Aren woke up early that morning, the soft light of dawn filtering through the thin curtains of the modest room. His body still buzzing with the aftereffects of his rigorous morning training routine, he settled down with a pencil and sketchbook in hand—his personal way to unwind and find calm before the day's uncertainties. His intent was clear: to capture Clara's garden in fine detail. Each plant, every leaf and delicate petal, was rendered with careful precision. The garden was a small oasis on the outskirts of Kukuru—a patchwork of vibrant colors, scents of blooming flowers, and neat rows of vegetables nurtured with loving care. Aren loved how the soft morning breeze ruffled the leaves, adding a subtle movement to the stillness of his drawings.
Lost in his art, his concentration was gently broken by Mrs. Clara's voice calling from the doorway.
"Aren, can you come here for a minute, please?" Her tone was warm yet carried the urgency of someone who had been up early preparing something special. Clara herself was usually an early riser, but today there was something different—an air of anticipation surrounding her.
He set aside his pencil and followed her quietly to the living room. There, on the worn but comfortable sofa, she had carefully laid out a pile of clothes from a bag.
"I've been thinking about this for a while, and I wanted you to have something," Clara said softly, her eyes glistening with a tender resolve. "These were my son's clothes when he was younger. Please, take a look and see if you like them."
Aren's heart tightened slightly at her words. He hesitated, overwhelmed by the gesture.
"Are you sure, Mrs. Clara?" he asked quietly, looking down at the neatly folded clothes—casual shirts, sturdy pants, and well-worn boots that spoke of years of use and care.
She gave a small, bittersweet smile.
"I thought about it, and I realized I'm ready to part with some of his things. They wouldn't be used otherwise, and I want them to go to someone who needs them. To you."
Her voice trembled just a bit, but there was a fierce kindness in her gaze.
Aren carefully unfolded the garments, running his fingers over the fabric. They were practical, durable, designed for hard work and long days. Clara must have spent hours selecting them, ensuring each piece was useful and comfortable.
"I'm truly grateful," he said earnestly. "I'll wear them with pride."
Clara's smile deepened, and she disappeared briefly into another room. When she returned, she carried more items—some wrapped in cloth, others carefully held. Among them, Aren's eyes caught sight of a familiar shape.
"Is that—?" he started.
"Yes," Clara nodded. "That was my son's sword. I always carry it with me as a self-defense tool, but lately I can barely hold it without shaking. It's time for someone else to wield it. He saved up for this from the blacksmith, and I think it'll fit you."
Her voice was steady now, resolute.
Aren took the sword with reverence. The blade gleamed faintly, meticulously maintained despite its evident years of service. It felt heavy in his hands, balanced yet demanding respect. Clara handed him the scabbard as well.
"It's still a bit large for you," she said, "but I know you can handle it. You'll do well as a Stravan."
He nodded solemnly.
"This will help a lot. Thank you."
She wasn't done yet. From the bag, she pulled out another set of gifts.
"These come from the people at the market—the ones you saved. They wanted to repay you somehow." She laid out a dark, durable coat made from thick fabric, perfect for travel and exploration. Alongside it, a pair of reinforced gloves with knuckle guards designed for hand-to-hand combat, a versatile utility belt equipped with a sheath for his knife, a set of small, razor-sharp throwing knives, and finally, an elegant pair of large, round sunglasses with dark lenses—perfect to mask his eyes from curious gazes or the glaring sun.
"You should get ready soon," Clara urged gently. "Why don't you test your new gear out in the field today?"
Aren didn't know what to say, overwhelmed by her generosity and trust. Instead, he simply embraced her tightly, the silence between them filled with unspoken gratitude and a quiet promise.
⁂
Later, dressed in the new combat pants and sturdy boots, Aren layered his clothing lightly beneath the coat for mobility and comfort. The gloves fit snugly, their reinforced knuckles promising extra protection during close combat. The utility belt hugged his waist securely, with his knife easily accessible. The sword rested on his back, slung over his shoulder with a clever magnetic strap that allowed quick drawing—an important feature in unpredictable situations. The dark sunglasses completed his outfit, shielding his eyes and lending an air of mysterious confidence.
He stood at the edge of the city, waiting, when a sudden rumble caught his attention. A high-clearance red vehicle rolled toward him, its broad, open cargo bed perfect for hauling goods or people. Bufo and Kana were in the front seats, chatting quietly. Without hesitation, Aren climbed into the back, where the space was wide enough for him to settle comfortably despite the occasional bumps over uneven ground.
