--1--

Water from the shallows lapped gently onto the outskirts of a farm village perched south-east in the Prontera fields, a soft breeze that came along with it may yet fight the evening heat.

In the shallows stood a couple of tradesman with large nets held up in anticipation for even the slightest ripple, trying to grab a few more catches before calling it a day. The summer season was only mid-way through, yet many were grumbling about the scorch, and farmers sat idly in their respective farmhouses, cursing the fiery orb for the decline in harvests.

At least they were blessed with the sea and the aegis under Prontera, considering their location. The folks knew the scorch could be worse for their neighbour, the grandest city on Rune-Midgard, without a close water source nor did they contain a great deal of shades and shelters. The bustling scene and noise there only made more runs of sweat rivulets.

A thin, muddy road sandwiched in scattered forests, or were they even thick enough to be forests, ran past the group of hills known as the Green Hill and out east, before a thinner path branched off to the entrance of Kérun. Cartwheels and boot prints marked all over the dirt packed path, and it was only enough to allow room for four wagons abreast before another strays off to the scrubs and short trees.

As compared to Prontera, Kérun was at most a tenth of the capital city, despite the fact that the farm village was considered one of the most populated and largest villages among the other scattered neighbours. However it could not be compared to even the smallest town off south, Izlude, the square of knighthood.

A security guard was seen leaning back against a jut in the wall with scrawny arms crossed loosely over his chest, his head dropping downwards. At first look he looked like he was sleeping during duty, but his slightly oversized helmet provided a good coverage of his face. Those passing in and out did not pay him any heed though. He might not have realized if a band of Minorouses barged into the farm village.

The path that lead into the town became the main road within that broke off into three streets, each just as crowded. Ragged cheering to the right street attracted attention of those passing by, some hurrying about to their own business after a brief glance and a shake of head, some stopping in their tracks to witness the ending to what appeared to be a fistfight between two equally beefy man.

Many merchants streamed into the village west from Prontera, their almost empty carts indicating fruitful sales. Considering that Prontera imports most of their crop and dairy products from Kérun, one could hardly spot a loaded cart by twilight.

The deep orange sky with mild shades of pink darkened. It was not before the dark fell, and according to typical old folks' constant admonitions, the wilderness was habited with dozens of bloodthirsty beasts who would not hesitate to rip off the neck of those who ventured out.

That belief was a half of amusement and irritation to the small figure perambulating at the edge of Green Hills. The boy could not be more than fifteen, given those look that was more juvenile than a typical fifteen years old. His uncombed red hair glinted in the setting sun, and he pushed his fringes back that were ticking him above the eyes.

Clad in the usual novice uniform, but his a modified version of it due to his vain personality, it consisted of a light brown cotton shirt with a small, simple plate across the chest, and the lower body was covered by breeches of the same shade of brown plus a shin-high leather boots custom made for him by his father. On the back of his cotton shirt was a logo of a red outline of a phoenix, sewn on by his mother. The name on his plate, Rasil, was carved on by himself, although none too perfect as his blacksmith father. He had yet to learn even the tip of the iceberg, since he was always out hunting pupas and training with overgrown, thorny worms called Fabre.

Rasil ran the tip of his finger along the edge of his crude knife that looked like it was meant more for slicing beef than cutting up fabres. It was way too blunt for any further training, and no blood was drawn as he poked the cheap blade at his finger. If it was repaired till it was as good as new, he would have been sucking his finger now.

But he knew he did not exactly lived a pampered life. Whenever he pleaded his father to finish the repairs for him, a curt "no" was what he received, and out he went to his father's cramp forge at the back of his house, absently hammering the crooked blade with a large oridecon hammer that weighed more than he could manage. Sometimes he even feigned difficulties by missing the blade, hammering the anvil instead with a loud CLANK, when Luter Alkon happened to walk past. His hopes for help became a sharp yell not to damage that expensive anvil.

