The night felt endless. Even as Nelvan tried to shut his eyes, sleep wouldn't come. The echoes of the mysterious letter kept swirling in his mind, making rest impossible. It was no use.
The young man reopened his bedroom window. The scent of night dew was unmistakable. The post-rain air had now become his only solace. And though it seemed like the rain had ceased, the soft patter of droplets still played outside, like a rhythm urging Nelvan to solidify his resolve.
Magic—something he had always dreamed of—would soon become real. He would finally study it firsthand, shaping his fate with a once-in-a-lifetime choice he was about to make that very night.
Outside, Nliyff was still cloaked in the same damp hush left by the heavy storm.
Nelvan moved again, opening the small chest beneath his bed. Its contents were modest: worn clothes, a copper necklace inherited from his grandfather, and an old, faded map given by his father years ago—a map of the southern lands, long ignored by most. But Nelvan knew every line and dot drawn on it meant more than just geography. It was the beginning of his journey to Halder Valley.
He picked up the necklace. Its small round pendant held a chipped wind-shaped gemstone. Somehow, it always brought him a sense of calm, as if a soft voice from the past whispered protection whenever he held it.
Then came the sound of soft, deliberate footsteps.
Nelvan turned. It was his father again, appearing behind the creaking door of Nelvan's room. His face now looked tired, hair left a bit tousled, and his shirt carried the faint scent of mint leaves and healing charcoal.
Nelvan sat on the floor, pulling out a woven rucksack his mother had made for him years ago. He packed the essentials, careful not to overload it—he didn't want the weight to slow him down during the journey.
"So?" His father asked from the doorway.
Nelvan nodded. "I will go."
Ezrell felt proud, even though he could still see the hesitation in his son's expression. Deep inside, he too didn't want to let his only son wander far into the unknown, into the countless dangers that could await. Whether or not he'd ever see his son again—he simply didn't know.
But he remembered the brief conversation he once had with Eldred many years ago—about Eclothera, of which he knew only a little. His hopes had remained unchanged. He had always wished that if one day he married and had a child, a letter from that great academy would one day come for them. And now, that time had come.
His emotions were tangled in a storm of pride, worry, and hope. But more than anything, he wanted his only son to become someone strong—someone who could change his own fate and find his rightful place in the world.
Once Nelvan had finished packing his things, he sat on his bed. His father returned after a short trip to his study—something Nelvan hadn't noticed, too caught up in carefully arranging the small personal items now tucked away inside his weathered woven bag.
The Elfair man entered carrying a few items in his hands. But what drew Nelvan's eyes the most was a small dagger, its handle carved with delicate leaf patterns.
Ezrell sat beside him.
"This dagger was mine," He said, placing it gently into Nelvan's hands. "I forged it myself back when I was still in Eisternd, working as a Machina Magis. I can only offer you this—for when you face danger. There's no magic in it. But true strength doesn't always come from magic, even when surrounded by it. What matters is your resolve." Ezrell spoke clearly, his voice firm and warm.
Nelvan received the dagger with deep respect. He nodded, his eyes shimmering with uncontrollable emotion. Should he say goodbye to his family, even though he himself hated doing so?
Ezrell handed him something else, which he had brought earlier from his private study. It was a worn brown pouch: inside were dozens of Ruby coins, along with a water flask.
Nelvan took the items with slightly trembling hands—caught between the excitement of arriving at Eclothera and the abrupt farewell he was now facing. If he stepped out of the house at dawn, it would mean leaving everything behind, even his sheep.
"I'll come back, Dad," He promised softly.
Ezrell smiled. "I know. But when you return, you won't be the same boy anymore."
"I'm sorry… for keeping you awake," Nelvan said, looking into his father's face. Ezrell let out a soft, nearly soundless laugh.
"It's alright. I was working late anyway. There's much I have to finish. And you've known that for a while now," He replied. Nelvan nodded in understanding.
