Chapter 2:
Chapter 1.1 - Lyle of Lunyseria
The Support Character is the Hero's Greatest Villain
At its handle leaned a boy of fifteen, shoulders taut, arms steady, hauling spoils of the hunt gnarled fangs, cracked carapaces, hides that still carried the faint tang of ozone.
Lyle’s figure was lean, almost wiry, with the kind of strength earned not from training halls but from years of hauling carts and monster spoils. His silver-white hair always a little unruly framed a face that still carried traces of youth, though his eyes told a different story. Deep violet-grey, steady and searching, they betrayed the mind of someone older than his years, a quiet weight that never quite left him.His clothes were simple: a dark tunic with rolled sleeves, sturdy boots scuffed from dirt roads, belts crisscrossing his waist to hold tools and knives. Nothing about him stood out like the heroes in tavern tales no shining armor, no crest of nobility. Yet there was an unshakable steadiness in the way he walked, a reliability that made neighbors greet him with easy trust.
Lyle paused at the crest of the hill, wiping sweat from his brow. Beneath him lay his town, quiet and orderly, as if the world itself had forgotten conflict. Cobblestone streets wound neatly between sturdy houses, plumes of chimney smoke curled upward, and colorful banners already fluttered in anticipation of the coming festival.Six months. That was all that remained before his Heartforge Convergence the ceremony where his blessing would be reclaimed and his profession sealed. After that, there would be no more wondering. No more maybes. His life would be decided.
Fifteen years ago, he had opened his eyes in this world, carrying thirty-five years of memories from another. Even now, part of him still felt like Darryl Bautista, the worn-down office worker from Manila who dreamed of anime shops and easy days. But the longer he lived as Lyle, the more he found the name fit him. He had friends here. A family. A little sister who“Big Brother!”
The sharp cry pulled him from his thoughts. Bounding up the hill was Lyla, cheeks flushed from running, silver-white hair tied into two playful ponytails that bounced with each step. Her chestnut eyes gleamed with mischief, and a scatter of freckles across her nose gave her a glow of youthful innocence. She was only seven, barely tall enough to reach Lyle’s ribs, but she carried herself with the boundless energy of someone twice her size.Her dress was plain, dyed in earthy tones that mirrored her brother’s simple garb, the shared theme making their sibling bond plain to see.
Her small hands cupped around her mouth as if the whole world needed to hear her indignation.“Mom’s already looking for you! Do you want to clean the workshop all night again?”
Lyle rested his chin on the cart’s handle, smirking. “Oh? I thought that was just a crow crying for food. A very cute crow, maybe.”
Her gasp echoed across the hill. “You take that back!”
He didn’t. She lunged at him; he dodged, laughing. When she finally caught him, he swung her onto his shoulders with practiced ease. Her giggles carried them both down the slope, into the heart of town.That evening, the family gathered around their modest table. The forge’s light glowed warmly through the door, mingling with the scent of Amorosa’s stew. Lyla chattered endlessly, bragging about her speed in training drills and boasting that she would be even stronger next year when she finally received her blessing.
“Just you wait, Big Brother. I’ll be level twenty while you’re stuck doing chores!”Lyle ruffled her hair. “Enjoy being weak while you still can.”
Halfway through the meal, Amorosa’s brow furrowed. “By the way,” she said, spoon hovering, “some scrap went missing from the workshop today.” Lyle froze, nearly choking on his bread. He had taken them, of course bent nails, copper shavings, a cracked hinge little more than junk. Still, he forced a smile and kept his eyes on his bowl. Perhaps silence was the wiser option.
After dinner, Lyle stayed behind with his father to tidy. Liamme worked quietly, his hands deft from years of crafting, until Lyle finally spoke.
“Dad… do you ever think we’re really just here to support the adventurers?”
Liamme paused, setting a plate down. His eyes softened, though his answer carried weight.
“That’s the role the goddess gave this town.”
“But what if…”
Lyle hesitated, searching the man’s face, “…what if the crystal gives me something unusual? Something not meant for Lunyseria?”
For a moment, Liamme simply regarded him. Then a slow smile tugged at the artificer’s lips.
“If you believe in it, son… maybe you can make it happen. Whatever the goddess decides, you’ll still have us.”
The words eased something tight in Lyle’s chest. He glanced toward the window, where the glow of the Aegisheart Crystal shimmered faintly in the distance. Perfect. Untouched. A flawless jewel at the heart of the plaza, its light pulsing steady, like the heartbeat of the world.
In six months, that heartbeat would reach into him again. Not just to bless, but to decide.
He wondered what it would choose. And whether he’d be ready to accept it.
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