The sun dipped behind the jagged mountains of Aeltherra, casting golden light across the towering walls of Valstera. The city bustled with evening life—traders packing up stalls, children running through cobbled alleys, guards switching shifts under banners bearing the mark of the twin phoenixes.
Akira Keiji sat quietly on a stone ledge near the southern wall, his eyes fixed on the distant crimson horizon. The roughness of his tattered cloak did little to shield him from the biting wind, but he didn't flinch. One hand rested on the worn leather strap of his bag, while the other held a half-eaten bread roll. It was dry and stale.
"You again," muttered a gruff voice behind him. An older woman hauling crates glanced sideways. "Always brooding at sunset. You waiting for someone to save you, boy?"
Akira looked up, offering a small nod. "Just... watching. The wall makes it easier to think."
"Thinking don't feed you," she huffed, trudging off into the crowd. He didn't answer.
In the lower ring of Valstera, where the stone paths grew moss and buildings leaned tiredly against one another, Akira was just another face among the unwanted. Orphaned during the Breach War seven years ago, he had wandered guildless, jobless, and nameless to most.
But not to himself.
Inside the lining of his cloak, sewn carefully into the fabric, was a fragile parchment—a faded sketch of a man wielding a twin-bladed spear, his armor scorched but standing proud atop a mountain of slain beasts.
Akira Dai. The hero of legends. And Keiji's only link to a forgotten past.
---
A sudden shout startled him.
"Thief! Stop that kid!"
A blur of movement flashed by. A young boy, no older than ten, sprinted past clutching a handful of glinting apples. Behind him, a burly fruit vendor struggled to give chase.
Keiji stood slowly.
The boy skidded near his ledge, breathless, glancing around for a way out.
"That alley's a dead end," Keiji said flatly.
"H-Huh?"
"You'll be cornered in ten steps. Give them back."
"You don't know what it's like! I haven't eaten in days!"
Keiji sighed, then broke off the remaining piece of his bread roll.
"Here. Trade. My food for yours. You run, he catches you. You give me the apples, you leave with something."
The boy stared, confused, but something in Keiji's calm eyes made him obey. He handed over the stolen fruit.
Moments later, the vendor arrived, wheezing.
"Where'd he go?"
Keiji tossed him the apples.
"Dropped them. Ran east."
The vendor muttered a curse, nodded at Keiji, and trudged away.
The boy had vanished.
Keiji sat again, finishing the crumb of bread he had left himself.
---
Later that night, in the dim glow of lanterns lining the outer district, Keiji returned to the place he called home—a small, abandoned watch post converted into a shelter. A few planks across the doorway kept out the wind. A small kettle rested on coals that barely glowed.
He knelt beside it, stoking the embers.
From his pocket, he withdrew a stone—dull, smooth, and lifeless. A gift from an old scavenger who claimed it once resonated with aether.
"I wonder... if I touch the real thing tomorrow, will I still be empty?"
Tomorrow was the Guild Evaluation Ceremony. The one day every year when youth across Valstera were tested. If he failed, he would remain guildless. Forgotten.
But Keiji didn't fear being forgotten. He feared being nothing.
As the wind howled softly through the cracks in the wood, Akira Keiji stared into the flame, eyes reflecting its fragile light.
"Let me burn... or let me shine," he whispered.
The fire said nothing.
And the stars above remained silent.