The sun stretched its first golden fingers over the mountains of Kazemura, painting the jagged peaks in shades of amber and crimson. Mist clung to the valleys, curling around ancient roots and moss-covered stones along forgotten paths. The forest stirred slowly, waking to birdsong and the whisper of wind through pine needles.
High above the villages below, the mountains endured as they always had—silent, watchful, unchanged by the passage of generations. Streams cut their way through stone, trees leaned where storms had bent them long ago, and narrow trails wound through the wilderness like scars left by time.
Movement broke the stillness.
A lone figure passed between the trees, footsteps careful, deliberate. Hands brushed against bark and stone with familiarity, following paths learned not from maps, but from years of repetition. This was not a traveler passing through, but someone shaped by the mountain itself.
Only then did the figure emerge into the light.
Akira moved with the quiet confidence of one who belonged here. The eldest son of a humble mountain family, his days were measured by labor—gathering herbs at dawn, hunting small game by midday, carrying water from the icy stream before nightfall. The work was heavy, yet within the forest there was freedom. The mountains spoke in signs and rhythms he alone seemed to understand.
That morning, however, the air felt wrong.
Warmth lingered where it should not have, clinging to his skin and raising a quiet unease in his chest. He slowed, senses sharpening, and that was when he saw them—two cloaked figures moving silently through the trees ahead, their presence foreign and unsettling.
Strangers did not come this deep into Kazemura.
Curiosity tugged at him, dangerous and insistent. He told himself he would only watch, only make sure they meant no harm. Keeping low, he followed, careful with every step. The forest closed in around them as the path narrowed, roots twisting like grasping fingers beneath his feet. Hours passed, his legs aching, his breath shallow—but the pull forward never faded.
They stopped at what appeared to be a solid rock wall.
Then the foliage parted, revealing a cave mouth so well hidden it might as well have been part of the mountain itself. Akira's heartbeat thundered in his ears as he crouched behind a boulder, dread and excitement tangling in his chest.
He should have turned back.
Instead, he followed.
Inside, the cave was a deathtrap—spiked pits concealed by dust, pressure plates that triggered swinging blades of sharpened stone. Fear sharpened Akira's movements. He flowed through the danger on instinct alone barely surving ,sometimes even by few inches . His body remembering every narrow escape he had ever made in the mountains. Each successful step sent a rush of adrenaline through him, chased immediately by terror at what lay ahead.
The tunnel opened into a vast chamber swallowed by darkness, so deep that even torchlight failed to reach its edges
At the centre of the chamber hovered a golden sphere blazing like the sun ,its aura pulsing outwards, veins of molten light flowed and shifted beneath a translucent shell, as if the orb were breathing. With every slow pulse, waves of radiance spilled outward, washing over the stone walls and setting ancient carvings aglow in shades of amber and gold.
As Akira stepped into the chamber his heart felt heavier . He felt fear but a sense of familiarity too. He wanted to return but his instict keep moving forward as some force is pulling him . The moment he reached near the golden orb it glowed intensely lighting the whole chamber
The strangers spun around. "There's someone else here!"
They lunged. Strong hands seized Akira before he could react. Panic surged through him. He struggled wildly, heart slamming against his ribs, the world blurring as fear threatened to overwhelm him.
Then the shadows moved.
Three cloaked figures emerged, swift and precise. In moments, the attackers were disarmed and restrained, unconscious but alive. Akira collapsed to the stone floor, gasping, every muscle shaking.
One of the cloaked figures approached him. The orb flared brighter, its warmth pressing against Akira's spine like a protective hand.
The figures froze.
"He's… chosen," one whispered.
Another nodded grimly. "We don't have time. If he stays here, he dies."
Akira pushed himself up, confusion and fear twisting inside him. "I don't know what you're talking about—"
A sharp voice cut him off. "Silence."
A blade flashed briefly at his throat—not touching, but close enough that he could feel its cold promise. His breath hitched. The message was clear.
"You come with us," the voice continued. "Fight, run, or scream, and you will not leave this mountain alive."
Terror hollowed him out. Every instinct screamed to resist, to flee—but his body refused to move. Slowly, stiffly, he nodded.
The orb followed as they dragged him from the cave and down the mountain path. The further they went, the heavier Akira's chest felt. The familiar scent of pine no longer comforted him. Each step away from Kazemura felt like tearing something vital from his soul.
He looked back once.
That was all he allowed himself.
The orb hovered close, its warmth steady and insistent. It felt him—his fear, his grief, his fury. The realization sent a shiver through him. He clenched his fists, grounding himself in pain, trying to hold onto the boy he had been that morning.
But something inside him was already changing.
During a brief rest, one of the cloaked figures stepped forward and removed her hood. Dark hair framed her sharp, calm eyes."I am Shizuka," she said softly. "I know you're terrified—and confused about what's happening. Anyone would be."
She took a slow breath before continuing. "We are members of the Society. Our task is to locate ancient relics—vessels in which primordial creatures were sealed long ago—and to find those worthy enough to bear them."
Her gaze hardened slightly. "But there is another group. They hunt these relics to rule others, to gain power without restraint. The two people you followed into the cave… they belonged to that group."
She looked back at the glowing orb, its light reflecting in her eyes. "If they had reached it first, the consequences would have been catastrophic."
Akira's voice trembled. "And if I refuse?"
Shizuka's gaze softened—but only slightly. "The relic has already chosen you. Refusal will not save you. It will only leave you defenseless."
She gestured to the orb. "That is Avenor—the fire relic of the ancient phoenix. It responded to you because your spirit resonates with its flame."
Akira stared at the swirling fire, dread pooling in his gut. "I'm not special."
"Fire does not choose the special," Shizuka replied. "It chooses the enduring."
As night fell, Akira lay awake beneath a sky thick with stars, the orb floating nearby like a silent sentinel. His eyes burned, though no tears fell. He felt grief for the life stolen from him, fear of the power now tied to his soul—and beneath it all, a dangerous spark of resolve.
The warmth at his back pulsed gently, in rhythm with his heart.
Akira understood then that his old life was gone.
He was no longer just a mountain boy.
He was fire-bound.
And fire, once awakened, could never be contained. The fire at his back was only the beginning and the world he has always known was about to expand
In ways he could never imagine
And so the journey of the chosen weilder begins