“The lack of heroic characteristics make life so simple.”

Twenty years-old Rizen Colfax thinks so.

“To be honest, I don't want to be friends with anyone who is anxious to possess supernatural abilities just to feel special with himself,” he likes to say.

Now not everyone at this point in time when heroism is the career path would agree, but the person concerned couldn't care less.

Rizen occupies himself with the family business: the noble occupation of running a farm.

Extra money also trickled from renting the upper rooms of the seaside shack he inherited to mountaineers and vacationers who occasionally came to town for the surrounding landscape.

And so life for a couple years now have revolved around family business and family.

And the only family he had was Pram, a little sister of twelve years.

Contrary to the older brother, the little sister possessed heroic factor but young and untutored as she was, Pram was yet to master her ability.

“Dream simple,” was Rizen's motto for life.

Unbeknownst to him, things were about to take a turn from the common.

It started, or more specifically, happened, on one unusually hot midmorning, after the sun has just leaped off the heights of Alkel's Wall and out into sharp-blue Alba skies.

Rizen stood by the front door waving off a hiking couple that had stayed in for the night. When they were far enough heading to a certain highland, he relaxed the smile on his face.

“Pram, did the visitors leave any belongings?” he called to the person on the floor above – the little sister who is the only business associate.

Pram wore a yellow blouse and white skirt and searched the room with a broom in hand. She swept, arranged, as well as secured the rented rooms.

“No, all clear up here!” Pram answered breathily. She had large, lemon-colored eyes and long, argentine hair bundled into a ponytail.

Upon hearing that, Rizen considered business with those customers done successfully. The shack by the seaside had earned fair and square.

“Dream simple,” the young businessman silently recited his motto. He then gazed blankly to the verdant plain that stretched before the house.

“Mm…”

In spite of the descending heat that appeared to steam the whole landscape, Rizen gave in to the urge to step into the light. He held a hand to shield both eyes and looked to the sun-cast sky.

“Ah, the summer's blazing like dragons…”

As his maroon shirt and black jeans intensified the image and effect of the heat, Rizen's 173-cm figure seemed to simmer if viewed from afar. He looked like one burning from the top and the lower half charred.

Pram's head stuck out from a second-floor window. She was tall for her age.

“Brother, you look like a matchstick!” she told him and smiled cheekily.

Rizen touched his hair. It was short and red. 

He told her, “That's it. You're fired, little sis.”

The latter energetically returned to her job. 

“No, I'll sweep, I'll sweep, I'll sweeeeep!”

Rizen chuckled. This was one of little moments that made his simple life.

With the sound of Pram frantically working in the upper rooms competing with the buzz of cicada, Rizen lackadaisically turned around intending to return to the shade of the house.

“Ugh, so hot…” he muttered, when a small, hooded figure caught his attention. It lurked in the shade to the east side of the house, face concealed only to boast purple-toned irises that bewitched the observer.

Rizen coolly stopped on his tracks.

“Pram,” he called with a casual voice.

“The place is as shiny as a mirror, brother!” she answered from above.

“Bring the shotgun.”

“Eek!”

Pram squealed very loudly that the birds that rested on the rooftop flew in one wave. Her eyes shone from a corner of the window looking at Rizen.

It was a front; the siblings had no shotgun.

Rizen mentally surveyed the house. On the first floor were two doors, the front door and the door at the back. The back door was locked, that's for sure, but the front is as open as a church on Sunday.

From the floor above, if Pram noticed something odd, in one sweep she could leave through the window and ask the brother to offer his arms so she could leap and land safely.

“Right,” Rizen concluded the pause, and turned to the hooded stranger. “May I help you?”

The hooded figure came forward but remained in the shade. Rizen noticed its body wobble, as if out of exhaustion.

“Do you… run this place?” it asked. Its voice contained no zest but Rizen could discern the owner's feminity.

“It spoke!!” Pram squeaked from above.

“Sure, it's actually my house,” Rizen answered matter-of-factly. He was eyeing the object on the back of the hooded stranger. It resembled a sword's hilt.

A moment passed and she made no reply so Rizen took the opportunity to man the conversation.

“I am ashamed to say that I didn't notice you come around… and everything is as clear as day!” he said with professional confidence. Rizen believed in the power of diplomacy.

The hooded she-figure put a hand to her chest. “Don't get the wrong idea. I bear no ill intentions for coming to this place. I just want—” 

The speech was cut short for the figure went straight for a collapse.

“Brother, watch out!” Pram called in panic as if the whole world threatened to drop all weight on her older brother.

“This is so weird!” Rizen grumbled as he ran over to the aid of the stranger. He never should have. 

It is written somewhere that nature hated monopolies. The law of give-and-take is embedded in the heart of the universe. When something new comes in, the old will be removed. Gain will mean loss, and loss, gain.

When Rizen made contact, the hood freely slid off milk-white skin and shiny strands of ebony black hair brushed on the young man's skin. A face was revealed in the light. 

There and then, Rizen's eyes rested on a face like no other.

The hooded stranger that passed out was a beautiful, young lady.

On her back, an exceedingly handsome sword.

***