"Am I a descendant of gods?" Asper's voice rang out in the darkness around him. It echoed, stretching endlessly in the void. Then, from somewhere deep within, a faint voice whispered back: "Yes." Before he could react, a shadowy figure with a blurred, featureless face surged forward, driving a blade straight into his heart. Asper gasped, pain ripping through his chest as everything around him blurred into nothingness.

  With a gasp, Asper awoke, clutching his chest as he sat up in bed, his breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts. Sweat clung to his skin, and his heart pounded violently against his ribs. He scanned the room, half expecting to see that shadowy figure standing over him. But he was alone. It was just a dream.

  Or was it?

  But it wasn't just the shock of the nightmare that unsettled him. It was the feeling that this had happened before. Déjà vu gripped him. He had never experienced this dream before, yet it felt eerily familiar—like a memory buried deep within him.

  The question haunted him: "Am I a descendant of gods?"

  The phrase nagged at the edges of his consciousness like an old riddle he couldn't quite solve. Then it struck him—those words were the very first line in his favorite book: The Legendary Travels of Homer Jallins. The travelogue of the greatest explorer to ever live. But why would a line from that book appear in his dream... or nightmare?

  Asper leaned back against his bed, staring out the window as he tried to steady his breathing. The early morning light had just begun to filter through the sky, casting a faint orange glow over the dojo. Birds chirped softly, perched on the branches of a tall oak tree that stood just outside his window. The world outside seemed calm, serene, a stark contrast to the storm raging in his mind.

  He slowly rose from his bed, his feet touching the cool wooden floor of his small, simple room. The walls were lined with shelves crammed full of books—his escape. Thick, hard-covered volumes about travel, exploration, and adventure filled every available space. Some books lay scattered on the floor, left open on pages he had been reading late into the night. A large wooden bookshelf stretched almost to the ceiling, a testament to his insatiable curiosity about the world beyond the village.

  The room itself was modest: just a mattress on the floor and a small closet for his clothes. For someone so fascinated with the vastness of the outside world, his living space was unusually tidy. Each book had its place, each object neatly arranged, as if he were preparing for an adventure at any moment.

  A small smirk tugged at the corners of Asper's mouth as he dressed in his traditional Cloverdel training attire—a dark blue and red tunic embroidered with golden, the colors of his lineage. He tightened the belt around his waist, casting one last glance out the window. The tree swayed gently in the morning breeze, the vast bamboo boundaries of the dojo visible beyond it. Beyond that, the forest stretched out like an ocean of green, the towering trees swaddling the dojo in nature's embrace.

  "Today, I'm definitely going to defeat that ponytail," Asper muttered to himself, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "And then... I'll take my freedom and go on adventures." He let out a low, almost villainous chuckle. "Heh... hehehe..."

  With newfound determination, Asper burst out of his room, making his way toward the training hall. The wooden floor creaked beneath his feet as he crossed the hallway, the familiar scent of wood and incense filling the air. If he could win this fight, he'd finally have the chance to leave the village and explore the world beyond its borders.

  The training room loomed before him, the door slightly ajar. Inside, he could already see his sensei, Warrek, and his opponent, Riven Lobenstein, waiting for him.

  Warrek stood at the far side of the room, his posture straight and commanding despite his short stature. His well-built frame was unmistakable, and his gray hair, tied back in a short ponytail, spoke of wisdom and experience beyond his thirty-something years. He had the look of a man who had seen battle, his rough hands crossed over his chest, his eyes watching everything with an intensity that made you feel seen even when you weren't looking his way.

  Riven, on the other hand, a year older than Asper, at 18, with long, shiny blue hair tied neatly into a ponytail that hung down his back, he moved with a grace that made him seem lighter than air. His sharp, emotionless eyes made it hard to tell what he was thinking. Though his frame was thin, it carried a quiet, coiled strength—one that had earned him the title of the dojo's undisputed prodigy. He was taller than Asper by a few inches, standing with a rigid discipline that Asper secretly admired, even if he'd never admit it.

  Asper, with his short, messy maroon hair and lively, expressive eyes, stood in stark contrast to his opponent. Where Riven was quiet and composed, Asper was vibrant, full of energy, and always wearing a grin that made it seem like he knew a secret no one else did. His build was more robust than Riven's—not bulky, but solid and strong, his body honed from years of training at the dojo. Despite his carefree attitude, he took his training seriously. He stepped into the training room, his usual grin in place, though there was a fire behind his eyes.

  The incense-heavy air was thick with the scent of cedar, a weight that seemed to press down on Asper's mind and heart. The dojo was a testament to its long history—wooden dummies scarred by countless strikes, aged weapons reverently displayed on the walls. The polished wooden floor reflected the dim lighting, amplifying every footstep like the echoes of generations of warriors who had trained in this very space.

  "Today's the day I defeat you, Ponytail," Asper declared, a playful grin tugging at his lips as he squared off against Riven in the dimly lit dojo. His eyes, usually bright and full of mischief, were sharper, more determined. It was the 38th match in their series of continuous fights—fights that would decide whether Asper could leave the village to pursue his dreams of exploring the world beyond these forests and mountains of Darzine.

