## Chapter 3
**From Ashes to a New Flame**
### The Child Who Would Not Break
The forest never slept.
Its shadows stretched endlessly, curling around trees and rocks like dark fingers, and Rougen Leo had learned to move silently within them. The red and gold cloak his father had given him hung heavy on his back, torn and caked with dried blood, but he refused to discard it. It was all he had left of the family that had been taken from him.
By day, he trained. By night, he hid. By dawn, he scavenged.
Each movement was precise, calculated, deliberate. He had learned to hunt like his father taught him, combining patience and instinct. Small animals first—rabbits, squirrels, birds—then larger prey as he grew stronger. He made rudimentary traps, sharpened sticks into crude spears, and learned how to channel tiny bursts of mana to ignite a fire without revealing his position.
The forest became his classroom.
Rougen often thought about his parents as he worked. Every swing of a knife, every flint spark he struck, every whispered incantation of fire magic reminded him of them. They had given him the skills, and now he had to survive alone.
When the sun dipped below the horizon, Rougen sat alone by his campfire, cooking what he had caught. Cooking had become an act of reverence. Akira's lessons echoed in his mind—the importance of balance, the subtle way flavors could enhance each other, the careful attention needed to preserve nutrients.
He roasted rabbit over an open flame, brushing it with a sauce made from crushed forest herbs, mixed with tiny roots and edible flowers. The meal was modest, yet it reminded him of his home—the warmth of his mother, the pride of his father.
After the meal, he buried his parents. It was a crude grave beneath two towering oaks that intertwined like eternal guardians. He carved their names into the bark and left offerings: a wildflower, a small fruit, and the remnants of a meal he had made.
"I'll survive," he whispered, tears streaking his soot-smeared face. "For you."
And with that, he returned to training.
---
### Harder, Faster, Sharper
Rougen's training intensified over the next few months. He moved as if the forest itself were his dojo. He practiced running silently over fallen leaves, jumping across streams, and climbing trees to gain vantage points. His body grew lean and muscular, his reflexes sharp enough to catch arrows or flying debris with only a flick of his hand.
Magic practice was even harsher. He pushed himself to the limits, attempting fire spells that would have been too dangerous even for his father, testing his endurance and control. When sparks scorched his skin, he did not cry. When branches snagged his cloak and tore it further, he did not curse. Pain was a tool, grief was fuel, and survival was the only law he lived by.
Sleep was scarce, and often he didn't allow himself to lie down. He built lean-tos and hidden caves, always ready to flee. He learned to sense the faintest ripples of foreign mana—the signature of a hostile presence. Every shadow, every rustle, every glint of metal could be a threat.
Yet despite the harshness, Rougen never lost the little spark of what made him human. He cooked. He practiced ritual meditation he remembered from his parents' teachings. He gave himself small comforts—a soft moss for a pillow, edible mushrooms in a small stew, berries carefully preserved with fire magic.
He laughed silently sometimes, recalling Akira's gentle smile or Albert's booming voice. And then he would tighten his fists, remembering the price of vulnerability.
---
### The First Step Toward Healing
It was on the morning of a grey, overcast day that Rougen's life shifted. He had climbed to a high ridge to practice long-distance observation—scanning the forest floor for prey and threats. He had just caught a rabbit with a simple trap when he noticed movement in the distance: a small wagon moving along the dirt road that cut through the woods.
Rougen watched silently, his instincts tense. The figure at the front of the wagon waved casually, oblivious to the boy in the shadows. His eyes narrowed. Traveling merchants often carried silver, rare herbs, and food—but they also carried eyes that could see through concealment, and hands that could bring death to a lone child.
Rougen's first impulse was to hide completely. His mother's soft voice echoed faintly in his mind, urging him not to lose humanity. He crouched low, letting the wagon approach, ready to disappear into the trees.
Then the voice called out, warm and clear:
"Hey there! You in the woods, don't be shy!"
Rougen froze. The voice was neither threatening nor condescending. It was curious, gentle, even inviting.
The figure emerged from the wagon—a man in his late thirties, with sun-kissed skin, sharp eyes, and a warm smile. His clothing was worn but clean, adorned with travel patches and small charms for protection.
"I'm Horus Aquor," the man said, giving a polite bow. "Merchant, traveler, and occasional troublefinder. I couldn't help but notice you've been… observing me."
