The sun had dipped low in the sky by the time I made my way back home, my body aching from the long day of training. Every step felt heavier than the last, and all I could think about was getting some rest and a decent meal. The streets were quiet as I walked through the village, the soft glow of lanterns lighting my path.
When I finally reached our house, the familiar scent of dinner cooking hit me the moment I opened the door. I smiled to myself—it smelled like Leafa was at it again. As much as she loved swordplay, she was just as skilled in the kitchen.
I kicked off my boots by the door and wandered toward the kitchen. Sure enough, there was my sister, moving about the small space with ease, her long blonde hair tied back, a wooden spoon in one hand as she stirred something in a pot.
"Smells good in here," I said, leaning against the doorway.
Leafa glanced over her shoulder, flashing me a grin. "About time you got back. I was starting to think you got lost in that training yard again."
I rolled my eyes. "Very funny. How was your day?"
She shrugged, turning back to the stove. "Not bad. I spent the morning working on some new arts, and then I helped with some of the crops in the afternoon. Nothing too exciting." She paused, then added with a playful smirk, "Although I think I've perfected that new sword art I've been working on. Maybe tomorrow I'll give you a demonstration."
I raised an eyebrow. Leafa had always been competitive, and her skill with a blade was no joke. I wouldn't admit it out loud, but there were times when she nearly bested me in our sparring sessions. "I'll hold you to that," I said, stepping closer to get a look at whatever she was cooking. "What's for dinner, anyway?"
"Stew. It's not my best work, but after the day I've had, it'll do." She glanced at me, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What about you? You look like you've been through the wringer."
I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck. "Yeah, it was… intense today. Father has me training for the tournament, and Asuna… well, she thinks I should enter, too."
Leafa's eyes lit up. "Wait, you're actually going to enter the sword fighting tournament?" She abandoned the stove, turning to face me fully now, excitement evident in her expression.
I shrugged, trying to play it off, but a small smile tugged at my lips. "Yeah. I'm going for it."
Leafa let out a whoop of excitement, practically bouncing on her toes. "That's amazing! You'll do great, Kirito! I've seen how hard you've been training lately. You'll wipe the floor with those other swordsmen."
I laughed at her enthusiasm, though a part of me was relieved to see her reaction. "I don't know about wiping the floor, but I'll give it my best shot."
Before she could say more, the door opened, and our father stepped inside, still dressed in his royal guard attire. He looked tired but smiled when he saw us, removing his cloak and hanging it by the door.
"Ah, there you both are," he said, his voice warm. "I hope I'm not too late for dinner."
"Just in time," Leafa replied, quickly moving back to the stove to finish the meal. "Kirito was just telling me that he's entering the tournament."
Our father raised an eyebrow, glancing in my direction. "Is that so?"
I nodded, feeling a bit of that nervous energy creep back in. "Yeah. I figured… why not give it a try?"
A proud smile spread across his face, and he walked over, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Good. It's about time you entered. You've been working hard, Kirito. I'm sure you'll make us all proud."
Leafa chimed in from the stove, "He's going to do more than that. He's going to win the whole thing."
Our father chuckled, and even I couldn't help but grin. The energy in the room had shifted, excitement building between the three of us.
As we sat down to eat, the conversation flowed easily, mostly focused on the upcoming tournament and all the preparations. But despite the light-hearted talk, I couldn't shake the feeling of what was truly at stake. This wasn't just about proving myself in a contest of skill—it was about the future, about the prophecy that hung over us all.
And whether I was ready or not, I was stepping into a role that could change everything.
After dinner, the evening passed quietly. Leafa cleaned up the kitchen, still humming with excitement about the tournament, while our father retreated to his study. I lingered by the fireplace, watching the flames flicker and die, my mind replaying everything from today.
Eventually, I made my way to my room. The soft glow of a lantern barely illuminated the space, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. My sword leaned against the far wall, catching a glint of the dim light.
I walked over and picked it up, feeling the familiar weight in my hands. The cold metal felt steady, a constant amidst the uncertainty swirling around me. The tournament, the prophecy, the strange dreams—it all felt heavier than the blade itself.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the sword for a long moment. Finally, I laid it down beside me, close enough to reach with ease. I slipped under the covers, closing my eyes, hoping that sleep would come quickly.
But peace was fleeting.
The world shifted the moment my eyes closed.
I found myself in the heart of the capital, but it was nothing like I had ever seen. Fire consumed the buildings, turning the once grand structures into charred ruins. The sky, usually clear and bright, had turned a dark, blood-red, and ash fell like snow, coating the streets. The air was thick with smoke, choking me with every breath. Screams echoed in the distance, mingling with the clash of steel and the roar of flames.
I turned, trying to find the source of the destruction, but all I saw was chaos. The ground trembled beneath my feet, as though the city itself was crumbling.
Then, through the haze, I saw it.
