In the high-class district, among the many grand mansions, one stood out above the rest—the residence of the Boletara family, known as one of the wealthiest in the kingdom. They owned a powerful company with a firm grip on the sectors with the highest financial returns: textiles, mining, and mana research. Their estate was guarded by special forces assigned by the king himself.
The family consisted of a man named Darius, his wife Helena, and their son, Raignald.
Darius, the head of the household, was in his mid-forties and the founder of the family business. His relaxed demeanor and calm expression still carried the unmistakable weight of someone from the upper echelons. His blond hair, straight and slightly long, swept back and brushed his nape. He wore a short, well-groomed beard that framed his strong jawline, and the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes told of experience rather than fatigue. His deep navy-blue eyes reflected an ocean of financial schemes and ideas. He always dressed formally and elegantly, embodying discipline and poise in every movement.
Helena, about thirty-nine, exuded an air of haughty sophistication, wearing her status like a crown. She carried herself as if the world belonged to her, dressed as if walking a runway, and spoke as though mud had never touched her feet. Her beauty was striking—dangerously so. Her long blond hair was usually tied in a bun at the back, with strands falling gracefully beside her ears. Her pale yellow eyes held a cold calmness, as if hiding something darker beneath the surface. Her skin was as white as ivory, flawless from years of care and treatments. She loved to wear eye-catching dresses in golden yellows and pure pearl whites, always demanding attention.
The youngest of the family, Raignald, now eighteen, wasn't quite as imposing as his parents, yet even in his childhood, he commanded a certain quiet respect. Still, his parents always felt something was off, as though he wasn't made for high-class life. He had inherited his father's deep blue eyes—like oceans full of new experiences. His hair, similar in color to theirs, was a striking shade of blond, smooth and moderately long, just brushing his forehead. His demeanor was calm and composed, shaped by the many years of education his parents had poured into him.
Raignald's childhood was marked by distance. His father had a slightly more fatherly presence than his mother, but neither spent much time at home. Caretakers were hired to fill in the gaps while the two were busy with their lives. That is, until a man named Abdullah was brought in—a butler who took on the role of guardian and companion. Abdullah quickly became something closer to an older brother than a servant. Over time, a powerful bond formed between them, one of genuine affection and loyalty, far stronger than any typical master-servant relationship.
This was the Boletara family: bound on one side by fame and fortune... and on the other, by a bond that felt real.
It was night, and the white moon reflected the sunlight like a natural beacon. Yet this light was more intense, thanks to the mana it radiated—granting it a power almost equal to that of the sun—but as time passed, it softened into a dim glow that allowed the kingdom's inhabitants to rest.
From the window of his room, Raignald watched as the light gradually waned, knowing that bedtime was near. Today was his birthday, but it was a special one... today he turned eighteen, the age when young nobles are expected to choose their independent path, or so the rules of the upper class dictated.
"I'm almost through with the day," he thought with a sigh. "And in a few minutes comes the special dinner. And of course, they had to postpone it until this late at night..." He leaned back, sitting in the chair at his desk. "They never have time, not even for such an event. Bah, as if it really matters." He turned his body, settling at the table where a book lay open, though the scant light made reading nearly impossible.
With a snap of his fingers, Raignald activated a magical lamp powered by mana. "I don't even feel like reading," he thought, surrendering immediately. Today was the day when, finally, he was to decide his own path—but the problem was his parents, for his goal was something they disapproved of. He had known this moment would come and had been preparing for it, yet thinking about it was not the same as facing it.
He looked around his room as if it might be the last night he could savor its comforts: it was very spacious, with plenty of room between the bed, the desk, the wardrobe, and the bookshelves.
His bed, situated in the center of the room, was a work of art. Its dark oak frame had been hand-carved with intricate geometric patterns, and its edges were decorated with gold. Above it, a canopy connected to the frame featured a landscape painted by a famous artist—mountains, trees, and a moon—that helped lull one to sleep.
