3 Years

Three years bled into the tapestry of Zephyr's life, each sunrise a new page in his story. The once scrawny nerd boy had transformed. Sunlight glinted off sweat-slicked muscles, his movements a blur of precision and deadly grace as he wielded his sword. Each stroke, each slash, each thrust honed by years of relentless practice, spoke of a warrior far beyond his ten years.

He finished his final sequence with a flourish, a wide downward slash that sent a plume of dust billowing into the air. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Zephyr surveyed his hands. They were no longer the small appendages of a child. Years of wielding a sword had etched lines into his palms, hardened the skin into a testament of his dedication.

"Three years, huh..." he murmured, a hint of melancholy lacing his voice. Yes, three years had passed since his encounter with the wyvern, since the awakening of his strange abilities.

He was Zephyr Bladehart, a ten-year-old boy burdened with a secret past. His frame, once scrawny, had filled out, his height now a respectable 5'2". He looked every bit the part of a budding adventurer.

A sigh escaped his lips, a puff of air that dissipated into the warm afternoon breeze. He had reached his limit.

The rudimentary training he received in the village, the self-taught swordsmanship honed in the quiet solitude of the fields – it was no longer enough. He craved more, a deeper understanding of his abilities, a way to find the missing fragments of his past, and a way to polish his swordsmanship to the limit.

But the thought of leaving his village, his family, Bell – it gnawed at him like a persistent ache. Unraveling the mysteries of his past was an undeniable pull, a yearning that burned brighter with each passing day. However, the idea of abandoning the ones he loved left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Zephyr sank down onto the grassy field, the weight of his dilemma pressing down on him.

He needed a solution, a way to bridge the gap between his past and his present, between his duty to his family and his yearning for answers. He closed his eyes, picturing Zen's weathered face, his gruff demeanor laced with a hidden well of wisdom. Maybe, just maybe, the Old Man held the key.

He sighed once again, closing his eyes and just laying on the swaying grass. The wind caressing his naked upper body.

*Grumble*

The young man, no longer quite a boy, rose from the grass. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, a familiar reminder that even heroes needed lunch. He brushed the dirt from his sweat-drenched shorts and donned his worn leather shirt.

As he started the trek back to the village, a pang of bittersweetness struck him. He paused, taking a deep breath and letting his gaze sweep across the vista. The wind whispered through the tall grass, a gentle caress against his skin. Each swaying blade held a memory, a testament to countless hours spent honing his skills.

More importantly, his eyes fell upon the village nestled in the distance, a cluster of humble homes nestled amongst the rolling hills. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, a comforting image of family and warmth.

Zephyr closed his eyes for a moment, engraving the scene into his mind.

He wouldn't forget this place, this haven that had nurtured him for the past three years. It was more than just a collection of buildings; it was a symbol of the love, laughter, and camaraderie that had shaped him into who he was. He knew, with a certainty that settled deep within him, that his journey would take him beyond these familiar fields, but a part of him would always remain here, forever bound to the place he called home.

———————————————————

The familiar creak of the door announced Zephyr's arrival. As he stepped inside, a bright smile erupted on Bell's face. "Aniki!" he shrieked, launching himself at Zephyr in a joyous tackle. At eight years old, Bell's hero worship had only intensified over the years. Zephyr, the village protector, the monster slayer – these were the titles Bell bestowed upon his older brother, his eyes shining with boundless admiration.

"Hey there, little hero," Zephyr chuckled, ruffling Bell's hair. The nickname felt strange on his tongue, a constant reminder of the burden and the yearning that coiled within him.

Just then, Zen's gruff voice boomed from the kitchen. "Oh, kids. Lunch is ready!"

The aroma of rabbit stew filled the air, a familiar and comforting scent. Lunch was a lively affair, filled with Bell's chatter and Zephyr's playful teasing. As twilight painted the sky in hues of orange and purple, Zen settled down with Bell, a well-worn book in hand.

Tonight's story was about Argonaut, the legendary First Hero. Bell, despite his initial resistance, listened intently, his imagination painting vivid pictures of the hero's grand exploits.

"One day, I'll be a cool hero too, just like Argonaut!" Bell declared, his eyes sparkling with determination.

