Aren Valenfort was convinced that this would be a boring day.
The sun had barely risen over the hills when he finished practicing with his wooden sword in the back courtyard of the mansion. His arms ached, and his hands were red, but he did not complain. His father always said that pain was the best teacher, and Aren wanted to learn quickly. Quickly.
"Again," he murmured to himself, adjusting his grip.
The sword was too large for him, but he refused to use a lighter one. Every time he lifted it, he imagined that one day he would wield one of steel, with his family's emblem engraved on the hilt and a cloak billowing behind him. A knight worthy of his lineage.
'I will bring pride to my family too.'
From one of the upper windows, his older brother watched him in silence before returning to his books. Aren knew he should feel fortunate not to bear those responsibilities, but even so, a part of him wondered if his path would be too lonely.
Just as he raised the sword once more, a strange sound cut through the air.
It was not the neigh of a horse nor the usual rattling of merchant carriages.
Aren stopped.
The noise was coming from the main road.
"What is that…?" he whispered.
The sound echoed again.
A deep, rhythmic rumble advanced along the main road, as if the earth itself trembled before its steady approach.
He let the wooden sword fall to the ground and ran toward the front of the mansion, ignoring the sharp calls of several servants, who stopped their tasks to look in the same direction.
"That is no ordinary carriage…" murmured the head butler. "I will inform the lord."
Aren positioned himself beside the gates as they opened before the carriage, allowing it to enter until it came to a halt in front of the mansion.
Then he saw it in all its splendor.
The carriage was black and austere. It bore neither the extravagant colors of merchants nor the crest of any noble house. It was escorted by paladins in gleaming armor.
However, something unsettled Aren.
The symbols.
Two different banners fluttered on either side of the carriage. One displayed the emblem of a radiant sun, engraved in pale gold. The other bore a set of scales held by a skeletal hand, carved in silver. Even for a child like him, the contradiction was evident.
'Why… together?'
The doors of the mansion were thrown wide open.
Aren's father stepped forward to meet them, his expression serious and his posture rigid. He did not seem surprised, but neither did he appear calm. Aren had noticed that expression before: it was the same one he wore only when something truly troubled him.
The paladin bearing the bright banner dismounted.
"Lord Valenfort," he said, inclining his head. "We appreciate that you agreed to receive us."
"The message was… unexpected," his father replied. "But I always pay my debts."
Aren frowned.
'Debts?'
He moved a little closer, close enough to see inside the carriage when its doors opened.
He expected to see some emissary, or perhaps someone who looked important. But what emerged was unexpected.
A girl stepped down cautiously.
She wore no elegant dresses nor jewelry. Her clothes were simple and hung loosely on her, almost as if they did not belong to her. They were worn and torn in places. Her shoes were nothing more than two pieces of leather tied with a cord. She had light-colored, disheveled hair.
She held the hem of her dress nervously, as if afraid of dirtying it even more as she descended.
Her feet touched the ground carefully.
The girl slowly lifted her gaze.
Their eyes met.
Aren felt a strange knot form in his chest.
He did not know why, but he was certain that she did not want to be there.
"Who is she…?", Aren, murmured without realizing it.
One of the servants immediately silenced him.
The girl took a couple of steps forward and bowed awkwardly, imitating the paladin's gesture. The result was imperfect, almost comical, but no one smiled.
"Her name is Lylia," said the other paladin. "She will remain here under your custody until the churches of Alfaro and Zoren send their representatives."
Aren frowned.
"The… churches?" Aren's mother repeated, stepping forward with a stern expression. "Both of them?"
Her gaze settled on the girl with a mixture of surprise and displeasure that she made no effort to hide.
"A… commoner?" she asked.
Lylia pressed her lips together.
"Lady Valenfort," the paladin said firmly. "She is not a commoner. She is a sacred charge."
Those words froze the atmosphere.
The girl took a step forward and tried to bow before Aren's mother.
"S-sorry…" she murmured.
"It is fine," Lord Valenfort said after a brief silence. "While she is under this roof, she will be treated as is proper."
The paladins nodded, but their gazes remained alert, watchful.
Aren did not fully understand what was happening.
He only knew one thing.
From the moment that girl stepped down from the carriage, his world was no longer the same.
And although he could not yet put it into words, a part of him understood that this meeting had not been a coincidence… but the beginning of something that none of those present would be able to stop.
The days that followed were strange, but also unexpectedly happy for Aren.
Lylia did not know how to behave like a noble, and that seemed to bother everyone except him. She ate too quickly, sat where she should not, and asked uncomfortable questions. Aren helped her when he could, although many times they ended up being scolded together.
"You can't run through the halls," he told her one afternoon.
"Why not?" she questioned without stopping.
"Because… because you're not supposed to."
Lylia turned around, smiling.
"That's not a reason."
Aren was left speechless.
Sometimes they played in the garden. Other times, they hid in the less traveled corridors of the mansion. He told her stories about knights and dragons, exaggerating every feat. Lylia listened attentively, as if those words were something more than simple tales.
"Do you really want to be a knight?" she asked one night.
"Of course I do!" he answered without hesitation. "A paladin, even."
She fell silent for a moment.
"Then… will you protect people?"
"Of course," Aren replied, raising his wooden sword. "Everyone."
Lylia nodded, but her expression was strange.
It was during one of those quiet afternoons that it happened.
She had tripped and fallen, scraping her knee. Aren ran to her side, alarmed.
"You're bleeding!"
"It's nothing," she said in a trembling voice.
Aren did not know what to do. Then, the girl closed her eyes.
The air grew heavy.
A soft light enveloped her knee, warm and silent. The wound vanished as if it had never existed.
Aren stepped back.
"W-what was that…?"
Lylia opened her eyes, as surprised as he was.
"I… I don't know."
From a distance, one of the paladins watched in silence, his face pale.
Not long after, the day of farewell arrived.
The carriage returned to the mansion, this time accompanied by more banners and more severe gazes. Aren felt a hollow sensation in his stomach even before anyone said a word.
Lylia stood in front of him.
"They say I have to leave," she whispered.
Aren clenched his fists.
"I'll see you again," he suddenly said. "I'll become a paladin! I promise you…"
She looked at him, surprised… and then she smiled.
"Then… I'll wait for you."
Aren did not cry, at least not until the carriage carrying away his first friend disappeared over the horizon.
He did not fully understand what had happened. He did not understand gods, sacred oaths, or imposed destinies.
But as the dust settled on the road, Aren Valenfort held an innocent and absolute certainty:
That day, he had bound his life to a promise he could never break.