Gary was laid to rest beneath the great oak tree—the one he had loved more than any other place in the world.
It stood tall and ancient, its wide branches stretching like protective arms over the land. This had always been Gary's sanctuary. He would sit beneath its shade for hours, lost in thought, telling stories that danced between humor and hard-earned wisdom. Often, after long days of work, Mike would join him there, listening quietly as the old man spoke of the world, of kings and choices, of strength forged through pain.
Now, the earth beneath the oak was freshly turned.
Mike knelt before the mound of soil, his chest tight, his hands trembling as they pressed into the dirt. The silence felt cruel—too loud, too final.
"You were a great man, Gary," he whispered. His voice broke, and he did not try to stop it. "I wish you were still here… to see what lies ahead. To guide me."
Tears fell freely, darkening the soil.
"I'm going to miss you," he continued, barely audible now. "More than words can say."
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then his hand tightened against the earth, his grief hardening into resolve.
"I promise you this," Mike said, his voice steady despite the ache in his heart. "I'll become the man you believed I could be. I'll save this nation from the mad king's tyranny—no matter the cost. And when it's over… when the kingdom is safe… I'll come back here."
His gaze lifted to the oak's towering branches.
"I'll sit beneath this tree again," he said softly. "And I'll tell you my story."
With that promise sealed, Mike rose. He gathered his belongings and turned away from the tree that now guarded Gary's rest. The blade Gary had entrusted to him hung at his side, its weight both comforting and heavy with expectation.
As he stepped onto the road, the evening wind whispered through the leaves behind him, as though carrying Gary's unspoken blessing.
"I'll overcome every challenge," Mike vowed to the empty horizon. "With your strength and your faith, I'll rise. I'll become the strongest king this land has ever known."
And so, he walked forward—into the unknown.
The cracked, dusty path stretched endlessly before him. Mike walked alone, Gary's final words echoing in his mind.
Find Jon.
But how was he supposed to do that when he didn't even know the name of the nation he was in?
For over an hour, he encountered no one. The silence pressed against him, thick and unsettling. Then, at last, a village appeared ahead.
Relief flickered—only to die the moment he entered.
Men lay sprawled across the ground, their bodies thin and broken, eyes hollow with hunger. Some moaned softly. Others did not move at all. Death lingered in the air like a foul stench, and despair clung to every crumbling wall.
Mike froze, his heart twisting.
An old man approached him, his back bent as though the weight of the world rested upon it. "You're new here," the man said, his voice rough but not unkind.
Mike nodded. "What happened? Why is everyone like this?"
The man's eyes darkened. "It's been four months. This was once a peaceful village—happy, even. Then King Octavius murdered our leader."
Rage flared in Mike's chest. "Why?"
"Our leader refused his orders," the old man said. "Octavius demanded our young women—slaves for his soldiers. Our leader stood against him. For that, he was killed."
Mike's fists clenched, nails biting into his palms. Tears burned his eyes. "What kind of king does that?"
The old man let out a bitter laugh. "An evil one. He fears no man. No God. He serves only darkness."
Mike straightened, wiping his eyes. "Someday, there will be justice."
The old man studied him carefully. "What's your name, boy?"
"Mike," he said firmly. "Remember it. When I become king, I'll make things right."
A faint smile tugged at the old man's lips. "Nice to meet you, future king. I'm Leo."
Mike smiled shyly. "How do I reach the next nation?"
Leo pointed down the road. "Ten miles straight. You'll reach the border—but beware. The king's knights guard it. No one crosses without permission."
"What's this nation called?"
"Magnolia."
With renewed purpose, Mike continued onward.
Night fell, and exhaustion forced him to rest beneath another tree. Hunger gnawed at him, driving him into the nearby forest in search of fruit. As he climbed a tree, a sudden scream shattered the stillness.
"Help me!"
Mike ran toward the sound.
A pack of wolves circled a boy about his age, their teeth bared, eyes glowing with hunger. The boy's gaze locked onto Mike's.
"Please!"
Without thinking, Mike hurled a rock, striking one of the wolves and drawing their attention.
"Over here!" he shouted.
They charged.
Mike thrust out his hand. "Go—fire!"
Nothing happened.
Panic surged. "Go, fire!"
Still nothing.
The wolves lunged closer.
"GO, FIRE!" he screamed.
Flames exploded from his hand—wild, violent, uncontrollable. One wolf burned instantly, but the fire surged forward toward the boy.
"Dodge it!" Mike shouted.
The boy leapt aside just in time as the forest threatened to ignite. The flames roared beyond Mike's control.
"Close your hand!" the boy yelled.
Mike obeyed—and the fire vanished.
He collapsed to the ground, gasping.
"Thank you," Mike said weakly.
The boy helped him up. "You're lucky. Why can't you control your power?"
"I don't know," Mike admitted.
The boy nodded. "Still—the forest is safe."
After a moment, he smiled. "I'm Ron."
"Mike."
"Where are you heading?"
"Magnolia."
Ron's eyes widened. "Same. I'm looking for someone named Jon."
Mike froze. "So am I."
A grin spread across Ron's face. "Then let's go together."
They shook hands.
Friends.
As they prepared to rest, Ron hesitated. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yes."
"Has my father wronged you?"
Mike frowned. "Who is your father?"
Ron's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Octavius Malfoy."
The name struck like thunder.
"You're… his son?"
Ron nodded, pain shadowing his eyes.
The night grew colder.
Next Chapter: New Friend…
Stay Tuned.