In a corner of the universe unmarked on any human star map lies a world called Xyvarra. Its land is wild—mountains rise as if piercing the sky, forests whisper like green oceans, and rivers wind like sleeping serpents. The winds carry ancient murmurs, while the stones themselves seem to throb with hidden life.
In a remote valley stood a small village known as the Silent Vale. Life there was simple: farming, fishing, and chopping wood. Nothing about it seemed remarkable. Except,
perhaps, for a five-year-old boy named Ains
Thin, sun-darkened, the son of a woodcutter and a mat weaver—he looked ordinary. But from the moment he could walk, something set him apart: a curiosity that never faded.
He could sit for hours by the river, watching water crash against stones. Sometimes he mimicked fish leaping, or an eagle diving, or even rice stalks swaying in the wind.
The villagers often laughed. "Strange child," they said. But Ains didn't care. To him, nature was a better teacher than any human.
One morning, with dew still on the leaves, Ains sat beneath a great tree. He closed his eyes, chirped like a bird, then leapt clumsily like a squirrel. His movements were awkward, but his eyes shone.
"I see now," he whispered. "Birds fly because they know when to flap and when to glide. Squirrels leap far because their legs bend like bamboo. If humans learned from them, couldn't we also be strong?"
From that day, he trained alone—running through the forest, holding his breath underwater, striking tree trunks just to feel the energy rebound.
His questions were simple yet sharp: "Why is bamboo so flexible yet strong? Why can a tiger fell a deer with one claw?" He answered them with his own body.
His mother worried over his bruises, but he would smile: "I'm learning, Mother. Nature speaks to me." His father only shook his head, though he saw the strange light in his son's eyes.
Ains copied snakes sliding across stone, cranes waiting motionless in the river, then striking like lightning. At night, he stood on one leg in the yard, falling again and again, whispering to the crane in his mind: "Teach me patience. Teach me balance."
Days turned to weeks, weeks to months. His imitations slowly became something more. Punches, kicks, leaps—all began to flow with the rhythm of nature. Without realizing it, Ains had taken his first steps on the path of a warrior.
One night by the river, he clenched clay in his small hands and whispered to the stars:
"I want to be strong. I want to protect Father and Mother. I don't want them to live poor and looked down upon forever. I will be as solid as the mountain, as flexible as the wind, as swift as lightning."
It was his first vow, though he was only five. The night wind seemed to carry his words.
Xyvarra still held many secrets—sects hidden beyond the mountains, ambition, blood. But in the Silent Vale, a small boy had already lit a fire within himself—a fire that one day might change the world.