Down the ancient roads of Italy, where broken stones still remembered the footsteps of empires long fallen, there existed a forest feared by travelers and avoided by merchants. The trees there grew too tall, their branches twisting like claws toward the sky, blocking out the sun even at midday. The air within that forest was thick, heavy with secrets, and every path seemed to lead deeper instead of out.
Deep within that forest was a well.
People spoke of it in hushed tones.
They said if you stood before the well and made a wish, it would be granted at that very moment. No rituals. No prayers. No sacrifices. Just a wish… and reality itself would bend.
Most people laughed at the story.
But Anthony did not.
The legend had been passed down to him by his grandfather on cold nights when the fire burned low and the world felt far away. His grandfather's voice had always been calm when he spoke of monsters, war, and ancient ruins—but whenever he spoke of the well, his voice trembled with something close to fear.
"Anthony," the old man once said, staring into the fire, "there are things in this world that answer to no king, no god, and no law. The wish well is one of them. If you ever find it, you must be careful what you ask for… because wishes change more than just the world. They change the one who makes them."
Those words carved themselves deep into Anthony's heart.
Years passed.
The old man died.
But the story lived on.
And so Anthony left home.
He was not rich.
He was not famous.
He carried no army behind him.
All he had was a single ring on his finger and a stubborn will that refused to die.
For weeks, he walked.
He climbed mountains whose peaks tore the breath from his lungs. He crossed valleys so deep that the echoes of his footsteps never returned. He fought dangerous animals that prowled the wilderness, their eyes glowing in the dark like embers of hatred. More than once, he was ambushed by thieves who thought him an easy target, a lone traveler with no protection.
Once, in the narrow pass between two cliffs, three men leapt out with blades drawn, their smiles full of hunger.
Anthony ran.
Not because he was afraid to fight.
But because he had a destination.
His legs moved faster than he thought possible, his body surging forward as if something unseen pushed him onward. The thieves shouted in shock as he vanished into the darkness, leaving them grasping at empty air.
By the sixth week, even his unnatural endurance began to fail.
His legs trembled.
His vision blurred.
His breath came in ragged gasps.
Just as he thought he would collapse onto the cold stone road and never rise again, he saw it.
A village.
Small houses stood clustered together like frightened children, smoke curling weakly from their chimneys. The road leading to the village was cracked and uneven, as though something heavy had once passed through and scarred the land forever.
Anthony took a step forward.
A voice boomed from behind him.
"Stand down. Who are you?"
Anthony turned slowly.
A tall and muscular man stood in the road, blocking his path. His presence was overwhelming, like a wall made of flesh and iron. The man's stance was defensive, his body angled as though shielding someone—or something—behind him. His eyes were sharp, alert, and filled with a quiet threat.
Anthony raised his hands slightly, not in surrender but in peace.
"I am Anthony Zimfis the Third," he said in a bold but calm voice. "I am on a journey to find a magical well my grandfather told me about. I have traveled miles, climbed mountains, and crossed valleys. I am tired and seek only a place to rest for the night. Please… may I stay in your abode?"
The man studied him for several long seconds.
The wind whispered through the trees.
Then the man smiled.
"You've got courage," he said. "Alright. I'll let you rest in my home for the night. You can continue your journey at dawn."
Relief washed over Anthony.
That night, he slept deeper than he had in weeks.
When morning came, his body felt alive again, as though strength had returned to his veins overnight.
Anthony stood and pressed the diamond embedded in his ring.
Light flashed.
A can of energy-boosting drink appeared in his hand.
He drank it in one long gulp.
Power surged through him.
His muscles felt lighter.
His senses sharpened.
Even the weight of the world seemed to lift from his shoulders.
He bowed slightly to the man who had given him shelter.
"Thank you," Anthony said.
The man nodded.
"Remember this," he said quietly. "The well you are looking for… only you can find it. And when you do, make your wish wisely."
Anthony turned to leave.
He bent his knees, his body coiling like a spring.
Then—
He vanished.
The ground cracked beneath his feet as he launched forward, moving so fast the air screamed in protest. The trees blurred into streaks of green and black. Even the sunlight seemed too slow to follow him.
"I feel… so light," Anthony laughed. "Like a super being."
He leapt into the sky.
The earth fell away beneath him as he soared upward, climbing higher and higher, his body slicing through the clouds. For a brief moment, the world below looked small enough to hold in his palm.
Then—
A chill crawled down his spine.
Someone was following him.
Anthony pressed his ring again.
A sword appeared in his hand, its blade so sharp it seemed to cut the air itself. Without hesitation, he swung toward the presence he sensed behind him.
The blade tore through empty space.
Then a figure appeared, landing lightly on the ground below.
They both touched down at the same time, their feet making no sound, as if they weighed no more than feathers.
Anthony raised his sword.
"Why are you following me?"
The figure straightened.
It was a woman.
Her presence was calm, her movements smooth, her eyes sharp yet gentle.
With a soft voice, she spoke.
"Forgive me. I am here to guide you through your path."
"A ninja?" Anthony asked, still wary.
"No," she replied. "I am a Grand Styler."
"A Grand Styler?" Anthony frowned. "So you know all types of martial arts?"
She shook her head. "No one can learn all martial arts. New styles are created every day."
"So you're like my guardian? You're here to protect me at all costs?"
"Yes," she said. "Because of a contract."
Anthony lowered his sword slightly.
"I'd rather not know what that contract is."
She smiled faintly. "Good. That means you understand the situation well."
As they stood there, the world around them seemed to blur.
Suddenly, Anthony's vision twisted.
Light flooded his eyes.
He saw the well.
It was glowing.
From within it rose a phoenix, its body formed of fire and light. The creature turned its burning gaze toward him, staring directly into his eyes as though peering into his soul.
Anthony gasped and staggered.
The vision shattered.
He found himself standing on solid ground again.
"What… was that?" he whispered.
The Grand Styler looked confused. "What do you mean?"
Only then did Anthony realize—
It had been a vision.
A strange one.
He clenched his fist.
"Tell me," he said, "where can we find a temple around here?"
She pointed north. "About five hundred kilometers from here."
Anthony nodded.
He pressed the ring again.
Another energy drink appeared.
He drank it and turned to her.
"Quick. Jump on my back."
She hesitated, then climbed onto him, her grip light but firm.
Anthony bent into a launching stance.
"Three… two… one—"