The cold winter night wind swept across the small village, carrying with it a silence far too heavy for a place once filled with life.
Snow drifted over the ground in thin sheets, gathering around abandoned homes and frozen wells. The air stung like needles, sharp and merciless.
In the center of the village lay the aftermath of a raid — scattered belongings, overturned carts, and the still forms of adults who had fallen where they stood. No warmth remained in their homes. No voices echoed from the doorways.
Only the children were left.
They sat huddled together in the snow, wearing nothing but torn brown shorts. Their knees were pulled tightly to their chests, small bodies trembling from cold and fear. Iron collars circled their necks, each one connected by chains to a wooden pole driven into the frozen earth.
There were several of them — too many for such a small place.
Their breaths came out in faint white clouds. Some cried quietly. Others stared blankly at the ground, too exhausted to react.
The door of a nearby building slammed open.
A group of men stepped out, all wearing mismatched armor and carrying worn weapons strapped to their backs or hanging at their waists. Their boots crunched through the snow as they approached the children.
One man — broad‑shouldered, unshaven, and carrying himself with cruel confidence — stepped forward.
"Alright, you Chronians," he barked, voice echoing through the empty village. "Time to get yourselves ready."
He paced slowly in front of them, eyes cold.
"See, your kind doesn't deserve to live. Only us humans. So…"
He tapped the hilt of his blade.
"We'll start with the smallest of you all."
The children stiffened.
His gaze swept across the trembling line until it landed on a toddler — barely old enough to stand, curled in the snow with wide, frightened eyes.
The man pointed.
"That one."
The men unlocked the chain around the toddler's neck and grabbed the child by the arm. The toddler yelped, trying to pull away.
Vaelus — only six years old again, tiny and shaking — looked up with bright emerald eyes. His face was bruised and dirty, his reddish hair tangled. He watched the toddler struggle, panic rising in his chest.
He looked around for anything he could use.
Nothing.
Then he saw it — a man standing with his back turned, a dagger sheathed at his lower back.
Vaelus lunged.
His small hand grabbed the dagger, and he threw himself toward the man holding the toddler—
—but another soldier stepped forward and struck him aside, sending him crashing into the pole behind him.
"Oh-hoh, this one's feisty…" one man said, unsheathing his longsword.
"Wait," another voice cut in.
A man wearing a black cape and brown armor stepped forward, raising a hand.
"We could use one like him. Take him to the wagon. The rest… tie them and burn the place."
Vaelus froze.
"NO!" he cried, trying to run — but a soldier grabbed him by the neck while another unhooked the chain from his collar. They dragged him across the snow.
As he was pulled away, he watched the men herd the other children into one of the abandoned homes, locking the door behind them.
Vaelus stared, unable to move, unable to breathe.
Torches were thrown.
Flames rose.
The heat reached him even from a distance.
He was tossed onto a wagon filled with armed men. The wagon began to move. The men laughed, celebrating their raid.
Vaelus sat silently, too cold to speak, too shocked to process what he had just seen.
Hours passed.
By sunrise, they arrived at a small camp surrounded by wooden spiked pillars. The men climbed off the wagon, talking among themselves. One grabbed Vaelus and dragged him toward a tent.
Inside, the man with the black cape sat on a bed, sharpening his blade.
"Ah. The troublemaker," he said. "Sit in that chair."
Vaelus walked unsteadily and climbed into the chair.
The man smirked.
"We could use someone like you. Tough little Chronian. I'm glad you're not old enough to use time magic — that would've been trouble. And I'm glad we got rid of your parents. Saved us plenty of men."
Vaelus's hands clenched around his shorts.
His throat tightened.
He remembered his mother's smile.
His father's voice.
Their warmth.
Their protection.
Gone in a single night.
"Why?" Vaelus whispered.
"Why what? Why did we go after your people?" the man asked casually.
"Yes… What did we do?" Vaelus said, voice trembling.
"Your kind is dangerous. People like you don't deserve to live. But that's fine — we can use you as a slave. You'll help us in battles. What do you think?"
"And… what if I don't?" Vaelus asked, barely able to speak.
"Then we chain you to a tree in the woods and let the wolves take you."
Vaelus swallowed hard.
"O-okay…"
"Perfect," the man said, standing. "You'll stay here tonight. Training starts tomorrow morning."
He walked toward the exit, laughing.
"You're going to be something unstoppable."
As the years passed, the men used Vaelus for everything they didn't want to risk themselves doing.
They sent him out as bait to lure enemies.
They forced him to distract wolves and bears.
They made him carry weapons too heavy for a child.
They pushed him into villages to steal food.
They ordered him to start fires that destroyed homes and lives.
