The fourth year was the year Arka became the absolute ruler of his silent kingdom. Mornings no longer began with a frantic struggle for survival, but with a rhythm honed to efficiency by time. The forest was no longer a threatening labyrinth, but a territory where he knew every inch. He and his foxes, who had now grown into formidable companions, were the undisputed apex predators. Their hunts had transformed from desperate battles into a deadly dance.
One morning, while a thin mist still clung to the forest floor, Hanzo, who was scouting ahead, suddenly stopped, his ears twitching. A silent signal. Arka immediately halted, his eyes scanning the trees. Not far from there, a large, antlered stag was drinking from a stream, unaware of their presence.
Arka no longer needed to hide. He simply stood in the open, slowly raising his composite bow. The stag sensed him, its head snapping up, ready to bolt. But all its escape routes were cut off. From the left, Bullyu emerged from behind a bush with a low growl, his sturdy body blocking the path. From the right, the previously unseen Hanzo shot out from the shadows, his silent speed forcing the stag to freeze in confusion. Selen, from a higher position on a tree branch, used a simple illusion to make the bushes in front of the stag look like an impenetrable stone wall. The stag froze for a split second—and a split second was more than enough. Arka's arrow flew with a soft hiss, sinking deep into its heart.
But absolute victory and mastery brought a new kind of emptiness.
In the afternoons, after they had processed their kill, Arka would train alone on the beach. The white sand was his stage, and the crashing waves were his only audience. He practiced the forms from the "Heartless Sword", his bluish-black blade dancing under the setting sun. His movements were technically perfect; every swing, every stance, every turn of his body was executed with a precision born from thousands of repetitions. He could feel the flow of Aura in his body, feel his muscles tense and respond with incredible power. But as he finished the final sequence, he just stood there, breathing heavily, staring at his sword. Something was missing. He could feel a void in every movement. The book spoke of "sword intent" and an "empty heart," but all he felt was a hollow emptiness. This feeling was what pulled him back to his past, to another world that felt so very far away.
He dropped his sword onto the sand, then sat, hugging his knees. His gaze was vacant as he stared at the endless ocean, as empty as the void in his heart. This feeling was what dragged him back to his past, to another world that felt a lifetime away…
Father… Mother…
The thought came like a bitter whisper. He tried to recall their faces, but all that appeared were vague shadows and a scrap of paper on a cold dining table. Money. There was always money, enough for a month, as if their love could be measured in denominations.
What are they doing now? he thought bitterly. When I didn't come home that night, what did they do? Did they panic? Report me to the police? Or… a more painful thought pierced him, …did they not even notice?
He imagined them coming home a week later, finding the house empty and neat, perhaps complaining a little that "the kid went off somewhere without a word." How long would it take before panic set in? Or would it just be annoyance? The thought that his death might have only been an inconvenience in their business schedule made his stomach turn.
Painful memories from school began to flood his mind, sharper than any monster's claw. He had no friends. Not because he didn't want any. He vividly remembered a glimmer of hope when a boy named Rian started talking to him about the latest volume of their favorite comic. For three days, Arka felt something new: the joy of sharing, laughter in the school hallway. It felt like the sun rising for the first time.
Then the bullies came. They saw him happy. They saw a crack in his shield of solitude. The next day, they cornered Rian by the lockers. Arka didn't hear what they said, but he saw Rian's slumped shoulders and pale face. From that day on, Rian never met his eyes again. He would look away, quickening his pace if Arka approached. His gaze was a mixture of fear and a silent apology. It was then that Arka understood. To protect others from his dark world, he had to be alone. Solitude was the only kindness he could offer.
A girlfriend? Not a chance, he thought, a dry, humorless laugh escaping his lips. He remembered with crystal clarity the week he spent mustering the courage just to say hello to a girl he liked. He stood before her, heart pounding, his voice barely a whisper. The girl said nothing. She just looked Arka up and down, and her eyes… it wasn't a normal look of rejection. It was a look of disgust. As if Arka was something unclean, an insect to be brushed away. She then turned and whispered to her friends. Arka didn't need to hear the words. Their stifled laughter was enough to shatter him.
Arka lowered his head, his fists clenching so tightly his knuckles turned white. When you think about it… I don't have a single happy memory from Earth. I was lonely in a crowd. I had no friends, no one. His calloused and scarred hands could now kill monsters, could light a fire, could survive. But those same hands, in his old world, had been unable to grasp a single genuine connection. I guess no one cared, even when I died.
He took a deep breath, feeling the salt air fill his lungs. On Earth, he had died long before that knife ever pierced his stomach. No one had cried for him then, so why would it be different now?
He sat there for a long time, letting the wave of bitterness wash over him. Then, a thought so absurd and out of place suddenly surfaced in his mind.
Oh man… that comic I was reading…
A strange annoyance emerged, momentarily eclipsing his sorrow. He remembered the very last panel he had read before his stomach had grumbled. The hero had just been betrayed by his best friend, an incredible cliffhanger. It wasn't finished. I'm dying to know how it ends.
That ridiculous thought, in the midst of all his despair, somehow felt profoundly human. He let out a long sigh, releasing all the painful memories with the sea breeze.
That night, the emptiness felt more suffocating than ever. The bonfire crackled cheerfully in front of the stilt house. Nearby, Bullyu, Hanzo, and Selen slept soundly. Arka sat alone, staring at the vast, endless ocean spread out before him. The view was beautiful, but that beauty was precisely what made it painful.
He was the king of a beautiful island, a powerful warrior, a scholar with access to ancient knowledge. He had everything, except for the one thing that mattered most. He had no one to talk to. It was here, at the peak of his mastery, that Arka felt a loneliness so deep and sharp it was a physical ache. His desire to "leave" the island was no longer just a whim or a long-term goal. It had become an urgent need, a hunger in his soul far more painful than any empty stomach. He had to leave, or he would be destroyed from within.