"Feral The Man, where are you?" called a young girl, no older than nine, her pigtails bouncing as she wandered deeper into the forest. Her voice echoed through the trees, filled with a mix of curiosity and concern.

From the underbrush emerged a boy, not much older than she was. His hair, wild and unkempt, hung down to his shoulders. His clothes were little more than ragged pieces of cloth barely holding together, fashioned from whatever he could find.

"I here am," he replied, his words broken and awkward, a testament to his unusual teacher, this very girl who now stood before him.

The girl placed her hands on her hips, her expression stern. "I told you to stop getting your clothes dirty. I can't wash them every time," she scolded, patting down the dirt-covered rags he wore.

"Sury," he muttered, lowering his gaze.

She sighed, correcting him with a patient tone, "It's 'I'm sorry,' Feral The Man."

He nodded, repeating after her, "I'm sorry."

With a gentle smile, she pulled out a comb, crudely fashioned from old bones. "Come sit in front of me," she instructed, settling herself on a nearby rock.

Feng Zhiming, as the boy was called, obeyed. He sat at her feet, resting his head against her knees as she began to comb his tangled hair. The comb tugged at the knots, but her touch was careful and kind.

"You’ve been washing it like I told you. Good," she praised, running her fingers through his now smoother hair. Her words warmed something deep within him, a strange feeling he couldn't quite place. Praise was foreign to him, but he savored it nonetheless.

She reached into a small pouch tied to her waist and handed him a potato, her latest smuggled treasure from the village. "You haven’t been eating well."

"Sury," he repeated, this time with more understanding.

She flicked his forehead lightly, a playful reprimand. "It's 'sorry,' Feral The Man. You need to remember these things."

He nodded again, more earnestly this time, and took a bite of the potato. She watched him with a thoughtful gaze before speaking again, her tone suddenly serious. "You have to be a good person. If you are, you can come into the village with me someday."

Feng Zhiming looked up at her, puzzled. "You make me good person."

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, embarrassed by his sincerity. "Well, I'll try, but you're quite a mess," she teased, her voice light again.

As she prepared to leave, she turned back with a mischievous smile. "I have an idea to get you into the village. I'll tell you tomorrow."

He waved at her as she ran off, a wide, goofy smile spreading across his face—one of the few he had worn in recent years. Night fell, and Feng Zhiming returned to his cave, but his sleep was restless. He woke early, eager to meet her again, and rushed to their usual spot.

There she was, waiting for him with a basket of fruit hanging at her side. She smiled as she saw him approach. "You're early today, huh?" she noted, setting the basket down and gesturing for him to eat.

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His eyes widened, but not at the food. A dark bruise marred her cheek, stark against her pale skin. He ran to her, gently placing a hand on her face. "You hurt, how?" His voice trembled with concern.

"It's nothing. Don't worry," she reassured him, moving his hand to an apple instead. "Eat."

He hesitated but eventually nodded, taking the apple. As he ate, she watched him intently, as if searching for the right words. "I overheard some adults talking about something called marriage. If we get married, you can live with me even if you're not a villager."

"Marriage? What is?" Feng Zhiming asked, his curiosity piqued.

"What is marriage," she corrected with a small smile. "From what I know, marriage is when you become family. You marry someone you love."

"Love?" The word was foreign to him. He knew of families, but love was something else entirely. "What is love?"

She paused, thinking hard before answering. "Love is... when you're happy to be with someone."

Feng Zhiming nodded, his heart swelling with a feeling he couldn't name. But then, doubt crept in. "No, village think Feral The Man bad. If you with Feral The Man, they think you are bad."

She took his hand in both of hers, squeezing it tightly. "Trust me, friend. We'll figure it out."

Despite his lingering unease, her sincerity convinced him. He nodded again, placing his trust in her.

"Great!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up with excitement. "Come here tomorrow. If my mother's not sick anymore, we'll get married."

The two children laughed and played, their joy untainted by the weight of the world around them. Feng Zhiming let her tire herself out, chasing her through the forest until they collapsed in the grass, breathless and content. She spoke endlessly of wedding rings and vows, her imagination running wild with the possibilities.

Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, she stood up to leave, waving goodbye. Feng Zhiming waved back, his heart full and his mind at peace.

The next morning, he waited in the forest, eager to see her again. Hours passed, and doubt began to creep in. Maybe her mother was still ill, or maybe she had forgotten. Just as he was about to leave, he noticed thick smoke rising from the direction of the village. His heart pounded as he ran toward it.

As he neared the village, he heard her voice calling his name, but it wasn't the gentle call he was used to. It was filled with pain, with terror. "FERAL THE MAN!"

He pushed his small legs to run faster, the fear in her voice driving him forward. As he got closer, he overheard the villagers talking.

"Cursed child, she got her parents killed by spreading the curse of the feral."

"I told her not to hang around the feral man. Now she must die to atone for the curse. In the name of the great Cruentas."

Feng Zhiming's heart sank, a cold, empty feeling spreading through him. He slowed, her screams echoing in his ears, distorting with every step.

"FERAL THE MAN!"

"FE TH MA!"

"FETHIMI!"

When he finally reached the scene, the sight that greeted him shattered whatever innocence he had left. The villagers were prostrated before a pyre, at the center of which was the girl, engulfed in flames, her screams of agony piercing the night.

His mind went blank. All reason, all thought, vanished. A red aura began to emanate from him, pulsing with a power he didn't recognize, didn't understand. The villagers who stood to block his path were consumed by it, turning on each other in a frenzy of violence as the aura touched them.

"FETHIMI!" she screamed, her voice barely human now, her eyes burnt away by the flames.

Feng Zhiming walked toward her, his steps slow, deliberate. He saw a pair of corpses—lovers who had killed each other in the madness. He knelt down and took the rings from their fingers, the metal still warm.

"Fee thiii mii," she whispered, her voice a mere croak as her vocal cords melted away.

He reached the pyre and gently untied the charred ropes that bound her. Cradling her burnt body in his arms, he sat down, her head resting in his lap.

"Fee thii mii," she murmured again, her voice softer this time. A tear fell from his eye, landing on her scorched skin, the first tear he had ever shed.

"Be my wife?" he asked, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Fee thi mii, yys," she replied, her breath faint.

With trembling hands, he placed the ring on her finger and used her hand to put the other ring on his. "I, Fee Thi Mii, vow to marry you," he whispered, laying his head upon her lifeless body.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have trusted you," he sobbed, clutching her tighter. The flames had taken more than just his friend—they had burnt away the last of his innocence, leaving him with nothing but a hollow ache where his heart used to be.