Orin Alpheratz (15 years old) Location: Solaris Date: Year 873 / Crow Cycle (3) / Blacksmith's Day (8)

  As he wandered near a majestic fountain, its crystalline waters glittering beneath the sun, Orin felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. The fountain stood proudly in the heart of a lush garden, framed by emerald hedges and flowers bursting with vivid colors. This place was no ordinary corner of the Imperial Palace, it was Princess Andromeda's favorite sanctuary.

  Walking along the petal-strewn paths, Orin couldn't help but relax, as though the weight of the world had lifted. It felt like stepping back into childhood, to a time before the machinations of the Church of Luminia, before the capture of the Academy's sorcerers, before the desperate flight from Solaris. Deep down he knew this was only a dream. But for now, it was enough. Enough to silence the noise of the last harrowing day.

  He lowered himself onto a bench near the fountain. Just as in his previous dreams, Wind appeared beside him, his red hair catching the sunlight as he admired the scene.

  "What a stunning place," Wind murmured, his voice carrying a hint of awe. "I've visited the Imperial Palace of Solaris, but never this garden."

  "Few people ever come here," Orin explained with a faint smile. "When I was a child, my father often had audiences with the Emperor or with others Knights of the League. During those times, I would sneak away... to this very spot."

  As though summoned by his words, the memory unfolded before them. A younger Orin, no more than nine years old, strolled down the path with careless steps, his white hair stirring in the summer breeze.

  Wind's eyes softened as he watched the boy. "So your reason for becoming a knight... is your father, isn't it?" he asked. "Following in his footsteps must be important. But you've realized, haven't you? If you truly wish to become strong, you'll need to walk a path of your own."

  "Hunter, huh...?" Orin muttered under his breath, the word weighing heavily on him. "I understand. But there's something you don't fully grasp yet. My father isn't the only reason I wanted to become a knight."

  That piqued Wind's curiosity. He turned his head toward Orin, eyes gleaming.

  "Oh? And what do you mean by that?"

  "I thought you already knew," Orin replied, his gaze lingering on the boy he once was. "I thought that was why you chose this memory."

  Wind chuckled softly, shaking his head. "It's not that I choose the memories. I only know which ones matter most at a given time, and I rebuild them so you can see. It's true, I can glimpse fragments of your past from where I am, but I don't know everything. I'm only a messenger. Still..." He turned his eyes back toward the vision of young Orin walking in the garden. "I know this memory holds great meaning for you. And more importantly, it’'s a memory that will steady your heart when the storm comes."

  "You're right. If there's one memory I'd want to see again before leaving Solaris... it would be this one," Orin said with a faint, melancholy smile tugging at his lips.

  "You've already decided, haven't you?" Wind asked quietly. "You will leave Solaris."

  Orin lowered his gaze. "I don't have many other options." Then, with a muffled laugh that felt almost forced, he added, "But to answer your question about why I wanted to be a knight... I think the reason just walked into the garden."

  From behind a tree, a girl about the same age as young Orin stepped out, startling the child version of himself. Little Orin yelped, while the girl laughed brightly. Sunlight caught her long, chestnut hair, making it glow with a golden sheen. Her pale complexion and almond-shaped eyes carried a strange, gentle sadness that stirred the older Orin's heart. Watching her, he felt the sting of longing for days that had vanished.

  Before Orin could speak her name, Wind said it for him.

  "I see... Andromeda is the reason behind your desire to be a knight."

  Orin froze, eyes widening. Andromeda? How could Wind know her name? She had vanished five years ago. Worse, Hector and Huxley had made him question whether she had ever existed at all. Yet here was Wind, this mysterious young man Orin barely understood, speaking of her as though she were common knowledge.

  "Wait a minute!" Orin burst out, unable to contain his shock. "How do you know Andromeda?"

  Wind blinked at him, confused by the intensity of the reaction.

  "Princess Andromeda... isn't she the princess of the Solaris Empire?" Wind asked, tilting his head as if the answer were obvious. "Oh, I see. You mean how do I know her face?"

  Orin’s voice sharpened. "No. I mean how do you know her? No one outside the Imperial family should even be aware of her identity." His heart pounded. Could this be a clue to her whereabouts?

  "But the princess should be about fifteen by now," Wind said thoughtfully, referring to the age when heirs of the royal houses were formally presented to their people. "Why would it be strange for me to know who she is?"

  "Because..." Orin's words were heavy, almost reluctant. "The princess has been missing for five years."

  The air grew heavy with the revelation. If Wind truly knew Andromeda, that meant either he had seen old memories of his mind... or he carried knowledge from somewhere else entirely. And yet, his casual ignorance suggested otherwise.

  Wind seemed to waver between certainty and confusion, as if he knew things he shouldn't, but also made assumptions that didn't fit reality. To Orin, it was an uncanny feeling, like Wind knew him from before, but not this him.

  Orin couldn't help but press the issue again. Wind's silence only made the questions inside him burn stronger.

  “So... how do you know Princess Andromeda?” Orin asked, his voice sharper than before.

  Wind let out a long sigh, his eyes distant as though he were gazing at something far away.

  “You probably wouldn't understand... but it's thanks to you that I know her,” Wind said at last, his tone strangely gentle. “I can only tell you this much, while I was alive, at some point, I met you both.” He turned his gaze toward the scene of two children laughing by the fountain. “So the person you've been searching for all this time... that's Princess Andromeda, isn't it?”

  “Yes,” Orin admitted quietly. The name left his lips like a wound that never closed. “For five years now... ever since she vanished.”

  “I see.” Wind smiled faintly, almost carefree. “Don't worry. You'll see her again. I'm sure of it. But if you want that future to come true, then all the more reason you should go to Dhamarr.”

