Zen wandered with no destination, his bare feet carrying him through twisted paths of root and stone. His heart ached with silence, and only the cold wind listened to the cry he no longer had strength to let out. Hunger gnawed at him, but he kept walking, dragging his tired body forward. The stars above bore silent witness to a boy with a heart too broken, yet a will unyielding.
Suddenly, a chilling roar echoed across the woods.
Zen's legs froze—eyes wide as monstrous creatures with claws like daggers and twisted fangs burst through the trees. Panic shot through him as he turned and ran, branches whipping against his skin, breath ragged in his throat. The monsters gained on him, howling with rage.
But before their claws could reach him—
Slice!
A blade cut through the air, silver flashing in the moonlight. One monster dropped dead instantly, and the others backed off. A boy stood between Zen and the beasts, his expression sharp and fierce. He couldn't have been older than sixteen. His hair was dark ash, short and tousled, and a jagged scar ran across his cheek. His cloak was tattered at the edges, but his stance was firm, sword steady.
Without a word, he slashed again, cutting down another beast. The rest fled, vanishing into the forest shadows.
Zen panted, collapsing to the ground. "Thank you…" he whispered.
The boy glared. "Tch. What's a brat like you doing out here? Wanna die?"
"I… I'm trying to become stronger," Zen said, standing up weakly. "Please… teach me how to fight."
The boy scoffed and sheathed his sword. "Not my problem. Go find your parents."
Zen lowered his gaze. "They're gone."
The boy turned to leave.
Zen followed.
"I said go away," the boy snapped.
Zen stumbled but didn't stop. "I want to learn… I don't want to lose anyone ever again."
The boy groaned. "Persistent little rat."
They walked in silence for a while—Zen trailing behind.
Later that day, they reached a small hill. The older boy set up camp with practiced hands, clearly used to surviving on his own. Zen sat nearby, watching silently, until the boy finally spoke.
"Name's Kael. And I'm not your babysitter."
"I'm Zen," the younger boy replied quietly.
For the next few days, Zen followed Kael everywhere. He tried to help, even when Kael didn't ask. He gathered wood, tried to cook (terribly), and asked questions about swords and training every night. Kael kept brushing him off, annoyed at first… but Zen never complained, never gave up.
Then came the rainstorm.
Zen had wandered to collect berries but slipped and rolled down a slope, cutting his arm and twisting his ankle. It was dark, the wind cold and wet, and Zen couldn't move. He curled up under a bush, shivering.
Hours later, through blurred vision, he saw Kael above him—eyes wide with concern.
"Tch… idiot," Kael muttered, picking Zen up and carrying him back to the camp. He patched up the wound and wrapped his ankle.
That night, Kael didn't say much, but the next morning, while Zen still limped, Kael tossed him a wooden stick.
"Fine. I'll teach you a little. Don't slow me down."
Zen's eyes lit up.
"I have nothing to give you," he said. "But… one day, if you ever need help, I'll come. No matter what."
Kael stared at him for a long moment. Then, for the first time, he smirked. "You better not forget that, kid."
Zen's first day of training was far from
glorious.
Kael stood with arms folded, expression hard and doubtful. "You? Learn swordsmanship?" he muttered, tossing Zen a worn wooden sword. "This'll be a waste of time."
The wooden weapon nearly fell from Zen's weak hands. His palms were soft, unfamiliar with even the lightest burden of combat. But he didn't flinch. He bowed slightly and gripped it with both hands.
"Let's begin," he said softly.
Kael rolled his eyes. "Fine. Don't cry when you can't lift your arms tomorrow."
The first few days were brutal.
Zen's balance was terrible, his swings sloppy, his body too slow. He tripped more often than he struck properly. Kael groaned and shook his head with every attempt.
"You're hopeless," he snapped after a session. "A squirrel has better coordination."
But Zen didn't quit. Every fall made him more determined. Every failure planted deeper roots in his will.
Kael began to notice.
The boy was stubborn. Unbreakable.
Weeks passed, and Zen slowly improved. His strikes began landing in proper form. He learned to steady his breath, watch his opponent, shift his weight.
Kael no longer complained every five minutes.
He started showing real techniques.
"You're still weak," Kael muttered one morning as he corrected Zen's footwork. "But maybe… not entirely useless."
Their bond grew beyond the sword.
Kael taught Zen how to make a fire without flint, how to spot herbs that healed wounds, and which mushrooms to avoid.
"Not that one," Kael once warned as Zen reached for a strange red mushroom. "Eat that and you'll hallucinate that squirrels are gods."
Zen laughed for the first time in days.
They caught fish from nearby rivers. Zen learned the art of patience, how to stay still like the water itself. One afternoon, Zen finally speared a fish with a wooden rod.
"I did it!" he cried.
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Congratulations. You'll live one more day."
They cooked the fish together that night, sharing dry jokes beside the campfire. Zen found a strange peace in the simple warmth of flame and food.
When Kael discovered an old bow in an abandoned cabin, he handed it to Zen.
"Want to try?"
Zen nodded.
The first few arrows barely left the bowstring. But just like with the sword, Zen didn't quit. He practiced for hours each day, aiming at trees, berries, even moving leaves.
A month later, he hit his first target from twenty paces.
Kael gave a rare smirk. "Not bad."
Zen smiled—his heart swelling.
---
They shared stories by the fire. Zen spoke Mira and Daren but never spoke about Eldoria . Kael also never spoke much about his past, only bits and pieces: a burned village, a lost sibling, a vow he never explained.
Despite their differences, they became something close to brothers.
They laughed when Kael fell into a stream while trying to show off a river jump. Zen helped pull him out and said, "Guess you can't teach me how to swim yet."
Kael grumbled but laughed too.
Seasons shifted.
Zen was no longer a scared, soft boy from Eldoria.
He could cook, fight, survive, and even smile again.
But deep within, one fire never faded. The desire to become stronger. Strong enough to protect. Strong enough to find his parents.
And maybe… strong enough to change his fate.