The Silent Night Before Leaving
The night wind blew gently through the cracks in the window, carrying the scent of damp leaves and old wood from outside. The fire in the hearth had begun to dim, leaving flickering light that danced on the walls of Professor Aldemar's house. Feran had fallen asleep on the long chair, while Quartzis and Lazric slumbered side-by-side on the warm straw mattress. Only Altair remained awake, sitting and leaning against the window, gazing at the star-laden night sky.
His thoughts were troubled. The story of Valerian—his father—reopened memories and unanswered questions. The past, the future, responsibility, and the fate of his family spun endlessly in his mind.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then took a long breath.
"Hey, Roniver," he called softly in his mind.
A familiar voice emerged, with a lazy and slightly mocking tone.
"What is it that you disturb my leisure time with, by occupying your thoughts?"
Altair smiled faintly.
"Haha, you're in my thoughts anyway, so you must know what I'm thinking."
"Of course, I know," Roniver replied. "You're confused about your next step after leaving this place. You don't have the slightest clue about Valerian, do you?"
Altair nodded slowly.
"Exactly… So, what do you think?"
Roniver seemed to ponder in his mind, then spoke in a more serious tone.
"Before that, allow me to ask… have you accepted your destiny as the future king of Aethran?"
Altair lowered his head, silent for a moment before answering.
"I have agreed… Besides, it has been my destiny since you took residence within me."
Roniver's tone turned cheerful.
"Hahaha! Good! In that case, our next step is quite clear. We must head to the teleportation gate. One of them is in the Elemental Temple—a very familiar place to you."
Altair stared at Roniver in his mind, surprised.
"Wa–wait... You mean the Elemental Temple that was once in the land of the Elemental Race?"
"Precisely. And you know its location, don't you? Wasn't it marked on your grandfather's legacy map? That could be your next destination."
Altair fell silent, as if all the pieces were beginning to fit together in his mind.
"Thank you, Roniver. Perhaps… I can also find clues about Father there."
Roniver grinned.
"I figured you'd say that. Now, hurry up and sleep. Stop disturbing my leisure time."
Altair sighed and smiled faintly.
"Haha, alright."
Before Sunrise
The sky was still dark. The morning air held the scent of damp earth. While the world still slept, the four siblings stood in front of the old house where many memories lingered.
Quartzis and Lazric knelt before Professor Aldemar, showing their deep respect.
"Thank you for taking care of us, Professor," Quartzis said with a trembling voice. "Allow us to follow our brother."
Lazric bowed his head. "I will never forget how you cared for us, taught us… and made us who we are today."
Professor Aldemar held back his emotions. He reached out and gently touched their heads. "You have grown stronger. I am proud."
No other words could describe their feelings at that moment. Silence. Dense. Hanging in the air.
Altair and Feran stood in the doorway, waiting in silence as the moment of farewell reached its end.
Professor Aldemar then handed them some supplies—dried food, water, as well as four cloaks of disguise that looked ordinary but were designed with light illusion magic.
"Use these," he said softly. "You must remain inconspicuous... until you reach your destination."
Before they truly left, the Professor stood before them, looking at each face that was once a child's, now grown into a young man with eyes that held the weight of the world.
"Never forget where you came from. You are descendants of something greater than you realize."
The words were like carvings, etched into each of their hearts.
Altair nodded. Unable to say anything more.
They stepped out wordlessly.
Lazric clenched his fist, bowing his head in silence, holding back the tears that threatened to spill.glanced back once more. Professor Aldemar's figure still stood in front of the door, watching them in silence. His white hair fluttered softly in the breeze.
Quartzis pulled up the hood of his cloak, hiding his eyes that were beginning to redden. He kept looking forward, but his gaze was not as sharp as usual—a burden hung in his eyes.
Their footsteps marked the beginning of a new journey.
A journey that not only took them away from home… but also brought them closer to a destiny they did not ask for.
Before the sun touched the sky, they nodded. No words were spoken this time. The farewell had already taken place. All that remained were steps forward.
As they began to walk away from the house, the morning wind gently blew their cloaks. Altair glanced back briefly, seeing the small house slowly disappear into the shadows of the trees.
"Let's go," he said softly, and they stepped towards the destiny that awaited.
After Their Departure
The sound of those footsteps slowly faded into the distance.
Aldemar still stood in the doorway, his hand touching the cold side of the old wooden frame. A thin morning mist hung in the air, and the light of dawn had just begun to touch the tips of the distant trees.
He gazed at the empty road that the four young men had just traversed—children who could barely walk without falling, now stepping forward carrying the weight of the world.
"So, this is what it feels like to let go of family..." he murmured softly, almost inaudibly.
His trembling hand gripped the sleeve of his robe tightly. Behind the calmness of his face, his heart was in turmoil.
It wasn't that he didn't believe in them. On the contrary—he knew they were ready.
But the emptiness remained.
The house, which for years had been filled with the sounds of laughter, training shouts, and the aroma of potions, now felt emptier than ever. The dining table seemed too large. The chairs too silent. The bookshelves too neat.
