Orin Alpheratz (15 years old) Location: Solaris Date: Year 873 / Crow Cycle (3) / Hunter's Day (7)

  Star Children.

  That was the name commonly given to the nomadic tribes who roamed the vast and unforgiving Dhamarr Desert. Said to read the stars like maps, they used celestial signs to guide their caravans through deadly sandstorms and endless dunes. Their lives were mysterious, their ways unorthodox, but above all, they were known for one thing.

  Their defiance.

  Since the earliest days of the Solaris Empire, tensions had run high. The Star Children refused to bow, refused to assimilate. Time and again, they resisted the Empire's expansion with a stubbornness that turned to bloodshed.

  Orin, raised in the heart of Solaris, had heard all the stories. To him, the Star Children were nothing more than savage outsiders, barbarians who despised the Empire, hated its people, and wouldn't hesitate to kill them on sight.

  And now, with a face full of contempt and a voice soaked in resentment, Professor Schedar stood before him... claiming that he was one of them.

  That he, Orin, was not from Solaris at all. That his true bloodline came from the desert.

  “You lie!” Orin roared, the words tearing out of him like blades. “I am the son of Keid Alpheratz! I've lived my entire life on Solaris! What you're saying is nothing but a vile, desperate lie!”

  “The Oracle does not lie!” Schedar snapped, his voice filled with seething fury. “I don't know why Captain Alpheratz would ever adopt a child from those desert-dwelling blasphemers... but the truth is the truth! His fiancée died twenty years ago from illness. Since then, he's poured everything into the League of Knights. There is no place in that timeline for your birth!”

  Twenty years ago...

  The words echoed like a drumbeat in Orin's head.

  His father had always told him that his mother died shortly after he was born. But that was all. He never said her name, never told any stories. Whenever Orin asked, the captain would brush it off, claiming they'd talk about it another time.

  But that time never came.

  And now, under the cold eyes of a man who clearly despised him, those half-truths from childhood suddenly weighed far more than they ever had.

  Orin felt sweat trickle down his spine. His heart pounded in his ears.

  He wanted to scream again, to deny everything.

  But... the doubt was there now. And he couldn't push it away.

  No... don't lose your head. What would Hector do right now?

  He forced himself to steady his breathing. He was exhausted, his body sore, his mind swirling in confusion, but panic would only make things worse. If there was even a grain of truth to what Schedar had said, it didn't matter at that moment.

  Right now, he had to think. He had to buy time.

  And he had to find a way to escape.

  “Where are the others? What will you do with the captured sorcerers?” Orin asked, his voice laced with bitterness.

  Schedar blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt shift. For a moment, his composure faltered. He had expected denial, tears, maybe even despair, anything but cold, focused defiance.

  “I thought I said I would be asking the questions,” he replied arrogantly, regaining his poise with a sneer. “And as for your little friends... you'd best stop worrying about them. Soon, sorcery itself will be punishable by death.”

  “You cowards!” Orin snapped, his voice rising with fury. “If you despise sorcerers so much, why not just let them go? Most would rather leave Solaris than share a single breath of air with the likes of you!”

  Schedar laughed. A short, sharp burst that echoed off the stone walls. It wasn't amusement. It was disgust.

  “Let them go? Are you stupid?” he spat, running a hand over his face as if the very suggestion exhausted him. “Every sorcerer left alive is another soldier for Minoris. Don't you get it? That Alchemical City was founded by them. Sorcerers are the only ones capable of performing alchemy. Their very existence is a threat!”

  His voice grew louder, more unhinged.

  “If war breaks out between Solaris and Minoris, do you think they'll stay neutral? No. They'll side with their brethren. They'll turn their powers against us. We cannot afford mercy. Not now.”

  The hatred twisting Schedar's features was unlike anything Orin had ever seen in him. It felt alien... monstrous. Everything he had once thought about the professor: his calm demeanor, his poised lectures, crumbled in an instant. Had it all been an act? A mask to hide a much darker agenda?

