In the far northwest reaches of Bellacia, cradled within an expanse of ancient, murmuring woods, lay the village of Vander. The late afternoon sun bathed the landscape in warm, amber light, its glow filtering through the dense canopy in a shifting mosaic of gold and green.
To the north and west, a formidable range of saw-toothed mountains loomed, their icy crowns rising like silent sentinels. These jagged spires, their surfaces etched by time and wind, cast elongated shadows over the valley, their snow-veiled peaks perpetually wreathed in mist.
In contrast, the land to the east and south softened into undulating hills and sprawling forests, an emerald ocean that ebbed and flowed with the wind's passage. The trees that surrounded Vander were unlike any others—wyrmwood, ancient and resilient, their towering trunks carved with the artistry of time itself.
The bark of the wyrmwood bore an intricate tapestry of natural etchings, twisting and curling in patterns reminiscent of forgotten scripts. These were no mere embellishments. When dusk fell and the last vestiges of sunlight receded beyond the horizon, the markings awakened. A quiet, otherworldly luminescence pulsed from within the wood, bathing the forest in a spectral glow, as if the trees themselves whispered secrets to the night.
Vander was a village untouched by haste, where the cadence of life followed the ebb and flow of the wild. Thatched rooftops of dull browns and mossy greens melded into the landscape, their surfaces softened by time and weather. Wisps of smoke drifted lazily from chimneys, spiraling into the crisp evening air like ephemeral phantoms. The streets, paved with well-worn cobblestones, wound in gentle curves, shaped as much by the land as by the villagers who walked them.
In this quiet sanctuary, the murmur of conversation blended with the song of birds flitting through the canopy. Verdwyn, the gentle spirits of the woods, drifted along the village paths, their insatiable curiosity leading them to explore every shadow, every pool of dappled light.
The people of Vander were a mystery within Bellacia, set apart not only by their way of life but by their very essence. They dressed in unassuming garments, held to the traditions of an age long past, and worshipped a god the rest of the world had forsaken. But their greatest divergence was something deeper, something more profound. The villagers of Vander were not human. They were miraii—beings woven from pure mana, their existence drawn from the breath of the world itself.
Amidst the oddities of the town, where strange residents roamed, there stood an anomaly that defied the norm—Kai, a lone human among the miraii, living as if he were born into their world. He was a spark of mortality in a land of ethereal beings. Kai's appearance was nothing to make a second glance. He was of average height, his figure neither robust nor frail. His dark brown hair, wild and untamed, framed his face, while his soft beige eyes held a peculiar depth, as though they absorbed everything around him and revealed only fragments. His features, neither remarkable nor forgettable, carried the quiet markings of experience—faint lines of thought on his brow, a smile that spoke of intelligence and warmth alike.
His clothes were simple, like those of the miraii: a well-worn tunic, sturdy trousers, and shoes that had clearly witnessed many miles. They told stories of humble journeys and the steady nature of his work. But it was not in his clothing that Kai stood apart—it was in the way he carried himself. There was a quiet assurance in his steps, a calm resolve in the way he moved. His gaze carried a light that suggested his path was meant for something beyond the calm routines of Vander.
Kai had known Vander all his life, raised by Edyra, an elder miraii who had been more than just a caretaker. She was a keeper of ancient stories, a weaver of tales that were both awe-inspiring and sorrowful. In her stories, the great kingdoms of the past seemed to leap to life, the spirits that still roamed the land whispered their untold truths, and the gods—both the old and the new—fought to shape the world in their image. Under Edyra's guidance, Kai became a keeper of those stories. But it was not just knowledge that Edyra imparted—it was a reverence for the choices that shaped history, the weight of every decision that rippled through time. Her lessons were never mere tales, but keys to understanding the consequences that followed the smallest of acts. Through her, Kai had learned that stories could shape not only the future but the hearts of those who listened.
As his feet pounded the ground between the cottages, his steps were sure, echoing softly in the stillness. Each breath he took came in steady bursts, visible in the chill air, vanishing before they could settle. The seasons were changing—the winds from the mountains carried the bite of winter, and the wyrmwood trees, with their golden leaves, would soon begin to fall, carpeting the land in their faded glory.
