The morning sun broke gently through the forest veil, spilling light over the rooftops of Korvan Village. A soft mist hung between the trees, carrying the scent of pine and ash. The dirt road winding toward the gate shimmered faintly under the early dew, and from its end, a lone figure approached — a woman in worn hunter's leathers, her cloak trimmed in travel dust.
Her name was Lysaara.
She slowed as she reached the gates, taking in the sight of the quiet settlement. It wasn't what she had expected. The buildings were modest, the people moving with calm familiarity — farmers tending to their stalls, smiths stoking small forges, and children darting between homes. There were no banners, no guild insignias, no armored guards standing tall in the square.
Just a village.
"So this is Korvan," she murmured to herself, brushing the dust from her sleeve. "A simple place. Ordinary people. Hunters, farmers… nothing special."
Her tone carried a faint mix of curiosity and confusion. "And yet Master sent me here?"
Lysaara adjusted the strap on her shoulder and walked further in. The marketplace hummed softly with life — a merchant laughing over dried herbs, a carpenter measuring wood beams, a hunter bartering over monster parts. None looked at her twice. She wasn't an outsider here, not yet — just another traveler passing through.
Her steps eventually led her to the training grounds near the northern ridge of the village. There, the sound of wood striking air caught her attention.
Two figures stood in the clearing — one practicing with a long sword, the other observing closely.
The swordsman was young, tall, and powerfully built. Each swing was strong but wild, sending dust and leaves scattering. His every strike carried weight — too much weight.
The woman beside him, armed with a lance, called out calmly between swings. "Slow down, Rogan. Focus. Let the blade flow. Don't fight it."
The swordsman grunted, his next strike heavy enough to shake the ground.
Lysaara tilted her head, her lips curving faintly. "So that's their training here. Strength without control."
She took another step closer, eyes narrowing to study the pair — until a voice came from behind her.
"Are you lost, hunter?"
Lysaara turned sharply, her hand instinctively brushing her weapon. The speaker was a tall man with silver-streaked hair and calm, sharp eyes — his posture easy, but his presence unmistakable. He studied her for a moment, like someone used to reading people before they spoke.
"No," Lysaara replied evenly. "Just… looking around."
He raised an eyebrow. "Then what brings a guild-trained hunter all the way here?"
"I'm looking for someone," she said simply.
"Someone?" He crossed his arms, mildly intrigued. "Who?"
Lysaara reached into her cloak and produced a sealed letter. "I was told to deliver this. My master sent me here for additional training."
The man eyed the seal briefly before glancing back at her. "Do you even know who it's for?"
She shook her head. "No name was given. Only the village."
He exhaled softly through his nose, shaking his head with faint amusement. "Then I suggest you speak with the village chief. She can help you find whoever you're meant to meet."
Lysaara frowned. "You sound like you could help me."
"I could," he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "but without a name, that letter's just paper. And I can't open someone else's paper, can I?"
She glanced down at the envelope again, realizing he had a point. "No… I suppose not."
"Good," he said, half-turned toward the training ground again. "You'll find the chief in that longhouse over there." He pointed toward a large building at the village's center. "Can't miss it."
"Thanks," she said shortly.
"Don't mention it," he replied. "Welcome to Korvan."
---
The longhouse stood at the heart of the village — a broad, timber-built hall with smoke drifting lazily from its chimney. When Lysaara knocked, the door creaked open to reveal an older woman with silver hair tied neatly behind her head and kind, wise eyes that seemed to see straight through a person.
"Well now," the woman said with a smile. "And who might you be, dear?"
Lysaara straightened slightly. "I'm looking for the village chief."
"You've found her," the woman said warmly. "Name's Maerin. Come inside. I just brewed tea."
The warmth of the hearth hit Lysaara as she stepped in. The air smelled faintly of herbs and old parchment. Maerin poured two cups and handed one to her before sitting down across the table.
"Now," Maerin said, "what brings you to my village?"
Lysaara placed the sealed letter on the table. "My name is Lysaara. My master sent me here for training."
Maerin's expression softened as she took the letter and carefully broke the seal. Her eyes moved across the page slowly, lips curving into a small, knowing smile.
"I see," she murmured. "So you're his student."
Lysaara blinked. "You know him?"
"Not personally," Maerin said, folding the letter. "But I know his name — and what it stands for. You must have made quite the impression if he's sending you here."
"I'm not sure about that," Lysaara said honestly. "He just told me to come to Korvan. That I'd 'find my next teacher.'"
Maerin chuckled softly, standing from her chair. "Then it seems your master still enjoys his mysteries. Come with me — I'll introduce you."
---
The midday sun burned through the mist as they crossed the training grounds again.
Kael was still there, watching Rogan and Seren from the edge of the field. He turned when he heard Maerin's voice.
"Kael!" she called. "You have a visitor."
Kael's eyes narrowed slightly in surprise when he saw Lysaara. "Oh," he said, recognition flickering across his face. "You came after all."
Maerin handed him the letter. He scanned it quickly, his smirk returning. "Malric sent you, didn't he?"
Lysaara blinked. "You know my master?"
Kael nodded. "Old friend. Scout, wanderer, pain in the neck. He's the one who convinced me to stop drinking myself into an early grave years ago." He folded the letter and slipped it into his belt. "So. He's sending you to me now?"
"Yes," she said. "He said I'd learn something here that no guild could teach."
Kael chuckled. "He's not wrong."
Maerin folded her arms, smiling. "I trust this Malric is one of us, then?"
"He is," Kael said. "And it seems he's still recruiting."
Maerin laughed softly. "Then the Eternal grows again. Our little village will never be the same."
Turning to Lysaara, she nodded approvingly. "Your master chose well, dear. You'll fit right in."
Lysaara bowed her head slightly. "Thank you, Chief Maerin."
Maerin patted her shoulder kindly. "I'll leave you with Kael. You're in good hands."
As she walked off, Kael turned back to Lysaara. "Well then," he said, his tone half-serious, half-amused. "Welcome to Korvan. From now on, I'm your teacher."
He gestured toward the other two at the training field. "And those two will be your sparring partners."
The long sword user stopped mid-swing and turned, wiping sweat from his brow. "Hi," he said awkwardly. "I'm Rogan."
Lysaara nodded politely. "Lysaara."
"And this," Kael added, "is Seren. She's Rogan's instructor and my student."
Seren lowered her lance, giving Lysaara a calm, confident smile. "Welcome. I hope you're ready to work."
Lysaara met her gaze and smiled faintly in return. "I wouldn't have come this far if I wasn't."
Kael nodded, satisfied. "Good answer."
He looked up at the sun, then clapped his hands once. "Alright, introductions are over. Rest for today, Lysaara. Tomorrow morning, we see what you've got."
---
That night, as the last of the sunlight faded behind the cliffs, Lysaara stood alone outside the inn, watching the quiet flicker of torches along the streets. The sounds of the forge and laughter drifted faintly in the wind.
Her master's words echoed in her mind: Go to Korvan. What you'll learn there isn't written in books.
She looked toward the longhouse where Kael's light still burned and smiled faintly.
"Alright, Master," she whispered. "Let's see what you've sent me into this time."
The night wind carried her words away — into the village that would soon become her proving ground.