"People! Stand up!"

The master shouted with elegance and composure, standing at the edge of the dormitory hallway, a place designated specifically for the chosen ones. The boys were not always responsive and composed, especially in the morning, even though the master required a certain composure or at least discipline.

They immediately began training on an empty stomach, and the morning chill was felt even though the Great Star could warm even the harshest and coldest winters. Each of them underwent physical training that included endurance and combat skills, as well as logical training, trying to understand each other’s strengths and weaknesses.

However, no one ever questioned the reason for such specialized training, almost as if they were preparing for a great battle. Yes, they had to prepare for the tournament that would determine the future of the village, but the thought that something bigger than them could happen was out of the question.

Malia intensely followed the master’s advice and teachings. If she fought, it was not for a personal battle, for her family, or for some trivial ideal. If she fought, it was because she wanted to be the first female hope, the first woman leader of the village. She knew that women were weak, although the Great Star had blessed them with its power. There had never been a single woman who managed to defeat a chosen man, or rather, there had been, but even if they reached the final clash, they had no hope against the last remaining one.

It was frustrating to think how the village would change if a woman took the reins of such responsibility, and Malia was willing to do anything to achieve that goal. Perhaps she did it for the fame of such a title, “Malia, the first female leader of the village of Progonos” – not even she knew exactly why she fought so ardently. Yet, every time she woke up or went to bed, that dream, that goal for which she fought, gave her an immeasurable strength of spirit to continue, and with each result, she felt fulfilled.

There was a chosen one, Zokin, the son of a family of forest explorers, who, according to Malia, was the number one rival with whom she would compete for the throne. In her mind, she clearly saw the final clash, a head-to-head between her and that damned one who was stealing her dream.

He possessed immense strength compared to her, and the combat skills he had developed over the years had far surpassed her.

It is said that an ordinary person adapts to the conditions that the surrounding environment imposes.

The reason Malia could not win the confrontations against him was not because of their individual capabilities, but because of their power incompatibility.

Those who possess adaptability as their primary form of power need some time to get used to the strength, combat style, and agility of the opponent. Through repetition and observation, the Adapter can take advantage of their ability and keep up, if not surpass, the opponent. However, this is limited only to combat skills, style, and preventing the opponent’s blows, but aspects such as physical strength and agility do not adapt as quickly in a duel because they derive more from the body structure and physical characteristics of the bearer.

Malia knew this well, and so did Zokin, because the master had taught them everything. This is why Zokin did not allow her to face him, or if it happened, he did not show even a part of the potential of his power and combat style.

Every evening, the boys dined under the sun (in summer) or under the stars (in winter) at a large table laden with farm-raised meats and vegetables, grown right in the village's mild climate. No one knew that very special and easy-to-cultivate plants and foods had developed precisely thanks to the ecosystem that the Great Star provided for their citizens.

They sat across from each other, and after the master recited the thanks to the Great Star for the prosperity, the food, and all the good and hope it had brought to their people, they recited together: “Slava dukhu zemli!”

Once in bed, Malia thought back to what had happened a few days earlier. She didn’t know if that day had been given to her by the Great Star, the day she saw a head popping up from the edge of the fence at the perimeter of the field. That day she was so annoyed that she snuck out of the dormitory to go find him and vent all her frustrations on him, using the excuse of protecting the tradition: no villager could watch or participate in the exclusive training of the chosen ones unless it was the village elder.

She found the boy right outside the combat field, facing the Great Star.

“What is he doing all dazed?” she thought.

However, everything turned into something she had not calculated at all. She thought she would fall in love or at least have a new experience returning to the village streets. Yet, Falco showed her something she never thought she would find: a hope of victory. She wanted to exploit the power of the village's traditions and strict laws to her advantage. After seeing Falco’s boldness in observing the training and finding a possible rival for Zokin, she was ready to do it, to win and realize her dream.

As the days passed, I felt more and more restless. That beautiful sensation I felt at the beginning, that feeling of desire I experienced, hoping Malia would return, slowly turned into paranoia.

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Until that day (eight moons had passed since Malia had left that evening), I had always done everything alone. I woke up alone, I trained alone, and what I missed the most was that I no longer felt in control of myself. What had begun to lack for a few days was control over my future, and the fact that I depended on a stranger was frustrating. Falco Anderson, who until a few days ago had made it on his own, with only his efforts, was now powerless, could do nothing.

“Why can’t I do anything?” I thought, annoyed.

