"Fat Orange Puff, too big, this little one will do."

Splash.

His hand instantly dove in the river and caught a small Red Scale Snuff. It wiggled between his fingers and tried to escape. Riktor clenched his fist even tighter with glee on his face. The red fish in hand slowly died, but Riktor was more focused on returning to the riverbank.

Fourteen-year-old Riktor was standing knee-deep at the side of a gushing river. The waves were strong and the bottom slippery, so he had to be careful not to splash water on his tunic.

Riktor was lean, so he always was the weakest kid in his village, but he was very fast. That's why he could catch a Red Scale Snuff with his bare hands, and by his hand motion, you could tell he was used to this.

"Karra (Damn it)."

Reaching the riverbank safely, Riktor cursed, because he was so hungry that he forgot to fold his trousers. He walked dejectedly to a makeshift camp, where a small fire pit could be seen, made with uneven rocks. The area was deep in the vegetation.

His mood was not downhearted for too long as he sat by the fire and cleaned the fish. You could see his trousers hanging in a treetop; the small gusts of wind would sway them now and then.

The year was 202. It was an even-numbered year—what the village chief called a Blue Star year. Blue Star years brought nice wind, calm weather, and at the end, snow.

Riktor hated the odd-numbered ones. Those were Red Star years; they brought hot weather, storms, and a lack of fish in the river.

As the smoky smell touched his nose, Riktor smiled. He pinched the charcoal-colored skin to see the pink meat inside. Seeing the greasy meat, he could not hold it in and grabbed the stick, taking a big bite out of it.

"Hot! Hot!"

Riktor puffed some breaths with his mouth open to cool the fish off in his mouth. Seeing it was not working, he took a sip from a small cup, which was surprisingly iron-made and looked finely crafted, with flower patterns engraved.

Thump-Thump.

Neigh!

Riktor calmly took another bite and was about to take one more sip from the cup. His hands paused because he could hear something big approaching. Even the water in his small cup rippled.

Such a heavy sound was unknown to Riktor, so he got a bit nervous. He was far from the village and didn't know what to do at this moment. The sound was coming his way, and it was fast. So first, he wore his trousers, then put the fire out, swallowed the rest of the fish with one gulp, and moved toward the sound.

"The sound is coming from the King's Road, not a predator."

Riktor might not look the part, but he had survived many attacks from dangerous predators just by instinct alone. He knew when to go closer to be safe and when to retreat—it was as if it were built into him.

Trusting in his instinct, which had never betrayed him so far, he walked toward the road, then climbed a tall tree where he could see what was coming his way. The sound was getting louder and louder by the minute.

Riktor sat on a strong branch full of leaves, almost hiding his presence. If you looked from afar, you would see only two blue eyes; his silver long hair was hidden among the green and golden leaves.

A cloud of dust was all he could see at the end of the King's Road. He frowned because the Blue Star did not bring storms. Soon he saw something that was shining—the blue star was as if glaring at this thing.

"Horses? Many horses."

Riktor muttered as the scene before him became clearer. Many men were wearing silver armor, galloping their horses this way. They were fast—faster than a Wood Chicken but slower than a Harpoon Bear.

"I am not this fast. Let's wait till they pass by, then return to the village. I can't believe the war reached this far."

Riktor uttered as he grabbed the branch tightly. He couldn't outrun them, so his approach was cautious. He didn't want to jump down to meet them either; if it was an enemy army, he would be deader than dead.

Neigh!

RUN!

"Captain, Her Highness needs rest. She has asked you to stop in the nearby village."

"Yattach!! (Fuck!) The next village is small. Order the Quartermaster to speed up. We need bigger camps!"

As Riktor watched the people on horseback come closer, his mood relaxed a bit because he saw the Lionheart Kingdom banner in their hands. He also understood their language—they were knights.

"Are they going to rest in my village?"

Although they wore fancy armor and had fine horses, Riktor had a bad feeling about them, because they sounded desperate. Desperation was a bad sign, especially for an army of this caliber.

The village Riktor belonged to was called Lasa. It was beside the Lasai River, at the end of the country, where very few traders visited. Forget about hundreds of knights—his village had barely contributed to the ongoing war, and in front of this knightly army, the men they sent would look like simple clowns.

As the army passed along, three big carriages approached, surrounded by heavily armored guards. Riktor could see that every one of them had windows, slightly open for wind to pass through.

Riktor saw the first carriage had three women wearing the same outfit, which meant they were some kind of maids or servants. The second carriage had nothing inside—or perhaps he couldn't see it. The third one was very unique.