  Was he a pawn of the Church of Luminia all along...?

  Before Orin could speak, Schedar took a step closer, now wearing the cold grin of an interrogator.

  “Fine then. Let's talk about you, Orin Alpheratz.”

  His eyes gleamed like a predator's.

  “Those red eyes of yours... What powers do they hold? Explain everything you know about them. Be honest, and I might be able to reduce your sentence. Who knows...” He leaned in. “Depending on what we learn, you might even walk out of here.”

  So that was what Schedar was after, information about his red eyes.

  Orin's chest tightened. Professor Velorum was right all along... There really were people out there who would hunt him down for this. His crimson irises, a trait he had never understood, were more than just unusual, they were dangerous for people like Schedar.

  But even if the whole Empire came for him, there was no way he'd hand over anything to them.

  “I don't know,” Orin said flatly, lying through his teeth. “I've never felt anything special about these eyes. Everything I've accomplished... it's because I've trained for it, every single day.”

  “Lies!” Schedar snapped, his voice rising. “Don't insult my intelligence. I've watched you closely during class. There's something off about you, something that doesn't add up. Mastering the Piercing Sword skill in a single session? Do you seriously expect me to believe that was normal?”

  “You're free to believe whatever you want,” Orin shot back, his tone sharp. “Even I don't know why it came to me so easily. But I can promise you this, it has nothing to do with my eyes.”

  Schedar let out a long breath, the corners of his mouth twitching into a twisted smile. “I see... So we're doing this the hard way.”

  He took a step forward, lowering his voice to a hiss. “Out of respect for Captain Alpheratz, I won't torture you. But perhaps your friends will be more... cooperative.” His grin widened. “Shall we start with that water-brained giant? What was his name again...? Ah yes, Eridus.”

  Orin's blood boiled. “You bastard!” he growled, fists clenching so hard his knuckles turned white. “If you lay a finger on any of them, I swear I'll—”

  “Oh?” Schedar raised an eyebrow, mocking amusement dancing in his eyes. “Feeling more talkative now?”

  In response, Orin glared at him with unflinching fury... then spat directly in his face.

  Schedar froze. Slowly, he took out a silk handkerchief and wiped the spit from his cheek, his expression darkening.

  “I see,” he muttered coldly. “So that's how it is.”

  Turning on his heel, he strode toward the door, but not before issuing one last command.

  “Guards, keep an eye on him. Use force if necessary, but don't kill him. He's still... valuable.”

  Then, with a final venomous glance, Schedar exited the room, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving Orin alone in the dim silence.

  The two guards assigned to watch over Orin didn't bother tying him up or chaining him. Perhaps they believed the locked room and his lack of a weapon were enough. Dressed head to toe in heavy, crested armor, their visors covered their faces, making them appear more like silent statues than men.

  They moved to the center of the cramped room, talking to each other in low voices, completely ignoring Orin.

  “You take the door. I'll keep an eye on the boy,” one muttered.

  “Why not just lock him in and leave?” the other replied, a trace of boredom in his tone. “What can a kid like him do without a sword or magic?”

  “Probably nothing,” the first admitted with a sigh. “But better safe than sorry. If he escapes, we're the ones getting flogged. I'm not in the mood to be today's example.”

  Orin listened in silence, his eyes sharp. Careless... they think I'm harmless.

  He glanced around the room. There were a few objects scattered about: an old mop, a broken chair, even a bent iron rod leaning against the wall. But none of them could do more than make noise against the thick armor plating the guards wore.

  His eyes flicked back to the guards.

  “That Schedar's really something else,” the one at the door scoffed. “Walking around like some kind of noble. He is just a spy.”

  “I heard he used to serve in the League of Knights,” the other replied, his voice tinged with doubt. “But honestly? He doesn't look like much.”

  “Exactly what I'm saying. Full of hot air.”