Rougen's first instinct was to run. Then he remembered his father's advice: sometimes appearing weak keeps you safe. He lowered himself onto one knee, keeping his eyes wary.
"I—I'm… Rougen," he said softly. His voice cracked. It had been months since he had spoken to anyone.
Horus' eyes softened. "Rougen… hmm. That's a strong name for a small boy. What are you doing all alone in these woods?"
Rougen hesitated, glancing away. He wanted to tell him. He wanted to tell someone everything. But the grief was too raw, too sharp. So he said nothing.
Horus didn't press. Instead, he unhooked a small basket from the wagon and set it gently on the ground. "You must be hungry. Eat."
Rougen's stomach growled. He looked at the basket: bread, dried meat, fruit, and a small flask of fresh water. His hands shook as he reached for it.
For the first time in months, Rougen allowed himself to eat without the constant fear of being attacked. The food reminded him faintly of Akira's cooking—balanced, nourishing, comforting.
Horus watched quietly, then spoke again. "You remind me a lot of my younger brother. Quiet, careful, strong even when no one notices."
Rougen blinked. He had never had anyone compare him to someone like that. His eyes flickered to Horus, the warm gaze breaking through some of the shadow he had built around himself.
---
### A New Family
Over the next weeks, Rougen slowly allowed Horus to teach him new skills—small magic tricks for utility, reading maps, recognizing herbs, and even learning rudimentary trade skills. In return, Rougen showed Horus how to survive in the forest: where to find edible plants, how to trap small game, and how to avoid dangerous predators.
Horus treated Rougen like a son—not a charge, not a project, but a genuine family member. He shared stories of his travels, of the strange cities he had seen, of dangers he had faced and survived. Rougen listened, wide-eyed, slowly letting himself feel a warmth he had thought lost forever.
One night, by the fire, Horus handed Rougen a worn cloak of deep blue, lined with faint protective runes. "It's not as flashy as your father's," he said with a wink, "but it will keep you safe."
Rougen touched the fabric. For the first time, he felt the possibility of a life where he could smile again.
He remembered his parents—their faces, their voices, their final words. He missed them with a pain that still burned raw in his chest. But for the first time, he realized something: surviving didn't mean forgetting. He could honor their memory while still living.
"Thank you," Rougen said quietly. His voice was still rough, still carrying the weight of the forest, but there was a note of something new—hope.
Horus smiled. "Don't thank me yet. We've got a lot of work to do, little lion."
Rougen allowed a faint grin. It was awkward, fleeting, but it was there.
---
### Bonding Through Survival
Over the next year, their bond deepened. Rougen learned to cook with new ingredients Horus brought from towns and villages, blending them with the herbs and roots of the forest. He learned to trade goods in small markets, bartering food he caught or herbs he picked for coins, tools, or protective charms.
Horus taught him the subtle art of observation—reading people, understanding intentions, gauging threats. Rougen took naturally to it, his quiet, careful nature making him an excellent student.
But even as he grew stronger, Rougen retained a shadow over him. He laughed rarely, spoke sparingly, and always kept one hand near his weapon. The forest had taught him caution, and the loss of his parents had taught him grief.
Yet, with Horus, there were moments when Rougen allowed himself to be a child again—small smiles at shared meals, quiet curiosity at stories, and the faintest glimmer of laughter when Horus made a joke too silly to ignore.
---
### Rougen's New Light
One evening, after a particularly long day of hunting and trading, Rougen sat by the campfire, cooking a stew from roots and forest mushrooms he had gathered himself.
Horus sat across from him, examining a small map. "You've come a long way," he said quietly. "Not just in skill, but in… heart. You're stronger than you think, Rougen."
Rougen stirred the stew slowly. The smell reminded him faintly of Akira's cooking, but it was different—he had created this meal himself. Pride swelled faintly in his chest.
"Maybe," he said softly. His voice was low, hesitant, but steady.
Horus' eyes met his. "You're no longer alone, Rougen. You have a home now. I know it can't replace the ones you lost—but perhaps it can help you heal."
Rougen thought of his parents' graves under the oaks. He thought of the fire that had claimed his childhood home. And then he looked at Horus—the first person in months to treat him as family.
And for the first time in a long while, Rougen allowed himself to hope.
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