The village sang Sirab's name after he saved them from the wolf. Children followed him with wide eyes, men raised their cups, and even the elders nodded in respect. But one man stood silent — Hercules, Sirab's father.
He didn't smile. He didn't speak. He only stared at his son with eyes that carried storms.
Sirab sat by the fire, wondering, Why is he never proud of me? I always do what he says. I could have killed the wolf, but there was no chance.
He sat alone, lost in his thoughts. After some time, he quietly walked home. When he arrived, both his mother and father were sleeping. Sirab lay down and fell asleep.
The next day, Sirab woke and sat with his mother. She smiled at him and asked, "What do you want to eat? You did a great thing yesterday."
Sirab answered, "Who cares?" He looked down, sad.
His mother replied softly, "You saved the lives of the villagers. That is no small thing. They are all proud of you."
"But I want my father to be proud of me," Sirab whispered. "No one else matters."
His mother came closer and cupped his face with her warm hands. "Your father didn't strike you to hurt you. He did it to make you strong. We live in a world where only the strong survive, my son."
Sirab heard this and stood up. "Then I will become stronger!" he said, and ran to his friends.
He stood on a tall stone and called out, "We need to learn how to fight! Because when our families need us, we must fight hard! Starting tomorrow, we'll train with the village fighters. Who is with me?"
The other boys raised their fists. "You're our leader, Sirab! We're with you!"
And so they trained, day after day, under Sirab's leadership. Time passed quickly. Years went by, and Sirab turned fifteen.
It was time.
Every boy who turned fifteen had to face the ancient trial — the Lion Hunt. Go into the jungle alone. Kill a lion. Return with its head… or don't return at all.
That year, it was Sirab's turn.
He woke early, dressed in black hunting clothes, and walked into the main room. His mother saw him and called him to sit.
She hugged him tightly, hiding her tears in his hair. "You are the son of Hercules," she whispered. "Born in the village of lions. I believe in you."
"Mother, I'm not a child," Sirab said, trying to hide his trembling heart.
She smiled through her tears. "Always survive and stay alive, my son."
When Sirab stepped outside, his friends were waiting. One by one, they hugged him.
"Come back safe," they said.
Sirab grinned. "I'm the king of the jungle. No lion can kill me."
He walked to the village gates. The elders were there. His father was there.
Hercules stepped forward. "My son," he said, "I've spent years preparing you for this moment. Remember this: If you want to stay alive… you must kill others."
Sirab nodded.
Then he turned and walked into the jungle alone.
---
For two days, he searched. Nothing. Just silence and wind.
"Where are the lions?" he muttered. "This is supposed to be their jungle."
By the third day, fear clawed at his thoughts. If I return without a lion… they'll cast me out.
Then a dark grin appeared on his face.
"There's another part of the jungle. A place no one dares go…"
The cursed side.
Twisted trees grew like claws. The sun vanished behind their tangled arms. Sirab stepped in. Thorns scratched his skin. Strange insects whispered secrets in the dark. Vines slithered like snakes. Every step felt like walking into a nightmare.
Suddenly — moonlight. A clearing.
And then — a sound.
A low growl.
He turned — and there it stood. A lion the size of a horse. Its eyes glowed. Its mane danced like fire.
Sirab reached for his bow and fired.
The arrow missed.
The lion charged.
He rolled away just in time. His bow shattered beneath the beast's paws. Sirab drew his sword. Steel met fang. Claws ripped the air.
"This lion…" Sirab gasped. "It's no beast. It's a legend."
The lion roared and lunged. Sirab blocked the attack — but stumbled. His foot caught a root.
He fell.
Teeth sank into his shoulder. Pain exploded.
His vision dimmed.
He saw light… flowers… and a woman in black robes. She stood above him, her voice like the wind.
> "Not your time yet."
Sirab gasped awake.
He was alive. Barely.
The lion stood above him, drinking his blood.
Sirab's fingers twitched. His hand found a dagger.
With a cry of pure rage, he stabbed the lion's throat.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Blood sprayed across his face as the beast collapsed, dead.
Breathing heavily, he looked down at his wounds — healed. As if something had touched him. Saved him.
There was no time for answers.
He cut off the lion's head and began the journey home
---
But home… was gone.
Flames roared across the sky. Smoke rose like towers. Bodies lay across the ground — men, women, children.
Slaughtered.
"No… NO!" Sirab screamed.
He ran, choking on the smoke. "Mother! Father!"
He found them, barely alive.
His father's body was torn apart.
His mother was gasping for breath, blood pouring from her chest.
"Mother… I'll take you to the city. I'll find healers—"
"No, my son…" she whispered. "It's too late. Your father is gone. I… will be next."
"Don't say that! Please—!"
"Listen to me," she said, eyes locked with his. "Promise me… kill them. All of them. Burn their kingdoms. Free the people."
Sirab held her hand as her strength faded.
"Hunt them, my son. Every last one."
Tears fell from his eyes. He nodded.
"I promise."
And then… her hand went cold.
She was gone.
Sirab rose to his feet. Smoke danced around him. The lion's head still in his grip. Fire reflected in his eyes.
A boy was gone.
A hunter was born.
THE HUNTER