This was no casual jog. It was a pursuit. Ahead, a verdwyn—a mischievous emerald spirit—darted through the village. Barely a foot tall, it was fast. Unnaturally so. Its jelly-like legs trembled with each bounding step, yet it was gone before Kai could react, only to reappear several paces ahead. Inside the spirit's shimmering, translucent body, a small wooden charm swayed lazily. It was that charm Kai sought, nothing more.
The chase tore them through the marketplace, where the last few merchants hurried to pack away their goods. The verdwyn leaped from one stall to the next, its erratic motions forcing Kai to dodge around crates, tables, and carts. He moved lithely, eyes fixed on the little spirit, never losing sight of it as it zigzagged through the stands.
Above them, the Wyrmwood trees whispered with life. Other verdwyn watched from the branches, their quiet laughter rippling through their glowing forms. Some couldn't resist. They zipped down from the treetops, tiny streaks of light that buzzed in dizzying circles around Kai. He swatted them away, laughing despite himself. Their bodies were little more than flickers in the vastness of the forest.
Merchants and onlookers watched the chase unfold with soft smiles. To the miraii, Kai was as close to a child as they would ever know. Edyra had raised him, but the entire village had seen him grow. Vander had claimed him, and in many ways, he was theirs.
The chase veered off the beaten path, into a narrow side road. Kai's voice rang out with frustration. "Get back here!" But a grin tugged at his lips. His voice sounded angry, but he wasn't. He needed this—this chaos. Tomorrow, at first light, he would leave Vander. The journey he'd been preparing for, unknowingly, his whole life.
The other verdwyn that were trailing along, split off, unwilling to wander far from the trees.
"Don't let him catch you!" one merchant shouted encouragement to the mischievous thief.
Another called, teasing, "You should know better to leave your charm unattended!"
The light began to fade, stretching the shadows long across the cobblestones. The chase continued, relentless and rhythmic. Twilight transformed the sky into shades of purple, turning the path ahead into a living painting. The Wyrmwood trees lit up with their eerie, soft glow, highlighting everything in hues of pale green and lavender.
Kai paused for a breath. He glanced up at the waning sun. The chase had gone long enough. He exhaled, a fog of vapor spilling from his lips. His lungs emptied, and with a deep breath, he drew in spira—the world's magic. It flooded him, igniting his muscles with sudden heat, sharpening his mind, and quickening his heartbeat. The energy coursed through his body, familiar and welcome. It made him light, fast, unstoppable. A skill forged through years of running these same woods, until it became second nature.
The verdwyn sensed the change. Its round black eye shifted toward Kai, locking with his steely, unwavering gaze. A ripple of awareness spread through its gelatinous form. The playful evasion faltered. With a mischievous wobble, it paused—then, with a sudden burst of speed, rose a few feet off the ground. Its legs folded back, melting into its amorphous shape, propelling it forward faster than before. Now, the true chase had begun.
The world around them blurred. The houses along the path whisked past as they sped through the woods. Gradually, the cottages thinned, their numbers dwindling as the village's edge neared. But Kai, undeterred, was closing the gap. If such a thing as dismay existed within the sprightly forest spirit—it must have felt it then.
The verdwyn veered sharply left, darting off the path and into the forest, the glowing woods now a blur. It soared effortlessly over a fallen wyrmwood, diving deeper into the shadows. But Kai was unrelenting. He slid under the tree, pushing himself back onto his feet in one smooth motion. The forest was his—every root, every vine, every fallen log etched into his memory. The dim light didn't hinder him; the woods knew him, and he knew them.
Critters skittered into the underbrush as his footfalls echoed through the trees. He was closing in. His hand could almost grasp the charm. Just a moment more, and it would be his again. The verdwyn, sensing its capture, shot upwards in a desperate attempt to evade. Kai didn't hesitate. He leaped to the side, kicking off a nearby tree. With one hand outstretched, he aimed to trap the spirit between his fingers.
The verdwyn was snatched from the air, clenched tightly within Kai's grasp. However, it vanished into a puff of mist, reappearing just beyond his reach. Yet the charm… It was still in his grasp. His fingers closed around it, feeling the solid weight of the smooth wooden sphere against his palm.
Kai landed lightly, a grin flashing across his face. But the moment was fleeting. His expression softened as he opened his fingers, inspecting the charm with a furrowed brow.
It was made from the interior of a wyrmwood—smooth to the touch, perfectly round, like a pebble shaped by the slow passage of time. The wood was a soft tan, unmarred by the usual rough exterior of the tree. And yet, it emanated a faint violet glow.