A massive stone jutted out of the center of the destruction, almost glowing amidst the flames. Embedded within the stone was a sword, unlike any I had ever seen. Its blade shimmered with a faint blue light, an aura of power radiating from it. I couldn't take my eyes off it. It felt... ancient. Important.
I stepped forward, drawn to it by some invisible force. My hand reached out, fingers just inches away from the hilt. But before I could touch it, the world flickered.
Suddenly, the flames and destruction were gone, replaced by a battlefield. A boy stood at the center of it all—blonde-haired, with eyes full of determination. He looked young, no older than me, but there was a strength in him, something unshakable.
Before I could process what I was seeing, a voice echoed through the air.
"Awaken, hero."*
The words reverberated in my mind, sending a shock through my system. I bolted upright, gasping for air as I shot out of the dream. My heart hammered in my chest, my clothes damp with sweat. It took a moment for the room to come into focus—the faint light of the lantern, the cool night air drifting through the window.
I glanced outside. The moon was still high in the sky, casting its pale glow over the quiet streets. Night hadn't yet given way to morning, but after that dream, sleep wasn't an option.
The sword in the stone, the boy, the voice... *Awaken, hero.*
I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the lingering unease, but the dream clung to me. There was something about that sword... something important.
With a sigh, I reached for my own blade and stood. If I couldn't sleep, I might as well train. The weight of my sword felt grounding, its presence familiar and reassuring. I stepped outside into the cool night air, making my way to the training yard.
The yard was quiet, the only sound the rustle of the wind through the trees. I stood in the middle of the yard, drawing my sword and running through a series of arts. Each swing, each strike felt sharper than usual, the dream still lingering at the back of my mind, pushing me to go harder.
Even as I trained, my thoughts kept returning to that glowing sword, lodged in stone. A weapon that seemed to call out to me... but for what purpose?
What did it all mean?
I lost track of time, immersed in the steady rhythm of my sword. The night air felt cool against my skin, the weight of the blade in my hand familiar and grounding. Each strike and step felt sharper, more precise than the last. The dream still tugged at the edges of my mind, urging me to push harder, faster. The sword in the stone... that strange voice calling me "hero." I couldn't shake it.
The moon had long since dipped behind the horizon, and I barely noticed the gradual lightening of the sky until the sun began to crest. My body ached from the relentless pace I had set, but I kept moving, kept swinging. Every slash felt like it was cutting through the haze of confusion left by the dream.
Then I heard footsteps behind me.
I stopped mid-swing, breathing hard as I turned to see my father standing in the doorway, dressed in his royal guard attire. His eyes were bleary, and he rubbed at his temples, clearly annoyed.
"Kirito," he muttered, his voice gruff, "what the hell are you doing up at this hour?"
I lowered my sword, panting as I tried to catch my breath. The cool morning breeze brushed against my sweat-drenched skin. "I couldn't sleep," I replied, sliding the blade back into its sheath. "I had... a strange dream."
His brow furrowed slightly as he walked toward me, crossing his arms over his chest. "A dream kept you up all night?" His tone was skeptical, almost dismissive, but there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes.
I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I should even mention it. It felt ridiculous when spoken aloud, but the dream had been so vivid. "The city was on fire," I began, "and there was this sword... stuck in a stone. It looked ancient, powerful. Then everything shifted, and I saw a boy with blonde hair, standing on a battlefield. I heard a voice. It called me 'hero.'"
My father's expression didn't change much, though I thought I saw his jaw tighten slightly. He was silent for a moment, looking at me like he was weighing his next words carefully.
Finally, he let out a heavy sigh. "Dreams are dreams, Kirito. Don't go reading too much into them." He waved a hand dismissively. "Especially with the tournament coming up, your mind is probably just racing. It's natural to feel pressure."
"But it felt... different." I didn't know how else to describe it. "Like it meant something."
He placed a firm hand on my shoulder, his expression softening slightly. "I know you, son. You're overthinking this." He looked toward the rising sun, his features illuminated by the early light. "Your focus should be on the tournament. Don't let some strange dream distract you."
I nodded, though his words didn't fully put my mind at ease. My father had always been a man of practicality, someone who relied on what he could see and control. And I knew he had a point—it could have just been nerves about the tournament
But still... that sword. That voice. It felt too real, too important to just brush off.
"You've been training all night," my father continued, his tone more gentle now. "Get some rest before you wear yourself out."
I glanced down at my sword, its hilt glinting faintly in the morning light. I nodded again, though my mind still raced with questions. "Yeah... I'll try."
With that, he gave me a brief nod and headed back inside, leaving me alone in the yard. I sheathed my sword and leaned against the nearest wall, letting the cool air calm my still-racing heart. The sun had fully risen now, casting its warmth over the training yard.
I knew my father was right. I needed to focus. But as I made my way back to the house, I couldn't shake the feeling that the dream—whatever it was—was more than just my imagination running wild.
There was something out there, waiting.
