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For Milosh D’Jera it was like any other day. He had been sleeping at the house of some farmers, eating thrice a day and having a lot of success hunting monsters lately. In fact he had saved 13 gold coins in just two days since his wounds healed; he cherished the thought of the equipment that gold would buy him.
It had been one month since his last contract with a noble, this had given him another recommendation, just one more to go and he would claim back his nobility, ripped off from him at birth. He found out at 13, when his mother showed him the seal of the D’Jera family, the only thing his father left after a little romance.

One lucky day he heard of a new noble, a D’Jera arriving to Beluaterra. For his fortune, this lady had great love for hunters like him and it was easy to arrange a meeting with her. She heard his claims of nobility and gave him a recommendation, then she started calling him cousin and cheering him to get the other two.
But then Elzebeth D’Jera was dragged into some politic game, he helped her, something went wrong and everything went to hell. She settled down thousands of miles away and he lost his recommendation and started again in another realm. They still communicated through letters, but that was over when Elzebeth returned to the East Continent after the death of her brother.

Milosh was alone, but not down, because as soon as he’d be able to claim his nobility, he’d travel to that continent to present himself at the D’Jera manor. He’d take his mother with him. And of course, he’d look for his long lost father and forgive him.

Had been many years hunting monsters. Many fights, many scars. This was just one more day. The routine: Search and leap into open fight once you find them.
The group was there, complete with an alpha monster specially big and ugly. He leapt unsheathing the sword. Dead monsters left and right, more and more coming at him, growling, hissing, and the sword performing its old dance as the smell of blood filled the air and the ground was covered by corpses and guts.
Milosh barely worried when he was left with almost no space to keep on fighting. This had happened before. The worst that would happen was a few wounds, but he’d manage to escape in the end. His muscles tensed a bit more; the sword took more lives, faster. Claws and fangs at his flesh, piercing, ripping; the old and already known pain making him give his best for the sake of survival, but it wasn’t enough.
Milosh sight clouded. He didn’t feel the last few bites. In fact he just lost consciousness, as many other times before, and he dreamed with his mother all dressed in silk living in a big house, feeling proud for her older son. He dreamed a meeting with Elzebeth, even the dead Terrence was there though he never met him in person. And he dreamed with a father he never knew, fighting side to side, drinking together as old friends, sharing glorious stories of past deeds.

Nobody knew what happened to Milosh. In the place of his last fight were left a few bones, stains of blood and his rusty sword along with the resonance of a few undying dreams and illusions of a life that was not.