A fleeting memory surged through him. The violet orb shimmered before his eyes, and suddenly he was a child again. Sitting cross-legged on the ground, looking up at Edyra. Her face was impassive, stony. Back then, the miraii had struggled with understanding human emotions, but they had learned from and for the boy they had taken in.
She had leaned forward then, handing him the same smooth, tan charm. "Here," she had said simply, her voice as even as the expression on her face.
Kai snatched the sphere, his hands grimy with dirt as his wide eyes devoured the smooth, polished surface. At that moment, its true meaning eluded him. All he knew was that everyone in the village had one, and now, finally, he did too. The joy that blossomed within him was pure, untainted—an effortless kind of happiness that seemed to slip further out of reach as the years passed.
The memory shifted, pulling him ahead in time. Now, he sat by the fire in Edyra's cottage, listening closely as she shared the customs of Vander.
"The charms we wear aren't just baubles," Edyra said, holding up her own. It hung from a string on her wrist, glowing a soft green. "They come from the core of a wyrmwood. Once the core is taken, the tree dies, but the core lives on, so long as it stays close to the one it's attuned to."
"Attunes?" young Kai asked, his brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"
Edyra tilted her head, considering how to explain. "It means the core chooses you. It draws a little spira from you to stay alive, even after the tree has passed."
"Like a parasite!" Kai interrupted, his chest puffing up in pride, remembering the lesson from earlier in the week.
"Not exactly," Edyra said gently. "It's a symbiotic bond. A parasite gives nothing in return. The core, however, benefits you as well."
Kai tugged at the string around his neck and pulled out his charm, its purple glow faint under his shirt. "How does it help me?" he asked, inspecting it with doubt.
"It shows your future," Edyra replied matter-of-factly. "The glow changes over time, shifting to reflect your path. Most charms will change colors multiple times over the years."
Kai frowned and flicked at his charm. "Mine's still purple," he muttered.
"You're still young," Edyra said, her eyes thoughtful, as if she wanted to add something more but didn't. What Kai didn't know then was that he wasn't like the other miraii. He was human, living among spirits, and the miraii didn't age like humans. Their charms only changed colors once every few decades—or centuries.
"Oh," Kai shrugged, losing interest quickly. "What does purple mean?"
The memory faded as swiftly as it had come, slipping through his thoughts like a fleeting dream. Kai blinked, shaking his head to clear the lingering warmth of nostalgia. He hadn't even realized how far he'd wandered, but now, ahead through the trees, the soft glow of Edyra's cottage beckoned him home.
Kai came to a standstill, his gaze drawn to the lone house at the end of the path. Would this be the last visit to his childhood home? The notion was quick, but it struck him hard enough to cause an ache in his chest.
Memories sprang up, unbidden—a wild mix of happiness, sadness and all in between. Each one competed for his attention, overpowering him with their intensity. His eyes blurred as tears welled up, but he hastily brushed them away with his forearm before swallowing the lump in his throat.
"Just another reminder...," he said under his breath, pushing himself to move. Now his feet felt heavier, but he continued; the cozy light of Edyra's cottage was getting nearer with every stride.
The lamp hanging above the cottage unhooked itself from its position and floated toward Kai, throwing its light across the road. The lamp, one of Edyra's glamors, had been his constant companion since he was young. Its soft glow had lit many of his midnight excursions in the forest, turning every rustling leaf and shadow into an exciting mystery. To Kai, it was almost a childhood buddy, not simply an illusion.
Kai yelled out, "I'm home," pushing through the garden gate. The perfume of damp soil and frost-covered leaves filled the air, blending with the gentler aromas of shade-loving herbs such as thyme and sage. Under the tall trees, clusters of wintergreen developed in places, their glossy leaves glistening in the light of the lantern.
In the shaded plots, sturdy kale and spinach stretched their thick leaves, flourishing even when the temperatures dropped. Root vegetables—carrots, turnips, and parsnips—lay buried under the ground, their tops hardly discernible among the dropped leaves blown by the wind.
Though a few tough crabapples still hung to their branches, their pale skins powdered with frost, the fruit trees around the perimeter of the garden had already dropped most of their leaves. Clusters of dried elderberries drooped from tangled plants, their aroma faintly fragrant.
