Journey to Become the Zenith

A Hero’s Village

Half a decade and more had slipped by since Victor, once called Anos, returned in mortal form.

Six quiet years.

Fresh views shaped by half a dozen years of looking differently.

Over time, pieces started fitting together as he aged - family, the quiet town, even the strange, unfamiliar rhythms nearby. Later years brought clarity.

His parents stood out first. From that point, he began.

Deep in the forest, her father never missed, muscles built from years beneath heavy branches. His hands, rough from holding rifles and tools, made precision look effortless. Needles moved fast between her mother’s fingers, fabric always stretched on her lap. As he followed deer through brush, sunlight caught her bent over mended clothes - patches sewn for folks down the road. Silence around her spoke louder than words ever did.

They were ordinary people.

Still... they worked out fine.

What came next touched the shape of the place where people lived.

Kanal Village - that name stuck around back then.

Some say the place took its name from a hero said to have first drawn breath right here.

What a bitter twist that cut deep.

A child once feared across nations now tends goats beside a shrine. This place sings praises each dawn to a man he remembers killing. Faces change but blood stays red. His hands, though smaller, still know how violence begins. They call it devotion here; he knows it by another name.

Life seemed to laugh in crooked ways.

Kanal Village sat under the rule of the Skyfall Kingdom, among the largest realms shaped by humans. Taxes flowed from its people not freely, but because a marquis claimed authority nearby.

A name whispered in corners, his standing carried weight none could ignore.

A cruel noble.

A woman-stealer.

A shadow moves where honor claims its throne.

Just lucky the marquis hadn’t set foot in Kanal Village yet. Close as they were to his lands, he’d somehow overlooked them - so far.

From the old man’s tales, Victor began to see how big the world really was.

This time, it stretched beyond one landmass, unlike anything he’d known before.

This place? It was called Nirwana. Seven huge continents made up its sprawling shape.

A single people held power in every case

One land belongs to humans. Another holds the elves. Demons rule a third stretch of earth. Dragons claim their own separate realm. Vampires dwell far across another expanse. Beasts shaped like men live on yet one more.

Right there in the middle of everything -

The Neutral Continent.

Peace held, though lightly, across a land shared by many races.

Right now, Victor made his home in the Human Continent, where the Skyfall Kingdom held sway.

Funny thing caught his attention - demons here didn’t carry the weight of pure wickedness like back home.

They traded.

They negotiated.

At times, they shared lands alongside different peoples.

Last time folks fought that hard over skin color? Hundreds of years back, said the old one.

Fights still happening involved realms of one kind alone.

Fighting rages now between Skyfall and Blackthorn. A clash of crowns drags on without pause. Not peace, but blades shape these days. One kingdom pushes hard while the other holds ground. Neither willing to step back a single inch.

A conflict without total mobilization.

Only scattered skirmishes.

Border clashes.

A slow-burning conflict.

This small countryside settlement offered little, yet Victor collected every scrap it held.

Just a little thing. Not big at all.

Still, that much worked.

...

Faint light slipped between branches, spilling in patches where moss met old leaves below. A hush held the trees, each beam resting like warmth on damp ground. Shadows stretched slow, shaped by trunks standing tall and close. Quiet moved there, not silence but something breathing just beyond sound.

A small figure rested deep inside the forest. His hair dark as charcoal, still on his shoulders. Cross-legged upon the mossy ground he stayed. Quiet. Unmoving. The trees around him held their breath.

Victor.

Now he stood far from the tiny child he once had been.

A quiet kind of grace shaped his face, even then, lines clean like they were carved slow. Smooth black strands dropped down past his ears, nearly touching where shoulders begin. When those lids lifted, gold stared out - not playful, not soft - but steady, weighted beyond years. Something sharp lived behind that gaze, waiting.

Beneath the trees, he practiced without being seen. A hidden spot where quiet steps met early light.

Footsteps fading, he moved energy through his limbs without a sound.

Right then, his attention rested entirely on fire. Though quiet, the flames held him close. A flicker here, a spark there - each movement mattered. Not words, but heat shaped his thoughts. Even stillness around him felt alive. Fire did that. It pulled without asking.

A few steps beyond basic spells he stood, yet bones and muscle refused to keep pace. Pushing further risked tearing the pathways wide open.

So he waited.

Few months down the road, things would feel heavier at first. Then slowly, without notice, holding on gets easier.

Funny thing - magic here worked just like it did before he left that other place behind.

Finding your rhythm with earth, air, fire, or water meant they began to show the way. Sometimes it felt like listening more than doing - movement followed attention. Paths unfolded when presence replaced effort.