  Orin didn't care about their gossip, his attention was drawn to something far more important.

  Just beside the boot of the second guard... a dagger.

  Small, barely the size of a forearm, but sleek and sharp. Probably a backup weapon, meant for emergencies. Perfect.

  If he could just get close enough, undetected, and grab it...

  But how? The room was bare, and any sudden movement would alert them instantly.

  “Do you think the League will approve of what we're doing?” One of the guards asked, his voice barely audible through his helmet.

  “Who knows?” the other replied with a shrug. “But we're doing it for the good of Solaris... they should be on our side.”

  Orin tuned them out. He shut his eyes, shutting down his senses, retreating into the silence within. Wind... you must have known this moment would come. Everything you showed me... my old memories... was to prepare me for this.

  But how?

  Wind had never given him direct instructions, just showed him fragments of the past.

  Was that all I needed? Orin's thoughts spun, until something clicked.

  He opened his eyes.

  Not just in the physical sense, something inside him awakened. As if pieces long scattered finally aligned.

  Hector's innate strength as a knight. The dilemma that Wind posed to him. His own instincts.

  All of it... it's been leading to this moment.

  A calm breath escaped his lips.

  “Activate Hunter Skill: Speed Up 10%,” he whispered.

  The effect was immediate.

  His body felt weightless, his limbs flowing with effortless precision, as if the air itself was guiding him. The world slowed around him. Even his own heartbeat faded into the background.

  He moved.

  Before either guard could react, Orin closed the distance and snatched the emergency dagger lying at the armored man's boot.

  “What the—?!”

  “H-He's moving—!”

  Too slow.

  To Orin, their panic was sluggish, like voices underwater. His hand tightened around the dagger, and without hesitation, he whispered again:

  “Activate Hunter Skill: Piercing Dagger.”

  A surge of energy pulsed through his arm. The blade shimmered, coated in a familiar blue aura. The same sensation he'd felt when mastering the Piercing Sword, but this time, it felt even more natural. More his.

  He lunged.

  The glowing dagger shot forward, slicing through the guard's chest plate as though it were cloth. A burst of blood erupted as the man staggered back, howling in agony.

  “GRAAAAGH!!”

  But the wound wasn't deep enough to bring the guard down. Blood streamed from the gash, yet he remained standing, fueled now by rage.

  The second guard, who stood even closer, drew his sword with a sharp hiss of steel.

  “Even if we can't kill him...” he muttered with a grin beneath his helmet, “that doesn't mean we can't hurt him, right?”

  “I don't give a damn about the orders!” the wounded guard spat, drawing his weapon with a trembling hand. “I'll slice off this brat's arm!”

  Orin stepped back instinctively. His breathing quickened. The dagger felt small and useless in his hand now. Despite the clarity he'd felt moments ago, despite finally grasping the hunter's rhythm, he was cornered.

  Two fully armored knights. A tight room. No space to dodge. No room to breathe.

  I can't win... not like this.

  And then, something shifted.

  A faint breeze rolled into the room, soft and slow. The door creaked open, without force or warning. Just... opened.

  All three froze.

  “...What the hell...?” one of the guards whispered.

  The words had barely left his lips when his head suddenly slid from his shoulders, falling to the floor with a dull, wet thud.

  Orin's eyes widened in disbelief.

  The second guard turned, sword raised, too late. His fate mirrored his companion's, and within seconds, both decapitated bodies collapsed into a spreading pool of crimson.

  Silence.

  And then, from the shadows of the open doorway, stepped a young man.

  He looked no older than his early twenties. Pale-skinned. Jet-black hair. His eyes... eyes so dark they seemed to devour light. Cold, endless, and unblinking.

  He walked over the corpses without pause, not a drop of blood staining his pristine boots.

  “Orin,” he said calmly, his voice smooth, like velvet on steel. “We finally meet.”

  He stopped a few paces away, then offered a small, polite bow.

  “My name is Felis. And I've come for you.”