The small fire beside Uncle Sam's cart crackled gently in the cool night air. A faint golden light flickered across the quiet park, touching the wooden bench where Arin Vale and Uncle Sam sat together.
The city noises had grown distant. Only the soft rustling of leaves and the occasional passing footsteps remained.
Uncle Sam lifted the lid of the small iron pan and turned the pieces of chicken slowly. The smell rose into the air—rich, smoky, and mouth-watering. The spices sizzled as the meat browned, and small drops of oil danced across the pan.
"Perfect," Sam murmured with quiet satisfaction.
He placed the juicy pieces onto two metal plates and handed one to Arin.
"Here," he said warmly. "Try it before it gets cold."
Arin took the plate with a small nod.
For a moment they both ate quietly. The chicken was tender, seasoned perfectly, and cooked just enough to carry the deep flavor of the spices.
Arin swallowed his first bite and smiled faintly.
"It's really good.
Uncle Sam chuckled.
"I've been cooking longer than you've been alive, boy.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The night moved slowly around them.
Then Sam wiped his hands with a cloth and looked at Arin.
"So, he said gently, "how was your day?
Arin stared down at his plate for a moment before answering.
It was… okay.
His voice was low.
Too low.
Sam noticed immediately.
The old man leaned slightly forward and studied the boy's face.
Why do you sound sad?
Arin didn't answer right away.
He watched the small fire for a few seconds, as if searching for words in the flames.
Then he spoke.
I don't have powers
Sam's eyes narrowed slightly.
Arin continued quietly.
Everyone else has something.
Fire… wind… gravity… water…
He gave a bitter smile.
And I have nothing.
For a moment the night grew heavier.
Sam looked at him carefully.
There was something strange in the old man's eyes now.
Not just sympathy.
Something deeper.
Something almost suspicious.
You don't have power? Sam asked slowly.
Arin nodded.
Yes, uncle."
He looked down at the ground.
"I'm the one with all the problems."
Sam leaned back slightly and crossed his arms.
Why do you think that?
Arin looked up, confused.
"What do you mean?
Sam's voice became calmer
"You think not having power makes you unlucky?"
Arin didn't answer.
Sam sighed softly.
Boy… you are not unlucky.
Arin frowned.
Sam pointed toward the sky.
"Sometimes the world gives a man a sword."
"And sometimes it gives him empty hands."
Arin listened silently.
Sam continued.
"But empty hands are not always a curse."
"They can also be an opportunity."
Arin's eyes darkened slightly.
"What opportunity?"
"To become something greater."
Arin shook his head immediately.
"I don't want that opportunity."
His voice became heavier.
"I didn't ask for it."
Sam watched him quietly.
Arin's voice dropped lower.
"God already took everything from me."
The words came slowly.
"He took my parents."
The fire crackled softly.
Sam's expression changed.
His eyes hardened slightly, but there was also a strange pride hidden in them.
"God didn't take your parents," Sam said firmly.
Arin looked up.
"What?"
Sam's voice carried quiet strength.
"God didn't take them."
He paused.
"If anything…"
"He welcomed them."
The words hung in the night like a quiet storm.
Arin stared at him.
For a moment he didn't understand.
Then a thought struck him.
"Uncle…"
His voice trembled slightly.
"Have you… seen my parents?"
Sam didn't move.
Arin continued slowly.
"I have only seen them in one photo."
His voice grew softer.
"A single photo."
He swallowed.
"Sometimes I feel like I'm remembering strangers."
A quiet pain passed through his words.
Then Arin whispered something almost to himself.
"A child shouldn't have to imagine the voices of his own parents."
The sentence drifted into the night.
Sam's hand tightened slightly around the cloth he was holding.
For a moment, the old man looked older than usual.
Then he spoke.
"Your father…"
His voice carried unexpected respect.
"He was a man with a brave heart."
Arin listened carefully.
Sam continued slowly.
"He feared only one thing."
What?" Arin asked.
Sam smiled faintly.
"God.
He looked into the darkness.
"He feared only the creator… never the creation."
Arin felt something stir inside him.
But before he could ask more questions—
Sam suddenly changed his tone.
"Yes… yes…"
He cleared his throat.
"He was… a great man."
The shift in his voice was subtle.
Almost invisible.
But something about it suggested he was hiding something.
Arin didn't notice.
Sam quickly stood up.
"Well!" he said loudly.
"I just remembered I have some urgent work."
Arin blinked.
"Now?"
"Yes."
Sam waved his hand casually.
"You go home and rest."
Arin nodded slowly.
"Alright."
He stood up and thanked the old man.
"Good night, uncle."
"Good night, boy."
Arin walked away toward the street.
Sam watched him disappear into the darkness.
Then the old man slowly turned and entered his small wooden room behind the cart.
The moment the door closed, the warmth in his face vanished.
Sam walked toward an old cabinet and opened it carefully.
Inside was a worn album.
He took it out with trembling hands.
The pages were old.
Yellowed by time.
He flipped slowly until he reached one photograph.
His fingers froze.
In the picture stood a young man.
Tall.
Confident.
There was a strange charm in his face—kindness mixed with fearless determination.
The man's eyes held the quiet strength of someone who had faced storms and still chosen to smile.
Standing beside him in the photo was a younger Uncle Sam.
Sam stared at the image.
His eyes slowly filled with tears.
"You stubborn man…" he whispered softly.
He wiped his face, but the tears kept coming.
"You promised me…"
His voice broke.
"That boy…"
Sam looked at the photo again.
"He's just like you."
The old man closed the album slowly.
But the tears did not stop.
—
Meanwhile, Arin reached his small home.
The night felt strangely heavy in his mind.
He lay down on his bed.
His thoughts moved like restless winds.
Power.
His parents.
Senjonng.
Kael Zaaku.
Uncle Sam's strange words.
Eventually, sleep took him.
And in his dream—
He stood on a battlefield.
Power surged through his hands like lightning.
The ground shook beneath his feet.
Storms obeyed him.
People bowed before him.
For the first time in his life—
He was powerful.
He felt unstoppable.
Then suddenly—
Arin woke up.
His heart was racing.
The room was quiet.
No storm.
No power.
Just silence.
He stared at the ceiling for a long moment.
Then he sighed softly.
"A dream…
He sat up slowly.
Outside the window, morning light had already begun to spread across the sky.
It was time for the academy again.
Arin rubbed his eyes and whispered quietly to himself.
"Strange…
He stood up and looked out the window.
Even dreams know the things we secretly wish for.
Then he grabbed his bag and prepared for another day.
Unaware that ?