To the right of the bed stood his desk, made of wood painted as white as snow, with golden drawers. The mana-powered lamp illuminated the book he had been reading for some time—a volume on legends. Above it, a small shelf hanging on the wall held more books, neatly arranged.
Opposite his bed was a wardrobe, matching in dark wood with golden embellishments. There, his everyday clothes and pajamas were stored—most of which had been chosen and purchased by his mother. They were very flashy and oozed upper-class style... a fact that Raignald disliked. Instead, he always dressed in more modest attire—the only style he truly cared about among all that was available.
Raignald rose from his chair, stretching his arms as he yawned, and gazed one last time at the fading moonlight. He then approached the mirror near his room's door. "Today is the day... I must be capable of choosing my own destiny," he thought to himself, preparing for the long conversation that was about to take place.
Someone knocked on the door—three taps. By the sound alone, Raignald already knew who it was before the person even spoke... Abdullah, his loyal butler.
"Master Raignald, dinner is ready," came the calm, somewhat grave voice.
"You may come in, Abdullah," Raignald replied as he stepped away from the mirror. He then sat on his bed with his arms crossed and let out a sigh of relief.
The door opened, letting the light from the hallway spill into the room, and then he entered. Raignald smiled at the sight of him: his eyes were a deep emerald green, his skin rich and brown like rain-soaked earth. His neatly trimmed black beard lined his jaw and connected with his hair, though his upper lip was clean-shaven. His hair, also black as coal, was short and curly, shaping his forehead. He wore a typical butler's outfit, in black and white.
"Good evening, sir," he spoke first, giving a slight bow. "You look cheerful. Ready for the upcoming talk?"
"Well, first of all..." Raignald smiled. "I've always told you not to act like that to me when we're alone. And as for your question," he paused for a moment to think, "it's hard to say. But clearly, I've made my decision."
Abdullah smiled and closed the door behind him so they could talk in private. He leaned against the cabinet beneath the mirror to get comfortable.
"And we both know your parents won't agree," he said, his voice slightly disappointed.
"Yeah... as always," Raignald sighed. "But I've turned eighteen now. This time, I get to choose my own destiny. They're not going to force me into something I don't want."
"And I understand that—as I always have. But this time..." Abdullah sighed too. "This time it's different. Whatever you decide, if they don't approve, they'll do the worst. Honestly, I've never understood rich families."
"Me neither, my friend... me neither." Raignald looked at the floor, resting his forehead in his hands, imagining what lay ahead. "But it's time to accept things as they are. We've always argued about the same thing, and they've never understood why I want to wield a sword instead of sitting behind a desk doing... who knows what with papers and more papers."
Abdullah stepped forward and gently placed his hand on Raignald's shoulder.
"Listen, young Raignald. You said it yourself—it's time to accept things as they are. You choose the path ahead. Besides, what you want to do is an honorable thing. And you have a gift... your mana is special." He ended with a comforting smile.
Raignald looked up and saw Abdullah's confident smile.
"You know... I'll never understand why you say my mana is special. I haven't really had a chance to test it, have I?" he asked, puzzled about what he might mean.
Raignald's parents did not support the idea of their son getting his hands dirty, becoming a warrior or wielding a sword. "That's work for the lower class!" they would say. They preferred him working for his father's grand company, helping with sales to other kingdoms. Abdullah was the only one who, from the very beginning, supported his dream—teaching him how to handle a sword and how mana worked.
"That's because we've never had the time to fully train it," Abdullah said with a soft laugh. "Training in secret isn't enough. You haven't unlocked your full potential, and I've only taught you the basics."
"You're right," Raignald reasoned, stroking his chin. "You always said that mana was essential to boost my attacks... but I always used none or barely any."
"Exactly," Abdullah replied, moving closer to the door again. "Today, the day you mark the beginning of your own path, you'll finally be able to train more—and grow in both combat and your mastery of mana."
His butler's words filled him with energy and resolve. He stood up from the bed, feeling like he could take on anything.
"Yeah... to be honest, hearing it like that, I do feel capable. But..." Raignald sighed, letting his arms drop. "I'll never understand—why can't they see and support what I truly want?"
