The morning sun crept over the ancient kingdom of Zhora, turning its jade towers and golden roofs into shimmering fires of gold. Beyond the kingdom's heavy stone walls stretched a wild, endless jungle , a place older than any map, alive with secrets and shadows.
At the edge of that green ocean stood a young warrior tightening the knot on his belt. His name was Aren, though most people in the kingdom called him The Laughing Blade.
Aren wasn't your typical silent, brooding hero. He was quick with his sword, even quicker with his tongue. Always joking, always moving ; as if laughter itself kept him alive. His dark hair tumbled messily over his brow, and his eyes sparkled with mischief, even when danger was close enough to touch.
He was on a mission that most people would call a death wish. Deep inside the jungle, hidden in an ancient ruin, was the Core of Muri Khan [a relic said to hold a mysterious force of pure goodness. If found, it could awaken the legendary Muri Khan and grant its bearer unmatched power, turning them into the kingdom's ultimate protector.
Aren tilted his head, studying the battered map in his hand. He snorted.
"Really? This map looks like a goat got drunk and danced all over it," he said, crumpling it and tossing it behind him without a second thought.
Without waiting another moment, he pushed forward, slicing through thick leaves and ducking under branches that clawed at his hair. Monkeys shrieked from above, a parrot swooped low enough to nearly snatch his headband, and somewhere in the distance, something big let out a deep, rumbling roar.
Aren just laughed. "Oh, come on! I haven't even said good morning yet!"
He moved like he was born for this ,sliding over roots, hopping across mossy stones, never missing a step. Every so often, he stopped to admire a strange flower or toss a fruit into his mouth. Even here, surrounded by danger, he refused to let fear weigh him down.
Eventually, he stumbled upon a half-buried stone archway, almost hidden behind a curtain of hanging vines. Strange symbols ran along its surface, glowing faintly in the morning light. Aren stepped closer, brushing dirt from the carvings with his thumb.
"Hmm… 'Only the brave may pass.' Well, guess I'm invited," he said with a crooked grin.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped under the arch. A sudden rush of cold air hit him, sending shivers down his spine. The ground beneath his feet began to hum, and a line of glowing blue stones appeared, stretching into the darkness ahead.
Aren gripped the hilt of his sword. For the first time all morning, his smile softened, turning thoughtful. He could almost hear his grandmother's voice telling stories about the Muri Khan [about a force that could wash away all darkness, a force that could make even the smallest warrior unstoppable.
He exhaled slowly, then let out a laugh. "All right, old stories… let's see if you've got any truth in you."
Sword drawn, heart pounding, Aren stepped forward onto the glowing path. Somewhere ahead, the Core of Muri Khan waited for him ;along with traps, ancient guardians, and challenges he couldn't yet imagine. But that was fine. Aren thrived on danger.
He would joke his way through every trial. And if the legends were true, by the time he came back, he wouldn't just be the kingdom's best swordsman. He'd be the one to bring back the light.