He tried to pick up blacksmithing skills all these while to please his father, but he just can't seem to cultivate an interest in it. Blacksmiths needed plentiful strength, just like any others he saw on the road, with all the brawns and tanned, greasy skin he could ever imagine. Although shorter than average, Rasil had developed shapely biceps from long hours of hammering since young, and that somehow won a few admirations here and there.

Now he did not spend as much time honing what he learned so far, but out training by cracking the tough shell of pupas and surviving the cuts and stabs from fabres' thorns had definitely made up for much more he hoped for. He was definitely a tougher person now.

Since young Rasil was told of his elders and ancestors, how they were great blacksmiths who forged equipments so popular among shoppers that it was not impossible to provide for at least three households. He merely nodded his head without any apparent interest whenever the "your great-grandfather and grandfather…" started, and he went gazing out of the window, wondering what the world would be like, and began fantasizing his own adventures someday off in the future.

Just three days ago he painfully parted with his paltry savings to purchase a new knife from a deceptive looking merchant who overcharged him. Rasil was well aware being conned; he did not bother hitching for a lower price since it was the cheapest he could find. Unnecessary attention would be sought if a tirade sparked, and the red-head tried to stray from violence unless it was urgently necessary. And if words travelled to Luter, he was likely to receive a hard lecture. Not only about inviting trouble, but Luter would emphasize more on his incompetence and the need to continue the legacy of this family's blacksmithing.

And three days later there he was again, sighing over his bent knife. With his rate of training, a puny knife would not hold out for more than three days. He needed something better.

He could have easily asked Luter to teach him more other than the basics he learned. But he kept his father out of options. These days Luter was not in the best of mood to do anything.

Just last month, his father made a usual trip to Prontera to start his business for the day, and it seemed like he was none too lucky. A small group of young travellers walked past his shop while tempering with a brown stick, and out of sudden a Creamy Fear spawned out of that stick, startling passer-bys.

Somehow the butterfly demon went for his shop first, smashing it apart, then attacked him. He was caught unprepared. Before he could even whip out an axe he kept at his side, the Creamy Fear bit his arm, and the stinging pain left him dazed on the floor. His entire right arm was completely immobilized.

The Creamy Fear reeled back for another attack, but a local crusader ran over to settle things with quick reflexes. The man tended to the wound, and wrapped a bandage over it. Before he left though, the crusader handed him a tube of green potion to minimize inflammation.

Until now, Luter was not able to forge anything with his good arm injured. He had to rely on fruits like carrots and apples, and some other cheap herbs for income, halving his profit. To make up for it, Rasil was ordered to hunt blue plants for a rare fruit called Mastela fruit that could fetch no little zeny. However, there was no avail. It was not as easy as it sounds.

Rasil kept the purchase of his knife in the dark. Under such circumstances, he was supposed to be squirreling on every cent. He sat on the grassy ground and sighed. Very soon, he would very well be training with his own fists. That would mean another expense for him, bandages. Or maybe even wrist tapes.

The sun had finally set, leaving a pale crescent to start its job. The sky was a light azure, with stubborn shades of deep pink blotching it here and there. Rasil's muscles ached and his legs weighed him down like lead. Sweat slid off his cheeks in thick rivulets, and he felt inclined to go topless. So he did, untying the plate, then unbuttoning his cotton shirt, revealing a pale but well-muscled chest with a couple of distinctive veins running across from his shoulders. The complexion was a contrast to his bronze arms and face, which told that he hardly exposed his torso during his everyday trainings.

He sat with knees propped up, and his knife lay within arm's reach. Reaching his protesting arms down to his leather shoes, he gave several tugs and let it fall to its side. The boy's breathing eased, so did his mind. Rasil thought he would call it a day as he rubbed his sore foot, but a girl's voice had his head jerking towards it.

"Rasil!"

He knew the voice too well, as he heard it every single day. He smiled weakly as the girl in simple tops and skirt approached him, waving excitedly.

"How'd you find me here, Eris?"