"Oh, and what about Mother? Is it really okay for me to leave? Didn't she always disapprove of me learning magic?" Nelvan's face suddenly showed concern, but Ezrell quickly sought to reassure him.
"That woman is simply still bound by her motherly instincts," He said gently.
"I'll speak to her after you leave," Ezrell added as he rose from his seat and disappeared once more behind the door.
The night went on, but Nelvan felt no fatigue. He carefully reached for his bag—warm clothes, a map, the dagger, several pieces of wheat bread filled with margarine, and a flask already filled with water. He slipped the letter into the inner pocket of his cloak, making sure he could read it again should doubt ever creep in.
And before the morning light touched the edges of the rooftops, bathing the world in a gentle golden glow, Nelvan stepped outside. Behind him, Ezrell stood at the doorway, eyes filled with silent prayers.
He didn't know what awaited him in the Halder Valley. But for the first time in his life, Nelvan Aetherion walked forward not because of his father's orders or a duty he was bound to—but because it was his choice.
The night air slowly gave way to the chill of morning. A thin mist began to blanket the hills surrounding the village of Nliyff. The sky remained dark, untouched by the orange hues that would soon split the horizon.
Nelvan stood at the doorway of his home, a woven bag slung over his shoulder, a copper pendant hanging from his neck, and the dagger his father had given him tucked at his waist. He wore a simple dark gray cloak—thick enough to ward off the biting cold.
His father was still awake.
Ezrell stood right at the open door. His face was somber, though no tears fell. Nelvan knew his father was holding back many emotions. He approached him slowly, and without a word, wrapped him in a tight embrace.
"Take care of yourself, son…" Ezrell whispered softly, gently brushing Nelvan's hair like he did when he was a child.
"I'll never disappoint you," Nelvan said with as much strength as he could muster. "I'll try to become who I'm meant to be."
His father only nodded, saying nothing, but his grip on Nelvan's back tightened with time.
The wind carried the scent of wet earth and wild grass. As Nelvan stepped forward and looked down the narrow path that led to the village's main road…
Ezrell loosened his embrace and let him go. His son had grown so quickly. He had longed to teach him more, to pass on knowledge, but his own dark past often left him conflicted. Time felt too short when he finally had to let his son go.
But he tried to remain strong.
Nelvan's footsteps echoed on the cobbled streets of Nliyff, still cloaked in the dawn mist. The sun had yet to rise, leaving only the cold air to sting his skin.
Thankfully, the cloak he wore was thick enough to shield him from the chill that bit at him every second. Nelvan walked with a heavy heart, but he knew that if he turned back now—if he gave up on this journey—he would become a son who disappointed. And more than that, his father's unwavering support had lit a fire in him that pushed his ambition higher than ever before.
On his back, the small backpack swayed with the rhythm of his steps. Against his chest, the letter from Eclothera was tucked neatly—like a second heartbeat, pulsing in time with his every move.
He glanced back once.
The house stood quiet, its windows tightly shut, no more smoke rising from the chimney. Only the silhouette of Ezrell remained at the doorway, raising one hand in a silent wave.
Nelvan returned the gesture with a nod, then let the image fade into the mist behind him.
The journey to Halder Valley wasn't something easily mapped on an ordinary chart. There were no clear dirt roads, no signposts like village markers or boundary stones. Only vague directions on a worn map from his father, and a gentle light within his mind that, somehow, knew where to go.
Nelvan would be skirting the edge of Furmist once he had completely left Nliyff behind. The sun was still reluctant to rise, and only the gusting wind had accompanied him so far. Along the way, he encountered a few early risers—people he hadn't expected to see at this hour. He had thought he'd be walking alone through the dawn, but that wasn't quite the case.
He had never been up this early before. His mother would never wake him unless he simply refused to rise. Usually, it was the sunlight piercing through the cracks of his bedroom window that nudged him awake each morning.
In just a few more minutes, he would reach Furmist. And by then, the sun would surely begin to rise.
***