The moon cast a pale silver glow over the forest clearing, bathing the earth in quiet solemnity. Crickets sang their endless hymn, but even their chirps softened under the weight of the moment. Parashu stood in silence, his sharp eyes reflecting the flickering firelight. He was young, hardened too early by the scars of loss and silence. Before him stood a stranger cloaked in shadows, face mostly hidden beneath a hood.
Between them, a sword lay glimmering—its metal catching the fire's breath like a sleeping relic, waiting to awaken.
"I don't need a sword," Parashu said quietly, hesitating. His voice didn't shake, but it carried something heavier than fear—uncertainty. "But if you insist… can we train together?"
The stranger chuckled softly, his eyes like shards of ancient starlight piercing through the dark. "This sword," he said, "was your father's final gift. It's not just steel. It's the key to unraveling a story left untold."
Parashu's fists clenched instinctively. He didn't speak, but something inside him cracked—softly.
"An untold story…" he repeated under his breath. "I want to be part of it. But... why is strength so important?"
The stranger took a slow step forward, the fire casting long shadows behind him. His voice turned firm, yet carried the tone of a patient teacher.
"Strength is not just about muscles and blades. True strength… is the mastery of self. To rise above ego, to align with something greater, to uncover your true essence."
The fire popped as if responding. The woods fell quieter. Parashu listened, fully.
"To become strong, you must sharpen three blades within," the stranger continued.
"First—Physical strength, to carry out your duties in this harsh world.
Second—Mental strength, to face suffering and madness without breaking.
Third—Emotional strength, to bear love, loss, and loneliness without losing who you are."
He stopped, locking eyes with Parashu.
"But above all... if you want to protect someone, you must be strong."
Parashu's voice dropped to a whisper. "Protect someone...? I have no one to protect."
The stranger scoffed. "Foolish boy. You must protect your village."
"I owe them nothing," Parashu said. "To them, I'm nothing."
"Yet," the stranger said with a sly smile, "you still breathe."
Parashu looked away, bitter. "They want me stronger—so when they kill me, I won't die weak. So they don't dirty their hands."
He stared into the fire, its flames dancing with quiet menace.
"Can I ask you something?" he murmured.
"Ask."
Parashu hesitated. "I barely knew my father. But… do you know anything about my mother? Is she alive? Did she leave him?"
The stranger's expression darkened, and for a moment he seemed less like a figure of legend and more like a weary traveler. "Parashu… I won't lie. I don't know."
Parashu clenched his jaw, the disappointment muted but present. He turned slightly away, whispering, "Every child deserves good parents... but not every parent deserves a child."
The stranger studied him for a long time, then took a single step closer.
"Time will answer your questions," he said. "But if you want my guidance, you must trust me completely."
Parashu met his gaze, resolve blooming in his eyes. "Then… will you be my master?"
The stranger smiled. "Call me whatever you wish."
---
A Memory in Moonlight
Flashback – Years Ago
The night was heavy with stillness. In the shadow of a crooked tree, a small boy huddled, knees to chest, beneath a canopy of stars. Alone. Above him, a white stork perched on a low branch, feathers ruffled against the wind.
"Tonight ends like every other," the boy mumbled. "Maybe I should sleep here."
"You picked the wrong spot, kid," the stork said, startlingly human in tone. "This is my home."
The boy looked up. "Is anyone else here?"
"No. And that's exactly the problem."
"Let me stay," the boy said. "I won't cause trouble."
The stork tilted its head. "What are you doing out here alone?"
"I'm searching for something."
"What?"
"…A home."
The stork blinked slowly. The wind howled softly through the trees.
"Are you lost?" it asked.
"Maybe."
"Where's your home?"
"I don't have one."
"And your parents?"
"Never knew them."
A long silence followed. The stork fluffed its feathers. "Go to sleep. We'll talk in the morning."
The boy curled up under the tree. Above him, the stork watched with cautious eyes.
---
Later that night, neither of them had slept.
"You know," the boy murmured, "you called this your home. So… you know what a home is?"
"A home?" the stork replied, stretching its wings. "A place with food, sunlight, and sturdy walls."
The boy looked around. "But there's none of that here."
The stork sighed. "Because this isn't my home either."
The boy was quiet for a while. Then he asked, "Can I ask something weird?"
The stork raised a brow.
"Do stork parents ever abandon their children?"
The bird's eyes turned distant. "They do worse. Some white storks practice infanticide. If a chick is weak, the father may kill it so the others can survive."
The boy's breath hitched. "My parents died to protect me…"
The stork nodded. "That's what makes your kind special."
The silence returned, heavy and thoughtful.
"I was the weakest, too," the stork added. "I don't know how I survived."
---
Morning Light
At dawn, golden light spilled through the treetops. The stork nudged the boy awake.
"Hey, brat. The sun's up."
"You're up already?" the boy yawned.
"Do you want to find your home or not?"
The boy blinked. "But… which way do we go?"
The stork's gaze grew sharp. "A friend once told me—when traveling unknown roads, always be cautious. Danger lurks where you least expect it."
"You have friends?"
"I've made many since coming here," the stork replied. "No wonder you don't have any."
"I don't even know what friendship means."
The stork stopped and turned.
"Yesterday, we were strangers. Today, we walk together, help each other without harm. That... is friendship."
---
The Edge of the Forest
The trees thinned, revealing the vast wilderness beyond.
"Look!" the boy pointed, eyes wide. "What's that?"
"The wild," said the stork, squinting. "And beyond it… maybe a village."
---
Many Years Later – The Village Hall
An elder Parashu sat before a quiet gathering, his face lined with the years. He told them the story—the one carved deep into his memory.
"And that… is how the child, our village leader, reached us," he said.
Silence gripped the room.
Then, an old master at the back stood, eyes grim. "That child… was killed the night they arrived."
Gasps echoed.
---
Present – Hidden Sanctuary
Parashu sat before the fire again, the warmth doing little to thaw the cold twist in his chest. His Master sat beside him, silent.
The flames whispered stories of pain, survival, and the thin thread of hope that still tethered Parashu to the world.
The past had a way of following even the strongest. But now… it would guide him forward.
To Be Continued.