The world never welcomed Ansh.
It merely tolerated his existence—until even that became too much to ask.
He lived on the edge of Elyndor, where broken roads met dead forests and forgotten ruins stood like gravestones of a better age. Every morning, he woke to hunger gnawing at his bones, and every night he slept with the cold pressing against his skin like a reminder that no one was waiting for him anywhere.
Villages shut their gates when they saw him coming.
Some whispered curse.
Others said bad omen.
A few threw stones.
Ansh never argued. He never begged. He simply walked away, carrying silence like a burden he had grown used to bearing.
He worked when he could—lifting crates, cleaning stables, guarding caravans for a single meal—but fear always followed him. Accidents happened around him. Fires went out. Beasts fled. And people noticed.
They always noticed.
By the time he turned sixteen, Ansh understood one truth clearly:
The world did not want him.
The Edge of the Cliff
That night, rain fell softly, as if the sky itself was tired.
Ansh stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking a shattered valley where remnants of the ancient war still slept beneath the soil. Broken weapons jutted from the ground. Craters filled with black water reflected a sky without stars.
His clothes were torn. His hands trembled—not from fear, but exhaustion.
"I tried," he whispered to no one.
He thought of the faces that turned away.
The doors that closed.
The nights he cried silently so the darkness wouldn't hear him.
No parents.
No home.
No purpose.
"What's the point… of surviving," he murmured, "if surviving is all I ever do?"
He stepped closer.
The wind howled, pulling at him, urging him forward.
For the first time since the night of fire and light, Ansh felt calm.
Then—
"Don't."
The voice was quiet, yet it carried weight, like steel wrapped in silk.
Ansh froze.
The Elf Who Refused to Look Away
From the shadows of an ancient oak stepped an elf.
He was tall, silver-haired, his face marked with scars that time had not erased. His armor was old—older than most kingdoms—etched with runes dulled by countless battles. A sword rested at his side, not raised, but present… like a promise.
His eyes were sharp, ancient, and tired.
"I've seen that look before," the elf said. "It never belongs to someone who truly wants to die."
Ansh laughed bitterly. "Then you don't know me."
"I know enough," the elf replied, stepping closer. "You're standing where warriors fell, gods fought, and children were abandoned. This cliff doesn't need another victim."
Ansh clenched his fists. "Why do you care? Everyone else walks away."
The elf's gaze softened.
"Because I once did the same," he said quietly. "And I've spent centuries regretting it."
Silence stretched between them, broken only by rain.
Finally, the elf spoke again. "What is your name, boy?"
"…Ansh."
The elf's eyes widened—just slightly.
"So," he whispered, "the fragment still lives."
A Warrior's Choice
The elf stepped between Ansh and the edge.
"My name is Eryndor Vaelthryn," he said. "Once, I was the greatest warrior of the elven armies. I fought angels who burned forests and demons who drowned cities in blood."
Ansh stared at him. "Then why are you here?"
Eryndor looked toward the valley. "Because when the war ended, I realized strength means nothing if you use it too late."
He turned back to Ansh. "There is power inside you—raw, sleeping, dangerous. You don't feel it, but the world does. That is why it fears you."
Ansh shook his head. "If I'm so powerful, why am I weak?"
Eryndor smiled sadly. "Because power without guidance destroys itself first."
He extended his hand.
"Live," he said. "Not for the world. Not for the gods. Live because you haven't yet discovered what you are."
Ansh looked at the hand.
Then at the cliff.
For the first time in years, someone was not pushing him away.
Slowly, trembling, he took it.
The Path Begins
Eryndor led him into the forest, deeper than light dared to travel.
"I will train you," the elf said. "Not just to fight—but to endure. To control what sleeps inside you."
Ansh swallowed. "And if I fail?"
Eryndor's eyes burned with resolve. "Then we fail together."
As they walked, unseen forces stirred.
Deep within Ansh's chest, something ancient shifted—
not light,
not darkness,
but balance.
He did not know it yet…
…but the boy who tried to end his life that night
had taken his first step toward becoming something the gods would one day fear.