The room was quiet.
Alhen stood in the middle of it, staring at the small pile of items laid out on his bed.
"This is it…" he murmured.
He took a deep breath and began packing.
He picked up a simple cloak first, running his fingers along the fabric.
"This should keep me warm at night… and maybe hide me if needed."
Next—a small pouch of coins.
"Not much… but enough to get started."
He placed it carefully into his bag.
Then came a flask.
"Water is a must… I don't even know how far the next town is."
A short blade rested beside it.
Alhen hesitated before picking it up.
"…Just in case."
He strapped it to his waist.
His eyes fell on the wooden sword leaning against the wall.
The one he had trained with for years.
He walked over and picked it up slowly.
"…You've been with me since the start."
For a moment, he considered bringing it.
But then—
He placed it back.
"I guess… it's time to move on."
Instead, he picked up a real sword—simple, but solid.
He held it firmly.
"…This will do."
Just as he finished packing—
Knock. Knock.
Alhen turned toward the door.
"Come in."
The door creaked open, and his father stepped inside.
He looked at the packed bag, then at Alhen.
"So… it's really happening."
Alhen nodded.
"Yeah."
A brief silence filled the room.
Then his father spoke—
"Before you go…"
Alhen looked up.
"…Fight me."
Alhen blinked.
"Fight you?"
His father gave a small nod.
"One last duel. A proper send-off."
Moments later, they stood outside.
The air felt heavier than usual.
Alhen tightened his grip on his sword.
"…I won't hold back."
His father smiled faintly.
"Good."
He drew his blade.
"Because neither will I."
For a moment—
Silence.
Then—
"Come!"
Alhen dashed forward.
Clang!
Their blades collided, the sound ringing through the air.
Alhen pushed forward, striking again—fast, precise.
Clang! Clang!
His father blocked every attack with ease.
"Is that all?" his father said calmly.
Alhen gritted his teeth.
"No…!"
He stepped back, then rushed in again—this time aiming lower.
His father's eyes sharpened.
Clang!
The strike was blocked again—but this time, his father was pushed back slightly.
A small pause.
His father smiled.
"…You've improved."
Alhen didn't respond.
He moved again—faster than before.
His swings were sharper, his movements more controlled.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
This time, his father had to put in real effort to block.
Then suddenly—
Clang!
Their blades locked.
They stood face to face.
"You're ready," his father said quietly.
Alhen's eyes widened slightly.
"…Not yet."
With a sudden push, his father broke the clash—
THUD!
Alhen was knocked back, losing his footing and falling to the ground.
Silence.
Alhen panted, staring up at the sky.
"…I lost."
His father walked over and extended a hand.
"That wasn't about winning."
Alhen looked at his hand… then took it.
His father pulled him up.
"It was to see if you're ready to stand on your own."
Alhen stood still.
"…And?"
His father looked at him—serious, but proud.
"…You are."
The next morning…
The sky was clear.
The path ahead stretched far beyond the village.
Alhen stood at the edge, his bag slung over his shoulder.
He took one last look back.
His father stood there, arms crossed.
"…Don't die out there," he said.
Alhen smirked slightly.
"I won't."
A small pause.
"…I'll come back."
His father nodded.
"I'll be waiting."
Alhen turned.
And began to walk.
Each step felt different.
He wasn't walking to train.
He wasn't walking to imagine.
He was walking toward the unknown.
The wind brushed past him.
The road stretched endlessly ahead.
Fields slowly turned into unfamiliar land.
And for the first time in his life—
There were no walls.
No limits.
Alhen smiled to himself.
"So this is it…"
His voice was quiet—but filled with excitement.
"The world…"
And with that—
His journey truly began.