The girl, named Eris, plumped down beside Rasil and produced a purple looking fruit in her hands. On the underside lay a few thin leaves plastered on it. Rasil's eyes opened in genuine surprise when the first few hints of recognition registered on him. Eris placed the purple fruit on Rasil's outstretched hand and spoke.

"It's not like we're in Prontera, I don't have to look far. You're always out training."

Rasil turned to face her.

"Where'd you find the Mastela fruit? I haven't had luck at all ever since I started out looking for it. At least that's going to console my father a little. Thank you, Ris."

"Nah," she said sweetly. "Perhaps I'm your walking lucky charm. How's your father now?"

Rasil flushed slightly at the statement, adding to the fact that they were alone and the land breeze ruffled Eris's blonde locks, enhancing her mischievous look that was more of a beauty than one of a typical playful kid running about the streets. He only just realized he was looking at her without bothering to answer, and he suddenly grew redder when he remembered he was half naked. He hastily donned his cotton shirt but left it unbuttoned. He was not sure if she noticed it in the dark.

"My father… ah… yes this should be good enough to fetch some zeny for tomorrow and maybe some consolation. Oh yeah… ah… his arm's swelling had pretty much gone down. He should be resuming his forging business next week."

"Hmm, good to hear so," Eris said. Her smile never seems to vanish. "I don't understand, given your abilities, it won't be difficult at all, at least passing out of novice stage."

"I know," he spoke in exasperation, looking at his worn out weapon. "I had to take care of my father, and he still has much to teach me. You know what happened, don't you? I'm told to bring in extra zeny from the sales of my training spoils. I… I just don't have the time now."

"You see, that's the problem. You always think you're never learning enough."

Rasil heaved a deep sigh. Picking up his knife, he let it fall to the ground again.

"Before I can even get on to my merchant job, I'm sure I need something bigger and nastier than this piece of wrung out recycled steel. Maybe something near to what my father carries."

Her cool, blue eyes held Rasil there for a moment, as if he was mesmerized. She pursed her lips as she absently fingered her necklace.

Rasil opened his mouth for a reply, but a sudden wave of heat washed over him silenced him. It felt like a weak fire had ignited all around him, triggering more sweat drops.

"Grill me, what in the world did that come from… there was still a breeze just now."

The heat augmented, and Rasil sprung to his feet. Half the sun had already dipped behind the horizon; the evening was supposed to be cooler although it was the summer season.

"Eh?" Eris let out a sound. Rasil turned to see a band of people in expensive plates, mails and weapons a few feet away from him. At the head of the group was a young woman who did not look past maturity to even lead a guild of her own. A guild…

"Its nothing, just the Re'Dais," the boy reassured.

Behind the woman were two other apprentices, one a knight and the other a hunter. Recollection of the two's names failed Rasil, but he was sure that they had no love for him, from their thin slits of their eyes. And he too was sure that the woman's purpose here was to keep him occupied in yet another round of persuasion, each time longer and more elaborate than the last. His answer was always a straightforward no.

Opportunities will definitely come by in the future, invitations of an admission into a guild. But not now; he was just a lowly novice without any basic qualifications, experience, not to mention, any battling abilities. Rasil also had his father's expectations to burden himself with. Guilds… a complicated issue that he was not able to comprehend; he had heard of guild wars, betrayals, treachery and other dark deeds he could not possibly fathom at this point of time.

I would rather live a simple life, get promoted to a merchant, then move on to a good blacksmith, without guilds and battles interfering my life.

"Re'Dais? How do you expect me to know what they are by their names?" Eris pursued. "They look like a pack of blood-thirsty band of miscreants out to gnash anyone they see, even though the girl looks innocent."

Rasil made a gesture to calm his friend. Right now, he wished he had been at home, taking ample rest, enjoying his dinner. Come to think about it, his shoulders ached from blows taken and his arms felt heavy, crying for rest. And the distinct growling in his stomach all the more suggested that he should call it a day long before. But he just had to be stuck with the Re'Dais, at such a time.

