The sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains as Noah laced up his boots. The house was still the same, only quieter now. He looked at a silver necklace on the nightstand, his eyes lost in thoughts.
It had been six years since the last time I went to the lavender field.
Not this again, Noah…
And besides…
She won't be there.
You know that.
He shook his head, then took the necklace and fastened it around his neck — the motion was as natural as breathing. He picked up a glass of water and some medicine, then walked to the next room.
His grandmother was sleeping upright, her hair now as white as morning mist. He gently touched her shoulder.
"Granny… time for your medicine."
Her eyes opened slowly, lids heavy, and she braced herself on her arms as though even that small motion carried weight. A faint smile curved her lips.
"Is it Wednesday? Off to the bookstore?"
He chuckled softly.
"No, today's the forge. Bookstore is Tuesday and Friday."
"Oh, this head of mine… be careful with those sharp weapons, son." She placed her hand over his.
Noah cupped her hands gently, looking into her eyes.
"Don't worry. Since I got that weekend security job, the Forge Master has been training me — teaching me how to fight. So, I've got to give it my best."
She smiled, even through her tiredness.
He kissed her forehead and adjusted her blanket.
"I'll be back by lunchtime."
"Good luck, my boy." She leaned back on the headboard, blinking slowly.
Noah gave her a small nod before stepping outside, the light now brighter in the sky — but part of him still lingered in that lavender field. He looked up for a few moments.
"The sky's especially blue today. It reminds me of the dress she wore. I hope she's doing well… and doesn't get lost again."
He smiled and shook his head as he resumed walking.
"No way. I'm sure she's already gotten lost again. No doubt about it."
Still smiling, he tucked the necklace beneath his shirt — and melted into the sea of people who, like him, moved through life carrying private universes in their pockets.
The noises of the street rose to meet him — vendors crying out their wares, carts creaking, children weaving between stalls. Voices tangled with the clang of hammers and the hiss of quenching steel, until the hours blurred. And as if in a single blink, the sun had climbed to its throne above, noon pressing down with heat and weight.
The forge had left his clothes soaked with sweat, and his muscles aching. Noah walked home with steady steps. He was thinking about soup. And the warmth waiting behind the door.
When he reached the gate, he stopped.
The door was cracked open.
No voices. Just silence.
He stepped inside — and saw the wreckage.
Two summoners in uniforms were tearing through the house. One was already prying up the floorboards, exposing the dirt underneath. The other was tossing aside drawers and breaking jars, scattering herbs and tea leaves across the floor. The air smelled of dust and metal.
His grandmother stood between them, trembling, her voice cracking with desperation.
"Please… that money is my grandson's. He works day and night for it… please…"
A violent cough racked through her body. She fell to her knees, arms shaking.
"We've always paid. Always on time. Why are you doing this?"
The summoner stopped mid-pull, and stood, brushing off his uniform. In his hand, a small leather pouch.
"Our new boss doesn't tolerate excuses," he said flatly. "The last collector? Soft. Let Nouls like you believe you have choices."
He tucked the pouch inside his coat.
"Blame your daughter for leaving you with her debt. You're lucky to still have a roof. Only Zouls have rights. Maybe it's time someone reminds you of that."
Noah stood frozen in the doorway, fists clenched.
"What are you doing to her?!"
The younger summoner turned at the voice. "Stay back, kid—"
But Noah didn't wait.
He charged in low, twisting just as the Forge Master had taught him. He planted one foot, shifted his weight, and slammed his shoulder into the man's ribs. The summoner stumbled, hitting the wall hard.
Noah turned to his grandmother—
The second summoner didn't hesitate.
Without a word or a movement, the air trembled — and like a mirror cracking in midair, a fissure opened beside him. From it, a stone arm burst through, faintly glowing with etched runes.
It punched him square in the chest, pain exploded through his body.
Noah flew backward, his body slamming into the wall like a sack of iron. He gasped, the breath ripped from his lungs. His ribs screamed.
Laughter echoed through the room.
"These Nouls always hide what they've got," the second summoner said, sneering. "Pretending they're poor."
Noah lay sprawled across the ground, fighting just to take a breath.
Then he saw it.
On the back of the summoner's coat: a golden chalice. Filled with a dark red liquid. Carved into the side of the cup, one word:
Zoul.
He burned the image into his mind.
He would never forget it.
The summoners disappeared. The stone arm had vanished with them. The silence returned — too complete to bear.
Groaning, he dragged himself forward.
His grandmother collapsed on the floor, outstretched hand still reaching for the hiding spot beneath the boards — now empty.
"Granny…" he whispered, crawling toward her.
