Tony opened his eyes. A warm, gentle sensation spread through his tiny body—an energy that seemed to fill every cell and strengthen him slowly, inexorably. As his vision came into focus, he realized he was confined within a narrow, tube-like chamber. White light emanated from the peravo's smooth walls, and a steady, measured flow of knowledge seeped into his mind—neither overwhelming nor sluggish. That, he understood instinctively, was how he knew he was in a peravo.
A peravo wasn't simply a container; it was a crucible of transformation. In these sacred tubes, newborns were not only kept alive but were imbued with the clan's wisdom, their bones and muscles fortified, their very essence tuned to the harsh rhythms of their world. Within days, a child emerging from a peravo would be capable of feats that defied mortal expectations—a two-year-old bargaining with a trader, or a chubby infant wrestling with more seasoned opponents. Yet, some things were forbidden: a tiny child in love with an adult, living in a union far beyond nature's bounds. That, they all agreed, was not right.
With a soft, mechanical hiss, the peravo opened, and Tony was released into the bright, sterile chamber.
"How are you feeling, kid?" a man asked in a measured, rumbling voice.
Tony, his mind still hazy with the peravo's lingering magic, raised his head. Before him stood a middle-aged man leaning casually against a wall. His bald head caught the light, his overgrown beard—decorated with odd, gleaming ornaments—framed a face that bore both wisdom and quiet authority. A giant axe rested at his side, hinting at past battles and hard-won victories.
"Don't worry—you'll be just fine in a few minutes," the man said as he reached out with surprising gentleness for someone of his imposing stature. In one fluid motion, he lifted Tony from the peravo and set him down on a smooth, cool floor. "Here, put these on," he said, handing over a neatly folded set of clothes.
Tony's curious eyes widened as he examined the garments. Through the steady flow of knowledge still pulsing in his mind, he recognized the material—the hide of the byun lizard. It was engineered to be both protective and comfortable, ideal for their harsh world. It says here you must wear them like this, like that… he thought, analyzing every detail: the soft texture, the perfect weight, the distinctive color. With a determined little nod, he managed to dress himself. "Aaand here we go. All done," he declared in a small, internal voice of triumph.
He then looked toward the man at the door. "Come on, move those tiny legs of yours—your father's waiting!" the man urged. Tony tried to follow, but his uncoordinated limbs betrayed him. He tripped, falling and bumping his head against the hard surface.
"Waaaaah!" he began to cry—a sound that was as much an expression of confusion as it was of pain.
The man sighed, rubbing his forehead with evident exasperation. Already delayed from his duties, he grumbled that Tony was one of the seven generals' children—a precious asset that could not afford to falter. Instead of indulging in tenderness, the man was tasked with training Tony at the children's home—a rigorous institution where even the smallest warrior was forged into an elite soldier.
As Tony slowly recovered, his small body determinedly attempting to rise, the man—known as Harry—observed him with a mix of professional pride and pragmatic annoyance. "At least you bounced back quickly," Harry murmured. "You're going to train hard for the next six months before you join the frontlines."
In that moment, a simple yet fateful declaration came. Harry stopped, looked down at the baby, and said, "Oh, your name is Abunar."
(And with that, Tony's old identity was gone. From now on, he was Abunar, for he was not meant to remember who he once was.)
As Abunar struggled to keep pace, he repeated his new name softly, "Abunar… Abunar…" as if to imprint it onto his soul.
"What's yours, mister?" Abunar asked in a tentative voice as he tried to match Harry's steady pace down the corridor.
"You can call me Harry," the caretaker replied with a brief smile. "I'm your trainer for the next six months. Soon, you'll be sent to the Children's Home—a strict facility where you'll learn everything necessary to survive in this world. You and your fellow recruits will undergo harsh training to become elite, well-prepared soldiers."
Abunar nodded, absorbing every word with the mix of wonder and trepidation only a newborn forced into a world of strife could feel.
They eventually reached the entrance of the facility—a hidden bastion nestled deep within a dense forest. The building was shrouded by illusions, making it seem as if it might not exist at all. Outside, a sleek private chopper waited silently, its matte-black finish absorbing the faint light and its rotor blades whispering through the air like secrets. The chopper's interior was surprisingly spacious and fitted with advanced instruments designed for stealth and precision.
"Well, are you ready for this world, young man?" Harry asked warmly as he helped Abunar aboard.
"Yes!" Abunar replied, his small face lighting up with a tentative smile as he was carried to one of the seats.
As the chopper lifted off into the night, Abunar's mind churned with questions and half-formed memories. He could sense that everything was about to change—this was not the gentle beginning of life he had expected, but the start of a harsh, relentless journey. His thoughts flickered, desperate and fleeting: he recalled the warm confines of the peravo, the strange but methodical process of his transformation, and the uncertainty of his new identity. Yet, amidst it all, one determination began to solidify deep within him.
He may have been born small and weak, but in the hidden depths of his mind, he felt the spark of something powerful—a promise of growth, of vengeance against the cruelty of fate, and a silent vow to rise again.
The chopper's engines hummed softly as the landscape below unfurled—a tapestry of dark forests, sprawling ruins, and the distant shimmer of unknown cities. Abunar watched it all with wide, curious eyes, unaware of the battles and bloodshed that lay ahead, yet determined to forge his destiny from the remnants of his past.
For now, he was simply a newborn—a child reborn with the knowledge of the old world and the weight of a new one. In that moment, as the chopper soared through the night and the facility vanished from view, Abunar resolved that he would not remain weak. He would learn, he would grow, and he would reclaim whatever power was rightfully his.