Paths of Vengeance

As time went on, the bond between Isamu and Akira grew deeper, shaped by countless shared experiences. From the age of ten, they were rarely apart, their friendship strengthened through years of training and exploring the forests around the village. They hunted monsters together, their skills improving with every battle.By the time they were eleven, it was clear that both boys were on a path to greatness, though their goals were different. Isamu had a quiet strength, and a calm determination that made him a natural leader, though he never wanted to be one. His training under his father and mother continued to make him skilled with both sword and magic.

Akira, on the other hand, was fiercely ambitious. He pushed himself to the limit every day, determined to be the best in everything they did. He admired Isamu’s abilities but couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing, and a desire from deep within trying to crawl out.

One afternoon, as they practiced swordsmanship in the clearing near the forest’s edge, Isamu noticed Akira had been there all day. His swings were filled with frustration.

“You seem tense,” Isamu said, lowering his wooden practice sword. “What’s wrong?”

Akira paused, looking away as he sheathed his sword. “Nothing,” he muttered, though his tone was tight.

Isamu frowned, sensing something wrong with his friend. But before he could say more, a sudden roar from the opposite bush had caught their attention. It wasn’t unusual for them to encounter monsters in the forest, but this sound was different, more like a loud cry.

“Stay alert,” Isamu said, his voice lowering as they both turned toward the source of the noise. Out of the trees emerged a half-dragon half-bird monster, its eyes glowing like daimonds, and its body covered in jagged, dark feathers. It wasn’t like the weaker monsters they were used to hunting. This one was larger, more dangerous, and stank of dark magic. In his beak was a . . . creature, too torn up to be recognized.

Akira froze, “Isamu, do you recognize what’s in the monster’s mouth?”

Isamu tensed, this time looking at the creature in its mouth closely.

Before Isamu could reply. Akira charged ahead with hatred in his eyes, his sword shone with the light of his magic. For a moment, Isamu stood frozen, watching as Akira fought fiercely, his movements were fast but clumsy. He was strong—stronger than most boys their age—but as Isamu predicted, the monster dodged skillfully. The monster didn’t look smart, but as Isamu’s Father taught him— “Never underestimate your opponents”—

With a sharp swipe of its tail, the creature sent Akira flying backward. His body slammed against a tree, the force knocking the breath out of him. Isamu didn’t hesitate. He rushed in, unleashing a spell that paralyzed the creature just long enough for him to strike it down. The beast crumbled, disintegrating into dust as it hit the ground.

Panting, Isamu turned to Akira. “ Are you okay?”

Akira struggled to his feet, his face twisted in frustration and anger. “ The monster ate one of the villagers, I couldn’t help it,” he snapped. “I wanted to prove that I was worthy. I wanted to save people.”

Isamu’s eyes narrowed. He had never seen Akira this angry before. “We’re supposed to work together. You know that.”

Akira looked away, seeming to hide the emotion on his face, his hands clenched into fists. “You don’t understand,” he muttered. “You never will.”

There was something in Akira’s voice, something deeper than just frustration over the fight. Isamu could feel it—a growing distance between them that hadn’t been there before.

Isamu, not wanting to escalate the situation, said, “you are strong, Akira, and I admire your streangth,” Though he new that strength alone does not determine who someone is.

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It was late in the afternoon when a horseman arrived at the village. He was dressed in the uniform of the royal messenger service, his armor had the crest of the Eastern Kingdom. The messenger, his face pale with urgency, climbed out of his horse and looked around.

Akira and Isamu were both in the village square when the messenger approached them. The look on his face made Isamu worry.

“Are you Akira Kobayashi?” the messenger asked, his voice heavy with the weight of his message.

Akira nodded, confused by the sudden appearance of the royal messenger. “Yes, that’s me. What is it?”

The messenger bowed his head slightly before speaking, his voice low. “I bring grave news. Your parents… they were attacked while on their journey. I’m sorry but . . . they . . . didn’t make it.”

Akira stood frozen, his brain not working at first. His parents? Dead? Why is he telling him it now? Its been almost half a year since they started their journey. He stared at the messenger, his heart pounding in his chest. “What… what do you mean?”

The messenger continued, his voice filled with regret and sorrow. “They were killed by the Demon Lord’s minions, Slythara. I’m so sorry, young master.”

The world seemed to stop around them. Isamu watched as the color drained from Akira’s face, his hands trembling as he tried to make sense of the news. His parents, who had been away for so long, were never coming back.

Akira’s lips opened, but no words came. His eyes filled with shock, grief, and something darker—rage.

Without another word, Akira turned and walked away from the village square, leaving Isamu.

Weeks passed, and Akira started training early every day. He trained day and night, sometimes skipping meals. The warmth they once shared was slowly being replaced by something colder, something darker.

Akira’s mind was consumed by thoughts of revenge. He swore to himself that he would become strong enough to defeat anyone—especially the ones who killed his parents.

And all the while, Akira remained blissfully unaware of the full truth—that his bloodline was special.

From that day on, the two boys walked different paths, with different goals, unaware of what was out there and the darkness far beyond what they had known.

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