The mountains rose against the sky like the teeth of some ancient beast, their peaks hidden in clouds that never cleared. It was cold here not the biting cold of winter, but the creeping cold of heights, the kind that settled into bones and stayed there.
A young boy stood at the base of those mountains, his breath misting in the thin air. He was maybe twelve years old, with wild hair and eyes that seemed to see everything at once. In his hands, he held a bow nearly as tall as himself and a short sword that hung from his belt like a promise.
Behind him, three other children waited.
They all wore matching red armored vests too large for their small frames, clearly meant for adults but worn anyway as a badge of honor. They had called themselves the Peaks, because they would climb the highest mountains and conquer whatever lived there.
The boy with the wild hair was Percival.
"Okay, guys," he said, turning to face his friends. "So what are we hunting today?"
Two of the children stepped forward together. They moved in perfect synchronization steps matching, heads turning at the same angle, breaths taken at the same moment. They were twins, Licose and Adram, impossible to tell apart except that one carried a small scar on his left cheek.
"Something big," they said together, their voices overlapping into one sound. "Something large."
The third child a girl with sharp eyes and sharper tongue rolled her eyes. "Obviously. Percival never hunts anything small."
Her name was Angol. She was the smallest of them, but also the fiercest. Her red vest hung loosely on her shoulders, but she wore it like armor twice her size.
Percival grinned at her. "Maybe a lion! A special one, with a big mane. I'll take its mane and wear it it'll look cool, right?"
He puffed out his chest, imagining himself draped in lion fur, returning to the village as a hero.
Licose and Adram nodded enthusiastically.
"That's nice!" they chorused.
"Go, Percival!"
"If anyone can do it, it's the great Percival!"
"He who sees everything!"
"His sight is superior to all!"
Percival basked in their praise like sunlight. He raised his bow high, one hand gripping his short sword, and struck a heroic pose.
"Yeah! That's right! I am Percival!" His voice rang across the mountain base. "I am the one who shall become a knight! A knight of Camelot!"
Licose and Adram cheered wildly.
"Go, Percival!"
"You can do it!"
"If it's you, then it's more than possible!"
Angol watched them, her arms crossed, a small frown on her face. But if you looked closely very closely you could see the smile hiding at the corners of her mouth.
"Seriously," she muttered. "You're not serious at all. Becoming a knight..." She shook her head. "If you really wanted to walk that path, why do you keep boasting about it? What's so good about being a knight anyway?"
Percival lowered his bow, his expression softening.
"You're already strong," Angol continued, her voice quieter now. "I bet at this point, you could already take down some knights. Real ones."
She looked away, hiding her face.
Percival stared at her for a moment. Then he smiled a real smile, not the boastful one.
"Come on," he said. "Let's go find that lion."
They ran through the mountain jungle, four small figures weaving between trees and leaping over roots. Their mobility was incredible for children years of hunting and climbing had made their bodies strong, their reflexes sharp. They could fight multiple enemies if they had to. They'd done it before.
But today was supposed to be different. Today was supposed to be fun.
Percival led the way, his eyes scanning the forest with a hunter's focus. Behind him, the twins ran in perfect sync, their breaths matching, their feet landing at the same moment. Angol brought up the rear, her small form darting through gaps the others couldn't fit.
"Guys!" Percival shouted over his shoulder. "Run! Be fast about it! Don't slow down!"
They didn't. They couldn't. Not with what was behind them.
One of the twins Licose, the one with the scar stumbled. His hand went to his chest, where a massive cut ran from shoulder to hip. His ribs were exposed, white bone visible through torn flesh. His lungs showed with each ragged breath.
Adram caught him before he fell. Scooped him up in his arms without breaking stride.
But they both knew.
Licose was already dead. He just hadn't stopped moving yet.
Percival's heart cracked.
I let them die. I let him die.
His eyes burned not with the technique, not yet, but with tears he refused to shed.
What's the meaning of this? Why?
Cuts covered his body. His bow was still in his hand. His short sword was still at his belt. But none of that mattered. None of it could bring back
ROOOOOAR!
