Ragna's days fell into a relentless rhythm.
He woke before dawn, completing his physical training as usual—laps, push-ups, stances, and sword swings until his muscles burned and trembled. Then, without pause, he would meet Sir Aldren outside the training grounds.
The same lesson repeated. Blade in hand, he focused on coating it with fire, trying to harness the first string of the Lower Flame Will: Blazing Strike.
And each time, he failed.
The fire flickered and sputtered. The sword flared prematurely and collapsed. Sometimes the heat refused to gather at all.
The sweat that streamed down his face was mixed with frustration and exhaustion. And worst of all, the flame always reflected his state of mind.
His thoughts were scattered. Memories of Lady Sabrina, fleeting visions of a face he thought would be his mother's face, the stories he had heard a man named Laiman, who survived a tragic battle—distractions kept crawling into his mind. Each one tugged his focus away from the sword and fire.
By the end of the day, he could barely lift his blade.
"Ah, can I even do this ... Is there any possibility that can? ... Am I not talented enough to at least master the foundation. Why is it so difficult" he muttered under his breath.
Aldren observed silently, his expression calm but sharp.
Finally, one evening, he spoke. "Ragna," he said quietly. "Why do you seek the way of the sword?"
Ragna froze. His arms ached, his shoulders burned, and yet he looked at the instructor. "To be strong, to truly be helpful when magic fails" he replied reflexively.
Aldren shook his head. "Why truly? Not because someone told you strength is necessary, not because you fear being weak… but why do you want to fight? What is your purpose?"
Ragna blinked, confusion tightening his chest. "I… I fight… because I must protect…" His words faltered. "Because… because…"
"Because?"
Aldren pressed. "Because of some flimsy belief, a story you tell yourself? That will never stabilize your mind. You cannot master the Lower Strings without a steady purpose. The flame will follow intent, not fancy thoughts. You must find your truth. Only then can you anchor the fire in your body and wield it without distraction."
Ragna lowered his head, silence stretching between them. For the first time, he realized that no amount of exhaustion, no number of repetitions, could compensate for a lack of clarity.
"Stop deluding yourself by trying to compensate foundation with effort, you'll only hit a wall you might never surpass. It's okay to work hard, but that's after you've discovered the purpose you fight" Aldren walked on" come to the training ground, when you've found your purpose " his voice trailed behind.
That night, dinner in the grand hall was unusually tense. The long table was illuminated by candlelight, the scent of roasted meats and bread filling the room. Lady Sabrina sat at the head, with Lord Chalvin beside her. Princess Rita chatted quietly, unaware of the weight pressing down on the boy sitting beside her.
Lord Chalvin broke the silence. "Hizosshu has released a new recruitment post," he said, voice measured. "They're seeking children from orphanages, offering rewards and privileges to those who join their ranks."
Lady Sabrina's brow furrowed. "Recruitment from orphanages? They are taking advantage of the children's vulnerability to grow their army."
Chalvin nodded gravely. "Yes. They're capitalizing on the despair of abandoned children. Training them, molding them. No child is truly free. They will shape loyalty with fear, discipline, and rewards. Regardless, I think we shouldn't allow them free permission to post their recruitment offers in our city."
"We shouldn't do that, whosoever want to join their ranks knows fully well that they'll be nothing but disposable pawns." Lady Sabrina continues her meal.
"If you say so" lord Chalvin nodded.
Ragna's chest tightened. His appetite disappeared. The stories of Hizosshu, the distant lands he believes his father had once served, the brutal battles he must had to fight… it all clicked into place.
He remembered the tales whispered by survivors of the battlefield, the captives in particular, the words of the Migardian commanders:
"Those who cling to life will lose it. Only those who have accepted death can achieve the impossible."
He remembered the letter that had carried his name in a basket to Lady Sabrina's gate.
His parents.
He had survived the horrors of war, but had never known them. And now, hearing of Hizosshu's recruitment drive, the fire within him ignited—not just the flame of technique or sword mastery, but a yearning deeper than ambition: the desire to find his parents.
That night, before laying down in his small chamber, Ragna stared at the ceiling.
He clenched his fists, raised to the ceiling.
"I will find them," he whispered to himself. "No matter what. No matter how far. No matter the cost."
And for the first time, the scattered thoughts that had haunted his training coalesced into a single, burning focus.
His purpose. His truth.
Tomorrow, the sword would not fail him.
Tomorrow, the fire would obey.
And the path to discovering his parents would finally begin.