Chapter One: The Beginning

In the great white mountains of Barefair, a newlywed couple rode their carriage with smiles full of hope, dreams, and a shining future. Suddenly, a gang of bandits burst from the shadows and ambushed them. Steel flashed as the raiders charged, demanding everything—even their lives.

The bandit leader raised his blade, aiming for the young woman’s heart as she clung desperately to her husband.

But before the strike could fall, an arrow hissed through the air and sank deep into the leader’s back. From the arrow’s direction thundered a lone rider on horseback. Sword drawn, he cut through the bandits with swift precision. In moments, the raiders lay defeated.

The mysterious savior tipped his head to the shaken couple, then spurred his horse into the forest. The scene blurred, fading into nothing, until only a name echoed: “Rolando…”

The vision vanished, and in its place stood a dazed boy leaning on his broom.

“Rolando!” snapped a dignified, proper woman—the caretaker of the Guardian of Life’s temple. She scowled, hands on her hips. “Stop daydreaming and finish sweeping.” Then, softening her tone, she smiled. “Do your work quickly, and you may go home.”

Snapping from his thoughts, Rolando hurried to finish. When the last task was done, he knelt at the Guardian’s shrine. Like always, he prayed: for the sick, for peace, for the plagues to end. He begged the Guardian to guide him, to help him save as many people as he could. He thanked her for what she had done for his world and vowed that his love for her would only grow.

Walking home, Rolando pretended he was a great hero saving lives. Along the way, he gathered wildflowers for his mother. Ever since he was small, he never returned home without them; her joy the first time he gave her one flower had been etched into his heart. When he spotted her waving from the doorway, his smile widened.

Crossing the threshold, he kissed her cheek and handed her the flowers.

She inhaled their fragrance. “I already ate. You sit down and eat, love. Your father will be here soon.” She placed the bouquet into a vase on the sturdy wooden table passed down from her family for generations. As always, she silently wished the flowers would never fade.

Their house too was an inheritance—small, plain, wooden, yet home. It had a kitchen, a dining room, and three narrow bedrooms: one for Rolando, one for his parents, and the third serving as his father’s tailoring workshop.

Her husband was the ninth generation of tailors in his line. Yet she knew Rolando despised the trade. His dreams were far larger. He longed to serve the Guardian of Life. But such a path, she feared, meant only hunger, sickness, and death. Guardians’ servants prayed and worked endlessly, fed poorly by struggling villagers, and were slain when bandits torched the temples. She wished her son would abandon such foolish dreams and take up the needle, where at least survival was possible.

The door opened. “Hello, my love,” her husband greeted warmly as he hurried inside.

“Hello, my lovely,” she answered, placing a steaming bowl of vegetable soup before him. Then she wrapped Rolando’s portion in cloth. “Be careful at the shrine, young man,” she murmured, kissing his forehead in blessing.

“Yes, Mother, I will. I’ll pray for us and for the world,” he promised, finishing his soup. “I’ll stay the night there and be back in the morning, as always.” Hugging them both goodbye, he set out with his blanket and food for the long walk up the mountain.

By sunset, he reached the Guardian’s shrine. He prayed, cleaned, and then sat to eat as the stars appeared. But when he looked for the lights of his village below, he saw nothing. A sick dread coiled through him.

He knew what it meant.

The fiercest bandit clan—the Hounds—were known for wielding energen, a dark power that cloaked their raids. Their barriers swallowed entire villages, masking fire and screams alike, until only ash remained. If his village had vanished from sight, then it was under attack.

Panic fueled him. He sprinted down the mountain, heart hammering, prayers tumbling from his lips. He had no weapon, no allies—only desperate hope.

By the time he reached the village hours before dawn, he collapsed, sobbing. Ashes. Nothing remained but ruins. Every home had been torched, every granary looted.

Then—his mother’s voice.

He staggered toward the sound and fell to his knees before the temple. But hope died instantly. The villagers had sought refuge there, but the Hounds had set it ablaze. The temple, once a sanctuary against monsters, had become their tomb.

Rolando collapsed unconscious.

When he awoke, the horror remained. Everyone he loved was gone. His family, his neighbors—murdered. His prayers to the Guardian had not saved them. Bitterness twisted in him, but he fought against it. He told himself others bore worse grief, yet nothing eased the reality: his world was gone.

His tears fell onto the shattered statue of the Guardian. As they struck her broken eyes, he felt a still, piercing truth. She herself had not been spared desecration. Though more powerful than any bandit, she had been scorned, her love rejected. His people’s last prayers had not been in vain; their souls were safe in eternal bliss.

But justice had to be claimed.

Rolando’s tears crystallized upon the Guardian’s face, forming into a small, glowing orb. When he lifted it, hope flared inside him. Deep down, he knew it would guide him to the Hounds.

Though exhausted, strength surged through his body. He set his destiny in stone: no one else would suffer at the hands of the Bandit Hounds. He clutched the orb and ran, every ounce of his being aflame with purpose.

Failure and death never crossed his mind.