The tavern was alive with smoke and laughter, a place where travelers and vagabonds gathered beneath low wooden beams. Jhonathan slipped inside like a shadow, his boots silent on the worn floorboards. His eyes scanned the room, not for trouble—there was always trouble—but for purpose. Ever since the stars had appeared, he had felt a pull in his chest, a promise of something more than aimless wandering.
He found himself drawn to a lone figure by the bar: a woman with eyes like still water, her lips stained with wine. She didn't speak, but her gaze was sharp, observant. Something about her felt familiar — not in memory, but in recognition.
Jhonathan slid onto the stool beside her, nodding to the barkeep. "Two more," he said, "one for me and one for that mysterious lady."
The woman didn't turn, but her hand eased toward the hilt of a blade at her waist. The next moment, steel gleamed in her grasp as she leapt forward. Jhonathan barely had time to draw his own weapon before she struck.
Their blades clashed — not in anger, but in an unspoken challenge. She fought with grace and precision, her every movement speaking of battles fought in silence. When the last strike rang out, neither was harmed. She simply sheathed her blades, eyes softening as if that had been her way of saying thanks.
They drank and talked in gestures and glances — she didn't need words. The room tried to fill the silence with gossip: Jhonathan had rescued a slave from Count Shiba, a cruel noble known for tormenting the weak with whip and blade. Whispers said Jhonathan's kindness was his weakness, but to many there it was the stuff of legend.
The mood shifted when a tall knight entered the tavern — Arcoos, Count Shiba's champion. His massive blade flashed as he challenged Jhonathan, cleaving through the wooden doors and slicing straight through the town square with a single, sweeping strike. Villagers ran in terror, but Jhonathan stood his ground. He met Arcoos in a clash of iron and fury, each blow echoing like thunder.
Night fell before their duel ended. Arcoos was defeated, but the battle had cost more than pride — it left a scar on Jhonathan's heart. As dawn's first light crept across the land, he spotted a distant carriage vanishing down the road. Inside rode a young woman with hair like silver moonlight: Sylviana, the future companion he had yet to meet.
Jhonathan ran. Not with haste, but with something heavier — hope. It was a feeling he hadn't allowed himself in years. He chased the carriage across fields and hills, tears carving paths down his cheeks. For the first time in countless battles, he felt a bond form — bright, fragile, and achingly human.
But it was gone as quickly as it had come.
Sylviana's carriage vanished into the horizon, leaving only a whisper of wind and Jhonathan's promise:
He would return to Count Shiba's mansion.
He would face the knights who served cruelty.
And he would save Sylviana — or die trying.