"Make them understand," Abdullah smiled, his voice calm and full of confidence. "With your achievements and growth, you'll show them the potential they never saw."
Raignald didn't say anything—he simply smiled, letting those words settle in his mind. Abdullah walked to the door.
"I think it's best you head to dinner. You're going to love the cake!" he said, trying to lift his spirits.
"Oh yeah? Then I'd better enjoy it before the argument starts," Raignald laughed, standing up and heading for the door.
He walked to the doorway. Abdullah opened it, and for a brief moment, the young man stood still in front of his butler, trying to say something just with his eyes. Abdullah smiled and stepped out first, knowing full well that his master hated being treated like someone above him—he preferred being treated like a brother. Raignald followed him, and together they made their way to the dining room.
The hallway was rather long, with a crimson carpet running through it like it awaited the steps of someone important. Portraits of the family hung on both sides, displaying either his mother or father. In one of them, Darius and Helena posed with a younger Raignald at their feet. "How much I've changed," he thought, gazing at the painting, which brought back memories of a childhood that was supervised and micromanaged down to the smallest detail.
They reached the end of the hall, where the floor split into two paths with staircases leading down to the lower floor—where the dining room was. Raignald paused at the top, resting his arms on the golden metal railing and looking down. His parents were already seated at the central table. Everything looked meticulously arranged, with a Lotus biscuit cake as the centerpiece and various dishes surrounding it. An ornate chandelier hung above them, its golden and jewel-studded design elegantly lighting almost the entire room.
Darius looked up, noticing his son waiting upstairs.
"Happy birthday, dear!" he called out with a smile—though it was clearly a bit forced.
A group of musicians began to play, setting a refined and harmonious mood. Raignald descended with Abdullah while a small choir sang a unique birthday melody. He didn't particularly like it, but he had gotten used to it by now—complaining would only sour the mood. Before he sat down, Abdullah gently patted him on the back, reminding him that he was there—watching and supporting him, even while playing the role of a butler.
There were three chairs at the table—his father, his mother, and the empty one meant for him. He sighed, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders, and took his seat, admiring the food laid out before him.
"Good evening. Father. Mother," he said, pausing briefly as he looked at each of them.
Raignald began to eat, picking a bit from one dish and then another: meats, desserts, and more were available to him. But his eyes were locked on the cake—its luxurious appearance made it clear he wanted to enjoy it before the conversation took a turn.
The mother ate in silence, visibly uneasy, occasionally casting sidelong glances at Darius, waiting for someone to speak. At one point, their eyes met. Darius caught the sharp, almost murderous look from his wife and smiled.
"Well..." he began, elegantly dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "The moonlight is no longer strengthened by mana. It's quite late already... We're sorry we had to delay the celebration. You know how busy I am."
Raignald understood that. His father had to be in the office all day, and sometimes even worked into the late hours. But his mother? She was either out at parties or with her friends. What excuse did she have? Clearly, a family celebration couldn't happen unless all members were present anyway. Raignald chose not to ask—he just smiled and kept eating.
Abdullah stood a little away from the table, awaiting orders but always keeping a close watch on his young master's well-being. The choir and instruments continued playing melodically, switching to a new tune as each song ended.
"And...?" Darius spoke again, keeping a calm tone. Helena simply observed. "Have you decided already? You'll be working in my company, will you not?"
The atmosphere thickened. The mother paused her chewing mid-bite, food still in her mouth, awaiting the answer. The father stared intently at his son, clearly uneasy. Raignald sighed, realizing he hadn't even tasted the lotus cake yet, but it was time to speak. Abdullah became even more alert, eyes wide, his arm bent at a right angle, a white towel resting over it like a proper butler.
"I have decided," Raignald said, feeling a bit nervous but resolute. He looked his father in the eyes. "As I've always said and always wanted, I'm going to be a warrior—perfecting my skill with the sword and the use of mana. I aim to become a royal knight."