Even as winter loomed, the garden seemed alive—a monument to diligent caring and the persistence of nature—despite the low light streaming through the tall forest canopy.
Kai got to the threshold and the lantern rehooked itself over the cottage door. He stopped, tapping his heel against the ground to loosen the dirt from his shoe, then he repeated the action with the other foot. Relieved most of the forest floor had been left behind, he opened the door and entered.
As the door creaked open, a rush of warmth washed over him, making his numb cheeks and fingertips tingle terribly for a second. The air smelled Edyra's cooking mixed with the gentle pops and hisses of the fireplace. His senses were assaulted with a symphony of odors as smoke and burning wood mixed with the savory scent of herbs and roasting meat. The combination of heat, familiar scents, and the promise of protection melted the strain off Kai's shoulders, replacing it with a profound sense of homecoming.
Edyra's voice reached him from her seat by the fire; her form was calm and steady, with the orange glow of the flames showering her. "Welcome back."
Kai's mouth watered at the sight before him. Clatterboar—an iron-plated beast of the deep woods—was a rarity, a delicacy he hadn't indulged in for far too long. Its flesh was succulent, its limbs lean, and its belly a reservoir of rich, marbled fat. Without natural predators in these lands, the creature had grown sturdy and well-fed, its bulk supporting the heavy iron plates fused to its hide.
A slow grin spread across his lips as he watched the meat sizzle. Edyra's mastery over clatterboar made the waiting a ritual rather than a chore. She worked with the ease of someone who had prepared food many a time before, stripping away hide and gut, discarding the sour back meat while preserving the fibrous layers that tethered the iron plates together. Then came the fire. She overturned the plates and set them directly into the flames, letting the metal absorb the heat until the fatty tissue melted into pools of glistening gold. Only then did she season the fresh cuts, rubbing fragrant herbs into the flesh before laying them on the searing iron. Wild mushrooms, foraged fruits, and root vegetables—once the creature's own sustenance—now adorned the dish, a final offering before the feast.
"Dinner is nearly ready," Edyra said without looking up. "Go wash."
"Sure," Kai said, attempting to seem casual, but he couldn't resist the sensation that tonight would be more difficult than he expected.
The supper passed by silently. Though the dinner was fairly tasty, the excitement was sapped by the realization that this could be his last taste. What should have been a happy dinner had become a mournful gathering, as if one were weeping for something already lost.
After supper, they sat at the table, the fire softly crackling in the background. Kai's mind raced, desperately searching for something to say, but nothing came to mind. Rather, he evaded Edyra's continuous look by focusing on the table's old surface.
"Kai," Edyra's words shattered the silence, her tone weighed down by something unspoken.
"Y-yes?" He stammered, then raised his eyes to meet hers.
Her face was unreadable. "Chief Branlen has gone to Lazarus," she explained.
"What? How?" Kai stood, shocked. "That's impossible. He was fine yesterday."
"You know better than that," Edyra said, her voice cool. "Our people do not become sick. We do not wither away. We simply cease to exist."
"But... he…" Kai faltered, the words trapped in his throat. His eyes welled up, but he blinked them back hard. Branlen had been more than a chief to him; he was a father figure. He inhaled a trembling breath, attempting to stabilize himself. "When?" His voice cracked, but he forced it to remain steady despite the torrent of emotions wanting to burst forth.
"Tonight," Edyra replied bluntly. "Right after he handed me the clatterboar. I have not told the others yet." She met his stare, her expression steely and cold. "I am sorry, Kai. I understand how much he meant to you. I'm not sure what the appropriate words for grief are."
Kai grumbled and shook his head, trying to dismiss it: "It's fine." He dropped his shoulders and sighed deeply. "That just means I have to head off right now."
"You might be right," Edyra said quietly. "Mana is disappearing. The forest's defenses are running out. Vander may not make it through the year."
The chamber echoed the piercing sound of a log breaking apart in the fire, accentuating the gravity of the situation. They stood silently, everything weighing down on them. Above all, the horrible realization that the road ahead was one that only Kai could walk; grief for Branlen's loss, the agony of leaving behind a life he had known, and the mute frustration Edyra provided no respite for.
"I understand what I have to do," Kai declared with newfound determination. "I promise… I will fix this. I won't let the spirits of this world fade away."
