Hasib had never been good at anything.
Not at studying, not at sports, and certainly not at fighting. In a world where Warriors were admired for their strength and skill, he was the student everyone could push around without consequence.
"Hey, Hasib."
He stopped near the classroom door. Raka stood in front of him with Rohan at his side, both wearing the same familiar smiles.
"Where do you think you’re going?"
"Class is about to start," Hasib answered quietly.
Rohan let out a short laugh. "Listen to him. Acting like anyone’s actually waiting."
Raka leaned in and tapped Hasib’s forehead with two fingers. "You still talking about becoming a Warrior? Be honest. Have you ever won a single fight in your life?"
Hasib’s fingers tightened around the strap of his bag. The words sat on his tongue, useless. Nothing came out.
Raka’s smile widened. "That’s what I thought."
Rohan shoved him hard as they walked past. Hasib stumbled and caught himself against the wall. Their laughter faded down the corridor, leaving him alone. He stared at the floor for a moment before quietly straightening his uniform and adjusting his bag.
He hated how easily they could push him. More than that, he hated the quiet part of himself that always stayed silent when it mattered.
But even then, somewhere inside, he still held onto a ridiculous dream.
He wanted to become a Warrior.
He wanted one thing: to become strong enough to protect himself and stand on his own feet. People like Raka would laugh at the idea, and maybe they were right. Hasib had no talent and no wins to his name.
Still, whenever he imagined himself as a powerful Warrior, something inside him refused to let the dream die.
"Everyone, settle down!"
Madam Habi entered the classroom with a stack of papers in her arms, her silver hair shifting as she moved. She wore an open apron over her clothes, thrown on in a hurry. Students gradually returned to their seats, though the room stayed filled with restless whispers.
"We’re going on a school trip today."
The classroom erupted at once.
"A trip?"
"Where?"
"Seriously?"
Madam Habi raised one hand. "If you stop shouting, I’ll tell you."
The noise slowly died down.
"We’re visiting the Relics of the Forgotten Age Museum. It’s one of the oldest historical museums in the city. You’ll be studying artifacts from the age of the ancient Warriors. Behave yourselves."
Hasib looked up.
Ancient Warriors.
Those two words caught him immediately.
He had always been drawn to their stories. Seven hundred years ago, Warriors were said to possess abilities ordinary people could barely imagine. Some legends claimed the strongest among them could destroy enormous creatures with a single strike. Others spoke of Warriors who vanished without leaving even a trace.
Most of those stories had become legends, distorted by generations of rumor.
Maybe I want to believe strength isn’t something only other people get to have.
A few hours later, the class boarded the bus. Hasib took a seat by the window and rested his head against the glass. The bus pulled away from the school while the others filled it with laughter and loud conversation.
Raka and Rohan sat several rows ahead, talking with their friends. Sara and Hina discussed what they wanted to see at the museum. Madam Habi occasionally told everyone to keep their voices down.
Hasib barely listened.
He watched the city pass outside the window. Tall buildings gave way to older houses, then open fields and scattered trees. Sunlight slipped between the clouds and spread across the road. For a while, everything felt peaceful.
He closed his eyes.
One day, I’ll become a Warrior.
The thought almost made him laugh.
Even if everyone thinks it’s impossible.
When he opened his eyes again, an unfamiliar uneasiness had settled inside him. Nothing was wrong. The road was normal. The weather was clear. The others were still laughing.
Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was waiting for him somewhere ahead.
The bus continued for nearly an hour before slowing down.
"We’re here," Madam Habi announced.
The students grew restless at once.
Hasib stepped off the bus and looked toward the enormous stone building behind the iron gates.
The museum looked older than the city around it. Grey stone walls rose beneath tall windows. Thick ivy covered one side of the building as though it had been growing there for centuries. A faded golden banner stretched above the entrance.
RELICS OF THE FORGOTTEN AGE
The place felt strangely familiar, though he couldn’t have said why.
A faint chill passed through him. His eyes moved toward the dark entrance.