The tension in the air became unbearable, as if his words had driven a dagger into the family's back. Darius brought two fingers to the bridge of his nose, pressing it with his eyes closed, trying to contain his disappointment. Helena's frown and icy glare made her anger painfully clear. The musicians sensed the shift in mood and slowly stopped playing, quietly taking their leave.
"Are you never going to change that mindset?" Helena burst out, her voice rising as if her heart might leap from her chest. "You are our son! A son of the Boletara family—why would you devote yourself to something so lowly?"
"All you care about is money and social status," he responded firmly, directing his gaze at both parents. "And we always argue about the same thing, but you never understand what I truly want."
"Of course I understand!" his mother replied with a mocking tone. "You want to get your hands dirty and be some kind of 'honorable warrior' earning a pittance—instead of working with your father and earning a fortune!"
"And that's the problem." Raignald stood from the table, visibly frustrated, but quickly caught Abdullah's gaze, reminding him to keep his composure. He sat back down and softened his tone. "You want me chained to a boring job, sitting all day filling out who-knows-what kind of paperwork. That'll only make me end up miserable and weak."
"Ouch..." Darius winced, as if those words had been aimed directly at him.
"Oh, come on... You know what I mean. You're different from me, Father."
"Depressed? If you accept the job, you'll marry Nastasia! We've already spoken to her family—she's waiting for you," Helena announced, as if that would be enough to convince him.
Nastasia... a childhood friend, daughter of a wealthy and renowned family in the kingdom. Her noble posture, always straight and graceful, nearly matched his height. She had long hair, soft lilac like dawn-blooming flowers, and eyes of a similar hue—calm and serene in their usual gaze. Her skin was as white as pearls, and she typically wore violet dresses adorned with floral patterns.
Although he had once felt something for her, it never fully blossomed. His interest faded even more when he realized his parents planned to marry him off just to boost their status. If the two families were joined through marriage, they would likely become the wealthiest on the planet—merging two massive companies and gaining enormous social influence.
"I haven't spoken to her in a long time, and I never said I was in love," Raignald replied, a little melancholic.
"Oh please, I remember how you used to stare at her during those parties we had with her family," Darius said with a knowing smile, as if he saw through them.
"That was years ago. Just a childish crush. And besides, what does this have to do with the path I've chosen?"
"Well, she won't be interested in you, and you'll lose a valuable opportunity," the father explained, eyes wide, like he knew everything about them. "You want to wield a sword, live a short life for peanuts compared to what you'd earn working with me! Why can't you be reasonable, Raignald?"
He wanted to respond, but his mother jumped in, seizing the momentum.
"You don't like Nastasia? That's not a problem—we'll find you a second wife who suits your taste better. With this job, you'll be able to support any woman!"
He felt ashamed hearing those words, and rushed to respond to his mother first.
"Are you really implying that I should marry Nastasia just for the money, only to toss her aside later for someone else I like more? For fun? Do you not understand love at all?" He looked at both of them with disappointment, even a hint of disgust, as if their words lacked all integrity. "On the path ahead of me, I'll likely find a woman I truly fall in love with. And when I do, that's when I'll marry—not for wealth, not for status."
"You're right, son... if you don't love a woman, why marry her?" Darius sighed, arms crossed, starting to understand. "But... why not just accept a position in my company?"
"What do you mean by 'he's right'? What good is a woman with no money or class? It's disgusting!" Helena cried out, her words stabbing through Raignald like knives.
"How can you, Mother, say such things about a woman? Is your only concern your social status and what your friends will think? You can't even imagine telling them I'd choose to marry someone of lower class, can you? That would hurt your pride, wouldn't it?"
The Lotus cake was slowly melting, its thick, golden cream dripping down the plate and spilling over the table.
"Don't speak to me like that! You want to be a bloody knight? Then go ahead! But you will no longer belong to this family." Helena's words were growing sharper by the second.
"Let's not go that far, darling..." Darius tried to calm the atmosphere, casting a hesitant glance at his wife. "He's still our son."
"No! If he wants to waste his life in poverty, I won't acknowledge him as my son!" Those words struck Raignald's spirit, but he swallowed them with determination.
