"When destiny shatters your world, it is only clearing the path for who you must become."
The night sky burned with lightning.
A sleek private jet cut through clouds swollen with rain, its silver body trembling as thunder cracked above and below. Inside, five-year-old Leon Vale sat by the window, his small hands gripping a toy plane. His reflection shimmered in the glass—innocent eyes, dark hair, and the faintest hint of his father's strong jawline.
"Dad," he whispered, "why is the sky angry?"
His father chuckled softly, glancing from the cockpit door. "The sky isn't angry, son. It's just... loud tonight."
But even he couldn't hide the tension in his eyes. The seatbelt lights flashed. One of the pilots cursed under his breath, adjusting dials that wouldn't obey.
Outside, the storm was alive. Rain lashed against the fuselage like whips. Each bolt of lightning split the clouds open, revealing a swirling mass of darkness below—a land no one dared to fly over: the Forbidden Jungle.
"Sir, we're losing altitude!" the pilot shouted.
The father unbuckled and lunged forward. "Pull up! Divert west!"
"I'm trying—controls aren't responding!"
Leon felt the plane drop. His toy slipped from his hands and rolled away as gravity twisted. Oxygen masks fell like snakes from the ceiling. The lights flickered. Then came the explosion—deafening, final.
The world turned white, then black.
---
When Leon opened his eyes, there was no sky.
Only smoke, and rain, and fire.
The jungle hissed around him like a living thing. The wreckage burned quietly—a graveyard of twisted metal and broken wings. The air was thick with heat and the scent of fuel.
"Dad?" he called weakly.
No answer. Only the slow drip of rain from a shattered wing.
His small hands trembled as he crawled forward, clothes torn and bloodied. His father's seat was empty. The others were gone—nothing left but the echo of what had been.
He stumbled into the mud, tears mixing with ash. "Dad... where are you?"
Thunder growled in the distance. The forest around him stirred. The trees weren't still—they breathed, swaying in unnatural rhythm, leaves whispering as if gossiping about the tiny survivor. Somewhere beyond the smoke, something growled—a deep, wet sound that didn't belong to any normal beast.
Then he heard footsteps.
They weren't human. They were too light. Each step made the air shift, as though the wind itself bent out of respect.
Two figures emerged from the darkness.
One was tall and lean, his long white hair tied loosely behind him, his robe soaked by the rain. His eyes glowed faintly gold, like candlelight trapped inside amber. The other was short, round, and barefoot, with a stick of roasted snake clenched between his teeth and a jug of wine hanging from his belt.
The short one squinted at the flames. "Tch. Another idiot metal bird fell from the sky. These humans never learn."
The tall one ignored him, his gaze falling on Leon's small figure lying half-buried in mud. He stepped closer, kneeling beside the boy. His fingers brushed Leon's neck.
"He's alive."
The short one blinked, mid-bite. "Alive? Impossible. This is the fourth crash this decade—every time it's all meat and bones. How's that little thing breathing?"
The tall one didn't answer. He lifted Leon carefully, brushing a lock of hair from the boy's forehead. "His pulse is calm. Even in this storm. Not even a broken bone."
"Calm? He fell from the sky!" the short one shouted, pointing with his half-eaten snake. "That's not calm—that's cursed! Throw him back; the jungle already has enough ghosts."
But the tall one's expression softened. "No curse. The heavens wouldn't spare a child for nothing."
The short one groaned. "Oh no, you're doing it again. That look. That stupid 'destiny' look. We don't need a kid, Ironwood! He'll cry, he'll eat my food, and he'll pee on the floor!"
"Then teach him not to," said the tall one, voice calm.
"I'll teach him how to leave! We're not babysitters, we're guardians of this jungle! If word spreads we adopted a sky-brat, the beasts will laugh at us!"
The tall one—Ironwood—smiled faintly. "Let them laugh."
Lightning flashed again. For a moment, the boy's tiny form reflected the strike, his skin shining faintly—an unnatural shimmer that neither master failed to notice.
Ironwood's eyes narrowed. "He's... not ordinary."
The short one scowled. "He's human. That's all the curse you need."
Still, he looked closer. There was something in the child's breathing—slow, steady, like he was born already knowing how to control his chi. No panic. No fear. Only silence.
"Fine," the short one muttered, tossing away his roasted snake. "But if he turns out to be some ancient beast's reincarnation, you explain it to the turtle."
Ironwood chuckled softly. "Deal."
As the storm died, Ironwood carried Leon into the heart of the jungle, where no sunlight reached and the air shimmered with old magic. The beasts watched them pass—eyes glowing in the dark, yet none dared to move.
For the first time in centuries, the Forbidden Jungle had accepted a new soul.
And that night, as the two masters built a small shelter and the boy lay asleep between them, the shorter one grumbled, "We're doomed."
Ironwood smiled. "No. We've just met the storm's child."
Outside, the last embers of the wreckage faded into ash. The world would soon forget the Vale family's crash—but deep within the jungle, a legend had begun to breathe.
Leon—the boy who fell from the sky—had survived.
And fate was already sharpening his path.