The dull thud of a wooden sword echoed across the training yard.
"Arthur?"
Leonhard's voice sliced through the silence as he rushed forward.
Arthur was on his knees, his wooden sword slipping from limp fingers. His breathing came sharp and ragged, his entire body trembling—not from exhaustion, but from something far more profound.
Leonhard was at his side in an instant, gripping his shoulders tightly.
"Arthur! Look at me!"
There was no response.
Arthur's eyes were wide, staring straight ahead—but they were empty. Hollow.
Leonhard had seen those eyes before—on that day, long ago, in the ashes of a burning village.
But this time… something behind those hollow eyes cracked open. Something leaking out. Something that no one else could see.
Leonhard cursed softly under his breath, carefully lifting him.
What the hell are you carrying inside you, boy?
---
The physician came and left with shaking hands.
"There's nothing physically wrong with him," he said. "It's his mind. He's trapped inside his own head. His body's here, but his spirit… it's somewhere else entirely."
Leonhard stared down at Arthur's unmoving body, jaw clenched.
You're not broken. You're fighting something I can't even see, aren't you?
---
Theresia sat by his bedside every day.
She brought food he wouldn't eat. She read books aloud to him. She spoke to him as if he could hear her.
"You always look so far away, Arthur… even when you're here."
Her voice trembled as she gently brushed his hair aside.
"I don't know what's hurting you. I don't know what's buried in your silence. But I'll wait. I'll keep talking to you until you decide to come back."
She held his hand, cold and unmoving.
"You're my family now. Don't… leave me behind."
---
Leonhard stood by the window, watching the city's distant towers.
There was something about the boy. Something ancient that didn't belong.
He had trained countless warriors, but none of them wielded elemental energy like Arthur.
None of them burned like him.
"Who… are you really?" he muttered to himself.
---
In the labyrinth of Arthur's mind, memories resurfaced.
His feet sank into hot sand.
The sun scorched his skin.
Endless dunes stretched in all directions, the air thick and heavy.
The Fourth Trial: The Trial of Earth.
There were no monsters.
No storms.
Just a crushing, suffocating silence.
He wandered for what felt like days.
The heat gnawed at his strength. The emptiness clawed at his sanity.
His power faltered. His steps became sluggish.
His flames withered. His control over water flickered. His mastery of wind grew heavy.
He collapsed—over and over.
Why can't I move forward? Why can't I break through?
The answer wasn't brute strength. It wasn't speed.
It was understanding.
The desert wasn't testing his power—it was testing his endurance, his patience, his ability to carry the weight of his own existence without losing himself.
"The earth bears all things, Arthur," the Elemental Dragon's voice had whispered. "It does not bend to will, nor does it yield to rage. It endures. It waits."
He learned to pace his breathing.
To listen to the rhythm of the earth beneath his feet.
To walk not in defiance of the desert, but in harmony with it.
Slowly, the suffocating silence became a steady heartbeat.
The desert accepted him—not because he conquered it, but because he walked with it.
When he reached the stone gate at the end of the trial, the Elemental Dragon awaited him.
Her eyes were kind but heavy with sorrow.
"You were never meant to exist in this form," she told him. "Your soul… it does not belong to this world. And yet, here you are. A fragment of something forgotten."
She revealed the truth:
The soul inside him was not ordinary.
It was not human.
It was never supposed to remain.
"You must find the other dragons. You must face them. Only then can you claim your place in this world—or be swallowed by it."
She bestowed upon him a name—a name that once belonged to her father.
"You are… Asrial."
---
Arthur's eyes slowly fluttered open.
His breathing deepened, but his limbs felt like lead.
Blurry shapes hovered over him. Voices he couldn't place.
"Arthur? Arthur, can you hear me?"
He blinked, his vision struggling to focus.
A girl… a man… familiar, but distant.
"Arthur! Say something!"
His head throbbed violently.
His memories tangled—a web of broken trials, roaring flames, raging storms, endless sands.
Who were they? Why did they look at him like that?
The headache surged, brutal and sharp.
The village. The fire. The trials. The dragon… Leonhard. Theresia. My name… My name…
The truth snapped back into place like a broken chain re-forging itself.
His lips trembled.
"I'm… I'm back."
Theresia let out a sob of relief.
"You're such an idiot, Arthur… we've been waiting so long."
Leonhard folded his arms, his stern expression softening. "Glad you finally returned, kid."
Arthur sat up slowly, feeling the weight of his soul settle.
"No," he whispered.
"My name… it's not Arthur."
Theresia blinked in confusion.
Leonhard raised an eyebrow.
He met their eyes, for the first time fully aware, fully alive.
"My name is… Asrial."
A silence lingered—then Theresia smiled softly.
"…Asrial, huh? I think it suits you."
Leonhard let out a quiet chuckle. "Took you long enough to say it out loud."
---
The days that followed became a new beginning.
Leonhard trained him again, but with a lighter touch.
Theresia no longer treated him as a stranger. She teased him, pulled him into conversations, challenged him to sparring matches where their wooden swords clashed under the orange sunset.
Asrial laughed—a strange sound on his tongue, but he welcomed it.
At night, he continued his secret training—fire, water, wind, earth—all blending under his quiet focus.
He was no longer just Arthur, the empty shell.
He was Asrial—the boy with a borrowed soul, a fractured destiny, and the weight of a world waiting to test him.