"So be it, then! If I must start a life far removed from the one I've known, so be it." He stood up from the table and struck his chest lightly with an open hand. "It's time I choose my own destiny. I'm old enough. I will train hard, and the day will come when I'll show you the worth you've always ignored. You haven't even measured my mana level—it's entirely possible I'm made for battle!"
Darius lowered his gaze, as if hiding something, and his wife stood up, even more furious.
"We don't need to know something useless!" She tapped her husband's shoulder to make him rise as well, to end the conversation. "Tonight will be your last night in this house. Tomorrow, pack your things and go on that stupid adventure of yours."
"Don't worry. I'll leave right now if I have to," he replied, his voice resigned, but clear.
Abdullah subtly signaled him, as if to say it was better to stay one last night—likely to prepare himself.
Helena let out a sigh and gave in to silence, walking toward the stairs and heading to her room.
Darius stood as well, sadness clouding his expression. He gave his son one last look—a dim gaze, yet not without some light. Perhaps Raignald's determination had reached him in some way. He then followed his wife without a word. Raignald sighed.
Several minutes passed, giving time for his parents to fully retreat to their bedroom. The heavy and tense air lifted, bringing relief to the young man. Abdullah approached quietly, gently patting Raignald's back with the white towel, then sat in the chair across from him.
"That was intense... but you did it. You're free now." The butler's words fell like water on hot coals, quenching the tension inside him.
"Don't overthink the bad parts of what just happened. Focus on the good. Yes, being rejected as a son hurts—but those are empty words. Deep down, even if they don't show it, they do care. They'll be watching over you, always. They won't let you see it, but I promise you—it's there."
Raignald lifted his tired, hollow gaze, and found comfort in Abdullah's empathetic expression, full of understanding and support. His somber lips softened into a smile.
"I'm glad I have you, brother," he said, a tone of relief in his voice, as if the worst was finally behind him. "And you're right... my own path begins today. It fills me with determination... but also a little fear—not knowing what's to come."
"That's normal, Raignald," Abdullah said, reaching for a knife to cut a slice of the Lotus cake.
"You've never seen anything beyond the high-ranking zone of this kingdom. But you have to be strong." He placed a large slice on the young man's plate, then smiled teasingly: "You're not going to let this cake go to waste, are you?"
Raignald chuckled and dug in. The cake melted in his mouth, releasing an explosion of a thousand flavors—though its lost chill stole a bit of its magic. Abdullah watched him with joy, as if seeing his brother savor a final, cherished treat.
"I know you want me to stay the night, but I don't think I'll be able to sleep after all this," Raignald said.
Abdullah poured him a bit of orange juice to help with the meal, and Raignald drank it slowly, savoring each drop.
"Try to get some rest and wake up just before sunrise. I'll prepare everything you need and wait for you at the mansion's entrance."
Raignald didn't waste any time. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and headed to his room, exhausted and distressed by the conversation, yet filled with determination for the day ahead.
Abdullah began clearing the table and washing the dishes in calm silence.
Once inside his room, Raignald gently closed the door behind him and threw himself onto the bed. It was hard to close his eyes, but slowly, he calmed himself and drifted off to sleep.
Time passed quickly, and Raignald woke to the subtle call of Abdullah, traveling through the flow of mana. He had slept for about four and a half hours, but felt surprisingly energized. He went to where his butler had told him to meet. Wearing clothes he usually used for outings, he stepped outside into the vast garden, pushing open the large doors.
There stood Abdullah, a large backpack strapped to his shoulders and something wrapped in cloth in his arms. Raignald approached slowly, already smiling from a distance.
"Good morning, my brother," Abdullah greeted him softly. "Are you ready?"
"Well..." Raignald sighed, a bit uncertain. "I guess I have to be." He looked at the items Abdullah carried: a heavy-looking backpack and something wrapped in what looked like bed sheets.
"This..." Abdullah began, gently setting down what he was holding and slipping off the backpack, "has everything you'll need to survive for a few weeks, until you find a job and a place to live. Though I have a feeling you won't need it for long." He pulled a metallic card from his pocket—Raignald recognized it instantly. A mana-forged card, used to store the global currency, primarily by the wealthy who had nowhere else to keep their riches.