"Your oath is heard," Edyra said, her hands clasped together as she bowed her head. Kai reciprocated the gesture, then she turned away and grabbed something from a nearby shelf.
"Take Branlen's sword," Edyra said, handing him the blade that the chief always carried. It was a short, rectangular sword with no edges, made from smooth, dark metal that shimmered in the firelight. Markings in an ancient language adorned the blade, just above the hilt. Otherwise, it was plain, unremarkable.
"I can't," Kai protested, shaking his head. "It belongs to the village."
"Take it," Edyra insisted, pressing the weapon into his hand. "There won't be a village if you don't succeed." She looked at him with a stern, unwavering gaze. "Do not falter."
Hours later, Kai trudged through the forest, farther from home than he'd ever been, though the familiar wyrmwood trees still surrounded him. The rectangular sword hung awkwardly at his hip, its cold metal pressing into his thigh. A fur cloak draped over his usual clothes, offering some protection from the harsh winter elements. A satchel weighed on his shoulders, packed with supplies. The winter air occasionally stirred the trees, sending a flurry of leaves drifting to the ground. The woods were unnervingly quiet, the only sound the rhythm of his footsteps on the dirt path.
Kai exhaled a long, heavy breath, the vapor rising in the cold air. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his charm. The dull violet light shone as steadily as ever. Taking a string from his satchel, he carefully tied it around the charm, turning it back into something he could wear around his neck.
A green shape wobbled out from behind a bush a short distance away. Kai looked up, surprised as he finished tying the charm around his neck. He had never seen a verdwyn venture so far from the village before.
"Come to see me off?" he asked, half-smiling, aware that the forest spirits didn't speak. The verdwyn simply stared at him, its body rocking slightly as if uncertain of its next move.
"Well, come along if you want," Kai added, shrugging and continuing down the path. The spirit shuffled after him, its tiny legs moving in quick, jerky steps.
"Are you the one who took my charm earlier?" Kai asked, then answered his own question. "Yeah, I can tell. You really shouldn't grab things that aren't yours."
They walked side by side in an odd quiet, the usual hum of life in the forest strangely absent.
"Why'd you take it, anyway?" Kai asked, though the question was more for his own amusement than anything else. "Just looking for some mischief, I bet."
Kai chuckled softly to himself. "I get it. You forest spirits have short lives—probably just trying to squeeze in some excitement before you fade away, huh?" His voice trailed off as thoughts of Vander's potential disappearance crept in, and he sighed, a knot of unease twisting in his chest.
"Hey, did you know our charms are made from the remains of these trees?" Kai said quickly, shifting topics. "My charm used to be a home for you little guys." The verdwyn's singular eye fixed on him, and it wobbled a little in curiosity.
"Curious, huh?" Kai pressed on. "I bet you didn't know that they can also tell the future! Any guesses what mine means?" He held up his charm, its violet glow a soft beacon in the dim forest.
"It represents death, apparently," Kai added casually, since he didn't expect an answer. The verdwyn jiggled a bit, and it was hard to tell if it was reacting to him or if the wind was just nudging it.
"Don't be scared," Kai said with a confident smirk. "Death just means change. It could mean I'll change, or maybe my life will change. Maybe this journey is the change that was foretold. Who knows? Maybe it'll change color when I reach the edge of the woods."
He was staring at his charm while he spoke, but finally looked up enough to notice the shift in the landscape. The wyrmwood trees were growing sparse, replaced by towering spruces.
"Looks like we're making progress," Kai noted, his eyes on the new trees. "The woods are a lot darker out here." The verdwyn trudged along beside him without a word.
As they continued, the conversation died away. The forest grew steadily darker, and soon the wyrmwoods were nowhere to be seen. Kai's pace began to slow as the shadows deepened. The canopy wasn't too thick, but the clouds blocked out the moonlight, leaving them in near darkness. The verdwyn, glowing softly, quickened its pace and darted ahead, guiding the way.
"Can you show me the way?" Kai asked, relieved. "Thanks, I was starting to get a little worried."
Kai fell silent for a while, focusing on the green light ahead of him. His thoughts wandered, drifting between the journey that lay before him and the memories of Branlen.