It had a big window, slightly opened. Inside sat, like a sculpted statue, a woman. Her skin was white like the most beautiful snow Riktor had ever seen. Her silver hair was so long he couldn't even see the end of it. A small golden crown rested on top of her head; her eyes were closed, as if she were praying—or as if lesser creatures were praying to her, and she was quietly responding to their call.

"A… Goddess?"

Young Riktor had never seen a woman this beautiful in his life. Even his imagination couldn't reach this degree. He forgot to blink as he saw her pass by. Her eyes fluttered open, the silver-bright gaze turning as if to look at him for a moment—before all he could see was speeding horses and dust in the air.

"S…She… How can this be? Was that a person?"

Riktor almost slipped from the tree branch in his dazed state. His instinct saved him once again as he grabbed the vine and gently landed on his feet. For the first time, his face showed doubt and confusion as he sat on a big rock.

Chirp. Chirp.

"I better head home."

His daze broke when he saw birds returning home. He had been lost in thought for quite some time; his stomach growled. The Blue Star was going down, light was departing with it, and as resourceful as he was, even he was not daring enough to stay in the Laat Woodland.

Riktor went to his camp first, took his makeshift small wooden knife from the fire debris, and pushed it into his waist. Then, with a cautious eye, he walked along the riverbank. Reaching a big boulder, he took a right and stayed on the narrow path until it met the King's Road.

Behind him was Laat Woodland, and in front of him stretched a meadow as far as the eyes could see. The lush vegetation swayed with the faint wind; the smell of immature herbs was strong as he walked toward his village.

As the blue-clear sky turned dark, a silvery white moon began to rise. Riktor hurried, because after dark, strange creatures lurked in the shadows—even a Veiner could die if he wasn't careful. The silver moon in the corner of his eyes reminded him of the goddess he saw earlier today.

'If I die today… sigh, I guess it was worth it.'

Smoke rose over the blue clouds. Silvery-white armored guards patrolled the small village as Riktor's eyes landed on it. Some people were walking his way with lanterns. He wasn't afraid, because they looked like people he knew—the darkness only obstructed his view.

"Riktor?"

An aged male voice entered Riktor's ears. Hearing it, Riktor stopped his steps and let the lantern reveal his face first.

"Yes? What happened, Uncle Roth? Why are you guys outside the village?"

Riktor was full of doubt. These people were his neighbors—usually they wouldn't look for him even if he stayed in the jungle. But today they looked concerned. An orphan boy like him was hardly any concern for a remote village where food was scarce.

"Shhh! Royal guards are passing by our village. Come quick! The Holy Priestess is with them. She can bless you with her Holy Magic—then you can maybe enlist in the army, just like your father. If you unlock your vein, hurry up!"

The villagers disregarded his opinion or thought and, grabbing his wrist, walked ahead. Riktor was being dragged with force; there was nothing he could do. The father they mentioned had died last year—Riktor had to bury him alone beside his camp. That's why he always tried to keep him company. And mother? Well… what's that?

'Damn it, I can't move. If I try anything funny, they'll just beat me up again. I can't risk injuring my leg once more.'

'Calm… I need to calm myself. Father always used to say the calmest man wins the war.'

The small stone that was quietly piercing his leg rolled elsewhere as his feet began to match their adult steps. His face, though expressionless, hid a thought—he would kill any of them right now if given the chance. As they approached the village gate, a silver-armored guard stopped them for a second, then glanced at Roth's tight grip and nodded.

"Very few people get the chance to be awakened. Only children within twelve to fifteen years can awaken their vein. So keep your mouth shut and sit beside Rega."

Roth whispered before pushing Riktor toward the village center. The ever-gloomy square was lit tonight. Children Riktor's age sat on the ground. Riktor looked around and guessed he was the last to arrive.

'Herding cows, farming a small field, knowing what it means to be called "overeating" once—that's all I wanted. This isn't me. The blessed me won't be me anymore.'

If you really awakened your vein, no matter your gender, you'd become an army officer. The pay was great—but Riktor didn't have anyone to care for. His life was good. After the next Red Star year, he was planning to build a small hut just beside the Lasai River in the Lasa Woodland.

'Dreams are dreams. Nightmares do turn real though… I hope one day my dreams will come true. I can only hope.'

The torches beside the village center flared as Riktor sat quietly, thinking about his life. He only had a Wood Chicken and a broken necklace—what he could truly call his own. Other than that, even this tunic was something he'd picked up from the Lasai River.

"Hope? A Veiner doesn't hope. An Awakened creates his dream first—and sees it later."

A melodious voice came from the makeshift camp just in front of Riktor. Hearing what she said, Riktor's stupor broke. His face was replaced by an emotion he had been lacking the whole afternoon—perhaps his whole life: 'Ambition'.

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