"This is from your father... He came to me this night while I was cleaning the table. He insisted I give it to you. I know you might not want it, but... trust me, take it."
Raignald sighed, slinging the backpack over his shoulders and taking the card.
"I do feel more empathy for my father... and since you're the one asking me, I'll accept it."
He slipped it into his pocket, then focused on the object hidden under the sheets.
"And what are you hiding there?"
"This?" Abdullah smiled, picking it up and stepping closer. "It's my birthday gift to you. Go on, open it."
Raignald took it into his hands with care, a mix of curiosity and tenderness in his touch.
Slowly, he unwrapped the cloth until he finally saw it. His heart trembled—surprised and overwhelmed with emotion: It was a sword. Long and sheathed in a jet-black scabbard, the hilt made of silvery steel. He looked up, and Abdullah nodded solemnly, giving him silent permission to draw it. Soft tears began to fall. The sunlight, rising in the east, reflected on the silver blade as it emerged. A single tear landed on the polished steel. And there, in the gleaming surface, his reflection quivered—caught between emotion and memory.
"It's not that big of a deal, you should've expected it. Besides, with the money you have now, you'll find an even better one." Abdullah smiled, trying to ease the emotion in the air.
Raignald wiped his tears and strapped the sheath to his waist. Then, he took a better look at the blade—there was something engraved near the hilt.
"Is this your language? What does it say?" he asked with curiosity.
"You noticed," Abdullah stepped closer, holding the tip of the sword to read the inscription. "Yes, it's in Arabic. It translates to Hope of the Dawn. If you want to pronounce it, it's something like Amal al-Fajr."
The young man admired the sword even more tenderly. He swung it through the air, and the blade sang, cutting the wind like a whisper.
"It's perfect. I'll never replace it, Abdullah." With elegance, he sheathed the sword again and suddenly embraced his friend.
"Well, well..." Abdullah laughed, surprised, and returned the hug warmly. "For the record, yes, I forged it myself."
"There are still so many things I don't know about you... brother." Raignald stepped back and extended his hand. "One day, we'll meet again."
"Yes," Abdullah accepted his hand, shaking it gently, smiling, "but next time, you'll come to my homeland. I'll be waiting for you there."
"Wait, what?" Raignald looked at him, puzzled. "You're not going to keep working for my parents?"
Abdullah shook his head.
"Remember, you're the reason I wasn't fired when they discovered my beliefs. I've been serving you from the beginning, so there's no reason for me to keep working for them." He placed a reassuring hand on Raignald's shoulder, full of calm and understanding. "Don't worry. I've been wanting to return to my homeland. It's been a long time, you know?"
The two of them understood the paths ahead of them and smiled together. It was a unique friendship, one built on unwavering support. For instance, once Raignald's parents saw Abdullah praying in secret and tried to fire him, since their family did not accept other beliefs. But Raignald refused to have any other butler, clinging to him as a symbol of hope, and they finally relented, letting Abdullah remain in service of their son.
"Before you go," Abdullah said, offering one last piece of advice, "if you want a good start, I recommend becoming a Forest Hunter."
"Forest Hunter?" The words echoed in Raignald's mind, awakening his curiosity like a path yet to be explored, full of experience and mystery. "I remember reading about a great forest where hunters devote their lives. But I never really looked into it deeply."
"Well, that's your beginning, young Raignald. Head to the lower region of the kingdom and ask for the Central Hunter Zone. Once you get there, it'll be easy to find your way."
"I see..." he sighed, gazing at the sunrise. The light from the east slowly bathed the land, warming it as morning broke.
The two of them left the mansion and parted ways, saying farewell one last time, with the hope of meeting again in the future—as better versions of themselves.
Raignald walked on, with a backpack full of supplies that weighed heavily on him, a card holding more wealth than he had dared to count, and a long silver-steel sword—one he would wield with love and hope, forging a brighter future.