"Those who steal everything from you will never understand what 'loss' means until they themselves lose everything."
The days that followed weren't about surviving—they were about resisting the urge to give up on life altogether.
Snow had come early that year. The forest that once offered shelter had turned into a cold prison with no exit.
I, Minato Ascheveil, son of two nameless farmers, lived in a rocky cave barely large enough to stretch out in. Each morning, I opened my eyes only because I hadn't died during the night.
My body was thin, bones protruding, skin cracked from the frozen air. But the small fire I kept alive with dry twigs... was my only warmth, my only companion that never betrayed me.
I learned to light fires without flint, sharpen stones into makeshift knives, and hunt forest rabbits with simple snare traps. Every time I took the life of an animal, I whispered in my heart:
"This is just to survive. Not to live comfortably."
I didn't just survive.
I observed.
In between hunts, I would sneak into small villages.
Listening to the grievances of the people.
Watching as noble guards beat children for stealing bread.
Seeing how "laws" existed only to protect the powerful.
Among them, I was a shadow. Unseen.
But little by little... I took notes.
Names of local nobles. Patrol routes. Transport systems. Even the secret trade routes used to smuggle rare potions—all were stored carefully in my memory.
"They think I'm just a wild child of the forest.
But I'm preparing something.
Something that will set all this rot... ablaze."
One night, as I returned to my small cave, shivering and bleeding from a failed hunt, I saw a large wolf at the cave entrance. Its eyes were red. Its breath heavy. The fur on its back bristled.
I knew I would die... if I stood still.
But I wouldn't run. I stood tall. Raised my small stone knife.
And stared straight into its eyes.
"If I have to die tonight,
then at least I die fighting.
Just like Father and Mother."
The wolf approached.
And for a moment... I saw my own reflection in its eyes.
Not a crying boy.
But someone ready to kill.
I jumped first. And the world instantly turned pitch black.
When I woke two days later, my body was wrapped in dried leaves and medicinal moss. The wound on my arm had started to heal. And strangest of all—there was roasted meat left untouched near a burning fire.
Who had saved me?
As I tried to sit up, I heard a branch snap at the back of the cave.
An old man stood there. His hair was white, but his body was sturdy. His eyes sharp like a wolf's.
"You're too stubborn to die that easily, kid."
I didn't answer.
He simply smiled.
"My name's Kael Dornhart. Just a wanderer... who got tired of watching kids die meaninglessly in the forest."
Minato trained harder after that, learning from Kael over the course of several weeks before the man eventually left. But Kael left behind two things: a rough map, and a message:
"This world won't change with words.
But maybe, with enough strength, you can make it listen."
And on that very day—
Minato's journey began.
Armed with a map, a knife, and unbreakable resolve.