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  Ever since his 17th birthday on June 8th, the condition for him to gain his freedom had been clear: Defeat the dojo's genius, Riven Lobenstein. It was a challenge set by his mother to prove that he was ready, that he had the strength and skill to survive the dangers of the world beyond. But every single day since then, Riven had beaten him effortlessly. Today marked yet another fight in a long chain of defeats, but Asper wasn't one to give up easily.

  Riven sighed, his gaze steady and impassive. "That's the 38th time you've said that, Asper. And the 38th time you'll be disappointed." He looked down slightly at Asper.

  Asper's grin widened, feigning shock. "Hold on... 38 times? You've been counting?!" He shuddered dramatically, clutching his chest as if wounded. "Don't tell me you're obsessed with me, Riven!"

  Riven's brow twitched at the accusation. "Shut up," he muttered, the faintest hint of irritation cracking his calm demeanor.

  Asper laughed, his mood shifting into a more serious tone as he bent his knees, assuming his fighting stance. "Let's see then. Bring it on, Ponytail."

  A muscle twitched in Riven's jaw. "Get ready...loudmouth." The last part was a mocking jab—a nickname Riven had started using when their matches first began.

  Warrek stood at the far end, observing silently. The sensei's intense gaze bore down on them, adding to the pressure. The moment he nodded, Asper sprang forward, his movements fast but controlled. He feinted left, then lunged right, attempting to grab Riven's wrist. Riven twisted his body, sidestepping neatly. But Asper anticipated the move, shifting his weight to his back foot and spinning around, catching Riven's arm and twisting it sharply behind his back.

  Point one.

  Riven's eyes widened ever so slightly before he regained his composure, his expression unreadable as always. "Not so bad, huh?" Asper said, panting slightly. He loosened his grip just enough to let Riven regain his footing, stepping back with a satisfied smirk. "What was that about 38 losses again?"

  Riven's calm eyes narrowed. "You're getting ahead of yourself," he murmured softly.

  Asper lunged faster this time, aiming for Riven's side. He managed to graze Riven's wrist, but his opponent was already a step ahead, countering with a swift grip and locking Asper's arm. The pressure mounted as Riven twisted his arm and shoved him backward.

  Point one.

  Asper winced, rolling to his feet. He forced a grin, though his heart hammered in his chest. "Lucky shot."

  Riven said nothing, his gaze locked onto Asper's, unreadable and calm. For a moment, neither moved, the tension between them palpable. The air felt thick, charged with anticipation.

  Asper narrowed his eyes, calculating his next move. He stepped forward, and Riven mirrored him—each waiting for the other to slip. Then, with lightning speed, they both struck at the same time. Asper aimed for Riven's ribs, while Riven swung a sharp fist toward Asper's shoulder.

  Their blows collided midair in a loud crack. The impact sent a shockwave through Asper's arm, but he held his ground, teeth gritted. They recoiled, neither gaining an advantage. For the first time, Asper felt like he had matched Riven's speed, if only for a second.

  They circled each other now, eyes locked, each studying the other's stance.

  Stay calm. You can do this. One point at a time, Asper murmured to himself.

  But Riven was done waiting.

  He moved. One moment, Riven was standing before him; the next, he was inside Asper's guard. With a smooth pivot, he broke Asper's grip, twisted his arm around, and threw him over his shoulder in one swift motion.

  Point two.

  Asper's heart pounded in his chest. He had barely been able to touch Riven. How could someone be this far beyond him? His breathing was ragged now, and his mind raced. He felt a swell of doubt rise up—could he ever beat Riven? Could he ever win his freedom?

  He couldn't stop. Not now. Not after everything.

  Focus. Don't lose sight of your goal.

  But the gap between them loomed larger with each passing moment. Riven moved with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how this match would end—like it wasn't a question of if Asper would lose, but when.

  The score was 1-2 now. Asper took a deep breath, shaking out his arms. He could do this. Two more points and he'd win. He just needed to focus. As he prepared to charge again, a sudden heaviness gripped his chest, like an invisible weight pressing down on his ribs. His vision began to blur, and the room around him dimming. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, and then—like a shock running through his veins—he felt a sudden jolt. It was as if his entire body had been hit by a wave of electricity. His muscles tensed, tightening as if they were about to snap. He gasped, eyes wide, and staggered backward, his legs unsteady beneath him. Everything around him blurred, the dojo, Riven, and the scent of cedar wood all melting into a static haze.

  What... what's happening?

  "Asper!" Riven's voice sounded distant, barely registering as Asper's body began to buckle under the weight of whatever was happening. In that brief moment of weakness, Riven seized the opening. He shifted forward, his movements fluid, wrapping his arm around Asper's and sending him crashing to the floor once more. Then, with a swift twist and a solid pin, he secured Asper's shoulders to the ground.

  Point three.

  The match was over.

  But Asper barely registered it. His head swam, his body felt heavy, and everything around him started to blur.

  Is this all I can do? Is there really no way for me to win? To leave this village?

  The doubts clawed at him as his body grew heavier. He could see the disappointment in his own reflection, flickering in his mind. Was his dream just that—a dream, forever out of reach? Would he always be the boy who couldn't defeat the prodigy, the one who couldn't escape his village?

  I've lost... again.

  His thoughts blurred with the growing darkness as he crumpled to the floor, and then everything went dark.

  Asper's consciousness faded...., like the final crack of a lightning bolt before the sky falls silent.