According to the Imperial Laws, Ishtar was now of age. Andor wondered what path his son would take. Would he follow in his own footsteps and become a blacksmith, or would he choose a different destiny?
"Ishtar," Andor asked, "you are now an adult in the eyes of the law. What path will you follow?"
Ishtar knew he had to tell his family his decision, even though he knew it would break their hearts.
"Mother, Father... I haven't told you this before, but I... I want to become a wandering knight."
Andor stood up abruptly, his brow furrowed in anger. "No! I will not allow it, Ishtar! Knighthood is a dangerous profession. I cannot let you take such risks. You will stay at the forge and take over my business."
Nera turned to her husband, her voice soft. "Honey, you need to calm down. Our son is no longer a child. It is better for him to follow the path he has chosen for himself."
Andor's voice rose to a shout. "No, I absolutely refuse! I will not watch him die on some battlefield!"
Ishtar bolted from his seat and ran to his room, locking the door behind him. His room resembled a scholar's study more than a blacksmith apprentice's quarters. The right wall was covered by a wooden bookshelf, its shelves packed with knightly adventures, heroic epics, and literary novels—their covers worn from being read over and over. Every night, Ishtar would lie in bed and stare at those books, imagining himself within the worlds hidden between their lines.
To the left of his bed stood a simple wooden wardrobe containing a few sets of clothes and cloaks. But the true magic of the room lay beyond. A heavy purple curtain, stretching from ceiling to floor, separated the room from a wide balcony. The sea breeze drifting through the open balcony door made the curtain billow slightly, bringing with it the scent of salt and freedom.
Ishtar threw the curtain aside with a surge of frustration and stepped out onto the balcony. Unlike his room, the balcony felt vast and boundless. The famous moonlit sea of Atlon stretched out beneath him like a silver sheet. In the corner sat a small table and chair where Ishtar spent hours watching the sea, reading, and dreaming. A half-finished knight's romance lay on the table, its pages fluttering in the wind.
He gripped the balcony railing. As the sound of waves crashed below, he gazed at the horizon—toward those distant lands he so desperately wanted to reach. His father's words echoed in his mind: "I cannot let you take such risks."
But looking at this view, Ishtar realized once again that it wasn't the risk he feared; it was being trapped in a cage.
With anger and sorrow tightening like a knot in his throat, his room began to feel suffocating. He pushed the heavy purple curtain aside with a weary motion and retreated to the balcony. The night outside possessed a mesmerizing tranquility, completely detached from the tension inside. The full moon cast its light upon the dark waters of Atlon, illuminating a path of silver across the sea.
He walked toward the wooden table in the corner. From his belt, he drew a white dagger with a dragon pattern on the hilt—a gift from his father—and placed it on the table next to his book. The dull thud of metal meeting wood echoed in the silence of the night.
He sat down and picked up the thick, leather-bound volume: The Last Song of the Dragon Rider. The cover was frayed, but the pages still smelled of fresh adventure to him. As the scent of roses from the city streets mingled with the salty sea breeze, Ishtar began to turn the pages.
At first, his mind was still downstairs, stuck on the conversation with his father. His eyes scanned the lines, but his mind repeated the words: "I cannot let you take such risks." Slowly, however, the magic of the prose took hold. He found himself far away from the stone streets of Atlon and his father's shop, standing alongside heroes on the backs of dragons. Time flowed slowly, like the waves hitting the shore. Eventually, Ishtar's eyelids began to yield to the exhaustion of the day and the peace of the night. The lines began to blur, and the letters danced. He gently rested his head on the open pages. The scent of old paper filled his senses. As the wind stroked his hair and rustled the purple curtain, the young man fell into a deep sleep upon the table.
While Ishtar slept with his dreams on the balcony, a much heavier atmosphere hung over the other room of the house. Andor sat on the edge of the bed, his calloused hands resting on his knees. The dim glow of the crystal lamp accentuated the deep lines on his face. He stared into the void, the moment his son said, "I want to be a wandering knight," replaying in his mind.
Seeing the weight on her husband's shoulders, Nera sat beside him and placed a hand on his rough palm. Her voice was a whisper that softened the silence.
"You're still thinking about him, aren't you?"
Andor sighed deeply. "He's still a child, Nera. He doesn't know how cruel the world is. Fighting, taking a life, or giving your own... these aren't the heroic things they describe in fairy tales. It's just blood and pain. I don't want to keep him in that shop because I'm his enemy, but because I want to keep him alive."
Nera squeezed his hand gently. "I know, dear. But look, he turned sixteen today. He has a strong will like yours, and dreams like mine. Every day we lock him away, we stoke that fire inside him more than the forge's bellows ever could. Perhaps instead of stopping him, you should teach him how to handle those dangers. After all, he is your son; he wasn't born to run, he was born to fight. Besides, tomorrow we take him to the Temple of Light. Once the boy learns his destiny, he may change his mind."
Andor looked into his wife's emerald-green eyes. The truth in her words settled heavily in his heart. He nodded without a word. Nera smiled faintly, kissed his forehead, and reached out to extinguish the light of the mana crystal.
Meanwhile, in Ishtar's room...
It was a normal night in Atlon, though the wind blew a bit harder than usual. Suddenly, a red light the size of a small ball appeared in the sky. The light flew toward Ishtar's balcony and stopped in front of the sleeping boy. It flared brightly and took its true shape. This was no ordinary light; it was a spirit.
The light transformed into a young man. He had long black hair reaching down to his waist, just like Ishtar's. He wore a black robe emblazoned with a black Isotra symbol. His eyes were blood-red, and his features were sharp and handsome.
The spirit looked at the sleeping Ishtar and whispered, "I may have finally found the one. This youth might be able to fulfill my wish."
The spirit raised its hand, placed its index finger on Ishtar's forehead, and then dissolved back into light. "I trust you, young man. The fate of the world is now in your hands. I will be watching you," it said before vanishing into the night sky.
Inside his dream...
Ishtar looked up at the sky; the moon had turned blood-red. Suddenly, the earth began to shake.