Henry was walking sitting on one of the benches in the plaza. He needed some alone time from his friends and training. He felt like his world was piling over him, so he snuck out of his dorm to mope. He was trying to be light. He was wearing his favorite green shirt and brown pants. He was wearing his red fox hat. The order had tried to get rid of it when he first came to their doorsteps, but he had hidden well enough for them to think someone had thrown it away.

He looked up and stared at the stars. He was once a mere son of a farmer, and now he stands as one of the heroic knights of the Heroic Order of Nimeta. They had chosen him when they came by their village to find prospective heroes. He doesn't really understand what they found in him. Potential? Too vague. It could be anything.

He sighed. He really missed his dad. It's only been a week, but it already felt like forever. Without his father's comforting presence, it felt like the darkness pressed upon him. The stars above were the same stars he and his father gazed above their roof, but they felt much more distant without him pointing them out. They may be the same lights that gaze down upon them, but he was certain that they stood not under the same sky. It may be clear at this very moment, but back home, it may be stormy and black.

It was a late hour. The plaza was quiet and empty with much of the townsfolk asleep already. The order probably thought he was asleep too. He wasn't tired yet. He wanted to count the leaves on the nearest tree. His father had put a fake tree on his bedside so that he could count the leaves until he fell asleep.

"Caw!" A crow's call sounded in the plaza. Henry was roused from his drowsy moping. He turned his eyes to the bird and saw it perched upon the branch of the nearest tree. Held within its talons was rolled up sheet. It was held together by a piece of string, securely grasped with its feet.

Henry recognized this bird. It was a familiar bird, a bird that frequented his father's farm. He could recognize it over all the other crows that it had seen. The bird that his father had befriended had eyes of searing green, and the crow perched upon the nearby branch certainly had those eyes. Eyes that pierced the darkness with their striking color.

Henry stood up and slowly approached the bird. The cold air of the night didn't bother him as its gaze pierced into his being. He raised an open hand and beckoned the bird. The bird turned its head sideways before it caught the intent of the boy. It alighted from the branch and landed upon the palms of the boy.

It gave to the boy the rolled sheet, and it was as Henry had thought. His father had sent him a letter. He could recognize his penmanship imprinted upon the unrolled sheet. Tears soon fell unbidden as he read the caring letter of his father.

~^*^=8=^*^~

My dearest boy, Henry. It is me your father, Renard Greymight. It's been a lonely week without you in the house. The house has been quiet that you're no longer in its halls. Hopefully they'd let you visit me sometimes.

It can be daunting to think that I'm now only serving food for myself. You and your wondrous mother are no longer in my midst. Do not worry too much though. Your godfather, Larry of the Clock Tower had come to accompany me. At least I had some friendly folk in our home, even if they can't help too much when tending to the crops.

How about you my child? Tell me about the adventures they're sending you to. I'd like to hear them. I've purposely left the back side clean so you could write on its backside.

~^*^=8=^*^~

The message was dear to his heart. He felt the need to make a reply to his lonely father immediately. He folded the letter into his pocket, and began running back to his dorm. While he couldn't remember owning an inkwell and quill, he could surely borrow one from his neighbors.

A smile was wide in his mouth as he sped through the streets, only for it to hit a stalwart wall that stood between him and the dorms. It was dorm master Erwin Chandler. Henry's smile disappeared from his face when his eyes met the stout man. He had crossed his arms in disapproval as he saw Henry appear from the dark.

"Where did you go, young man?" Erwin began. "In the middle of the night, in that outfit?"

Henry tried to rebuke, but he had been dragged in before he could let out his voice. The man was strong and his grip was tight. He couldn't escape from his grasp. He was dragged through the lamplit halls of the temples and dropped into the corridors of the dorms.

"If you do sneak out in the middle of the night, next time, choose more fashionable clothing," Erwin said before closing the door behind him.

Henry dusted his clothes and rolled his eyes. He knew that he wouldn't be taking that advice or order seriously. When he's going out on his own, he's going to be wearing whatever he wanted. Still, he was already halfway where he wanted to be.

He ran through the corridors with a goal in mind. Wind whistled by his ears in the speed of his sprint. He made a sharp turn when he reached his room, and he slammed the door wide open as he enterred. His roommates were lounging in their beds. Angar Broodlor was there on the top bunk, snoring in his sleep, barely moved by his loud entrance. Jeema Graves sat on her bed, reading the latest love story she found from the local bookshops. Aspen Evrin lay on the bed, shaken from restful sleep.

Henry was panting as he stood from under the doorframe. Running through the corridors may have been a bad idea, but the thought of writing for his father simply filled him with excitement that he felt like vibrating. He walked forward, toward the desk which lay upon the end of the room.

He pulled the chair from the desk and took a seat. He pulled out the folded paper from his pockets and lay it flat on the table. Its clean blank surface laid bare for him to write on. He opened the desk's drawers and took out a bottle of ink. He picked one of the many quills Aspen had brought with her from the town she came from.

His woken roommates were intrigued in what he was doing and looked over his shoulder. When he sensed that they were looking at his work rather intensely, he covered the sheet with his hands and turned his head to look at them harshly and judgementally. They had become his dearest friends in his stay in the temple, but he'd rather have his letter only be known between his father and himself.

When they've stepped back far enough, Henry returned to his work. His sloppy handwriting flowed onto the sheet he was working on. He poured his heart into every word he's writing. He combed his memories for anything that his father might enjoy hearing about.

Once he was finished, he picked up the finished letter. The letter was barely legible in his untrained hands, but he could still make out the words which were written upon the sheet. He reviewed the words he had impressed upon the sheet.

~^*^=8=^*^~

Dearest father Renard Greymight, this is your son, Henry Greymight. I worry about your loneliness there. In my stay here, I have made some friends among the others they have chosen. You would be happy to meet them.

Angar Broodlor is such a blockhead. He liked to push things further even when things couldn't be pushed any further. Jeema Graves is from the village of Innerwater. She likes to read those sappy love stories, but I really don't like them. Maybe you do, after all, you found mother. There's also Aspen Evrin. Apparently, she's the child of a treasurer, so she's the only one of us who really mathematics well.

The temple pushes us really hard. They're training us to be heroes, to be heroic knights against the evils of the Kingdom of Fiores tries to impose on us. The training they're doing with us are brutal. They make us fight an army with only a squad and sometimes only hand us with poor weapons. All the training you've given me before coming here was useless! They wouldn't let me use it.

I don't understand why they're doing this to us, but apparently it's so that we'll be getting a legend of our own.