Zephyr, who had been engrossed in a book of his own – a tattered tome filled with cryptic symbols – listened to the exchange with a bittersweet smile. The hero mantle, so readily embraced by Bell, felt heavy on Zephyr's shoulders. He wasn't a hero; he was a boy shrouded in mystery, his past a gaping hole in his life.

Later that evening, as Bell drifted off to sleep, Zen found Zephyr perched on a rocking chair, his brow furrowed in concentration. He settled into a chair opposite him, the silence stretching between them for a long moment.

Finally, Zen spoke, his voice laced with a hint of melancholy. "You want to leave, right?"

Zephyr's gaze flickered up, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Was it that obvious?"

Zen chuckled, a low rumble that echoed in the stillness. "Leave, Zephyr. Explore the world. Go to Orario, or any other place that calls to you. Find yourself." He paused, his gaze turning serious. "Don't worry about us here in the village. We can take care of ourselves too. You have a purpose, Zephyr, a greater destiny."

"You're strong," Zen continued, his voice firm. "Stronger than you know. You are destined for greatness, just like Bell with his hero dreams. But your path lies beyond these familiar fields. Embrace it, Zephyr. Don't let us hold you back."

A pained smile tugged at Zephyr's lips. Greatness? Destiny? These were words that felt alien to him. He wasn't some legendary hero; he was just a boy who couldn't remember his past. He yearned to help people, to protect his loved ones, but the hero label felt like a costume that didn't quite fit.

"I…" Zephyr began, his voice hesitant. But the words wouldn't come. The weight of Zen's words, the unwavering belief in his potential, created a whirlwind of emotions within him. He looked at Zen, the enigmatic Old Man who had become a father figure, and knew a decision had to be made.

This quiet village, his loving family – leaving them behind was a terrifying prospect. But the yearning for answers, the pull of his mysterious past, was a force he couldn't ignore any longer. He had to find a way, a path that bridged the gap between his past and his present, between his love for his family and his need for self-discovery.

A flicker of gratitude flitted across Zephyr's face. "Thanks, Old Man," he mumbled, the words carrying the weight of unspoken emotions. He rose from the chair, the worn leather of the book whispering against his palm as he closed it. "Also, good night."

With a final nod to Zen, Zephyr ascended the stairs, each step echoing the quiet determination that had settled within him. Sleep, a precious commodity, was a necessity tonight. Tomorrow, his journey would truly begin.

As Zephyr disappeared into his room, Zen remained downstairs, his gaze fixed on the star-dusted tapestry above. A sigh escaped his lips, a soft sound that carried the weight of ages.

He, who was once Zeus, the powerful God of the Sky and leader of the Zeus Familia – rivals to the mighty Hera Familia – was now Zen, the unassuming old man living on the fringes of a humble village.

A wry smile tugged at his lips. The irony wasn't lost on him. Here he was, raising not one, but two potential heroes. Bell, with his boundless enthusiasm and unwavering belief in heroism, mirrored the naivete of Zeus in his youth. And Zephyr, with his mysterious past and burgeoning power, held the potential for greatness that rivaled even Hera's champions.

"Just like old times," he murmured, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. Perhaps, in this quiet life, in raising these two boys, he had found a purpose that transcended the celestial halls of Tenkai.

He was no longer a god, feared and revered. He was Zen, a mentor, a father figure, and the silent guardian who would ensure these two heroes, his heroes, had the foundation they needed to shake the very foundations of Orario, just like the legendary rivalry between Zeus and Hera had done so long ago.

The night deepened, the stars silently watching over the slumbering village. Below, in a small room bathed in moonlight, Zephyr dreamt of soaring through a sky filled with swirling mist, a single word echoing in his mind – Orario. The journey had begun, and with it, the promise of a future far grander than any of them could have imagined.

———[Chapter End]———

A/N: Village Arc is coming to an end soon, and the Orario arc is just around the corner.

Suggest some ideas for me to add into the story, I'm not all too well into every piece of lore in Danmachi. I haven't watched the movies, or played Memoria Freese. So I bet you guys know some ideas that will spice up the story.