The journey from that field of ruins to the heart of Albiria took almost two months. They crossed valleys dotted with wildflowers, rivers shimmering under the sunlight, and forests where creatures could be seen in the distance, watching the stranger with white hair with curiosity.
During that time, Akiharu spoke little. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but a serene one. He only said what was necessary, calmly guiding Arata and making sure there was never a lack of food or shelter.
As for Arata, he didn't know what to ask. Without memories, without a real name, he felt any attempt at conversation would be forced. But amid that emptiness, Akiharu became a beacon.
One rainy night, while camping under a cave, it was Akiharu who carefully cleaned Arata's facial wound and applied a medicine that burned but soothed.
"It won't stop hurting completely," he said, securing the bandage, "but it will heal."
And although the scar was forever etched, from then on, Arata stopped touching the wound. He began to trust.
When they finally crossed the last hill, the capital of the kingdom of Albiria unfolded before them like a living painting. White stone towers rose among enormous trees, hanging bridges crossed streams that ran through the streets, and familiars of all kinds—from fiery birds to shadow and wind figures—walked alongside humans.
Arata stopped without realizing it. For a moment, he forgot his emptiness. The bustle, the colors, the harmony between people and creatures… everything seemed so different from the world he had left behind, or perhaps never truly belonged to. Noticing his expression, Akiharu simply said…
"Welcome to Eirenwald."
As they passed, citizens stopped, bowed their heads, or smiled respectfully. Some whispered Akiharu's name. He responded with subtle gestures, not stopping. Arata, not fully understanding, began to sense the weight that man carried on his shoulders.
The Belgrán Armonist Academy stood at the city's center, surrounded by gardens and a living wall formed by trees trained to grow in symmetrical shapes. The central tower shone under the sunset light, adorned with stained glass windows depicting scenes of ancient pacts and legendary battles.
Upon entering, Arata felt his breathing slow—not out of fear, but overwhelmed by the place's beauty and grandeur.
"Am I really going to live here?"
In the reception hall, several high-ranking officials waited. Their attire was neat, their presence firm. There were masters, researchers, even what seemed like top strategists. Their gazes fell on Arata with a mixture of curiosity and reserve. One spoke first.
"Is this the boy you found?"
Akiharu nodded. "His name is Arata. He doesn't remember who he was. But he deserves the chance to live, learn, and grow."
A woman with gray hair crossed her arms. "We have no records of him. What if he's a risk?"
Akiharu didn't raise his voice, but his tone left no room for doubt. "It will be my responsibility. Arata is my son from today onward."
A heavy silence filled the room. Arata blinked. "W-what!?"
"Adopted son," Akiharu repeated, turning to him. "I will give you my surname if you agree."
Arata didn't know what to say. Something tightened in his chest. He had never felt that kind of warmth before. He didn't know if it was happiness, fear, or something new, but he nodded slowly.
The adults accepted the decision, some with reservations. But no one dared to contradict the man even the highest ranks silently respected.
That night, Arata received his room. It was simple but cozy. A neatly made bed, an empty bookshelf, a desk with fresh ink and paper. When he closed the door, silence enveloped him. He approached the dressing table mirror.
The face that looked back was that of a stranger. Left eye closed, crossed by a scar running down to his cheek. White hair, as if time had touched him prematurely.
He sat on the bed slowly. He didn't know who he had been. He didn't know why he was there.
He thought of Akiharu. Of his calm. How he had cared for him without asking for anything. How he had called him "son" without hesitation.
And then he knew.
"I don't know who I was before. I have no memories. But I want to live. I will strive to become someone."
That night, in the silence of his new home, Arata took his first step toward the destiny that one day would shake the world.