The sun crept over the horizon, its golden fingers stretching across the indigo sky, peeling back the night with a tender warmth. Orange and amber hues bled into the waking heavens, casting a serene glow upon the sleepy town of Hervia deep inside Bellian, the country of lights. Light spilled over the gentle hills, bathing the patchwork fields in a soft brilliance. The crops, kissed by the dawn, stirred as though waking from slumber, their green blades glistening with dew. Hervia—humble, quiet, and nestled far from the noise of the world—thrived on these very fields. Here, the soil was sacred, and the townsfolk, with sun-worn hands and proud hearts, tended to their lifeblood: the land.
Further within the heart of the town stood a modest wooden home, weathered by time and crowned with a sloping tile roof. It belonged to an old man, Arthur Ferdigard. Stooped with age and burden, he bore a frame too short for his once broad shoulders, a shell of the man he had been. His thick black hair, streaked with silver, framed a face carved by years beneath the sun. Eyes of deep brown—quiet but still sharp—watched the world with tired resilience. Rumors often circled him like crows, whispering doubts about the two boys who lived with him. Not even his blood, they'd mutter. But such words bounced off the old man like pebbles on stone. He had no time for idle cruelty. Let the world talk.
...
His heart beat for two things. the land... and his boys—Luke and Ashfer.
Life had not always been kind. His wife, the light of his early days, had perished in a terrible fire, leaving him with grief, guilt, and two small hands to hold. Still, the farm endured. So did he. That will always be stuck in his head, but life needs to move on with the time. No past regrets for a peaceful future.
"Are you boys planning to lounge up there all morning while your poor old man breaks his back?" Arthur's voice rang out, half-scolding, half-laughing—rough with age and sharp from years of discipline, yet stripped of any real anger. His fist raised and wagged theatrically in the air. "Get down here and help me with the farm—" he was cut off by a fit of rasping coughs. Cough, cough.
Clink. Clink—thud!
Tiles rattled as one of the figures atop the roof slipped and slid down in a reckless tumble. Luke, the younger of the two, hit the ground with a cocky grin and a loud laugh. His tousled light-brown hair caught the breeze, catching flecks of sunlight like fire in motion. His eyes—an unusual deep red with a hint of magenta—sparkled with mischief, always burning with some untold scheme.
Luke was the kind of young man who could bring disasters to merchants out of their gold and a guard out of their post. Handsome, full of swagger, with a silver tongue, he was both a delight and a disaster. The village adored him, while the elders shook their heads. Beneath his gentleman's bow, there was always a trick hiding in the folds.
...
"Chill out, Dad. It's not even breakfast yet. No need to sound the morning bell," Luke said, brushing off the dirt from his tunic with a lazy smirk.
High above, his older brother Ashfer remained seated at the roof's edge, still gazing at the sunrise. Unlike his brother, Ashfer was a quiet soul—more observant, more careful. His golden-yellow eyes outshone the sunrise as he stared down from the edge of the rooftop. smirking slightly at the sight of his brother and dad having a small quarrel.
"Luke's kinda right, Dad... How about breakfast first?" With movements filled with grace, he leaped down from the rooftop, wind magic cast beneath his feet as a cushion. Showing his talents in magic.
For now, morning had broken in Hervia, and another day in the lives of the Ferdigard family had begun—with earth to till, mischief to unfold, and a past that lingered like shadows on the edge of light. And now? It all starts with a cozy and warm plate of breakfast. Ashfer, walking gracefully throughout the kitchen, hands picking the perfect ingredients for breakfast today. And—
*SWOOSH! Crackle—Crackle...!
The fire burns into beautiful flowers of red and orange while he cooks. Tossing the food up and catching the mixture of ingredients back into the pan. The pan sizzling, the pot boiling, and the food cooking. And after a few more finishing touches, breakfast is served. The father and sons sat down at the dining table, eating peacefully, thinking of how lucky they are to be a family.
...
*Clink...
A soft clink as Ashfer finished his breakfast and set his utensils onto the empty plate. Taking a soft breath as he looked at Arthur with eyes shining with a sign of wanting approval.
"Dad... I..." He stopped for a moment. Unsure, nervous, carved onto his face. As Luke and Arthur laid their eyes on him.
"I— Got a mail from the Magic Chevaliers Institution... They kinda— approved my skills." Ashfer looks down shyly, embarrassed about what his Dad might think of that. He's a talented young man, blessed by the deity as an Atherian, but still a boy who's afraid to set foot into the military. Of course, he would. Who doesn't? Remembering how he demolished everyone during the selection was kinda... Embarrassing for him. Too powerful is not a good sign - said Arthur once.