The novice felt a tug at his sleeve and knew that Eris was pleading for him to back off, but he gave no indication that he was paying her any heed. "Good evening to you, lady, if I don't already know the purpose of your coming, the light blind me. I –"

The young woman cut him off with a short laugh. "Why not, counting since the past few weeks, I've at least made eight offers, yet all turned down," she smiled at him, with no trace of vexation or anger at all at Rasil's rejection. "I have a good reason for those scrolls sent and proposals made."

"I do not understand, lady magician, hundreds of guilds out there hitches the cream of the crop, not the weeds in a plot. I am but a novice, consider that," Rasil brought up the same reply he had been using the past weeks. He could not think of any better ways to express his refusal, lest he offended the mage. He tried his best to keep up his formality, despite being a farmboy.

"Lady magician?" she giggled a little with genuine humor. "Are all farmboys that funny, or are you an exception? Call me Velina, farmboy, and you don't have to talk to me like King Tristan is standing in front of you."

Thick beads of sweat did not stop sliding down his red cheeks, and he hoped that the mage would not mistake him for blushing. It was indeed a queer rise in temperature, for some reason. He had not felt so much heat before, not as long as he lived in Kérun. "If you say so, la- ah… Velina. You happen to… ah… take offence at my repeated refusal?" He knew he must had looked stupid, and his foolishness must had contributed to half the heat he was feeling too.

The novice found it rather difficult to look away from the mage. He did not hide from himself that she was quite pretty with those pink cheeks, and eyes that seemed to look exceptionally deep into him. Long red curls flowed over her shoulders, and she kept clasping her hands together when speaking, as if in a prayer. He had identified her job from the pale flowing robes with a darker shade of colour at near the hem, and a logo of the Geffen Academy emblazoned on it.

Another tug at his sleeve brought him back to reality, and he realized that he had forgotten about Eris. "Its unusually warm, can we go?" Rasil shook his head, and motioned to her. "You should be going back yourself, I'll come right after you soon."

For a brief second the novice thought he saw a slight flash of jealousy on Eris as she looked from the mage to him. He shook away all distractions; he just wanted to be done with this quick. "Thank you, Eris, for the fruit." He did not know if she heard as she picked herself up and trotted off without turning back.

Velina smiled again when he looked at her, and he was not sure if it was due to the silence of events. Rasil prepared to excuse himself for home, but the mage spoke first. "I shall wait, pardon me if I'm pressuring you pass the line, but don't misunderstand me. I've seen you train, and maybe this would help you a little."

She turned to the knight behind her and held out her hand. The knight frowned without understanding, but not before she pointed to his hip, two swords dangling from the swordbelt. Nodding mildly, he unbuckled one of it with a little reluctance, then placed it in her palm. The mage struggled a little trying to hold the sword in a proper position.

"Lady- I mean, Velina, you're not…" Rasil uttered when he saw the Ring Pommel Sabre.

"Don't say you're not wanting this and run home, farmboy," she said firmly. "I've had enough share of rejections. You have what it takes to become a great fighter, I can see. You don't think you can create a miracle with that broken metal, do you?"

"I… I"

"It's awfully warm, and I know none of us would want to linger any longer," she added, her face suddenly looking redder than before. From the heat, without a doubt. The mage neared the novice, and pressed the sabre against his chest. Rasil was a head taller than her, and he had this "big-man" appearance that seemed to dwarf others he met. He had a feeling that she was estimating him according to his brawns.

"I won't take anything that you spent money on, especially on me. And my father said -"

"Just take it, farmboy! Its not like we three would be living on roadside left overs after buying this sword."

Frowning, Rasil held the sword with more reluctance than ever. The mage smiled, even though he did not accept it willingly. Turning around, she motioned to her two companions to leave. "I've been interrupting private moments between you and that girl, I see, and maybe that can be a compensation as well? Go home, farmboy. I know farmboys are afraid of their old man, go on."