Chapter 6: Tales

The village of Nauneya thrived in harmony, nestled within the embrace of nature. The air carried the scent of fresh earth, mingling with the distant laughter of children and the rhythmic hammering of the blacksmith's forge. Life here was peaceful.

But it hadn't always been this way.

Centuries ago, darkness swallowed these lands whole.

A disaster swept through, bringing with it a legion of ghouls that turned fields into graveyards and rivers into streams of crimson. At the heart of this catastrophe stood a man feared across the empire—a sorcerer of black arts who fed on his own people's souls for power. His name was whispered in fear.

The Dark Lord.

Or, as the empire recorded him—Lord of the Black Legion.

Each battle he fought only fed his strength. His conquests left ruin in their wake.

Until a hero rose to stop him.

Erun Tharos.

They called him The Brave, the one chosen by the Goddess of Nauneya.

Legends spoke of a sacred fruit from the Divine Tree, a gift from the goddess herself. A fruit meant for the one who would stand against the Dark Lord. Erun ate it, and power unlike any mortal's coursed through him. The empire took him in, trained him, and sent him to war.

With his allies at his side, he carved through the Dark Lord's legion, blade meeting flesh, magic scorching bone. The land trembled as they pushed deeper into the heart of the abyss.

And then—

"The Hero Tharos took his blade and swung, defeating the Lord of Darkness, restoring peace and prosperity to these lands…!"

A fit of coughing interrupted the words.

"Grandma!" Kyle sat up abruptly, eyes wide with concern. "Are you okay? Should I bring water?"

His grandmother waved him off with a chuckle, the deep lines on her face crinkling as she smiled. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Honestly, how many times have I read you this book? You never get tired of it, do you?"

Kyle grinned, clutching the worn book against his chest. "Never! Every time I hear about The Brave, I feel like I could take on the world! He fought evil with his own strength! One day, I'll do the same. Those village bullies won't stand a chance!"

His words were met with a quiet sigh.

Kyle was small for his age, barely thirteen, his frame frail and his arms thin. But that never stopped him. Every bruise, every scrape—he wore them like battle scars. Unlike the others who bowed their heads or turned away, Kyle fought back.

Even when he lost.

His only solace was this book. Divine's Journey to the Place Where the Darkness Lies—a tale of heroism, recorded in simple words with faded illustrations. It spoke of Erun's journey, of the Divine Fruit, of the battles he fought.

Of how the empire waited with bated breath for his return.

How the royal capital burst into celebration, banners unfurling, trumpets blaring in anticipation of the hero's victory.

The book ended with his triumph.

But what it never mentioned…

What no one dared to write…

That was, The Hero Erun Tharos…

Never…

Came…

Back.

"…"

Kyle stepped outside, stretching his arms toward the sky. The sun painted the cobbled streets in gold, and a cool breeze rustled through the trees. His eyes gleamed with excitement, his lips curved into a crescent-moon smile.

It was a good day.

A perfect day to get his toilet fixed.

His grandmother had sent him to the village chief's house—something about the water supply being cut off again. He didn't really care why. He just wanted it sorted out before he had to dig a hole in the backyard.

Walking through the village, he waved at familiar faces. Vendors lined the streets, selling everything from dried herbs to woven baskets. Children chased each other past wooden stalls, their laughter echoing in the air. It was a small place, but it had everything one needed.

At the far end of the road, the chief's house stood, larger than the others, its wooden beams darkened with age. Kyle knocked on the door, calling out, "Hello, Mr. Chief! It's me, Kyle! Grandma sent me!"

The door creaked open, revealing a girl around his age. Brown hair, brown eyes—a stark contrast to Kyle's black locks.

"Hello, Elly," he greeted with a bright smile.

Her cheeks reddened instantly. "H-Hi, Kyle." She shifted on her feet, fingers twisting at the hem of her dress. "Are you here to meet Father, or…"

"Yeah, yeah, I need to see the chief," he interrupted casually, waving his hand.

Elly's smile faltered, her lips pressing into a pout. "Fine. I'll go tell him. Mr. Ch-i-e-f."

"Dummy." Muttering under her breath, she stomped away.

Kyle frowned. "Huh? Did she just say something?"

A sudden shiver ran down his spine. He had the strange feeling someone was talking about him.

Moments later, Elly returned. "Father said you can come in."

Kyle blinked. "Inside? Why?"

Elly glanced away, a soft pink dusting her cheeks. "I don't know. Maybe he has something to say. Just go before he gets mad."

That… wasn't normal. Usually, they'd just send someone to fix the problem.

Still, he shrugged. "Alright, alright."

In front of the village chief office door. Knock! Knock

"Come in," a faint sound came from inside 

Pushing open the heavy wooden door, he stepped inside.

The chief's office smelled faintly of parchment and ink. Behind a desk stacked with scrolls, Fern, the village chief, sat with an easy smile. Unlike the rest of the village, he treated Kyle and his grandmother with unusual kindness.

"Good afternoon, Kyle," Fern greeted warmly. "I heard you needed help with something?"

Kyle nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, um… the bathroom water isn't working, so Grandma sent me to ask the village chief for help."

"No need to be so formal." Fern chuckled. "Just call me Uncle Fern."

Kyle turned red. "I-I can't! That wouldn't be respectful! The villagers might talk if I did!"

Fern laughed, a deep, hearty sound. "Who would dare question me if I said you were my nephew?"

Kyle clutched his trousers, overwhelmed. "I-I—uh—thank you very much!"

Fern leaned forward, his expression softening. "How's your grandmother?"

Kyle hesitated. "She says she's fine… but I think she's hiding something."

Fern nodded solemnly. "I'll send a doctor to check on her. And don't worry about the water—I'll have someone fix it, but it will take time since everyone who does the job is either busy or out of the village."

Kyle beamed. "A-Actually—uh—thank you, Ch—Ch—Un—Uncle Fern!"

As he fumbled over his words, his face burned with embarrassment.

Fern simply smiled. But as Kyle left, closing the door behind him, the chief's expression darkened. His gaze lingered on the door a moment too long, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

Outside, Kyle barely had time to breathe before a sharp poke jabbed his back.

He turned.

Elly.

She looked up at him, face expectant. "What were you talking about with Father?"

"Nothing much. Just about the water and Grandma health," he answered, already turning away.

Her shoulders slumped.

"Hey, Kyle," she mumbled. "Do you… wanna play with me?"

Kyle blinked. "Can't. Gotta hunt for dinner. Otherwise, Grandma and I will starve."

"Oh…"

Elly hesitated. "Then, maybe I cou—"

But he was already running. "Gotta go!, or those brick heads might hunt them all. Bye, Elly!"

Elly stood frozen, her outstretched hand grasping at empty air.

"…You're the biggest brickhead," she whispered, cheeks glowing pink.

"Dummy."

…