The sound shook the mountain. Trees trembled. Birds exploded from their branches. The very ground seemed to quake beneath their feet.
Percival turned.
It emerged from the forest behind them a lion, but not like any lion he'd ever seen. It stood eight feet tall at the shoulder, its muscles massive beneath tawny fur. Its eyes burned with ancient hunger. Its mane was thick and dark, matted with the blood of previous victims.
It was a wild lion beast. A monster. A nightmare.
And it was fast.
Angol stopped running.
She turned to face the beast, her small body blocking its path. Then she looked at Percival really looked at him and smiled.
"Hey, Percival."
Her voice was calm. Peaceful. As if they were still at the mountain base, planning their hunt.
She pointed at him.
"You'll become a knight, right?"
Tears streamed down her face, but her smile never wavered.
"You promise, won't you?"
The beast charged.
"If it eats me..." Angol's voice cracked, but she pushed through. "If it eats me, then you have at least a chance of becoming a knight. You know, when you reach the peak of your strength..."
She laughed a small, sad, beautiful sound.
"Just name your technique after me, will you?"
The beast leaped.
There was no time for goodbyes. No time for last words. The lion's massive head bent jaws opening, teeth gleaming and it ripped into her.
Her upper half disappeared into its mouth. Devoured in a single, terrible moment.
Her lower half fell to the ground. Still. Empty. Gone.
The beast crunched once, twice, then swallowed. It stepped on what remained of her as it turned toward the others.
Percival couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
Adram stopped running.
He still held his twin brother's body Licose, already dead, now limp and cooling in his arms. He looked at what remained of Angol. At the beast that had killed her. At Percival, frozen in horror.
"You know what?" Adram's voice was calm. Too calm.
He set his brother's body down gently. Carefully. As if putting him to sleep.
"She's completely right."
He turned to face the beast. Raised his voice to the sky.
"BECOME THE STRONGEST, PERCIVAL!"
The words echoed across the mountain.
"DEFEAT YOUR ENEMY!"
The beast pounced.
Not to devour to crush. It landed on Adram with all its weight, all its mass, all its hate. The sound was wet. Final. His body became a simple pulp beneath those massive paws.
The beast didn't even bother eating him. Just left him there. Broken. Finished.
Percival stood alone.
He turned around slowly, mechanically and looked at what remained of his friends. Licose's body, chest open to the sky. Adram's remains, indistinguishable from the ground. Angol's lower half, still wearing the red vest they'd all shared.
"What..." His voice was a whisper. "What does this mean?"
His hands shook. His vision blurred.
"No. I won't stand for this."
Something hardened inside him.
"You guys are dead." The words came out flat, numb. "But there's something I've been working on. Something I always wanted to show you."
He reached deep inside himself. Found the technique he'd been developing the one that hurt, the one that cost. The one he'd never had a reason to use before.
"I don't have a name for it yet." A pause. "But I know it's my best."
His eyes widened.
The muscles around them contracted not gradually, not carefully, but completely. All at once. With everything he had.
Blood trickled from his eyes, thin lines of red down his cheeks.
"I'll take you down, you bastard! "
The beast roared and charged.
Percival's second attack landed true.
His spear the sharp end, the deadly end found Zeraled's left ear. Not his head. Not his neck. His ear. The blade cut through cartilage and skin, severing the ear completely. It fell to the ground, a small piece of flesh in the blood-soaked sand.
Zeraled screamed a high, keening sound of shock and pain.
Percival stood over him, twin blades still in his hands, his eyes still bleeding, his face a mask of something beyond rage. Beyond grief. Beyond human.
"Rejoice," he said, and his voice carried across the battlefield like a bell. "The name of this technique my technique is Angol."
He raised his blades, pointing them at the sky.
"This encompasses all that I am. And all that I will become."
His bleeding eyes found Zeraled's horrified face.
"Even in death."
The chapter ended there in the space between technique and tribute, between the boy Percival had been and the knight he had become.