By the time Vaelus reached nineteen, nothing had changed.
He was still being used.
Still being treated as less than human.
Still alone.
And one night…
It was midnight.
The camp was silent, the fires low, the men asleep in their tents.
Vaelus sat awake in his own small tent — the only thing he had been given after years of obedience.
He waited until the last sound faded.
Until the camp was still.
Then he moved.
Barefoot, wearing the same loose brown shorts he'd worn since he was six, he slipped out into the cold night air.
He walked quietly to the jugs of oil stacked near the supply crates.
He lifted them — his arms trembling under the weight — and carried them through the camp.
He poured the oil carefully, spreading it along the ground near each tent, letting it seep inside through the openings.
When he finished, he rummaged through a chest of clothes.
Most were too large or too worn.
He didn't care.
He grabbed a brown shirt, pants, and a dark brown cloak.
He put them on quickly.
Then he walked to the camp entrance, where the oil trails converged.
He looked around once.
Then he took a torch from one of the wooden pillars.
He lowered it to the oil.
The flame caught instantly.
Fire raced along the ground, spreading fast, turning the dark camp into a rising blaze.
Voices erupted — shouts, confusion, panic — but none of it reached Vaelus.
He didn't smile.
He didn't cheer.
He didn't feel triumph.
He simply watched.
After all the years he had been used, hurt, and treated as nothing…
This was the only ending he could give them.
He turned away and walked into the night.
For months, Vaelus wandered from kingdom to kingdom.
He stole food to survive.
He pickpocketed coins when he could.
He slept wherever he found shelter.
Eventually, he was caught.
And one day, he knelt on the ground in a crowded square, hands tied behind his back, head bowed.
The people he had stolen from cheered for his execution.
Vaelus didn't care.
Life had been hell from the beginning.
He had no one who loved him.
No one who cared.
No one who defended him.
He was alone.
He kept his eyes on the ground.
He closed them.
He was ready.
"Any final words, you peasant?" the king asked.
Vaelus said nothing.
"Heh. I guess not. Alright then — kill him."
A knight raised his blade and swung—
—but the strike never landed.
A hand caught the blade mid‑swing.
Eiden now stood beside the knight, holding the weapon in place with effortless strength.
The king's eyes widened.
"Ah! The First Divinity! W‑well, it's fine — you don't have to pay for his crimes. Y‑you can just take him!"
The knights hurried to untie Vaelus.
"You," Eiden said gently. "Come. Walk with me."
Vaelus stood slowly and followed.
Eiden took him through the market — the same one Vaelus had once stolen from — and bought him meat, bread, and water.
They sat at a wooden table while Vaelus ate in silence.
Later, at sunset, they sat together on a rocky cliff overlooking a field of stones below.
Vaelus didn't fear falling.
He didn't fear dying.
"You're not scared?" Eiden asked.
Vaelus turned his gaze toward him, then looked away.
"No," he said quietly.
"Hm. I see."
Silence settled between them until Eiden spoke again.
"You're a Chronian, right?"
Vaelus looked up.
"How did you know?"
"Chronians always have those bright green eyes," Eiden said.
"I see…" Vaelus whispered.
"Well… I am a Chronian. But my people… they're all gone. Everyone."
His voice cracked.
He stared down at his lap as tears threatened to fall.
"They took me as a slave. They killed my parents. I never got the chance to learn time magic… or how to fight."
Tears fell onto his hands.
"Everyone is gone. Not a single person is here for me anymore. Not a single person loves me anymore… I'm so alone."
Eiden looked at him with quiet understanding.
"And that's fine," he said softly. "I can teach you these things."
Vaelus looked up, eyes widening.
"I can teach you to fight. And how to use time magic. So… let me teach you."
Vaelus stared at him.
His vision blurred.
For a moment, he saw someone else — someone who once guided him, protected him, loved him.
"Mother…?" he whispered.
Vaelus opened his eyes.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft orange and blue glow slipping under the door.
In front of him was a broad chest.
He looked up and saw Eiden's face.
His eyes filled with tears as he pressed his face into Eiden's chest.
Eiden was already awake.
"It's alright," he murmured. "Let it out."
Vaelus cried quietly, hugging him tightly.
"I… I've never thanked you enough for how grateful I am that you helped me this far," he said, voice shaking.
Eiden smiled softly and ran a hand through Vaelus's hair.
"You don't need to thank me. I already knew you were thankful from the beginning."
Vaelus held him tighter, tears falling like rain.
He would never forget who saved his life.
Who taught him.
Who guided him back into the world.
Eiden was the first person to give him a future.
And the first person to give him a reason to live.