The Feeling He Couldn't Name
The wind was cold, but her hand was warm.
They walked in silence—side by side. Mina didn't speak. She just held Rai's hand tightly, like if she let go, he'd disappear into the breeze.
Rai stared at the ground. His chest felt strange. Tight. But not like grief.
His heart was beating—
Faster.
And faster.
And faster.
> "Why… does it hurt?" he wondered.
He looked up at her—Mina. Same age as him. Messy hair. Dirty shoes. A little cape flying behind her. She wasn't glowing. She wasn't magic.
But to him… she was everything.
That smile. That kindness. That strength.
> "It's not pain," he thought.
"No… this isn't pain."
"I think... I'm in love."
He was only seven.
Too young to understand.
Too afraid to say it.
So he didn't.
He just walked beside her.
And held her hand tighter.
---
The General Returns
The house was on the edge of the village. Big, stone, cold from the outside. Soldiers used to say it was haunted. Kids called it cursed.
Mina called it home.
The front door creaked open.
And he stepped out.
Tall as a tree. Broad as a bear. A heavy coat over iron-plated armor. A massive sword at his side. A scar cut down his face like lightning—rough and old.
His name was General Baren.
Rai froze.
This was Mina's father?
Then the warrior knelt down in front of him.
Eye to eye.
> "You're Rai," Baren said.
"I'm sorry for your loss. Your father was my brother. A good man."
He placed a strong hand on Rai's shoulder.
> "You don't have to be strong today. You just have to come inside."
That voice wasn't scary.
It was solid.
Warm.
> "From now on," Baren said, "you're my son too."
Rai didn't cry.
But for the first time in days—
He let himself breathe.
---
The Story of a Warrior
That night, the house was warm.
Fire flickered in the hearth. Stew boiled in the pot. Mina served dinner, quiet and gentle.
Baren sat across from Rai, silent for a long while.
Then he finally spoke.
> "You ever hear of the Iron Front?"
Rai shook his head.
Baren leaned back, the firelight hitting his scar.
> "Fifteen years ago, there was war. Real war. Nations. Magic. Thousands dead.
We were a division they said couldn't be broken. The Iron Front. Thirty men.
I was their commander."
> "Your father fought with me—until he left the army to raise a family."
Baren's voice softened.
Eyes distant.
> "We held the Roan Valley for six days, surrounded. No food. No sleep.
Thirty against five hundred.
And on the seventh day, we were still standing."
Mina grinned.
> "Dad never says this part, but the king himself came to thank them."
> "He offered me a title," Baren added. "I refused. I'd had enough of war."
He looked Rai dead in the eyes.
> "But the world isn't peaceful. Not yet.
Which means you need to be strong.
Not like me. Better than me."
Rai stared into his stew.
Baren ruffled his hair on the way out of the room.
> "Eat well. Rest up.
Tomorrow, we begin your training."
Rai looked up, wide-eyed.
> "Training?"
Baren smirked.
> "You're my son now. And I don't raise weaklings."
And for the first time that night—
Rai smiled.