Chapter 2 : Mage

Word of what I did spread like wildfire.

Not just in our village—but far beyond it.

People came from nearby towns just to see me.

To speak with me.

To thank me.

To them, I was a hero.

Villagers brought gifts—baskets of fruit, fresh bread, old charms, and relics they believed would be useful to someone touched by fate.

But my parents refused every gift.

They didn't see me as blessed.

They saw me as marked.

Marked by something dangerous.

At night, when they thought I was asleep, I heard their whispers.

"That magic…" my father said one night, voice low and trembling. "It wasn't normal. Not even Noble-grade. It was something else."

My mother choked back tears. "If the kingdom finds out, they'll take him. They'll send him to the frontlines."

She was right.

They feared this day would come.

And one night, it did.

We were eating dinner by lantern light. A quiet meal—warm soup, roasted vegetables, the comforting sound of spoons against bowls.

Until—

Knock. Knock.

Two sharp bangs on our front door rattled the walls.

We all froze.

My parents exchanged a look—silent, fearful. Their eyes told me they already knew who it was.

Then came a voice. Deep and cold.

"Open up! By order of the Royal Family!"

My mother dropped her spoon. It clattered across the floor and rolled into shadow.

My father rose slowly. He didn't speak. He sighed. His breaths were heavy and slow. His steps dragged across the floorboards.

He opened the door—just a crack.

"How may we help you?" he asked, voice calm but tight.

I leaned a little to see.

Outside stood four men in shining silver armor. Rigid posture. Royal crests on their chests. They looked like living statues.

One stepped forward.

"We received word about a boy using high-tier magic," he said, voice cold. "Our investigation led us here."

That was enough.

My mother broke.

She rushed to me and wrapped her arms around me. Her soft voice trembled as she whispered, "My son… my little boy…"

I couldn't move. I just sat quiet, staring at the floor, my chest tight.

My father said nothing. He stepped aside and let the soldiers in.

Their boots clapped heavily on the wooden floor like hammers.

They walked right into our home, measured and slow. Their eyes were blank.

They looked at me not as their king's son would be looked at, but as something else. A tool. A weapon.

That night, they didn't take me.

Instead, the officer in the lead handed my father a scroll sealed with the royal crest.

"Pack his things," he said. "A carriage will arrive at dawn. He will be taken to the Royal Capital for evaluation."

Evaluation. Just that one word—and the room grew colder.

My mother took the scroll like it was poison. She gripped it in both hands, her knuckles white with fear.

And maybe it was poison.

We didn't sleep. We barely moved. We huddled by the fire, holding each other, praying it wasn't real.

But then—

Knock. Knock.

Another knock at the door. Softer this time, but no less urgent.

"Leave us alone!" my mother shouted.

Knock. Knock.

My father stood and marched to the door. "Didn't you hear my wife?" he roared. "I said leave!"

He flung the door open.

An old man stood there, tall but frail, draped in a white robe that touched the floor. His face was lined with scars and years. His eyes, though—sharp, clear, kind.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," he said softly. "I know your family is going through a lot right now. I came to offer help."

My father stared at him in silence.

The old man reached into the folds of his robe and pulled out something small. It glowed faintly in the lamplight—a token. A seal. He placed it in my father's hand.

My father opened his mouth, as if to speak, but no sound came. He stepped aside and let the old man enter.

The stranger walked into our house carefully, almost like he was stepping into a sacred place. The hem of his robe touched the floor with a soft whisper.

"Hello," he said quietly, and his eyes found mine. They were steady, warm, safe.

"I am Asmond Crow."

At his name, my mother's eyes filled with hope for the first time in hours.

The stranger turned to me. "Would you like to come with me?" he asked gently.

I didn't know what to say.

My parents looked at him, trust in their eyes. I still had no idea who he was.

Then my mother spoke.

"Helios," she said softly, using my name—for the first time she had spoken it that night. "This good man will keep you safe. Please, go with him."

Just like that, her decision was made.

Whoever this old man was—it was clear he was stronger than the knights. He had our trust.

He stayed the night at our home—our guest. My parents treated him like family. The tension in the house lifted, replaced by a strange sense of hope.

I watched him move around the house with quiet confidence. My mind was full of questions:

Who was he, really?

Why did my parents trust him so easily?

What was he planning?

Later, long after the lanterns burned low, my parents tucked me quietly into bed. They left me alone with Asmond at the dining table.

He looked up and smiled gently.

"Do you remember who I am?" he asked softly.

"You are Asmond Crow," I answered, surprised he'd reminded me of his own name.

He chuckled, a soft sound. "Yes, yes I am. But do you know what I do?"

I shook my head.

"Let me tell you," he said quietly. "I am a guild master—one of the few who stand outside of any kingdom's rule. I train mages and knights to serve all realms when needed. We call them Aces."

He paused and looked at me. I nodded, leaning forward to understand every word.

He cleared his throat and went on. "When I recruit someone, they become independent. You won't serve any one kingdom—so even if they send knights to fetch you, you won't belong to them. And that also means you get to see your parents."

He was looking at me now, eyes warm, serious.

"Do you understand?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, softly.

"Do you have any questions?" he asked.

I nodded again.

He waited.

Then I said, "Will I be paid?"

He blinked, surprised, and then burst out laughing.

He laughed and laughed, patting my shoulder. But when I didn't smile back, he stopped and cleared his throat.

"Yes," he said, more sober. "You will be paid fairly."

That was all I needed to hear.

I looked at the fire, thinking about my family. About the night in the field, about the knock at the door, about this strange man who had walked in and changed everything.

I touched my mark on my chest—the faint symbol of power. It felt warm now, not scary.

I knew I had a place in this world. Not just in the memories of others, but here—by choice.

For the first time in a long time, I felt hope.

We spoke for hours—about training, duties, magic, missions, and life as an Ace. I learned about duty, honor, and the bond between guildmates.

By the time dawn came, we had reached peace with what was happening.

When the knights returned, coming to claim me, they found Asmond waiting.

With a word—and a wave of a carved amulet—they stepped back.

"I claim him," Asmond said firmly. The knight captain bowed and stepped aside.

It was official.

That day, I stopped being a scared village boy.

That day, I became an Ace.