Her eyes didn't open.
Two days had passed.
The sky was heavy with clouds, as if it were mourning with him. A cold wind swept over the earth like invisible blades. The ground was soft and damp.
Noah knelt before a fresh grave, fingers sunk in the wet soil. The hood of his coat clung to his head, drenched in rain, but he didn't move.
"I couldn't even protect you…"
His voice was hoarse, barely above a breath.
"I'm a failure… Just like my mom, huh? Maybe that's why she left. She knew before I did."
He closed his eyes. Rain struck his cheeks. He didn't wipe it away.
"But I swear, Granny…"
His jaw tightened.
"Even if it means losing myself in the process… I'll find them. Every last one of them. And they'll pay. For all of it."
He bowed until his forehead touched the earth.
Then he stood.
His bag was light on his back — far lighter than the weight pressing on his chest.
He reached into an inner pocket and pulled out a folded scrap of parchment. On it, drawn in smudged charcoal, was the symbol he'd memorized with perfect clarity:
A golden chalice with red liquid.
And the word:
Zoul.
It was all he had.
It was all he needed.
For days, he wandered the narrow alleys of the poor district where he'd grown up, showing the drawing to anyone who might recognize it. Blacksmiths. Librarians. Merchants. All shook their heads. All turned him away.
Until one afternoon, near the marketplace, a red-haired woman in neat, well-kept clothes paused to watch him. A sword hung at her hip. Her presence didn't belong in a place like that.
She felt him before she saw him.
Something inside him was pulsing — dense, heavy. It wasn't like the others. She knew that feeling: raw power, unmistakable potential. But beneath it all was grief — rooted deep, like vines entwined around his soul.
She stepped up behind him and touched his shoulder. The shopkeeper he'd been speaking to went pale, backed away, and disappeared inside the shop. Noah didn't even turn.
"I didn't do anything wrong. Can't even talk to people anymore without some filthy summoner showing up?"
He tucked the paper into his jacket and finally turned — his eyes were already burning.
But the woman spoke calmly.
"I know where that symbol comes from."
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
She crossed her arms. "Come with me. Be my apprentice, and I'll show you what that symbol means. I can help you become a true Zoul."
He didn't hesitate. The word echoed in his mind.
Spinning on his heel, he swept low, aiming a kick at her chin. She caught it effortlessly with one hand. He jumped back immediately, breath sharp.
"Don't compare me to those worms," he growled. "They called me and my grandmother 'Noul' before they killed her. Said only Zouls have the right to live."
He clenched his fist, knuckles turning pale.
"I'd rather die than become one of them. I won't be your little soldier. Go find some other orphan to experiment on."
She sighed. "Bad choice of words," she said, bowing slightly. "I didn't mean to offend you. And I'm sorry for your loss."
She advanced two steps, and Noah mirrored her, stepping back just as far.
"I don't work for the kingdom anymore. I was just buying spices for lunch — this is the only market that carries the ones I need. But I felt your potential. Your Soul Heart. You've been nurturing it since you were a toddler, haven't you?"
Noah gazed at her, eyes sharp.
"I don't know what you're talking about — nurturing? Soul Heart? I'm just a commoner who worked my ass off to survive. You've got the wrong kid. Now, if you'll excuse me…"
He turned to leave, but her next words stopped him.
"You want revenge, don't you? I can see it in your eyes. And if you truly don't know what a Soul Heart is or how to nurture it… let me tell you something. With your potential, I can train you. Not just to take revenge — but to make sure no one ever takes anything or anyone from you again."
He looked back. Her voice was like light piercing the fog — hope, wrapped in the shape of an offer.
She tilted her head slightly, as if the decision had already been made.
"Come with me. You'll want to hear what I have to say."
He hesitated. Watching her walk away. The hollow inside his chest pulled tighter.
He had nothing left.
No more leads.
No rhenes.
Only loss and rage left in him.
It could be a trap — another cruel twist from a world that never gave him anything except pain. But still… he had to know.
He followed her.
They walked side by side down a cobbled street, the sun bearing down. She stopped at a street vendor, bought two sandwiches, and handed him one. He took it, but didn't eat. He said nothing.
As they drifted down the street, the silence wrapped around Noah, a thick cloud of reality — deafening, inescapable.
Each step fell heavier than the last, laden with the unknown, with pain, yet pierced by a fragile shard of hope.
She led him to a quiet plaza, shaded by trees. A stone bench sat beneath a leafy canopy. She sat, and finally spoke:
"So. Do you want revenge or not?"
He remained silent.
"You have potential," she said. "But right now? You're slow. Weak. I won't teach you tricks or shortcuts. Summoners rely too much on their Links."