He walked slowly inside, picking up a piece of paper left on the table. Quartzis's handwriting—the last notes on an unfinished magic experiment. Aldemar smiled faintly.
"Still too soon for you to grow up," he whispered.
He sat down in the old rocking chair near the fireplace. His eyes gazed at the dying embers.
"Valerian... they're gone. I can only pray that they find you someday. And... may they remain themselves even if the world tries to change them."
The morning breeze blew in through the open window, leaving a soft rustling of leaves.
And for the first time in years, the house was truly silent.
As he sat in that chair, he remembered the moment when Valerian brought Quartzis and Lazric.
About fifteen years ago...
The sky was heavily overcast that day. The rain had just stopped, leaving the scent of wet earth and a piercingly cold gust of wind.
Aldemar was gathering wild herbs at the edge of the forest when the sound of heavy footsteps made him turn.
From behind the mist, a tall figure emerged, wearing a tattered robe and wounds all over his body. In his arms, two tiny babies were wrapped in torn cloth—crying softly, as if knowing the world was not a kind place.
"Aldemar..." the man's voice was hoarse, almost inaudible. "Please... take care of them..."
Aldemar was shocked. "Valerian?"
The man smiled wearily. A forced smile amidst suffering and hope. "They... are my children. Their mother... is gone."
Aldemar approached, looking at the two babies—one with almost white hair, round eyes staring blankly... the other with soft blue hair, his cries soft but heartbreaking.
"Quartzis... and Lazric," Valerian said softly, almost like a last whisper. "I can't take them with me..."
He handed the two babies into Aldemar's arms, then knelt down. His body could no longer bear the wounds, the blood, and the despair.
"I... I just want them to live... better than me."
Aldemar looked at him for a long time. In his eyes, there was conflict: between anger at Valerian's sudden appearance, and a growing sense of pity.
He finally nodded slowly.
"I will take care of them, Valerian."
Valerian nodded weakly, then stood up, leaving the place without saying anything more—without explaining where he was going.
Aldemar watched his old friend's back until it disappeared into the mist.
Then, he looked down at the two babies.
"I don't know who you will become someday... but you won't be alone."
Suddenly, Aldemar was jolted from his reverie.
His hand moved to the top shelf. He pulled out an old leather-bound book—a worn album that he only opened at certain times.
His hands trembled slightly as he opened the first page.
First Photo: Crying Babies Quartzis and Lazric
Aldemar smiled faintly.
The sound of that crying seemed to echo in his ears again.
"Good heavens... how did I feed two babies at once when I only have two hands? Yes, yes, calm down... one at a time! Lazric first, hey, calm down…"
He chuckled softly as he remembered the chaos of that time. "You cried too much, Quartzis… But your white eyes always made me weak."
Second Photo: Toddlers Quartzis and Lazric Running in the Room
"Hey! Be careful not to r—"
Crash!
A potion bottle fell, almost hitting Quartzis. Aldemar, with incredible reflexes, caught it. But...
Smash!
The bottle broke in his hand, and the herbal liquid splashed his face.
"Aaaaauuuu! Itchy! So itchy! AAAAAAA!"
He ran to the sink, frantically washing his face…
While the two boys just roared with laughter from afar.
"You little devils..." Aldemar muttered, wiping his eyes, but without the slightest anger.
Third Photo: Lazric Making His First Potion
"Professor! Professor! Look what I made!"
Little Lazric ran in, carrying a small bottle filled with greenish liquid.
"Wow, what potion is that?"
"This is... cold medicine! Professor has to try it!"
Aldemar hesitated but accepted anyway. He took a small sip—and immediately choked.
"It tastes like... rusty iron that's been boiled!"
"That is the main ingredient!" replied Lazric innocently.
Aldemar almost vomited.
"This child... an alchemist or a murderer..." he whispered, patting his chest.
Page after page he turned.
Each photo brought a small laugh, occasionally a tear that welled up.
They grew—changed—and now they were gone… towards a world harsher than this small house.
Professor Aldemar closed his album slowly.
"Be happy... grow into great figures.
And... return someday,
if you still remember who first fed you milk with trembling hands."
He smiled to himself.
His chair remained still. But his heart... slowly felt warm.
The Silent Journey
The forest was still shrouded in a thin mist as Altair and his three brothers traversed a small, rarely used path. They walked in silence, the only sounds being their footsteps and the rustling of the wind. Occasionally, the hoot of a night bird or the crack of a twig disturbed the stillness, but none of them spoke. Each was lost in their own thoughts.
Feran walked at the forefront, alert and constantly observing his surroundings. Behind him, Quartzis and Lazric maintained their distance, while carrying supply bags and rolled-up maps. Altair walked at the very back, maintaining formation and ensuring no one was following them.
They avoided the main roads, choosing hilly paths and thickets, winding their way past settlements and small villages. For several days, they only interacted when absolutely necessary—during meals, when planning routes, or during night watches.
On one of the nights, as they rested in a small cave hidden behind a dry waterfall, Quartzis asked softly,
"Are you sure... that place still exists, brother?"
Altair stared at the small campfire, his voice soft but firm.
"If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't have brought you all there."
Nothing more needed to be said.