Pafilia—a small port town nestled along the edge of the sea—was the very first place where Zen set foot in the world of humans. Quiet and removed from the clamor of the outside world, the town was wrapped in a constant breeze from the ocean, carrying with it the scent of salt and distant shores. Bora, having observed the human world for thousands of years, had carefully chosen Pafilia for one reason above all: it was safe. Safer, at least, than most places. And only Bora knew the truth—Zen was no ordinary child. He was the rightful heir to a shattered human kingdom, a legacy buried in the shadows of history and safeguarded solely by Bora.
The human world was in a state of upheaval. Once-great kingdoms had fractured, and rebellion spread like wildfire, powered by forbidden knowledge and dangerous forces. In such a volatile time, Bora hesitated to expose Zen to the chaos of mankind. Still, he understood that Zen needed to learn to live as one of them, to adapt to the ever-changing world before it outpaced him completely.
With his immense, ancient form, Bora couldn't simply waltz into a town like Pafilia. His presence would cause a panic. So Zen, ever wary of drawing attention to himself, chose to stay on the outskirts. On the tenth evening of their journey, Zen finally arrived at the town, weary and hungry. He sought a quiet place—far from the eyes of the townsfolk—where he could rest and recover. Meanwhile, Bora, knowing full well his master's appetite, wandered off to hunt for food, savoring a rare moment of unrestrained indulgence.
Zen made his way toward town, clad in garments woven from tree fibers. His appearance was rugged, yet there was something regal in the way he carried himself—an aura of quiet authority. He didn't look like someone shaped by hardship, though his clothes were rough and plain. No one would have guessed that beneath this humble guise stood a being revered by creatures across the entire Blasic continent. His power granted him absolute freedom—he lived on his own terms, unafraid of anything.
As he walked down a dusty path leading to the town, Zen spotted an elderly woman struggling under the weight of a bundle of firewood. Her frail body trembled with effort, and she stumbled more than once. Zen simply watched. He showed no intention of helping. His face was unreadable, his gaze devoid of emotion.
The old woman, however, refused to be ignored. Her voice cracked with frustration as she muttered loud enough for Zen to hear, "It's not just kings who've grown arrogant—now even the young have no conscience! If the world continues like this, we're all doomed."
Zen, who understood none of her words, sensed only that she was scolding him. Still, he continued walking, unaffected.
"Hey, boy!" she snapped, more forcefully now. "Don't you have a heart? Can't you help me just this once? Take this firewood to the town—I'm too old and too tired!"
Zen stopped. He turned slowly and studied her with a blank expression.
What is this woman yelling about? he thought. I don't understand her words, but… she looks like she needs help.
It was rare for him to offer aid. Helping others had never been part of his nature. But something about this frail woman made him hesitate.
He let out a sigh, then walked back to her. "Fine," he said flatly. Without another word, he lifted the bundle of firewood from her shoulders and began carrying it toward town.
As they walked, Zen fell into silent thought. This small act of kindness—seemingly insignificant—stirred something deeper within him. It reminded him of something missing in his life. A connection to humanity. A tether to something he had long since drifted away from.
Pafilia, despite its quiet reputation, was known around the world for its rare and beautiful pearls—gems that slept beneath the sea like secrets waiting to be discovered. The town, encircled by mystery and danger, was not crowded. It was home only to those fortunate enough to be born there—or those trapped by a fate they couldn't escape. People didn't come to Pafilia solely for wealth, but for survival. They endured, not because life was kind, but because their spirits refused to break.
Yet not everyone could survive in Pafilia. The city's crushing taxes and unforgiving way of life drove many away before they could even begin. And as if that wasn't enough, the town lived in fear of sea raiders—pirates who struck almost monthly. They didn't just steal goods and livestock; they demanded what was most precious—daughters. The local lord, who was supposed to protect the people, cared only for his own profit. Harsh levies were enforced without mercy, while the criminals who plagued the town roamed freely. It was even rumored that some officials worked hand-in-hand with the bandits, feeding a cycle of fear and oppression that never seemed to end.
Beneath this grim reality, the people of Pafilia lived under a constant shadow of injustice. Those who fought to survive had to battle not only poverty, but also the monopolies that controlled the pearl trade. Pearls that should have fetched a fortune were sold for next to nothing—forced into the hands of the ruling elite. The rulers would then sell those same pearls to far-off cities at exorbitant prices, amassing wealth from the suffering of their own people.
.
When they finally reached the old woman's house, Zen quietly placed the bundle of firewood at the doorway. He was ready to leave, with no destination in mind—he simply wanted to keep walking, to follow wherever fate might carry him. But the old woman insisted he stay and eat first. Her face lit up with joy at the presence of someone else in her lonely home. Grateful, she bustled about the small kitchen, pulling out her best provisions—precious supplies she had long guarded with care.
She was a woman who had lived alone for years, too old now to work, relying only on what little nature could offer her. And yet, tonight, she gave freely of what little she had. The meal she prepared was humble, but to her, it was a feast of great significance.
Zen looked at the food with hesitation. He didn't recognize the ingredients or the scent. But when the old woman began to eat heartily, Zen decided to follow suit. The first bite felt strange, unfamiliar. The second, still odd. But by the third, something shifted. It wasn't unpleasant anymore—it was simply new. And more importantly, there was no fish on his plate. The woman had in fact prepared a delicately cooked fish, but Zen, who had been eating nothing but raw fish for days, wanted none of it. Instead, he focused on the warm barley porridge—simple, filling, and oddly comforting. Watching the woman eat with such satisfaction, Zen felt compelled to finish every last bite of his portion.
To the old woman, Zen looked like a lost child. His rough, bark-fiber clothes told a story she could only guess: perhaps he had been abandoned, or maybe his family had been victims of a raid. Her heart ached at the thought. Curious, she tried to ask his name, where he came from, whether he had any family. But Zen remained silent, only nodding faintly. His eyes were distant, as if words no longer held any meaning for him.
She sighed, her expression softening. "I'm just so glad you're here," she said, her voice trembling. "Whatever you've been through… maybe it's too painful to speak about. Maybe you don't even remember your name. But for now, stay with me. Those bright eyes of yours—they give me hope. I'll treat you as if you were my own grandson."
Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Zen said nothing. His belly full, he felt drowsiness creep in. Without a word, he lay down on the cool dirt floor, strangely more at peace than he had felt in a long time. The old woman smiled gently, seeing that he had made no effort to leave. She hurried to prepare the room that once belonged to her real grandson. She invited Zen to sleep there, but he insisted on staying on the mat. So the old woman lay on the bed, while Zen rested quietly beside it, on the floor.
Before he drifted off to sleep, the old woman came closer and whispered gently, "Before you sleep, I want to give you a name. From now on, I'll call you Felix."
Zen didn't react. He simply closed his eyes, letting the calm settle over him—for the first time since his journey began.