For the briefest moment, he thought he heard something.
A whisper, from somewhere inside the museum, far from the students and the teachers.
...come...
Hasib turned toward the entrance again.
Nothing.
"Hasib!"
Madam Habi’s voice pulled him back.
He blinked. Everyone else was already gathering near the doors.
"Coming."
He followed them quickly.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the temperature dropped. The noise from outside disappeared behind the heavy wooden doors, replaced by the hush of the enormous hall.
Hasib glanced back. The entrance looked completely normal.
He turned forward again.
Ancient weapons, statues, paintings, armor, and strange objects filled the space. Some rested behind thick glass. Others stood on stone platforms beneath soft lights. The air smelled of old paper and dust.
"Stay together," Madam Habi said. "And don’t touch the exhibits."
The students answered with scattered complaints and laughter before moving on.
Hasib barely noticed them. His eyes moved from one artifact to another: an ancient helmet, a broken spear, a shield covered in faded symbols, a sword so dark it seemed to swallow the light around it.
For the first time since morning, he forgot about Raka and Rohan.
Then he saw something that made him stop.
At the center of the largest hall stood a wide circular platform surrounded by a transparent barrier. Three objects rested inside it.
Two ancient swords, and a tall mirror.
Unlike the other exhibits, these three looked untouched by time. The swords still carried a faint shine. The mirror’s surface was perfectly clear.
A small plaque stood in front of the platform.
THE RELICS OF THE FORGOTTEN WARRIOR
Estimated Age: 700 Years
"Madam Habi," one student asked, "who was the Forgotten Warrior?"
She stopped beside the platform.
"No one knows his full story," she said. "According to the records, he was one of the strongest Warriors of his era. He disappeared around seven hundred years ago. No body was ever found. No grave was ever discovered. After he vanished, these three relics were found in the same place."
She pointed to the swords.
"These are believed to have belonged to him. As for the mirror, no one knows why it was there."
"Then where did he go?" another student asked.
Madam Habi shook her head. "That’s the mystery."
A few students laughed.
"Maybe he went to another world."
"Maybe he’s still alive."
"Imagine if he suddenly came back."
Their jokes echoed through the hall.
Hasib didn’t laugh. His attention had already fixed on the mirror.
It didn’t feel right.
He stepped closer to the barrier without realizing it.
The mirror reflected the entire hall, the students, the artifacts, Madam Habi, and himself.
For a moment, everything looked ordinary.
Then his chest tightened.
His reflection blinked.
Hasib froze. What?
He stared at the mirror, unsure whether his eyes had tricked him.
Slowly, he raised one hand.
His reflection raised its hand as well.
He lowered it.
The reflection did the same.
He let out a quiet breath. I must be imagining things.
"Hasib."
He turned.
Raka and Rohan stood a few steps behind him.
"What are you doing?" Raka asked with a grin. "Trying to become a Warrior by staring at a mirror?"
Rohan laughed. "Maybe it’ll give him some strength."
Hasib lowered his hand. "Just go."
Raka stepped closer. "Still dreaming about it?"
Hasib said nothing.
"You couldn’t even fight us this morning," Rohan added. "And you think you’ll become a Warrior?"
Hasib’s fists tightened. He wanted to answer. He wanted to prove them wrong. But once again, the words stayed trapped inside him.
Raka gave him a shove on the shoulder and turned away. "Leave him. He’s not even worth the effort."
Hasib watched them disappear into the crowd.
Then he looked back at the mirror.
For a brief moment, he thought he saw someone standing behind him, a tall figure with long hair, a sword in one hand.
He spun around immediately.
No one was there.
He looked back at the mirror. Only his own reflection remained.
His pulse picked up. What is happening to me?
"Hasib, come on!" Madam Habi called from farther down the hall.
He took one last look at the mirror before following the others.
He didn’t notice the faint ripple that moved across its surface after he turned away.
And deep inside the ancient museum, something that had remained silent for seven hundred years had finally begun to stir.