“Miquella,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. A pang of anger and sorrow surged through me, but before I could fully grasp it, the door creaked open.
Darrik and Eleonore were seated at the small table in the corner, their faces pale and tense. As soon as they noticed I was awake, they rushed to my side. Eleonore pulled me into a tight hug, her embrace trembling. Darrik’s large hand rested on my shoulder, his grip firm but gentle.
“You’re awake,” Eleonore said, her voice thick with relief. “Thank Aer—” She stopped herself, biting her lip, then corrected, “Thank goodness.”
“What happened?” I croaked, my throat dry. My hands trembled as I gripped the blanket. “I—Miquella—”
Darrik exchanged a look with Eleonore before sitting beside me, his expression grave. “You tried to stop them, Ronan. You ran into the square, screaming—you weren’t lucid, and when one of the guards struck you down, you lost consciousness.”
Eleonore reached out, brushing the hair from my forehead. “We found you in the square, Ronan. The village elder carried you home. You’ve been out for a whole day.”
All the memories flooded back with painful clarity. Miquella’s screams, Edna’s desperate shouts, the gauntleted hand that struck me down. My fists clenched, anger and helplessness boiling inside me. “They took her,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “They took Miquella.”
Darrik’s face darkened, and Eleonore’s eyes welled with tears. They both nodded.
“Who were they?” I demanded. “Why did they take her? What is the Priest Factor?”
The question hung in the air for a moment before Darrik sighed heavily. “They were agents of the Cult of Aeris,” he explained, his voice laced with disdain. “A powerful religious order that holds sway over much of the kingdom. Their center of power is in the capital, Mirion, and their faith is followed by many. Our family... we do not follow their beliefs.”
Eleonore hesitated, then added, “The Priest Factor is one of the rarest Factors in the world, Ronan. Someone born with it is destined to become the monarch of the faith, ruling over both the Cult and much of the kingdom. The birth of someone with the Priest Factor happens only once every 300 to 400 years. It’s why they acted so quickly.”
I stared at them, struggling to process what they were saying. “So Miquella—she’s supposed to become their ruler? That’s why they took her?”
Darrik nodded grimly. “It’s not a role one can refuse. Once the Cult learns of a child born with the Priest Factor, they claim them. They believe it is their divine right.”
Eleonore added, her voice quiet, “Miquella’s parents may have sensed this possibility, Ronan. Perhaps they were trying to hide her. But... the Cult has their ways. They have prophets who guide them, visions that reveal the paths of those destined for greatness.”
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. It all made sense now—the secrecy, the sudden arrival of the Cult. Miquella’s parents were gone, leaving her vulnerable. The Cult had found her, as they always did.
“But why?” I asked, my voice breaking. “Why didn’t anyone stop them? Why didn’t anyone try?”
Darrik’s gaze hardened. “Because no one can oppose the Cult openly, Ronan. Their reach is vast, their influence even greater. Challenging them would bring ruin to the village.”
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I shook my head, the helplessness burning inside me. “That doesn’t make it right.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Darrik said quietly. “But sometimes survival means choosing battles carefully.”
As their words sank in, I felt a sharp pang of guilt. I had failed. I hadn’t been strong enough, fast enough, or skilled enough to protect Miquella. But beneath that guilt, a fire was beginning to burn. This wasn’t over—not by a long shot.
Over the next few days, as I recovered, I thought about everything I had learned. The Cult of Aeris, the Priest Factor, the story of Miquella’s parents. The more I pieced together, the clearer my path became.
I made myself a promise—a new entry in my set of goals.
- Learn as much as possible about this world.
If I was going to change anything, I needed knowledge. I needed to understand the world, its powers, and its secrets. - Find someone else like me. (Optional)
I still didn’t know how or why I was here. But if someone else had been pulled into this world, they might hold answers I didn’t yet have. - Reach Reaper’s Peak.
The legends surrounding Reaper’s Peak weren’t just coincidences. The old man’s words still echoed in my mind, and I knew the answer to something—perhaps everything—awaited me there. - Find and free Miquella.
No matter what it took, I would bring her back. She was my best friend. She deserved better than a life of forced servitude to a faith she didn’t choose.
Another six months had passed, and I was finally starting to feel more at ease in this world, though the ache of what had happened to Miquella never truly left me.
As expected, I had reached Expert-Tier in the Human style of swordsmanship. My father wasn’t kidding when he said it would happen soon. By now, he had little left to teach me, though he often challenged me with sparring matches to keep me sharp. As for magic, I had officially earned the title of Fire Novice-Tier Mage. Mastering fire spells was no easy task—managing mana flow still felt like balancing on a tightrope—but I could now cast every Novice-tier fire spell in the book. My favorite? The [Ember Barrage], a spell that sent a rapid flurry of tiny fireballs streaking toward my target.
But while I was growing stronger, life in Brustel wasn’t the same.
Two months ago, Maren—the woman who had taught me so much—fell ill with a strange, rare disease. Her vibrant energy dimmed in the span of a few short weeks, leaving her frail and bedridden. We called for a medic from Punzel, the nearest town. He was said to be a Master in healing blessings, but even his power couldn’t save her. Watching Maren fade away was one of the hardest things I’d ever endured. She had always been so proud of me, always encouraging me to push myself further. I missed her more than words could say.
Brustel had its own medic, but he wasn’t a mage. He couldn’t use magic at all, relying instead on herbs and practical medicine. He’d done everything he could for Maren, but it wasn’t enough.
Her loss left a hole in the village, and not just for me. Even Edna—Miquella’s grandmother—seemed to retreat further into herself. She rarely left her house now, venturing out only to buy a few essentials each month. It was hard not to feel bad for her. She had lost everything—her son and daughter-in-law, her granddaughter—and now she was all alone in a house that once felt warm and full of life.
Meanwhile, my mother’s pregnancy was progressing beautifully. The little one was growing strong—so strong, in fact, that I felt them kick when I pressed my ear to Eleonore’s belly. It was the cutest thing I’d ever experienced. My father and I spent a lot of time preparing for the baby’s arrival, building a cradle and carving toys. I found out they had burned mine a long time ago. That stung a little, but I couldn’t blame them—things were different back then.
As for me? I was okay, at least on the surface. The shock of what had happened to Miquella still lingered, but I tried to focus on the future. In a year, maybe two, I would find out my Factor. I couldn’t help but wonder what it might be.
Mom said the Factor manifested with a high fever—that’s what happened to Miquella, too. What if my Factor turned out to be something rare, something just as significant as hers? A shiver ran down my spine at the thought. What if a strange faith showed up one day and dragged me away?
No. I shook the thought from my mind. Better not to dwell on it.
Instead, I poured my energy into my goals. I studied tirelessly, learning everything I could about this world. I helped my father with village work and kept practicing my magic and swordsmanship. But above all, I never forgot my promise to Miquella.
One day, I would find her. I would bring her back.
For now, I could only prepare—and wait.