(The author is just making things up, so please don't flame me if you don't like it.) Azure starlight illuminated the border forest at night. The young Himmel leaned against an old oak, running his fingertips over the worn rose pattern on his sword sheath. The campfire crackled, lighting up his sharply defined profile. The wind stirred the hair over his forehead, revealing a pair of eyes burning brighter than the stars. He had just completed three years of training. The iron sword on his back still carried the lingering warmth of the forge, and his leather pack held only a piece of linen left by his mother, half a bag of hard wheat crackers, and a yellowed map. His father had pressed it into his hands on his deathbed. At the far edge of the map, a red dot marked