The two Stravan wore the same rugged attire as the day before, their weathered gear telling tales of many hard missions. Aren, recalling his past training, knew his strength and size limited how effectively he could wield the large sword—at least for now. The dagger on his belt remained his most reliable weapon, swift and precise. The sword would need to be treated more like a two-handed weapon, demanding more strength and endurance than he currently possessed.
Kana began briefing them, holding a worn map and some papers.
"Our first mission today is a hunting task. There's a pack of wolves causing havoc near the farms. It's bad news for the farmers—they've lost livestock and crops are at risk."
Bufo added, "They've been spotted in a deserted area. This isn't typical for these lands, but it's not the first time we've seen such shifts."
Aren's curiosity piqued. "Are we talking about migration? What could have pushed them this far?"
Kana sighed, her expression serious.
"Our best guess is that their natural habitat was destroyed or taken over, forcing them to move. This area is less protected, with fewer predators and less resistance from the locals. It's a fresh start for the wolves, but a problem for us."
"I see." Aren nodded thoughtfully. "Do you each carry specific weapons suited for this type of mission? I noticed your spear, Kana."
Bufo showed his gloved hand, the metal and spikes glinting.
"I use reinforced gauntlets. They give me mobility while protecting my hands and packing a punch in close combat."
Kana smiled. "And I prefer the spear to keep a distance, but both of us can handle swords if needed. Flexibility is key in this work—we never know what the day will throw at us."
Aren's thoughts drifted to Val, his mentor from long ago, who had always pushed him to master multiple weapons. He recalled his youthful complaints about having to learn more than just swordsmanship, but the lesson was clear: life doesn't hand you convenient choices—you must adapt and prepare for anything.
We're not meant to choose what life throws at us, but we do have the power to decide how to respond.
"I'm versatile with several weapons," Aren said quietly, "but right now, my strengths are the dagger and the sword." He glanced down at the large blade resting across his lap. Their doubtful expressions were unmistakable—the sword looked massive on his slender frame, perhaps more a burden than a tool. Like a child clutching a toy too big to handle.
He sat patiently, fingers caressing the sword's polished surface, while the vehicle rumbled steadily onward toward the unknown.
⁂
The vehicle slowed and finally stopped beside a patch of earth disturbed by fresh footprints. The air was still, heavy with anticipation and the faint scent of damp soil and broken twigs. The trio climbed down, boots sinking slightly into the soft ground, their eyes immediately scanning the tracks for any clues.
Kana crouched low, her fingers tracing the outlines of the prints with a practiced eye. "What do you think?" she asked, her voice low but curious as she studied the terrain.
Aren knelt beside her, his gaze narrowing as he counted and measured the prints. "There might be six or seven of them," he said thoughtfully, "judging by the spacing and depth of the paw marks. They seem to be heading that way." He pointed towards the edge of the clearing, where the dense forest gave way to open, sunlit grasslands. "That's where the clearance starts. It makes sense—they'd move toward open water and food sources."
Kana nodded, impressed despite herself. "Do you think we'll find them there?"
Aren's eyes caught something unusual—a set of prints noticeably larger than the rest. "They have two leaders," he said quietly, "an alpha male and an alpha female. Their paw prints are much bigger than the others. They probably stay close to a water source, which explains why they've moved toward this clearing."
"Wow," Kana breathed, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "That was a sharp observation, kid. I trust your judgment. Let's move."
They drove closer to the edge of the forest, parking the car beneath the generous shade of a towering oak, its broad leaves whispering softly in the breeze. The shade kept the engine cool for when they'd return. The area was dense with trees but not as claustrophobic as the deep forest Aren had grown up in—here, the open spaces between trunks made it easier to move freely, and to swing a sword without obstruction.
Kana led the way, her keen senses following the trail with relentless focus. The footprints led them to a natural hideout—a small hollow where intertwined branches formed a rough roof, shielding the spot from rain and sun alike. It looked like an ideal den for the wolves to rest and hide.
Then, a distant howl cut through the stillness—a sharp, eerie call that sent a chill down their spines. Instantly, the trio moved, carefully and swiftly, making sure their approach was cautious and undetected.