Arthur was shocked and proud at the same time. One of his sons is about to become a Magic Chevalier, the one who protects the Country and cities residing inside it. With a loud, heart-booming laugh, he looks at Ashfer.
"Keep your head up, Soon-to-be Hero. Talk with pride and not shame, you useless son! HAHA!" The laughs continued until the sound of metal clanking down to the floor. Utensils fell from Luke's hands. He looked at Ashfer with wide eyes. His mouth was agape slightly as if he was about to say something, but he bit down on his tongue. Was it... Jealousy? Or something else?
"You... You did it, huh..? I— I'm happy for you, Ash." He forced a smile that looked genuine, very genuine. He's proud of his elder brother, but part of him wanted to be on the same boat, on the same ground as his brother is stepping in. A hero's path. He picks up the fallen utensils and laughs softly. "I guess we'll be having a celebration this evening!" Luke drapes his arm around Ashfer's shoulders and smiles widely. "Congrats... Hero"
...
That evening, as fireworks painted the night sky with bursts of color and echoing crackles, a warm and spirited celebration bloomed across the city of Hervia. For the first time in its humble history, Hervia was to be represented by a true Chevalier. Word of Ashfer's achievement spread like wildfire, carried joyfully by Arthur and Luke as they raced down winding hills and climbed cobbled paths to share the news. By nightfall, the entire city had gathered—faces glowing with pride, laughter rising like music—as they came together to honor one of their own. As the party was over...
*woosh...
The sound of the midnight wind blowing, soft and tender. Luke sat on the rooftop once again, watching the stars. Fantasizing himself standing beside Ashfer as they became Magic Chevaliers. Together. It was his dream... to become a hero.
"I wish I had those talents..." He said just under his breath. As the wind suddenly blows a little stronger, but it wasn't from the hills— it was Ashfer with his gust magic once again, slowly plopping down next to Luke.
Luke jumped slightly from the sudden intrusion of his thoughts. "Fucker, at least a small 'Hey' is fine..."
"Bad in mood?" He chuckled softly before continuing.
...
"You know... I may be blessed with magic, but I'm not as brave as you, you know?" He looked at Luke from the corner of his eye and paused, looking down before he said. "You could leap through Valleys without magic, carve metals with bare hands, and fiery hot coals to make a weapon. You've been a great help to Hervia, you know that right..."
The wind continues to blow softly onto their faces. The night had never been more beautiful than having those stars shining from afar to decorate it. Ashfer took a long pause before saying to look at Luke, who's still refusing to look at his face.
"I'll be departing to the Royal Capital tomorrow... You know, the center of Bellian."
Luke's jolted slightly and quickly turned his face to look at his brother's figure. Royal Capital... is a faraway land from Hervia, which would take normal people 10 days to arrive there by a carriage.
"That's fucking far... Why did you—" Luke stopped when Ashfer turned to look at his eyes. His face filled with determination and a fire like courage.
"It's our dream, Luke. We've been Wannabe Heroes, far too long... I'm already 23." Ashfer said softly with his face saying everything. And before he flies off with his graceful wind magic. He said.
...
"You're my brother... I was never worried about you cause I know you'll definitely catch up to me." He smiled with no worries, no sadness, and no regrets behind his eyes and expression. He extended his hand towards Luke. His brother, his rival, and forever family member.
"Wanna play that Game of tag like old days?" He chuckled and extended his hand further. "Catch up to me, Luke... You, Wannabe Hero..." His fingers stretched open, hoping he'll take his hand and make that promise. It's both of their dreams... One way or another, one of them gotta take the lead.
Luke stared at the outstretched hand for a long moment, his gaze fixed and unreadable. Silence lingered between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Then, slowly, something shifted. The emptiness in his eyes flickered, giving way to a quiet fire. With newfound resolve, he reached forward, clasped Ashfer's hand without a hint of hesitation, and sealed the vow with the strength of his grip.
"Fine... It's a Game of Tag."
"And I'll do it fast."
That night, beneath a sky strewn with stars, a quiet promise was made—one only siblings could truly understand. The stars stood witness as two brothers vowed to chase greatness, neither willing to be left behind in the pursuit of their dreams. What came next, they couldn't yet foresee, but one thing was certain: it would be something worth remembering. After all, they were brothers—one a soon-to-be hero, the other a hopeful, determined wannabe—with the same unshakable goal: to protect, and to become the best.