  Dhamarr. Again. Both Wind and Felis had repeated that name, urging him toward that land. Orin recently knew it was the place of his origins, but what difference would it make? Why did everyone insist it was so crucial?

  “Why Dhamarr? What's there for me?”

  Wind's eyes narrowed with intensity. “Answers... and power. Think of everything that's happened here on Solaris as nothing more than a prologue. Your true story begins in Dhamarr.”

  Orin fell silent, unable to respond. Yet something in the vision ahead of him stole his attention. The small boy, his younger self, was climbing a tree with determination, reaching for an apple to hand to the girl waiting below. Little Andromeda. .

  “...It’s now,” Orin whispered. “This is the moment when she says—”

  Right on cue, the younger Andromeda spoke, gazing up at youger Orin with wide, innocent eyes.

  “Wow. I could never climb like that,” she said, half in awe, half in frustration. “Sometimes I think I'm the only one without talent. You know... my father says Hector will become the greatest knight in the Empire someday. He says I don't need to worry, because Hector will protect me. But... what about you, Orin? What will you do in the future?”

  The boy dropped down from the tree, apple in hand, his face lit with unshakable resolve.

  “I'll become the greatest knight, not only in the Empire, but in the entire continent. And I'll protect you... always.”

  The princess smiled, her eyes brimming with trust as she accepted the apple.

  Wind's gaze shifted to the present Orin.

  “I see... so the weight of that promise has been with you all this time,” he murmured.

  But Orin felt something hollow open within him as he watched.

  “...A promise I couldn't keep,” he said bitterly. “I failed to protect her. And I never became a knight.”

  Wind rose to his feet, his expression calm yet firm. “Then ask yourself, what truly matters more to you? The title of a knight... or keeping her safe? You still have time to decide.”

  The scene began to dissolve, its colors fading into a white radiance. Orin stood as well, the glow surrounding him.

  “...Do you think there's still time?” he asked.

  Wind gave him a reassuring smile. But in the next heartbeat, his face stiffened. A shadow of concern darkened his eyes, his voice growing urgent.

  “Something's happening. You must wake up. We will meet again... but I fear it will be for the last time. For now, wake up!”

  Orin's eyes snapped open.

  The first thing he noticed was the stench of dampness. The walls around him were mottled with mold, and the ceiling sagged as if it might collapse at any moment. The so-called bed beneath him felt more like a slab of stone than anything meant for rest. He winced and shifted uncomfortably.

  His old dormitory at the academy had never been luxurious, but compared to this... it felt like paradise. A pang of longing struck him before he could stop himself.

  Before the thought could linger, a sound cut through the stale air. Footsteps. Dozens of them, rushing back and forth in panic across the inn. Then, beneath the chaos, a deep, resonant call reached his ears, the roar of Solaris's battle horns.

  His body froze. Those horns were only sounded for one reason. Attack.

  A bead of cold sweat slid down his temple.

  The door burst open with a crash, nearly tearing off its rusty hinges. Eridus barreled inside, his massive frame squeezing awkwardly through the doorway. His face was pale with urgency.

  “Orin! Solaris... the city is under attack!” His voice rumbled with a mixture of anger and dread. “It's the Church of Luminia. Just as we feared, yesterday was only the beginning!”

  Orin's breath caught in his throat. He had braced himself for the Church to move eventually, but not this soon... and not in such a direct way.

  “What about the city guard? And the Knights of the League?”

  The instant he said it, his heart sank. A memory struck him like a blade. His father, and nearly the entire League, deployed far from Solaris.

  Eridus's jaw tightened. “Many of the guards have already defected. They've joined the Church's cause, claiming the Emperor must strike down all sorcerers at once. And... worse still...” He swallowed hard, his voice low. “They're not just turning on the Emperor. They're hunting every sorcerer they can find.”

  Orin clenched his fists. A suffocating frustration welled up inside him. With the city burning against them, the northern gate, already their only escape, might as well be a death trap.

  “What can we do?” he muttered, shaking his head. “With so many people to move, we'll never reach the gate without being captured. And against trained knights, we don't stand a chance.”

  Eridus exhaled heavily, but there was a flicker of hope in his eyes.

  “That boy, Felis, he came here not long ago. His companions are waiting for you downstairs. They've already gathered to discuss a way out.”

  “That means...”

  Orin nodded without another word. He hurriedly gathered himself and followed Eridus down the creaking stairs. The inn was alive with panic, boys darted back and forth, hastily strapping on belts, gathering packs, and whispering anxiously about the horns outside. Word of the attack must have spread like wildfire; fear was written on every face.

  The stairwell opened into a wide common hall. Once, perhaps, it had been lively, filled with warmth and chatter. Now it was little more than a husk. Tables leaned precariously, stacked one atop another, their wood eaten by time and neglect. The smell of damp rot clung to the air, heavy and suffocating.

  At the far end of the hall, three figures sat around a battered table.

  The first was instantly familiar. Aran, his brown hair catching what little light filtered through the cracked windows. Near to her sat Mahasim, the smuggler who had guided them here, his expression unreadable as always.

  But the man between them commanded all attention. He rose as Orin approached, and the hall seemed to shrink around him.

  His frame was enormous, corded with muscle, his dark skin contrasted by the pale cloth of a turban wrapped neatly around his head. His face was hard, carved in stone, yet his eyes carried a steady calm.

  When he spoke, his voice rumbled deep, but not unkind.

  “Orin. At last, we meet.”

  He placed a fist over his chest in greeting.

  “My name is Altair, Captain of Dhamarr's Winged Platoon. I have come to see you safely out of Solaris.”