She bit into her sandwich, still watching him.
"I'll teach you how to train your body — and more importantly, your soul. I'll push your Soul Heart so far it'll feel like it's ripping apart. It won't be pretty. It won't be easy. But I can promise you this: I will get you ready for the Academy in time."
She tossed one of her napkins into a nearby bin and leaned back.
"Registration only opens every two years. The next window is just over a year from now."
Noah frowned. "Why are you helping me? What do you want from me? Please don't tell me this is some kind of creepy old-lady fetish."
She didn't blink. Just flicked him on the forehead. Hard.
"Watch your mouth, brat. I'm not into that. And trust me — snot-nosed kids aren't my type."
He rubbed his head, muttering under his breath.
"I'm doing this out of spite. Just like you, they took something from me. And even though I'm a summoner, I never accepted that disgusting idea that only Zouls — those born into bloodlines with Soul Links — deserve a place at the Academy."
His eyes widened.
"What the hell are you talking about? Only Zoul families can register? I don't even have a last name — how the hell am I supposed to get in? I knew this was too good to be true—"
Another flick. Harder this time.
"Calm down and listen."
She crossed her arms again.
"I said I'd train you to get into an academy. I never said which one. You really think there's only one?"
She stood slowly, wiped her hands with a cloth, and looked him straight in the eye.
"You have no idea there's an Elven Academy, do you?"
He opened his mouth to yell again — then lowered his voice instinctively. Any louder and he'd be asking for another flick. "Elves? How am I supposed to get there? And what makes you think they'd take a human? What's so different about them anyway?" he asked, breathless.
She stepped closer, pointing to the necklace around his neck.
"That pendant? It's given to graduates of that Academy. But yours — look closely. See the leaves carved around the edges? That means it belonged to a noble house. And those leaves? They're the mark of the Elven kingdom."
He stared at her like she was spouting fairy tales.
"I was almost buying it… but Elves? Nobility? That necklace was a gift from a girl I met six years ago. Her parents were merchants — not nobles. And Elves have pointed ears, don't they? I'd remember that—"
She raised an eyebrow.
"Let me guess — she wore a hood? A scarf? A hat? They're not stupid, kid. And those 'merchant parents' — is that really what she told you? Have you ever seen them?"
He shook his head slowly, then looked down at the pendant, slipping into silence.
She was an elf?
No… I'd have noticed.
Wouldn't I?
I mean, I was kind of slow back then…
Not that I've changed much.
But she only said her family was working — never what they actually did.
Still…
This isn't the time.
Focus.
This changes nothing…
I have people to find.
People who must pay.
"Hey! Brat, are you even listening?"
The flicker of warmth from remembering her smile — that brief, fragile nostalgia — was slowly devoured by the darkness coiled in his chest. A soul that once held room for wonder and laughter, now carried nothing but vengeance. No space for sweetness. No light left to nurture it.
He tucked the pendant away anyway, sealing it like a memory too dangerous to hold. And he came back to himself — to the quiet storm building behind his eyes.
"My name's not 'brat'. It's Noah."
"Well then, Noah," she said, "you can daydream about your mysterious girlfriend later…"
He raised a hand to object — then stopped himself. His forehead still stung.
She continued.
"The Elven Summoner Academy was the first. The original. And they're the only ones who still follow the Primordial Laws."
She raised a finger with each law:
"One: Anyone with a Soul Heart can develop a Soul Link. That's what the flame on the emblem represents.
Two: Anyone who can form a Soul Link deserves the chance to enter the Academy — regardless of heritage. That's why the emblem bears a shield — merit over privilege."
She paused.
"And the most important…"
"Three: Anyone who tries to deny access to that knowledge must be removed from society. Prejudice is forbidden. The swords on the emblem? They're a promise. A warning."
She tossed the rest of her napkin into the bin, turned on her heel, and began walking.
They left the city as daylight bled into dusk, the sky bruised with streaks of violet and gold. Hours passed beneath the canopy of a dense forest, where the path narrowed into roots and shadows. Noah followed in silence, each step carrying him farther from the world he'd known and deeper into one he didn't yet understand.
At last, the trees broke into a small clearing. A cabin stood there — wooden, simple, yet so meticulously kept it looked as though it had been lifted straight from the capital and set down in the wilderness. Not a shutter out of place, not a board weathered.
She walked ahead and pushed the door. The wood groaned open, spilling a faint warmth onto the threshold.
Then, glancing back over her shoulder, she spoke — her voice calm, but edged with steel.
"We have a bit more than a year. It's not much. But it's enough — if you're willing to bleed for it."