Karl Benoit

 It’s been a long time since I last set foot on this land. It almost feels like history is about to repeat itself… and I really hope that’s not the case. If it is, things are going to get a whole lot more complicated—if they aren’t already.
Still, the morning air carries a certain calm. A crisp, cold breeze brushes against my face, hinting at the tail end of winter as spring begins to stretch its limbs. This region is famous for its citrus farms, and the air is rich with the scent of blooming orange blossoms—fresh, sharp, like a splash of perfume on the breeze.
In the distance, I can hear the laughter of children playing, their voices echoing faintly through the quiet streets. It’s been a while since I last heard that kind of joy. Strange how something so simple can feel so distant.
Well, no point in getting lost in thought. I’ve got some time to kill before my meeting with that man.

It looks like they’re doing target practice—shooting at a training dummy. Ah… they must be working on their elemental control. Judging by their focus, they’ve probably only recently awakened to their natural energy. Curious, I decide to watch for a moment, just to see what they’re capable of.
The two boys seem to be around the same age—maybe nine or ten. One of them, with light brown hair tousled by the wind and sharp, light green eyes, raises his hand, palm open. I can sense the faint stirring of energy around him. Slowly, grains of sand begin to swirl in his hand, pulled from the ground as if responding to his will.
With a quick, fluid motion, he thrusts his arm forward. The sand launches like a spear and strikes the dummy square in the chest, piercing through it with surprising force. Not bad at all. Controlling sand like that at his age…
He must be from the Ramel family. They’ve always had a natural affinity for sand manipulation—desert-born mages with a legacy of precision and control. That would mean I’m standing just behind the Ramel estate’s training grounds.

As for the second boy—pitch-black hair and sharp, dark blue eyes—well, that’s... a whole different story.

 Complicated. The kind of complicated that makes my thoughts start spinning on their own, uninvited.
Before I can go too far down that mental road, a sudden shout snaps me back to the present.
“Nice one, Simon! Looks like you’re starting to master it—it’s still tough for me,” the black-haired boy called out with a grin, his voice full of genuine excitement.

As he spoke, he began channeling energy into his palm—just like the other boy. But something was off. It was clear he was struggling. Instead of his element forming cleanly in his hand, it started to shift… almost transforming. It looked like a liquid—thin, unstable, shimmering faintly.
He raised his hand and fired at the dummy, but the liquid never made it. It splashed midair and vanished, falling short of its target. Sweat began to bead on his forehead; just gathering that energy had clearly drained him.
A shame. With control that shaky, I doubt he has a bright future ahead—at least not in elemental combat.
Still, something about that liquid nags at me. It shimmered with a pale, light blue hue... Water? No, that’s impossible. I’ve never heard of anyone wielding water before. There's no energy in water—at least, not the kind we can channel.
Maybe I’m just reading too much into it. I’ve always had a habit of overthinking. It's a problem I’ve never quite managed to fix.
Then again, it's probably too late for that. I’m getting too old to chase ghosts in the mist.

I clapped my hands lightly as I walked toward the two boys.
“That was impressive, both of you. You seem serious about your training.”
They tensed up at first, their shoulders stiffening slightly. I raised a hand in a calm wave, offering a friendly smile.
“No need to be nervous. What are your names?”
The green-eyed boy was the first to speak. “Simon.”
The other hesitated for a moment, his sharp dark blue eyes studying me carefully before answering.
“Bilric. Bilric Ramel, sir.”
Ramel, huh? I glanced between them. “So you're both from the same family.”
“Yes, we’re twins,” they answered in unison.
Twins, huh? How nice. It’s been a while since I saw a bond like that.

“Say, could you both do me a favor?” I asked calmly. “Do you happen to know a man named Dalfrid?”
The green-eyed boy raised an eyebrow, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.
“Dalfrid? Yes, sir... he’s our father. And you’re in our backyard. The house right in front of you—that’s our home.”
“…Oh,” I said with a faint nod. “He’s your father.”
I glanced toward the house. “My apologies for entering without permission. I assumed this was just a training ground.”
So this is where Dalfrid lives now...

“Yes.”
The voice came from behind me.
As I turned, it continued—low, composed, unmistakable.
“It’s been a while, sir. What’s the great Karl of House Benoit doing in my backyard?”
“I apologize for not informing you beforehand,” I replied. “But it was necessary. I needed to see things with my own eyes before I made any moves—or worse, before they did.”
Before I could finish, he stepped into full view.
Dalfrid—wrapped in a coat that looked like it was made from the pelt of a white wolf. His long brown hair had begun to show streaks of white, and a neatly trimmed light brown beard framed his face.
“Let’s move this conversation to a more suitable place,” he said, gesturing toward the house. “Somewhere more comfortable. You must be tired from coming all this way.”
I raised an eyebrow slightly. “You're right. Let’s talk somewhere more... appropriate.”

As we stepped into the house, I cast one more glance toward the two boys in the yard.
Dalfrid looked back at me. On the surface, he appeared calm, unbothered by my sudden arrival—but I could feel it. The tension beneath his composed expression. He was nervous.
He led me into a large room, clearly used for official meetings. A long table sat at the center, surrounded by high-backed chairs. Maps, documents, and a few worn flags adorned the walls—this was his war room, or perhaps his council chamber.
Dalfrid isn’t just a father—he’s the ruling leader of Charta.
Under his reign, the country has known peace. Granted, the world itself is enjoying a rare moment of calm… but even so, he’s done well to keep balance between the noble families within his borders. That’s no easy task. I know that better than most.

We moved into a smaller room—it looked like his personal living space.
“Let’s sit,” Dalfrid said.
“Sure,” I replied.
Clever. He showed me the meeting room first, but brought me here to talk. It’s his way of saying, let’s keep this friendly.
You’ve changed, Dalfrid. Gained experience.
I only remember the quiet, timid boy… and now, here you are—a leader.
It’s a shame it’s come to this.
I retired a while ago. Lost my edge, maybe. I'm not used to these talks with rulers anymore.
But I came here because something’s stirring—something that might threaten my legacy. Everything I worked for to bring peace to this world...
“It’s starting to change,” I said quietly.
“I know,” Dalfrid replied.
“Then let’s talk,” I said.
Let’s try not to mess this up.