Indeed, if I wanted to, I could have continued training, but without knowing the capabilities of those boys, what would have changed? Once the day of the combat for the throne came, what would I have done?

I realized that the plan I had set for myself as a child was beginning to crumble.

“How is it possible that I never thought about it before? What would I have done... once that day came? Did I think I would arrive there and say, ‘Hey, hello everyone, I wanted to fight for the throne too’?”

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of such a trivial thing. I was so focused on training and cutting down that tree that everything else seemed to have disappeared.

"Maybe I should have kept hitting that tree until I had knocked down all the trees in the forest, and once those in the forest were gone, I would have gone elsewhere, towards the infinite, away from this village."

Yeah, my role in this village was "the nobody," fighting for my dream but doing nothing productive. For the family or the village. I felt rotten, a freeloader, a fungus clinging to a big tree to share its nutrients.

"But what... do I want to do with my future?"

A few days earlier, everything seemed clear, I desperately wanted to become the new village chief so I could prove to everyone that you don't need to be a chosen one to be worthy of that title and that the Great Star was just a big rock with holes that occasionally boosted the self-esteem of a few, not a deity to be worshipped, and the chosen ones weren't saints either.

"Even if I became the village chief... what would I solve? What would change?"

I didn't know what to think anymore.

"All of this was her fault, that bitch who promised to train me!"

I kicked the wall of the tent and apart from stirring a bit of air, nothing significant happened. It had been a long time since I had screamed like that.

The last time I remember it as if it were yesterday. It was me and my father, him staring at me from the edge of the entrance to my room (the house had no doors since we lived in tents) and me lying on my straw mattress. I won't deny that I was idling, this was even before I started training, but I wasn't doing anything wrong. At that time, I had started hanging out with some kids who played in the chosen ones' training field, which in the years when it wasn't used was exploited by children and adults to gather on a bench while the children had space to play, turning into a sort of playground. My father was at the doorway and asked me a simple and dry question, almost offhandedly, as he was about to go to the shop.

"Are you coming to work with me?"

I'll be honest, I didn't want to help my father carve wood or split logs with an ax to build the bases of the tents. It was a very boring and especially tiring job. At that age, I was ten years old and preferred playing outside rather than working.

So I replied with an indifferent "no."

My father interpreted that two-letter word as absolute disrespect towards him and probably towards his exhausting work as well. I don't know exactly what went through my father's mind, which I preferred it didn't be . He immediately approached me and grabbed my arm, pulling it up, making me stand with it and squeezing it so hard I could feel my heart pumping up my blood by the arm. It hurt. It really hurt. He took my face with his big hand, rough and with some calluses from his work, and slapped me. At the moment, I didn't exactly understand what had happened. My gaze was sideways and just as I turned to look him in the eyes, an oppressive force prevented me from doing so. He pointed his finger at me and said:

"I don't break my back for you to laze around, you know?"

I don't know what expression he had at that moment, but I believe it was one of the most terrifying expressions I could imagine. Without any warning came the second slap, this time on the other cheek.

"And look me in the eyes when I talk to you."

At that moment, I just wanted mom to enter my room and scold that man for his actions, for what he had done. But no one came, just as it happened with Malia.

He let go of my arm, pushing me onto the bed. I fell, and even if he had thrown me to the ground, on the floor, I would have collapsed anyway. I had tears in my eyes, but not from the pain, from the shame. A shame that doesn't go away with a caress, a hug, or an "I love you."

From that day, I always tried to stay away from home when he was around, but I don't blame mom for not being there at that particular moment. When we are together, she always tries to protect me, she really loves me, and even if she says that dad tries to push me to work with him for my own sake, well... that's the only statement I believe is a lie, said by her.

Even though I don't remember, it was also for this reason that I started training all day. I vented the anger I had for being so pathetic and the hatred I felt inside for my father, to the point of hurting myself, having unconsciously masochistic instincts, punching that tree and inflicting wounds on myself. I wanted to become the village chief, sure, but not for noble reasons like destroying traditions, bringing progress, or proving that even normal people can succeed with commitment and perseverance. No. The drive that pushed me to continue training was pure and simple revenge. I have no idea what I wanted to do to my father, but I remember that feeling well, that anger inside me that didn't stop extinguishing, like a bonfire that, kept alive by the wood of hatred, continued to burn.

"Why do I want to become the village chief? For what purpose have I trained to such an extent?"

Questions I didn't know how to answer. Uncertainty and the unknown are what for millennia have been ingrained in human nature as the primary source of fear.