Warmth showed fire’s lesson.

Wind through motion.

Earth through stability.

Water through flow.

Silence hung between them, but mana carried their words. Stillness reigned, even as energy passed like whispers through air.

Floating questions through his mind, Victor questioned if elemental spirits counted as their own kind.

A shadow stayed - yet he did not follow where it led.

Strength wouldn’t come from philosophy.

His breath left him then, a long pause broken only by the soft release of air.

Far off still from mastering even basic flames, today brought no progress at all.

A heavy branch lay on the ground. Up he stood, reaching for it without hesitation.

That was when the swinging started.

Once.

Twice.

A hundred times.

Every step he took held a sharp clarity, nothing wasted. Efficiency shaped each motion, smooth like clockwork. Precision guided his hands, steady and sure. Not at all how most kids move. Almost too perfect to be natural.

Each morning now looked the same to him.

A snap of twigs broke the silence. Something moved in the thick green ahead.

Still facing forward, Victor stayed put.

Just a single soul showed up over all these years. One face, no more.

”Victor!”

Out of the woods she stepped, quiet. Between trunks, sudden. Light caught her shoulder first.

Shimmering under the sun, long strands of pale gold fell across her shoulders, while those deep blue eyes - alive with flicker - caught every movement. Brightness lived in her features, fine and soft, yet unaware of how often they paused on Victor, just an instant longer than meant to be. Sunlight clung to each strand, even as silence held what words never said.

Videl - that’s what they called her.

One year her senior, but next to him, time seemed reversed. Still, Victor carried himself like he’d seen more winters. Even so, her age didn’t show in the way she leaned on his silence. Then again, he spoke little, moved slow - like old wood adjusting. Somehow, that made him feel farther ahead. Though born later, he cast a longer shadow.

Once upon a time, there stood a tiny place called Kanal Village.

Off they went, most of the younger crowd, chasing luck in far-off places.

Five kids were left once Victor counted in. Not more than that.

A small child, just beginning to know the world.

Two years apart, they were twins who shared the same birthday season.

A grin tugged at her mouth when she spotted Victor mid-drill. Suddenly, his routine brightened her whole stance.

A small stick was lifted by her hand as she mirrored how he stood. His posture found its match in her stillness.

Out of nowhere, her steps hit each mark without missing. She moved like someone who’d done it before, only quieter.

Firm.

Focused.

Almost uncanny.

Just like him, she moved through the swing with matching rhythm.

”Hey Victor, why do you do this every day?” she asked brightly. ”Are you trying to be like the heroes in the old man’s stories? Oh, that sounds like fun! I bet we’ll be awesome heroes when we grow up!”

Victor nearly choked.

A hero?

Him?

This girl’s words hit like a storm inside him. Him - the ruler who crushed legends - turn into some hero-worshipping zealot? Never going to happen. That idea died before it even breathed.

He remained silent.

Something came back to Videl after a short silence.

Last time heroes came up, out of nowhere Victor yelled gibberish then stomped away.

Later on, once things settled, his words came out slow - being a hero wasn’t something he aimed for.

Becoming stronger was what he had in mind. That wish sat heavy, quiet, shaping each step without noise.

That stayed with her always.

”Hey Victor,” she said carefully, ”remember the time you said you wanted to become stronger than the hero?”

He hesitated.

Then nodded.

”Yeah, I remember... why?”

Back and forth went their swings while words passed between them.

”Well, isn’t the hero already the strongest? How can you become stronger than the strongest?”

Victor snorted softly.

”Hmph. The hero is not the strongest. There are many more things stronger than the hero.”

Stillness took her arms mid-motion when she faced him, a fire lit behind her gaze that spoke without words.

”But the old man said the hero is the strongest. He can beat anyone and is the champion of the people. Even the king needs to bow down before the hero!”

Her voice carried quiet wonder, picturing the journeys ahead without a pause. Still, dreams took shape in her words like sketches in motion.

Fingers curled hard into bark. The wood pressed deep against Victor’s palm.

”The old man doesn’t know everything. There are stronger things than a hero - and I’m going to be one of them.”

She blinked.

”Hey Victor, how come you know a bunch of stuff not even the old man knows?”

He stiffened.

”...It’s nothing. I was wrong. I just dreamed there was something stronger than a hero.”

Videl laughed lightly.

”Heh, sometimes you say weird things, Victor. Of course there can’t be anything stronger than a hero. That dream must’ve been strange.”

A wide grin spread across her face, certain in every way.

Her innocence saved him from suspicion.

Out here, where trees hush the wind, he pushed through drills like breath and stone. A kid shaped by light, yet sharp with old wars inside.