All he felt was pain. Not physical pain, but something far worse—a piercing agony, as if a thousand needles jabbed into his mind, yet not a single drop of blood would spill. Syang stared at the calm surface of the lake in front of him, his thoughts as restless as the water beneath. A cold breeze rippled across the surface, creating small waves that distorted his reflection.
He heard Tamang speaking, but the words blurred together, lost in the haze clouding his mind. His gaze remained fixed on the water stretching for miles, its stillness occasionally broken by the leap of a fish, sending circular waves that quickly vanished. The forest around them was alive with the constant chirping of birds, but even that familiar sound felt distant.
This lake, nestled within the vast greenery, was the heart of Syang's tribe's hunting grounds. His father often said that water held memories—that the lake had seen countless hunts, battles, and victories. But as Syang stared into its depths, all he could see was his own failure.
"It's just hunting, Syang; you don't have to feel so down about it."
Tamang's voice cut through the silence, his tone laced with impatience. He had been talking for a while, trying to snap Syang out of his trance, but to no avail.
Syang turned his blank stare toward Tamang, meeting his brown eyes but offering no response.
"Of course, it's not a big deal for you," he thought bitterly. "You're not the one who faces those glares from the tribe. You're not the incompetent son of the great leader. You're not the one drowning under the weight of impossible expectations."
His heart pounded, but the words remained trapped inside him.
"You're probably right."
The words left Syang's lips, but they meant nothing.
His mind drifted to his father—the lord of all seven tribes that lived in the Valley of the Hills of Beyond. It was nothing short of legendary; no leader before him had ever unified the warring tribes. For generations, blood had been spilled over land, food, and water. The Misang tribe, blessed with access to three of the five great lakes, had always been a primary target, defending their land fiercely but lacking the agricultural resources to thrive.
The valley had known nothing but war—until Syang's father took the mantle of leadership. He bore the symbol of Harlong, a mark said to appear only on those chosen to bring order to chaos. Under his rule, the tribes ceased their endless battles and stood united for the first time in history.
And yet… this was the heir to that great legacy?
Syang let out a quiet sigh of disappointment. His father's crimson hair was the only thing he had inherited. His father's strength, wisdom, and leadership—all of it had passed him by.
Even Tamang, his closest friend, was superior in every way. Stronger. Faster. More skilled in combat. The tribe already whispered of him as a prodigy, the true warrior of their generation. Syang wondered if, perhaps, his father's bloodline was doomed to end with him.
Syang looked helplessly at Tamang.
"Maybe I'm not ready for the yearly hunt at all… but you should have gone. It's not fair that you missed the greatest opportunity of your life just because of me."
He voiced his thoughts aloud, though the guilt in his chest told a different story. Deep down, he was relieved that Tamang had stayed.
The yearly hunt was more than just a tradition; it was the ultimate test to determine the next generation of warriors. It was the rite of passage that could grant a warrior the symbol of Harlong—the very mark that had blessed his father. Only those who survived the hunt without supervision were deemed worthy. The hunting grounds were ruthless, filled with creatures that tested even the most seasoned fighters.
And yet… Tamang had given up his chance for Syang's sake.
"I'm sorry, Tamang."
The words barely left his lips, spoken so softly that Tamang probably hadn't heard. But Syang's expression said enough.
Tamang exhaled, glancing at his friend. He saw the hopelessness in Syang's blue eyes—eyes that held back tears yet threatened to shatter at any moment.
"You shouldn't worry about being a warrior, Syang. Everyone expects you to lead. That just means I have to be twice the warrior now, doesn't it?"
Tamang smirked, throwing a playful punch at Syang's arm, trying to lighten the mood.
But his own face was marked by hidden sorrow.
Tamang knew how Syang suffered under the tribe's expectations. He knew how even Syang's own father barely acknowledged him. It wasn't fair.
No matter how much Syang tried to ignore the faint hint of rage in Tamang's expression, he couldn't.
Syang forced a weak smile—for his friend's sake, if nothing else.
"You know what we should do? We should totally jump—"
His words cut off abruptly as a sharp whistle pierced the air.
Syang's eyes widened. His heart stopped.
Tamang turned to him, his face pale. They knew that sound.
Both of them spun toward the village.
Then, a blinding light erupted in the distance. A deafening roar followed a second later, shaking the ground beneath their feet. Flames burst into the sky. Smoke coiled upward, dark and furious.
It felt like the howl of an Aranchar, a monstrous force that made their very souls tremble.
For a single breath, neither of them moved.
Then—Syang ran.
His steps were frantic, uncoordinated. His legs barely carried him forward, but he didn't stop. He couldn't.
He ran like a man possessed, his mind screaming only one thing.
"The village."
"Home."
"Father."
Tamang followed close behind.
Neither of them spoke.
They already expected the worst.
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