After a while, he spoke again, his voice softer. "You verdwyn only live for two seasons… this is the start of winter. That means you don't have much longer. Are you scared at all? Do spirits feel pain when it happens?" He hesitated, his words trailing off as another thought crossed his mind. "Do you think Branlen knew he would…?" His voice faltered, he didn't expect an answer. He was just speaking aloud, trying to quiet the same questions that had been turning over in his own mind.
Kai decided to stop talking and focus on getting out of the forest. It was helpful for him to voice his thoughts to a willing listener, but the cold air was starting to make his throat sore.
A few more hours passed, walking silently through the dark. The air grew colder, the weight of the night still hanging over him. But then, as the first hint of dawn touched the horizon, the thick canopy of spruce trees began to break just enough to allow a few golden slivers of sunlight to peek through. The light shined through the branches in soft beams, casting long shadows on the forest floor and gently illuminating the frost that clung to the trees' low branches. It was as though the forest itself was waking up, slowly shaking off the grip of the night.
"We made it," Kai muttered quietly, the edge of the forest now in clear sight. With the light creeping in, he began to take in the unfamiliar woods surrounding him. "This place feels different... and it smells different too."
The verdwyn slowed its pace, now walking alongside Kai. Step by step, it wobbled on its short, awkward legs, its peculiar form shifting as it moved.
The daylight that filtered through the trees grew brighter and brighter as they neared the forest's edge. It became almost blinding, forcing Kai to turn his face slightly, letting his eyes adjust. Then, with a final step from the thicket, everything felt different—the air seemed fresher, the world felt wider, as if it had opened up just for him.
Kai squinted against the brilliance as his eyes slowly adjusted to the vast landscape before him. A whole new world unfolded in every direction. Rolling hills, soft and undulating, stretched endlessly across the horizon. They were bathed in the early light, casting long, golden shadows that danced over the land. The ground was a patchwork of emerald grasses, speckled with wildflowers that swayed gently in the morning breeze. Here and there, small brooks wound their way through the hills, their crystal waters glinting as they caught the sunlight. The soft murmur of the streams filled the air, blending with the faint rustling of leaves in the wind. As the brook curved around a bend, the sound of water cascading over stones was a soft melody, and the scent of fresh grass lingered in the air.
The sight before Kai was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. He had never left the comforting enclosure of the woods, and the sheer vastness of the open land before him felt beautiful yet profoundly wrong. It was as if he had lived his entire life inside a house with no doors or windows, only to now crawl through a hole in the wall and face a world he wasn't prepared for.
The boundless horizon stretched out too far and too broad, and his gut churned. The nausea rose as he stared, and he quickly cast his gaze downward, focusing on his shoes pressing against the soft ground. The thought of losing his precious dinner from the night before kept him rooted for a moment, fighting back the vertigo.
Kai turned, seeking solace in the familiar. Behind him, the forest loomed, its towering spruce trees standing tall like silent sentinels huddled together in shadow. The dirt path he had been traveling on felt so small and insignificant now, vanishing into the darkness between the trees.
His companion still lingered at the edge of the woods, its wobbly legs unsteady, its solitary eye fixed blankly on him. The verdwyn made an attempt to step forward, but Kai raised a hand, his voice firm but gentle. "Stop!"
The forest spirit froze, swaying slightly as a gust of wind rattled its gelatinous form.
"You can't leave," Kai said, his tone softening. "A forest spirit can't survive outside the woods. Where would you even go? Look around—there's nothing here for you. No forest, barely any trees. This place isn't your home."
The verdwyn wobbled again, seeming uncertain, as if trying to defy an unspoken rule.
Kai sighed and tried to inject some levity into his command. "I'm serious. Go back. Be with the other spirits. And, uh, maybe spend some time reflecting on your thieving ways, huh?" His attempt at authority came with a half-hearted smirk, though his eyes betrayed a pang of sadness.
For a moment, he couldn't tell if the spirit understood him. Then, after a final shake, the verdwyn slowly turned and disappeared back into the shadowy forest.
And just like that, Kai was alone.
He stood at the edge of the woods for a long moment, staring at the trees that had sheltered him his entire life. The weight of the unknown world before him pressed heavily on his chest. But then he turned back toward the endless horizon, the rolling hills, the streams glinting in the sunlight—a new world waiting for him to take the first step.
"This is a journey I walk alone," Kai murmured to himself, his voice resolute. The words felt like a declaration, a spark of courage to propel him forward.
And with that, Kai took his first step into the vast unknown.