Millions of miles away, hidden deep within a remote mountain range, there stood a fortress that seemed to defy reality itself. This was no ordinary building. It was a magnificent structure, grand and imposing, carved directly into the rugged cliffs with such precision and artistry that it looked more like a work of ancient magic than human craftsmanship. The fortress clung to the side of the mountain with an almost impossible balance, its towering walls and sharp spires jutting out into the mist like the teeth of a sleeping giant. Anyone with the rare fortune or misfortune of wandering this far into the wilderness and catching sight of such a place would be overwhelmed with disbelief and awe. It was as if they had stepped into the pages of a forgotten legend, a story about enchanted swords and warriors wielding powers beyond mortal comprehension. And, in truth, that impression was not far off. Although the clan dwelling inside did not rely on magic in the traditional sense, the people there were anything but ordinary. They were martial artists.
This fortress was the home of the Clan of Swords, a legendary martial arts clan known throughout the country and far beyond for their unrivaled skill with the blade. Their reputation was steeped in myth and respect, and their name was whispered with a mixture of reverence and fear in equal measure. To outsiders, they were warriors whose prowess was almost supernatural, their techniques passed down through generations and honed to perfection. Within the fortress walls, beneath its soaring ceilings and echoing corridors, a young man hurried through the hallways with a sense of urgency that barely contained his anxiety. He wore a flowing robe that brushed lightly against the stone floor and carried at his waist a gleaming sword, its hilt intricately decorated with symbols of the clan's heritage.
His pace was uneven, somewhere between a jog and a quick walk, and his breath came fast, betraying the storm of thoughts racing through his mind. When he reached a large, ancient wooden door, he raised his hand and knocked firmly. From inside came a voice, old and dignified, imbued with the calm authority of someone who had seen decades pass by. "You may enter," the voice said.
Without hesitation, the young man pushed open the door and stepped inside. He bowed quickly and deeply before the figure seated on a throne-like chair elevated high in the room. The elder's eyes gleamed beneath furrowed brows, and the air around him thrummed with a powerful presence that seemed to press on the very walls. The young man wasted no time and spoke in hurried, anxious tones. "Master Finhan, I am sorry to bring such news, but the prisoner has escaped."
At those words, a wave of energy burst from the elder, thick and heavy like a storm cloud descending. His body straightened, radiating a potent force that filled the room, demanding attention and respect. Rising slowly to his feet, the elder fixed the young man with a fierce glare, a mixture of shock, anger, and deep concern shining in his eyes. His voice, though trembling with barely contained emotion, rang clear and urgent. "How did this happen? With June roaming free, there is no telling what havoc she will wreak. She is on the brink of unlocking the full extent of her bloodline's power, and when that happens, the danger will extend far beyond us."
Far away from the mountain fortress, in a much quieter and more ordinary setting, King awoke the next morning with a strange sensation. The world seemed to move at an agonizingly slow pace, as if time had been stretched and tangled around him. The moment his eyes opened, he felt an almost physical weight dragging the hours forward at a crawl. All he could think about was Ratel, her radiant smile, the warmth of her laughter, the feeling of being held close by her. He longed to jump out of bed, to be wrapped in her arms, to kiss and hold her as though the rest of the world did not exist.
Surprising everyone in his household, King was the first to rise that morning. Usually, his family had to nudge him awake or worry about him missing school, but this day was different. He moved with an unusual purpose and left home earlier than anyone expected. His father watched him leave, puzzled, wondering if some special event or exam was starting at school. King had carefully chosen his outfit, the neatest, most polished uniform he owned. It was so immaculate that anyone who saw him would have guessed he was the president of the student council or someone with a similar role of importance. On his face was a smile, bright and hopeful, as if the day held endless possibilities.
Yet despite his outward composure, the day felt heavy and slow for King. Each step seemed to sink into invisible mud, and his senses felt dulled, as though he were moving through a thick fog. His teachers spoke in slow, deliberate tones, their voices dragging through lessons that felt twice as long as usual. The monotony made his eyelids heavy, and before long, he found himself struggling not to fall asleep during class, much earlier than he normally would.
During lunch, King shared his feelings with his closest friends. Their reactions were immediate and heartfelt. Patrick, especially, exploded with enthusiasm, shouting advice and encouragement so loudly that several heads turned in their direction. The noise was almost too much, and King worried that if they did not quiet down, the school cafeteria might ban them for causing a disturbance. Still, the energy from his friends lifted his spirits, giving him a boost of courage as the afternoon slipped by.
As the hour to meet Ratel approached, King felt the pace of time shift once again. Suddenly, everything sped up, rushing around him like a fast-moving river. It was a strange and ironic contrast to how he had felt earlier. Just moments ago, he wished for the day to slow down, but now he wished it would pause, just for a little while longer.
The final class of the day was a field study that combined both grade twelve A and B students. King arrived early, eager to see Ratel, but she was nowhere to be found. Anxiety gnawed at him, making it almost impossible to focus. His gaze darted around the classroom repeatedly, searching for any sign of her, hoping she might appear as if from nowhere, watching him with those deep brown eyes.
Eventually, fatigue overcame him, and he rested his head lightly on the desk. Doubts crept into his mind. Had Ratel changed her mind at the last moment? Was this all some cruel joke designed to raise his hopes only to shatter them? This was the longest he had ever stayed awake and alert in class, and the weight of his worry made every minute drag like an hour.
Determined not to let his fear show, King forced himself to pay attention to the teacher's lesson. To his surprise, the concepts started to make sense. Gradually, he became fully engaged, answering questions with a clarity and confidence that stunned both students and teacher alike. Whispers spread through the room as his classmates exchanged incredulous looks. The teacher, amazed by King's unexpected insight, directed more challenging questions his way. The two soon found themselves locked in a deep, intellectual exchange, discussing the subject in a way that left the rest of the class behind.
Before long, King was invited to the board. With practiced ease, he solved problems and explained his reasoning, his handwriting neat as he carefully crossed his t's and dotted his i's. As he turned to face the class, his eyes met Ratel's, those warm, shining brown eyes that had captured his heart from the start. The moment stretched, full of unspoken questions and possibilities. Would this meeting be the start of something new, or would the fragile bond between them unravel before it could truly begin?
There, in that charged moment, time seemed to hold its breath. The air between King and Ratel thickened with anticipation. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear. Neither of them would forget this day anytime soon.