It had rained the week he was born, but the day itself was a Sunday. There were no clouds, and the sun shone brightly, pulsating as if trying to engulf the earth. His house sat on the greenest hill in Berg. His father was a farmer; his mother, a weaver. His birth was ordinary, yet it felt as though that day belonged to him alone.
He grew up quickly, as do all the children, even though he remained small for his age. His father slowly introduced him to farm work, and his mother was full of love. He was an only son, living a life common to farm families across the Kingen continent. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't overwhelming—until his fourteenth birthday.
That was the year the war started. His family lived on Lord Greemwich's land and knew no other horizon. It was the city where his parents were born, married, and lived. It was home. When both he and his father were called to join the militia, the duty to protect their home felt like enough. Although his father went reluctantly, he placed a hand on his son's back, looking back one last time as they were separated from his mother and their home.
Berg was located far from the sea, encircled by uneven hills and near a river that crossed half the continent. It was a fortified city, and the Greemwich family were long-standing rulers known for their magnanimity. War was not unknown to them, but it was not a close friend. Nonetheless, this time something felt different.
When the boy and his father enlisted, the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The reason soon became clear: their enemy was Luz Grippin. The Grippin family held a Marquisate responsible for defending the Empire. War was in their blood; even the Imperial family treated them with caution.
War. But what is war? The boy could never understand it. War knows no king or commoner, no adult or child. And, as usual, the war did not care to know him, either.
Lord Greemwich's strategy was to fight on many fronts, using the hills and the river to slow the enemy and bleed their morale. What he didn't realize was that the Grippins didn't view this as a war at all.
They sent a small platoon of only ten knights. Even against a militia of five thousand—four thousand commoners, nine hundred mercenaries, and one hundred knights—the mere presence of those ten caused a wave of disbelief. What destroyed their morale was one specific knight. He shone with a godly silver light, but it was his name that truly echoed through the field.
Lord Greemwich had planned to meet Luz Grippin for a final discussion, expecting the battle to begin the following day. But neither Luz Grippin nor his forces followed that plan. As the silver knight approached, Greemwich realized who stood before him: the Knight of Light, Gin Hume, nephew to the Grippin line.
As he drew close enough to be heard, he spoke with a voice like a raging volcano.
Gin Hume: "Lord Greemwich has offended the honor of the Grippin family. He shall pay. If he surrenders now, Lord Luz will look favorably upon Berg and spare those who do not fight. Battle now, and you die. You have five minutes to decide."
The militia, the boy and his father included, looked to Lord Greemwich, praying he would choose peace. But that was not his choice. Not three minutes had passed before he shouted:
Lord Greemwich: "I know of no offense against the Grippin family! If war is what it takes to protect Berg, then war is what we shall give!"
The mood turned heavy. The army was confused, but their doubts were short-lived. The silver knight waited calmly. Time seemed to stop as the five minutes neared their end. Suddenly, he pulled a scroll from his pouch.
Gin Hume: "Time is up. I shall proclaim the sentence of Lord Greemwich and the city of Berg. As decreed by His Majesty the King, if an agreement is not reached, this feud shall be resolved by blood. By the authority of the Grippin family: for the egregious act of Raz Greemwich, son of Irk Greemwich, who sullied the honor of Lady Ran Grippin, Luz Grippin's youngest daughter, Berg's rulers and its army shall be met by Leukersek."
He took another parchment from his pouch, this one inscribed with a magical circle. He raised it high.
Gin Hume: "Dread thou the light, thou that lurkest in the darkness... LEUKERSEK!"
For a moment, it seemed like the world froze. The clouds stopped, the wind died, and a terrifying silence fell. And this feeling was also suddenly cut. The knight drew his sword. The parchment began to glow, its light transferring into the blade until the steel briefly blinded all who looked at it. Sensing the impending doom, Greemwich screamed:
Irk Greemwich: "STOP HIM! ALL SOLDIERS, CHARGE!"
The boy started to run, but a voice screamed:
"DON'T RUN! DUCK!"
As he threw himself down, a streak of light passed just above him. He was instantly blinded and deafened by a dazzling glint and thunderous roar. He didn't know how much time passed as he lay there with his eyes squeezed shut.
When he finally opened them, the noon sun had vanished into evening. He saw something he could not comprehend. Around him, there were nothing but legs. No bodies. No heads. No arms. Just an army of legs standing where men had been.
Stunned, hearing nothing but the frantic beating of his own heart, he looked behind him. What was home, became ruins of what he once knew. Berg was gone. The hills, the castle, the city—everything was gone.