Bufo raised a hand, signaling them to stop. Ahead, in a small clearing, the pack appeared—lean, their ribs showing beneath scruffy fur. There were five wolves with mottled grey coats and two larger ones with sleek black fur. The latter stood tall and imposing—the alpha pair.
"They're the pack leaders," Bufo said quietly.
Kana's eyes narrowed. "But something's not right. They look like they're being cornered." Her gaze swept the area, where bones of carcasses lay picked clean. "They're hungry, but they're also fighting among themselves."
Aren studied the scene intently. "They're starving. The hunger is driving them to desperation, even turning on each other."
The two big black wolves, despite their size and strength, were thin and clearly exhausted.
Bufo's voice was grim. "Should we just wait for them to finish? Eventually, they need to be dealt with."
Kana's eyes flicked to Aren. "Not yet. It's not the time to show your skills."
Bufo gave Aren a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Patience."
The standoff lingered in the tense air until, suddenly, the first grey wolf lunged. Instantly, the others followed. The alpha male held his ground, fending off three attackers with raw power, but the alpha female struggled visibly, her movements sluggish and hesitant.
"Something's wrong," Aren muttered, his instincts screaming at him to investigate.
Without waiting for permission, Aren slipped away, his steps silent and fluid, weaving through trees and underbrush to circle the clearing unseen.
He rejoined Bufo and Kana from the opposite side, catching his breath. "Look at the female," he said, pointing. "She's holding back."
Kana crouched down, eyes sharp. "Is she injured?"
"No," Aren said, shaking his head. "She's restraining herself because she can't leave this area." His gaze dropped to the base of a large tree where a small movement caught their attention.
"Pups," Kana whispered, eyes wide.
Aren nodded. "She must've given birth recently. The pack hunted together while she was pregnant, but now with pups to feed, the dynamics are changing. That's why the pack's behavior is erratic."
Bufo exhaled, a mixture of sadness and understanding in his voice. "It's nature. Harsh but inevitable. What do we do now? Their fate was sealed from the start."
Aren's expression hardened with resolve. "Look at the parents—they're barely holding on. Their will alone keeps them standing. I'm going."
Kana's voice was firm. "You want to go in alone? That's reckless. We won't join you—it's not logical."
He met their eyes. "Maybe not logical. But I want to end the suffering quickly. Let that family have whatever time they have left, without fear. I'll be fast."
Before they could stop him, Aren darted forward. Two knives whistled through the air, striking the nearest grey wolves on the head, dropping them instantly. His dagger flashed in a horizontal sweep, cutting the throat of another. The black alphas locked eyes with him, fierce and wild, but also desperate.
Then the air shifted—power radiated from them in waves. Aren sensed it, the unmistakable flow of Alma energy. Wind emblems. A force stirring like a storm around the wolves.
Bufo and Kana surged forward, but Aren was already moving. With a swift motion, he detached the sword from his back and unsheathed it. Holding the blade like a shield, he advanced steadily, his stance calm but commanding.
The wolves attacked, jaws snapping and teeth sinking into his forearms. Yet around his wounds, a dark, shimmering aura flared—a protective coating that absorbed the bites. To an observer, Aren seemed larger, almost bear-like in his presence.
"Hey kid—" Bufo started, but Kana held him back. "Look," she said softly.
Aren met the wolves' eyes—not with anger, but with serene determination. He projected strength without threat, courage without cruelty. Slowly, the wolves ceased their biting, their wild energy dimming, and they retreated, limping back toward the den, ignoring their own severe wounds.
"Did you feel that?" Bufo asked, awe creeping into his voice.
"Yeah," Kana whispered. "Like he was one of them—a beast in his own right."
⁂
They waited in silence, the forest holding its breath. Eventually, the wolves stilled completely.
Cautiously, the trio approached the den. There lay the black alpha pair, weakened and spent, curled protectively around a tiny white pup no bigger than Aren's hand. Its fur was soft and pure, like fresh snow.
Aren's voice was barely audible. "I know you can't see me, little one, but I'm sure you can feel the love from your parents. They fought to protect you until the very end, even when they didn't realize their own time was running out."
They backed away slowly, leaving the fragile family their final moments in peace. The only sound was the gentle rustling of leaves and the soft, steady breathing of the pup.
Aren remained silent, thoughts churning—what would come next? Bufo and Kana exchanged a glance, their silence speaking volumes. The boy might just be the real deal.
Aren knew, deep down, that the pup's fate was now intertwined with his.