
His house—his sanctuary—was reduced to ash.
His parents were gone.
And the man who had been his teacher... his mentor... had been the one to destroy it all.
Volhcard stood frozen, tears silently trailing down his face, as the dwarves rushed to his side—calling his name, asking questions, trying to help.
But the boy said nothing.
He simply stared at the burning ruins of his life.
A decade had passed since the fire.
The memory of the burning had faded from the minds of the townsfolk, becoming little more than a distant rumor.
Father Forthun of the Church of Almighty Glorious Life had recently departed the kingdom to spread the faith to Thylmar, leaving his post behind. In his absence, Dareth had stepped into the role of head priest.
Now, Volhcard sat alone on the stone steps of the church, a solemn expression etched into his tired face. He wore the signature priestly robes he had grown accustomed to over the years—robes that hung a little heavier on his frame with each passing day.
Cradled in his arms was a long wooden staff, worn smooth by time and use. He leaned his head gently against it, his eyes closed as he recalled spells, chants, and the faces of his parents.
Inside the church, training was underway. Dareth guided the apprentices once mentored by Father Forthun. Meanwhile, people passed by the church—bowing in reverence, offering small prayers, or stopping to check on their children training inside.
Volhcard ignored them all.
Still and silent, he remained unmoved—eyes closed, arms wrapped around the staff like it was all he had left in the world.
Time passed.
Eventually, the apprentices filed out of the church, laughing and talking, but Volhcard didn't flinch.
Dareth descended the steps and approached him, his expression unreadable beneath his hood, though there was a calmness to his presence—as if he were smiling behind the shadows.
"You haven't moved since we arrived," Dareth said. "Come on. Get up so I can teach you how to read the flow of mana."
He reached for the staff—but before his fingers could even brush it, Volhcard jumped to his feet, backing away as he pointed the staff directly at the archmage.
Though his eyes were sunken and weary, there was a fierce light in them.
"Don't touch it," he warned, his voice low, trembling with quiet rage.
Dareth sighed and turned away without protest. As he walked back toward the church doors, he flicked his wrist and tossed six colored coins behind him—each one glowing faintly with a different hue.
Volhcard caught them in his left hand, furrowing his brow.
"What is this for?" he asked, lowering the staff slightly.
"You'll find out in due time," Dareth replied without turning, disappearing into the church.
Volhcard stood there in silence, staring down at the coins—each one warm and buzzing softly with hidden purpose.
He sat back down, slowly, the weight of exhaustion creeping back into his bones. Cradling the staff once more, he closed his eyes again and muttered in his thoughts.
"Cryptid Riddles... Damn skeleton..."
The world around him continued on, but he remained still, bound by memory, duty, and something yet unnamed.
He slowly rose from the stone steps, brushing dust from his robes, only to be met by the gentle smile of a girl standing directly in front of him.
She was elven—elegant, otherworldly, and impossibly graceful. Her long silver hair danced with the breeze like flower petals caught in the wind, and her skin was as pale and flawless as fresh-fallen snow. Emerald eyes, deep and full of warmth, studied him with quiet curiosity.
She wore a flowing yellow dress that fluttered at her ankles, paired with white heels. Around her neck hung a ruby pendant, catching the sunlight like a drop of blood suspended in glass.
"For an apprentice of the church, you look so terribly sad. Why is that?" she asked, her voice light and musical as she tilted her head slightly to the side.
Volhcard scoffed and moved to walk past her without answering—but before he could take more than a step, the elf suddenly scooped him up off the ground like a child being picked up by their mother.
His eyes narrowed into a sharp glare. "Let me go, woman," he snapped, clearly unamused.
But she didn't so much as flinch at the tone. With a soft hum, she carried him along effortlessly as if he weighed no more than a bundle of cloth, cradled gently in her arms like a teddy bear.
Though Volhcard's pride screamed for him to resist, he didn't struggle. Not out of fear, but from a quiet understanding of who she was.
This was her, after all.
News had spread quickly through Vyolmir: a noble elven family had recently moved into one of the manors nestled in the heart of the city. And their daughter—the one now carrying him like some sacred relic—had become a citywide icon almost overnight.
They called her the Angel of Flowers.
Whether it was a crown of blossoms resting on her head or a single bloom tucked behind her ear, she was never seen without a flower of some sort. She was known not just for her nobility, but for her grace, gentleness, and warmth. Her words were soft, her voice a comfort, and her presence a balm.
Everyone knew her name. Everyone adored her. And should she ever find herself in danger, the entire city would come to her aid—out of admiration, duty, and maybe even a little love.
Volhcard, meanwhile, just sighed internally and allowed himself to be carried off, knowing full well this moment was about to spiral into something unexpected.
She gently set him down, her touch light as a breeze, before turning away to walk ahead. However, her hand remained clasped around his—warm and insistent—dragging him along as she made her way toward the city park, which also served as Vyolmir's grand communal garden.
"I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you're happy and smiling again," she said, glancing back at him with a gentle yet resolute expression. "Priests of the Almighty Glorious Life should never wear a face like yours."
Volhcard remained silent, his gaze turned downward as he allowed himself to be pulled forward. He didn't protest, though his steps were reluctant. Despite his dislike for the idea of being brought into a garden like some lost child, he couldn't shake the odd feeling blooming in his chest. Somewhere—deep within—something tugged softly at the string tied to his heart.
After several moments of walking, he finally spoke, voice so low it nearly disappeared into the wind.
"When you say that... do you mean everything? Everything?"
She didn't respond with words.
Instead, she smiled—bright, sincere, and unshakably kind. A look of unspoken promise rested in her eyes. And that alone told him all he needed to know.
Volhcard exhaled slowly, muttering beneath his breath, "People like you are the most painful to deal with…"
Even as the words escaped his lips, she didn't falter. Her fingers stayed wrapped around his, unwavering, as she led him through the garden paths—sunlight slipping through the trees, and flowers blooming at their sides like silent witnesses to something quietly beginning.
The dwarves scattered around the park waved at her, their greetings warm and lively. Many offered compliments, nodding respectfully as she passed. She eturned every smile with grace, her presence drawing attention like sunlight in a quiet room.
Volhcard, on the other hand, kept his head low, trying his best to disappear behind her silhouette. Despite his efforts, the people still acknowledged him with kind words and soft smiles, their eyes filled with familiarity and quiet respect.
Seeing the joyful faces of children running between trees, the ease in how neighbors laughed and spoke with one another—every bit of it unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
"Oh! That's right!" she suddenly exclaimed, tapping her forehead with a soft flick of her fingers. "I haven't even introduced myself yet.
She stopped walking and turned toward him, offering a bow. One hand rested gently on her chest, the other held out slightly in a poised, noble gesture.
"Well then, Mr. Priest, I'm Fraye," she said with a bright smile. "Fraye Selmont, daughter of Naye Selmont and Deni—"
Before she could finish, Volhcard brushed past her, speaking over her words without even looking back.
"Don't care. Already know who you are, elf."
Fraye puffed her cheeks in a pout at his cold tone, trailing close behind him without missing a step.
Just then, a small sparrow fluttered down, landing lightly on his shoulder. He paused, carefully taking it into his left hand. For a moment, he stared at the delicate creature, his expression unreadable. Then, wordlessly, he lifted his hand and let the bird take flight once more into the breeze.
"…Alright, elf," he finally muttered, his voice quiet but steady. "If you can make me smile in one month… I'll consider being happy again."
Fraye blinked, surprised for just a second, then her expression bloomed into a radiant grin.
"Challenge accepted," she said softly, as the wind carried the sparrow higher into the sky above them.